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Chapter Text

Character Introduction

Hakamata Yui (袴田 結衣)

Title: 月姫 — Tsukihime (The Moon Princess)
Kingdom: Wagetsu Koku
Age: 23
Status: Princess, sole heir to the throne

Appearance: Yui possesses a beauty likened to moonlight—quiet yet impossible to ignore. She is short in stature, with sharp yet elegant features that carry both youth and maturity. Her long white hair, often braided to her waist, frames her face softly, while side bangs fall near her calm blue eyes. A beauty mark beneath her left eye lends her a composed, regal charm. Her presence alone brings reassurance to those around her.

Personality: Gentle, compassionate, and composed, Yui embodies the serenity of the moon. She listens more than she speaks, and when she does speak, her words carry sincerity and resolve. Though kind by nature, she is not weak—her strength lies in empathy and unwavering responsibility toward her people.
Only with Bakugo Katsuki and her maid Tohru does she allow herself to be playful, occasionally teasing Katsuki with a soft smile that belies her royal composure.

Background: Yui lost her mother at the age of three, leaving her as the sole heir to Wagetsu Koku. Raised by her father, King Hakamada Tsunagu, she learned early that royalty meant sacrifice. When Katsuki was appointed her personal royal knight at eighteen, she fell in love almost instantly. Over the years, their bond deepened through shared duties and secret excursions among the people of Wagetsu, whom Yui deeply cherishes.

Bakugo Katsuki (爆豪 勝己)

Title: 紅の騎士 — Kurenai no Kishi (The Scarlet Knight)
Kingdom: Wagetsu Koku
Age: 27
Status: Royal Knight, personal guardian of Princess Yui

Appearance: Tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, Katsuki commands attention the moment he enters a room. A scar near his left eye hints at countless battles fought for Wagetsu Koku. He wears a specially commissioned crimson kimono reinforced with combat guards—symbolic of his rank as Royal Knight. Though strikingly handsome, his cold demeanor keeps most at a distance.

Personality: Stoic, sharp-tongued, and fiercely disciplined, Katsuki is known for his temper—but beneath it lies unwavering composure and honor. He values loyalty above all else and holds deep respect for the King and the throne he serves.
With Yui, however, his walls lower. He teases her, scolds her, and silently shields her from danger—loving her in the only way he believes is permitted: through protection and restraint.

Background: Born to a noble family serving the Wagetsu court, Katsuki entered military service at a young age and quickly proved himself superior to even seasoned soldiers. His strength and dedication earned the King’s recognition, and he was appointed Yui’s personal guardian. Though he has loved her since he was twenty, Katsuki never once considers acting on those feelings. To him, loving the princess means stepping aside for the good of the kingdom.

Other Characters:

Midoriya Izuku-Now King of the Suirei Koku

Uraraka Ochako-Now Queen of the Suirei Koku (Yui’s best friend)

Bakugo Katsuki-Wagetsu Koku Royal Knight (guard in charge of princess Yui). Closest to Yui and Eijiro

Hakamata Yui-Princess of Wagetsu Kingdom

Shinsou Hitoshi-2nd Prince of Mumyou koku

Todoroki Shoto-Prince of Rekka koku

Hagakure Tohru-Princess Yui’s maid in charge and her best friend

Iida Tenya-Young advisor of Wagetsu Koku

Yaoyorozu Momo-Princess of Seiran Koku engaged to Prince Shoto

Jirou Kyoka-Musician at Wagetsu Koku

Kirishima Eijiro-Knight at Wagetsu Koku

Kaminari Denki-Knight at Wagetsu Koku

Ashido Mina-Maid at Wagetsu Koku

Hakamata Tsunagu-King of Wagetsu Koku

Shinsou Satoshi-King of Mumyou Koku (former 1^st Prince, elder brother of Prince Hitoshi, he is the evil person wanting to take over the Wagetsu Koku)

Shinsou Satomi-Queen of Mumyou Koku (wife of King Satoshi, unlike Satoshi she is a gentle and kind person. She tried to stop her husband. She is kind to Yui ever since the decision of Yui’s and Hitoshi’s engagement.)

The Rekka Koku and Suirei Koku are ally of Wagetsu.

Prologue

Moonlight draped the palace of Wagetsu Koku in silver.

The tiled roofs gleamed softly, the lanterns along the corridors swaying with the night breeze, their light reflected faintly in the still ponds below. From the highest veranda, the kingdom stretched wide—quiet, scarred, yet enduring. Beyond the palace walls, the land bore the faint wounds of recent hardship: fields still recovering, homes rebuilt with careful hands, lives moving forward despite loss.

Princess Hakamata Yui stood at the edge of the veranda; hands folded within the sleeves of her pale kimono. The fabric shimmered faintly, woven with patterns of crescent moons and drifting clouds. Her long white hair was braided neatly down her back, the end brushing against her waist as the wind stirred it. Her blue eyes reflected the moon above—calm, thoughtful, and heavy with responsibility.

Behind her, steady footsteps approached.

She did not turn.

“You’re back, Katsuki?”

The man halted a respectful distance behind her and knelt, one knee touching the wooden floor.

“Yes, Hime-sama.” His voice was low, firm, and familiar.

Princess Yui finally turned, a small smile curving her lips. Bakugo Katsuki rose at her permission, tall and broad-shouldered in his crimson kimono, reinforced guards wrapped securely around his forearms and legs. The moon caught the scar near his left eye, a reminder of battles fought and survived. His presence alone was enough to quiet any room—sharp-eyed, alert, and unyielding.

The Scarlet Knight of Wagetsu Koku.

Her knight.

“You didn’t have to kneel,” Yui said softly. “There’s no one else here.”

Katsuki’s expression remained stern, though his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “It’s habit. And duty.”

She hummed, turning back toward the railing. “You say that every time.”

Katsuki stepped forward, stopping at her side—but never quite beside her. The distance between them was always measured. Always proper. The moon hung high above them, large and full.

“You shouldn’t be standing out here alone,” he said. “It’s cold.”

“I’m not alone,” Yui replied calmly. “You’re here.”

He clicked his tongue quietly but removed his outer cloak, draping it over her shoulders without a word. The fabric was warm, carrying the faint scent of steel and night air. Yui’s fingers curled into it.

“Katsuki,” she said after a moment, her tone lighter, almost teasing. “If you keep doing things like this, people will talk.”

“Let them,” he answered immediately. Then, realizing himself, he cleared his throat. “I mean—my duty is to protect you.”

She laughed softly, the sound barely louder than the wind. Bakugo Katsuki had been her guardian for five years now.

Appointed when she was eighteen, he had already made a name for himself as one of the strongest soldiers Wagetsu had ever seen. Born to a noble family loyal to the court, Katsuki had entered military service young, his raw strength and relentless discipline setting him apart even among veterans. The King himself had taken notice—and entrusted him with the life of his only daughter.

Yui remembered that day clearly. She had expected someone older. Someone distant. Instead, she had been met with a sharp-eyed young man close to her own age, posture stiff, expression fierce, yet gaze unwavering in its sincerity. She had fallen in love that very moment.

“You’re thinking again,” Katsuki said, pulling her from her thoughts.

She tilted her head, amused. “Am I not allowed to?”

“You get that look when you’re about to do something reckless.”

“Reckless?” she echoed. “Like going into town in disguise to check on the people?”

His jaw tightened. “You promised not to bring that up.”

Yui turned to him fully now, moonlight illuminating her face—soft, elegant, and resolute.

“Our people are still rebuilding,” she said quietly. “I want to see them with my own eyes. Not through reports.”

“And I’ve already told you,” Katsuki replied, his voice firm but controlled, “that if you insist on going, I’ll be with you.”

She smiled at that. “You always are.”

It had become their routine.

Disguised in plain robes, they would slip beyond the palace walls—Yui speaking with merchants, comforting villagers, listening to stories of loss and hope alike. Katsuki would stand at her side, watchful and silent, stepping forward only when needed.

Through those walks, their bond had deepened—built not on grand gestures, but on shared silence and understanding.

Yui lowered her gaze to the kingdom below. “My father worries,” she said softly. “He thinks I carry too much.”

Katsuki’s expression softened. “The King admires you. So do the people.”

“And you?” she asked quietly.

He stiffened, eyes forward. “I exist to serve Wagetsu Koku. And you, Hime-sama.”

She looked at him then—not as a princess, but as a woman who had loved quietly for years.

“Katsuki,” she said, voice gentle, “do you ever think about the future?”

His hand tightened slightly at his side.

“The future is whatever keeps this kingdom standing,” he answered after a pause.

She smiled—sad, understanding.

They stood together beneath the moon, bound by duty and restraint, both carrying feelings neither would ever voice. The Moon Princess and the Scarlet Knight—two souls moving in the same orbit, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, yet never meant to collide.

For now, the night remained peaceful.

And neither of them knew that the choices they would soon make—for their people, for their kingdom—would test just how much they were willing to sacrifice.

The moon watched silently above Wagetsu Koku.

So did fate.

-*-

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered gently through the castle garden, casting soft shadows across the stone paths and blooming flowers. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and fresh leaves. It was the kind of quiet that settled deep into the heart—calm, yet heavy with thoughts left unspoken.

Princess Yui walked slowly beside Hagakure Tohru, her maid and closest confidant. Yui’s kimono today was a pale shade of blue, embroidered lightly with silver thread, simple enough to pass as informal yet unmistakably royal. Her long white hair was braided neatly, resting over her shoulder.

“Tohru,” Yui said softly, breaking the silence, “does it feel… strange to you today?”

Tohru glanced at her. “Strange?”

Yui nodded, eyes distant. “As if something is about to change.”

Before Tohru could answer, the sound of wooden swords striking filled the air. Yui’s steps slowed instinctively.

Beyond the garden’s low stone wall lay the training grounds. Several soldiers stood in formation, sweat already glistening on their brows. At the center of them stood Bakugo Katsuki, his presence commanding even without his crimson kimono. Sleeves rolled back, posture unwavering, he demonstrated a precise strike, the blade cutting through air with sharp intent.

“Again,” Katsuki ordered. “Your footing is unstable. Fix it.”

His voice was firm, unforgiving—but not careless.

Yui stopped walking.

She watched him, unaware of how still she had become. The way his movements carried power without excess. The way his eyes missed nothing. The way he corrected mistakes not with anger, but purpose.

Strong. Steadfast. Reliable.

Tohru followed her gaze and exhaled softly. “You’re looking at him the same way again,” Tohru said.

Yui didn’t deny it this time. “I try not to,” she admitted quietly. “But my eyes always find him.”

Tohru hesitated. “Hime-sama…”

“I know,” Yui said gently, still watching Katsuki. “I know what I am. And what he is.”

Her fingers tightened within her sleeves. “But that doesn’t make it disappear.”

On the training ground, Katsuki corrected a soldier’s stance, placing his wooden sword against the man’s blade and pushing it aside with precision.

“That hesitation is fatal,” he said. “Protect your core.”

Yui’s chest tightened.

“He’s been with me for five years,” she continued softly. “Five years of watching my back. Of knowing when I’m tired without me saying a word. Of remembering things even I forget.”

She remembered the first year—how Katsuki had stood awkwardly at a distance, offering her a small folded charm without meeting her eyes on her birthday. Every year after that, something simple, something practical. Never extravagant. Never personal.

And yet, always thoughtful.

“I don’t need him to say anything,” Yui said. “I don’t even want him to.”

Tohru looked at her, pain flickering in her eyes. “Then why does it hurt?”

Yui swallowed. “Because…I feel something I shouldn’t feel.”

The words were soft, indirect, but they settled heavily between them.

“I fell in love the day he bowed before me as my guardian,” Yui continued. “And every day after that, I fell again. When he scolds me. When he walks one step behind me. When he puts the kingdom before himself.”

She finally looked away, lowering her gaze. “I know I should not feel this way. A princess cannot choose her heart so freely.”

Tohru reached for her sleeve, fingers curling gently around the fabric. “You’re still human, Hime-sama.”

Yui smiled sadly. “That is the problem.”

On the training grounds, Katsuki paused. His gaze lifted, sharp eyes finding the garden without hesitation. He spotted her immediately.

His posture shifted subtly—less rigid, more attentive. Without breaking formation, he inclined his head in her direction, acknowledging her presence.

Yui felt her heart ache.

“He knows,” she whispered. “About my habits. About the things I like.”

“But not about your feelings,” Tohru said.

Yui shook her head. “And he never should.”

Katsuki turned back to the soldiers, barking another command, his focus returning to his duty. Yui watched him a moment longer before turning away.

“Tomorrow,” she said quietly, “I will smile like always.”

Tohru nodded, understanding the weight of that promise. As they resumed their walk, the sound of training faded behind them, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the steady beating of Yui’s heart— Loving a man she could never claim, and choosing, as she always had, to say nothing at all.

-*-

Morning light filtered gently through the paper screens of Princess Yui’s chambers, bathing the room in a soft, pale glow. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air as attendants moved quietly, careful and precise, preparing her for the day.

It was her birthday.

Yui sat before the mirror, hands resting neatly in her lap as her long white hair was arranged. Today, it was styled with greater care than usual—half tied with delicate silver ornaments shaped like crescents, the rest flowing freely down her back. Her kimono was a refined blend of ivory and muted blue, embroidered with threads that shimmered faintly like moonlight.

She studied her reflection in silence. She looked no different than she had yesterday. And yet, something within her felt unsettled.

A soft knock sounded.

“Hime-sama,” came a familiar voice. “May I enter?”

“Yes,” Yui replied.

The door slid open. Bakugo Katsuki stood at the threshold, already dressed in his crimson kimono, posture straight and alert, every line of him reflecting discipline. He stepped inside and knelt, head bowed respectfully.

“Happy birthday, Hime-sama.”

Yui turned toward him, her expression softening.

“Thank you, Katsuki,” she said gently.

He lifted his head slightly. Before he could say anything, another presence entered the room—calm, authoritative, and warm.

“Always punctual, Katsuki.”

King Tsunagu stepped inside, his ceremonial robes marking his rank unmistakably. The moment his gaze fell on his daughter, the severity in his expression eased.

“Happy birthday, Yui.”

She rose immediately and bowed. “Chichiue...”

He waved a hand, smiling faintly. “You shouldn’t bow to me, you are my daughter.”

The attendants withdrew quietly, leaving only Tohru, who remained at Yui’s side. The King reached into his sleeve and produced a small, finely polished wooden box.

“I wished to give this to you myself,” he said, handing it to her.

Yui accepted it carefully and opened it.

Inside lay a delicate necklace—its thin silver chain cradling a crescent-shaped pendant crafted from a pale, luminous stone. The gem caught the morning light, glowing softly, as if holding the moon within it.

Her breath caught. “It’s beautiful…”

The King nodded. “The finest craftsmen of Wagetsu made it. When I saw it, I thought of you.”

Tohru stepped forward quietly. “May I, Hime-sama?”

Yui inclined her head, and Tohru carefully lifted the necklace, fastening it around Yui’s neck with practiced, gentle movements. The pendant settled lightly against her collarbone.

“It suits you perfectly,” Tohru said with a soft smile.

Yui touched it instinctively. “Thank you, Father.”

The King returned her smile—but it faded gradually, replaced by something heavier.

“Yui,” he said quietly, “there is another matter.”

Katsuki straightened immediately, his expression sharpening, though he remained silent at his post just behind her.

“Our kingdom is still recovering,” the King continued. “The flood has taken much from us. Though our people endure, the strain grows heavier with each season.”

Yui listened without interruption, her hands folded calmly before her.

“This morning,” the King said, “we received a formal request from Mumyou Koku.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Their king, Shinsou Satoshi, proposes a marriage alliance,” the King went on. “Through his younger brother—Prince Shinsou Hitoshi.”

The words settled slowly, like falling snow.

“They will attend your birthday banquet this evening,” he said. “Officially as guests. Unofficially… to meet you.”

Yui’s fingers curled slightly into her sleeves—but her voice remained steady. “I understand.”

The King watched her carefully. “No decision has been made. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“Thank you,” Yui said softly. “For telling me.”

Silence followed.

The King placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Enjoy your birthday, Yui.”

He turned toward the door, then paused. “Katsuki,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Stay close.”

Katsuki bowed. “As always.”

When the King left, the room felt unusually still. Yui stood quietly, fingertips brushing the moon pendant at her throat.

A marriage alliance.

A prince from Mumyou Koku.

A future suddenly uncertain.

“Katsuki,” she said at last.

“Yes, Hime-sama.”

She turned toward him, her expression composed, her voice soft. “Please remain with me today.”

He met her gaze, unwavering. “I will not leave your side.”

And though neither of them spoke of it, both felt the shift in the air—from this birthday onward, the path before them would no longer be the same.

-*-

The carriage moved slowly along the stone road, its wheels creaking softly beneath the morning sun. Wagetsu Koku lay spread before them—rows of modest homes, rebuilt roofs, fields still mending after the flood. Life had returned, but not without effort.

Inside the carriage, Princess Yui sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. The moon-shaped pendant rested against her chest, hidden beneath layers of silk. Across from her sat Hagakure Tohru, while two maids occupied the rear, holding baskets of cloth-wrapped food and supplies.

Yui’s gaze lingered on the passing scenery, yet she saw none of it. A prince from Mumyou Koku. A marriage alliance. A future decided not by her heart, but by necessity. Her father’s voice echoed in her thoughts—gentle, yet firm.

She exhaled slowly and straightened her back.

Outside, riding alongside the carriage, Bakugo Katsuki kept watch atop his horse. His posture was rigid, eyes sharp as they scanned the surroundings. The crimson fabric of his kimono shifted with each movement of the horse, the armor at his limbs catching the light.

To anyone watching, he appeared as he always did—unshakable.

But his thoughts were anything but still.

Prince Shinsou Hitoshi.

Mumyou Koku.

Katsuki tightened his grip on the reins.

A political alliance. A marriage.

His duty was clear. His feelings were irrelevant.

If this is what protects Wagetsu…

He forced the thought to finish. He always did.

The carriage slowed. Ahead, villagers had gathered—men, women, children, elders—faces lined with exhaustion, but eyes bright with expectation. Word had spread quickly: the Princess was coming.

Katsuki dismounted first, signaling the soldiers to take positions. They formed a loose perimeter, alert but unobtrusive. The carriage door opened. Yui stepped down gracefully, assisted by Tohru. The moment her feet touched the ground, the villagers bowed deeply.

“Himegimi!”

“Tsukihime-sama!”

Yui’s expression changed instantly.

The weight in her eyes lifted, replaced by warmth and quiet joy. She returned their bows, lowering herself far more deeply than protocol required.

“Please, raise your heads,” she said gently. “Today, I am here to celebrate with you.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“She’s smiling…”

“Our Princess…”

Katsuki watched her from a short distance away.

This was the Yui he knew best.

Tohru and the maids opened the baskets, distributing rice, dried fish, cloth, and medicine. Yui knelt among the villagers, accepting parcels from the maids and handing them out herself.

“This is for your family,” she said to an elderly man, pressing the bundle into his trembling hands. “Please take care of your health.”

“Thank you, Tsukihime-sama,” the man replied, tears pooling in his eyes.

She turned to a young mother holding a child.

“How are your supplies?” Yui asked softly.

“We are managing, Himegimi-sama,” the woman answered. “But the well near our home still floods.”

Yui nodded thoughtfully. “I will speak with the council about reinforcing it. Please be patient a little longer.”

The woman bowed deeply, overcome. Children gathered around her, their faces curious and bright.

“Is today your birthday, Himegimi?” a small boy asked.

Yui laughed softly. “It is.”

“Then… happy birthday!” the children said in unison.

Her smile widened. “Thank you. I’m glad I can spend it with you.”

Katsuki felt something tighten in his chest.

She listened. Truly listened. Remembered names, locations, small details others would overlook. She carried herself not as someone above them, but as someone standing with them.

For Yui, her people were not a responsibility. They were her reason.

The villagers watched her with reverence and affection. Her smile became theirs; her presence alone lifted spirits worn thin by hardship.

“The Moon Princess watches over us,” an elder murmured.

“As long as Tsukihime-sama smiles, Wagetsu will endure.”

Katsuki turned away briefly, jaw clenched. This was why he loved her. Not for her beauty. Not for her title. But for the way she chose her people, every time.

As the distribution came to an end, Yui bowed deeply once more. “Please take care,” she said. “I will come again.”

“Himegimi!”

“Tsukihime-sama!”

Their voices followed her as she returned to the carriage. Katsuki mounted his horse again, taking his place beside the carriage. As it began to move, he glanced through the open window. Yui sat quietly once more, her smile fading as the village disappeared from view.

Their eyes met briefly.

Nothing was said.

But in that silence lay an understanding deeper than words—No matter what awaited them, they would both choose the same thing. The people of Wagetsu Koku.

-*-

As evening settled over Wagetsu Koku, the palace transformed.

Lanterns were lit one by one along the corridors and courtyards, their warm glow reflecting off lacquered pillars and polished stone floors. Silk banners bearing the crest of Wagetsu fluttered gently in the night breeze, and the soft sound of string instruments drifted through the halls.

The birthday banquet had begun.

Inside the grand hall, nobles and officials gathered in formal attire, their conversations low and respectful. Families stood together, exchanging greetings, while attendants moved gracefully between them with trays of sake and carefully prepared dishes. Despite recent hardships, the hall was filled with quiet gratitude—for tonight was a celebration not only of a birthday, but of endurance.

At the far end of the hall, upon the raised dais, sat King Tsunagu. Beside him, seated slightly lower, was Princess Yui.

She wore a formal kimono of deep midnight blue, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like stars scattered across the night sky. The moon pendant rested visibly at her throat, catching the lantern light with every small movement. Her hair was arranged elegantly, adorned with understated ornaments befitting her status.

She smiled as guests bowed and offered their congratulations.

“Happy birthday, Tsukihime-sama.”

“May the moon always watch over you, Himegimi.”

“Thank you for coming,” Yui replied each time, her voice gentle and composed.

Yet beneath her calm exterior, her thoughts remained unsettled. They will be here tonight. She knew it. The knowledge rested heavily in her chest.

Behind her, standing at a respectful distance, Bakugo Katsuki remained unmoving—an unyielding presence in crimson. His gaze scanned the hall constantly, sharp and alert, taking note of every unfamiliar face. Though the banquet was peaceful, he did not allow himself to relax.

Tonight, more than ever, he was on guard. The hall stirred as new guests arrived.

“King Izuku and Queen Ochako of Suirei Koku,” the herald announced.

Yui’s eyes brightened immediately.

Izuku and Ochako entered together, their presence warm and approachable despite their royal status. Izuku wore robes of deep green and blue, his expression kind yet dignified. Ochako, radiant in soft pink and white, smiled the moment she saw Yui.

“Ochako sama!” Yui rose without hesitation.

Protocol dissolved instantly as Ochako stepped forward, clasping Yui’s hands warmly.

“Happy birthday Hime,” Ochako said softly. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” Yui replied, genuine happiness reaching her eyes.

Izuku bowed politely. “It is good to see you well, Princess Yui, I wish you a very happy birthday.”

“Thank you for coming,” Yui said. “Both of you.”

Their presence steadied her more than she realized.

As they took their seats among the honored guests, the hall continued to fill. Representatives from allied kingdoms arrived, each greeted with formality and courtesy.

Then—A hush rippled through the room.

“King, Queen and Prince of Mumyou Koku have arrived,” the herald announced.

Katsuki’s posture sharpened instantly. Yui’s fingers tightened briefly around her sleeves.

King Shinsou Satoshi entered first—tall, composed, and unmistakably authoritative. His gaze was calm, calculating, befitting a ruler who had inherited the throne under solemn circumstances. At his side walked Queen Satomi, elegant and poised, her expression gentle but observant.

And just behind them—Prince Shinsou Hitoshi.

At twenty-six, Prince Hitoshi carried himself with quiet restraint. His hair was dark, his eyes sharp and unreadable. Unlike many princes, there was no arrogance in his posture, no unnecessary flourish—only control. He wore formal robes of Mumyou Koku, simple yet refined.

Yui stood as they approached. King Tsunagu descended a step from the dais, greeting them formally.

“King Satoshi of Mumyou Koku,” he said. “Welcome to Wagetsu.”

“The honor is ours,” Satoshi replied with a courteous bow. “And my condolences for the hardships your kingdom has endured.”

Yui inclined her head respectfully. “Thank you for attending my birthday banquet.”

Satoshi turned his gaze toward her, studying her briefly.

“So this is the Moon Princess,” he said. “It is a pleasure. I wish you a happy birthday Princess!”

Queen Satomi smiled warmly. “Happy birthday, Tsuki no Himegimi.”

“Thank you,” Yui replied.

Prince Hitoshi stepped forward and bowed. “Happy birthday, Hime-sama.”

His voice was calm, steady—neither warm nor cold.

Yui met his gaze and returned the bow. “Thank you, Prince Hitoshi.”

Behind her, Katsuki watched closely. Hitoshi’s eyes flickered briefly—toward the Scarlet Knight standing guard. The glance was brief, assessing, before his attention returned to the King. The guests were guided to their seats, Mumyou Koku placed among the highest honored positions.

Music resumed, and conversation slowly returned to the hall. Yui took her seat once more beside her father, her expression serene. Yet the air had changed.

From across the hall, Prince Hitoshi looked at her—not with desire, but with quiet calculation. Katsuki felt it instantly, his jaw tightening as his gaze never left Yui’s side.

She felt it too. The moon pendant rested cold against her skin. This banquet, meant to celebrate her birth, had become the first step toward a future she had not chosen.

And as lantern light danced across the hall, fate sat quietly among the guests—waiting.

-*-

The banquet hall slowly emptied as the night deepened.

Laughter faded into distant echoes, lanterns dimmed, and the warmth of celebration gave way to something colder—something far more deliberate.

Yui followed her father through a quieter wing of the palace, her sleeves gathered neatly in her hands. The moon necklace felt heavier now, as if it sensed the weight of what was to come. Her expression remained calm, trained from years of court etiquette, but her heart beat unevenly in her chest.

Behind her, Katsuki walked in silence.

As always, he kept a measured distance—close enough to protect, far enough not to intrude. His eyes never left the figures ahead of them.

They entered a private council chamber, modestly lit with paper lanterns. Sliding doors were closed gently behind them, sealing the room away from curious ears.

Already inside were the representatives of Mumyou Koku.

King Shinsou Satoshi stood near the low table, hands folded within his sleeves, his expression composed and courteous. Queen Satomi sat gracefully beside him, posture relaxed, her eyes warm with concern rather than calculation. Prince Hitoshi stood slightly behind them, his face neutral, gaze lowered.

King Tsunagu gestured for everyone to sit. Yui knelt beside her father, back straight, hands folded neatly on her lap. Katsuki took his usual position near the wall—silent, watchful, like a shadow sharpened into human form.

Satoshi was the first to speak. “Thank you for granting us this private audience,” he said smoothly. “I know how tiring such celebrations can be.”

Tsunagu nodded. “If it concerns the future of Wagetsu Koku, it is never a burden.”

Satoshi smiled. That smile was practiced—polished through years of rule.

“As you are aware,” he continued, “Mumyou Koku has long admired Wagetsu’s resilience. Despite recent difficulties, your people remain loyal, your land rich with history and spirit.”

Yui listened quietly.

“We wish to offer our support,” Satoshi said. “Financial aid. Resources. Protection, if needed.”

Queen Satomi turned toward Yui with a gentle smile. “Your people have suffered greatly. If we can ease that burden even a little, it would bring me peace.”

Yui inclined her head politely. “Your concern is appreciated.”

Tsunagu’s voice was steady. “Aid of that scale does not come without expectations.”

“Of course,” Satoshi replied without hesitation. “Which is why we propose an alliance—one that binds our kingdoms not merely through treaties, but through blood.”

The words settled heavily in the room. Yui’s fingers tightened in her sleeves, though her face did not change.

“A marriage,” Satoshi continued calmly. “Between Princess Yui and my dear brother, Prince Hitoshi.”

Queen Satomi turned toward Hitoshi, her eyes soft. Hitoshi remained silent.

Tsunagu exhaled slowly. “You are aware that Wagetsu has no male heir.”

“Precisely,” Satoshi said. “Prince Hitoshi would, in time, rule Wagetsu Koku alongside your daughter. Our kingdoms would become one.”

At the corner of the room—Katsuki’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening, though he did not move. Yui felt it—the tension radiating from him like heat—but she kept her gaze forward.

Prince Hitoshi finally spoke. “I understand the responsibility this role entails,” he said evenly. “I have no objections to the arrangement.”

His voice carried no emotion. No curiosity. No interest. Only acceptance. Yui looked at him for the first time since the conversation began. His eyes met hers briefly—cool, distant, as if she were not a person, but a position. A duty. Something in her chest ached sharply.

Queen Satomi smiled gently at Yui. “You need not decide immediately, Himegimi. Marriage is a serious matter. We would never wish to force such a choice upon you.”

Satoshi nodded in agreement. “Naturally. But time is… important.”

Tsunagu remained silent for a long moment. He looked at his daughter. Not as a king. But as a father. Yui lifted her gaze to meet his.

She wanted to speak—to say she was afraid, that her heart was already bound elsewhere, that the thought of becoming a bargaining piece felt suffocating—

But she said nothing.

Because she knew.

She knew the weight her father carried. She knew the state of their treasury, the strain on their people. She knew that refusing outright could mean further suffering.

“I will consider your proposal,” Tsunagu finally said. “For the sake of Wagetsu Koku.”

Satoshi’s smile widened, satisfaction glinting briefly in his eyes—too brief for most to notice.

But not for Katsuki.

As the formal discussion drew to a close, King Satoshi rose smoothly from his seat.

“There is one small request I wish to make,” he said, his tone polite, almost considerate. “Before any decision is finalized, I believe it would be appropriate for the young ones to speak freely—with no crowns, no councils. Just honesty.”

King Tsunagu studied him for a moment. Yui’s breath caught, though her expression remained composed.

“A private conversation,” Satoshi continued, turning slightly toward his brother. “Between Prince Hitoshi and Princess Yui.”

Queen Satomi looked at Hitoshi in mild surprise, then at Yui with a gentle, encouraging smile. “Yes… perhaps that would be best.”

Tsunagu hesitated. His eyes moved instinctively to Katsuki. Katsuki straightened at once, sensing the shift. His gaze hardened—not in defiance, but in readiness.

After a moment, Tsunagu nodded. “Very well. You may speak here.”

He stood, placing a hand briefly on Yui’s shoulder—a silent apology only she could feel.

“We will give you time.”

The kings and queen stepped out together, the sliding doors closing softly behind them.

Katsuki followed—

Until Tsunagu spoke again. “Katsuki. Stand guard outside.”

The words struck harder than any order before.

Katsuki froze for half a breath. “…Yes, Your Majesty.”

He turned without another word, positioning himself just beyond the doors. His back was straight, his presence unwavering—but his chest felt tight, as if something vital had been locked away behind those wooden panels.

Inside, the room suddenly felt too large.

Too quiet.

Yui sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, eyes lowered.

Prince Hitoshi stood across from her, arms at his sides. Without his brother’s shadow looming behind him, he seemed… emptier. Like a man existing only where he was told to stand.

Silence stretched.

Finally, Yui spoke. “…Prince Hitoshi.”

He looked at her. “Princess Yui.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “You agreed to this arrangement very quickly.”

Hitoshi did not deny it. “Because it is logical.”

Her fingers tightened slightly. “Do you wish to marry me?”

The question was direct—too direct for court etiquette. But this was meant to be honest.

Hitoshi paused, then answered calmly. “I do not feel love. Nor do I seek it.”

Yui’s chest ached, though she nodded. “Then why accept?”

“Because Wagetsu Koku needs stability,” he said. “And because my brother says this is the correct path.”

Her eyes sharpened at that. “Do you believe it is?”

He hesitated. Just briefly.

“I was told that ruling Wagetsu will prevent further conflict,” he said. “That it will protect both kingdoms.”

“And what of me?” Yui asked softly.

Hitoshi looked at her fully now. His expression was not cruel—only distant.

“You are kind. Loved by your people. You would be a capable queen.”

That was his answer.

Not wife.

Not partner.

Queen.

Yui lowered her gaze again. “I see.” She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “For me,” she said, “this marriage is not about what I want either.”

Hitoshi watched her quietly.

“I was raised to place my people before my heart,” Yui continued. “If becoming your queen will bring peace and relief to Wagetsu… then I will not refuse it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Then you agree?”

She looked up. “No,” she said gently. “I said I will consider it.”

Something unreadable crossed his face. “…I understand.”

Another silence fell. Outside the door, Katsuki stood motionless. Every instinct screamed at him to step in. To tear open the doors. To say her name. But he remained where he was. Because that was his duty.

Inside, Yui rose to her feet, smoothing her sleeves.

“Prince Hitoshi,” she said, her voice calm once more, “whatever decision is made… I hope we can at least respect each other as people.”

He inclined his head. “That much, I can promise.”

When the doors finally slid open, Katsuki turned immediately. His eyes met Yui’s. She smiled at him—soft, practiced, hiding everything. And Katsuki understood, with painful clarity—That the world was beginning to ask more of her than even he could protect her from.

-*-

Chapter Text

The night air was cool. Paper lanterns lit the corridor beyond the audience chamber, their warm glow swaying faintly as servants passed at a distance. Laughter from the banquet hall had faded, replaced by the quiet hush of a castle preparing to sleep. Princess Yui walked ahead without a word. Her steps were steady, dignified—yet Katsuki knew her too well to be fooled by that alone. He followed a pace behind her, just as he always did. Just as he had for five years.

They passed through the sliding doors that opened into the inner garden. Moonlight spilled across white gravel and still ponds, illuminating the carefully trimmed trees and stone paths. The moon hung high above Wagetsu Koku—round, luminous, watching. Yui stopped near the pond. Katsuki halted a respectful distance behind her. For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the faint ripple of water as koi moved beneath the surface. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Katsuki did not need words to understand. The way her shoulders were straight, unyielding. The calm that felt too composed to be natural. The quiet resolve in her presence.

She had decided.

Not officially. Not aloud.

But in her heart.

“You may relax,” Yui said softly. “There is no one else here.”

Katsuki’s voice was low. “I am relaxed, Hime-sama.”

She smiled faintly, though he could not see it. “The meeting,” she said after a pause. “It was… as expected.”

“Yes,” he replied.

Another silence followed. He wanted to ask her if she was well. He did not. She would answer with the truth—and neither of them could afford that.

“The Royal Family of Mumyou Koku,” Yui continued, her tone calm, measured. “They seem… confident.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “They are.”

She nodded slowly. “Confidence can be reassuring.”

Or dangerous. He did not say it.

“I will do what is necessary,” she said quietly.

There it was. Not a declaration. Not an announcement. Just a statement of fact. Katsuki felt something heavy settle in his chest.

“I expected nothing less,” he said evenly.

She turned then, finally facing him. Moonlight illuminated her face, serene and beautiful, as though untouched by the weight she carried.

“You always know,” she said. “Even when I say nothing.”

“That is my duty.”

Her gaze lingered on him. Slowly—hesitantly—her hand moved. Katsuki noticed it immediately. Her fingers brushed the air between them before closing gently around his hand.

The world stopped.

His breath caught, body freezing in place as though struck by lightning. This was wrong. This was not allowed. She was a Princess of Wagetsu.

He was her Royal Knight.

They had never crossed this line—not once. Not in five years. Not even as friends.

Not a touch.

Not a held hand.

“Hime-sama—” His voice faltered. “Please—”

She did not tighten her grip. She did not pull him closer. She simply held his hand.

Steady.

Warm.

Real.

“I know,” she said softly. “You need not say it.”

Her thumb brushed lightly against his knuckles—an unintentional movement, or perhaps one too deliberate to name.

“I wanted to thank you,” she continued. “For always understanding… without asking me to explain.”

His throat burned. “…It is my honor,” he managed.

He did not pull away. Could not. The moon pendant at her neck glowed faintly, as if responding to the moment. After a few heartbeats, she let go. Just like that. The space between them returned—wide and merciless. She stepped back, composure settling over her like a familiar cloak.

“Please escort me back,” Yui said, once more the Princess of Wagetsu.

Katsuki straightened, his hand still warm where hers had been. “Yes, Hime-sama.”

As they walked side by side—never touching again—both understood something unspoken: The decision had already been made. And that single, forbidden moment would be the closest they were ever allowed to be. The path back to the inner chambers lay just ahead, lanterns marking the way like distant stars. Katsuki walked half a step behind Yui, his posture once again flawless, his presence silent. As though nothing had happened. As though her hand had never found his.

“Wait,” Yui said suddenly.

He stopped at once. She turned to face him, the moonlight catching the silver pendant at her throat. For a moment, she simply looked at him—longer than necessary, longer than was proper.

“Katsuki,” she said, voice light, almost teasing, “you have not given me my birthday gift yet.”

He stiffened. “…I beg your pardon, Hime-sama?”

“You always do,” she continued calmly. “Every year.”

His brows drew together. “This year has been… busy.” That was an understatement. “I did not prepare anything,” he admitted, bowing his head slightly. “Please forgive me.”

She studied him, searching his face as though weighing something fragile. “If you have nothing prepared,” she said, “then I shall ask for it instead.”

His eyes lifted to hers. “As you wish.”

She took a breath. “May I ask for something I want?”

His answer came instantly, without thought. “Your wish is my command.”

The words echoed between them—familiar, formal, safe. Yui’s lips curved into a small smile. But it did not reach her eyes.

“Then,” she said quietly, “hold me.”

The world stopped.

Katsuki’s breath left him in a sharp inhale. “…Hime-sama?”

“Just for a moment,” she added quickly, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “As close as possible.”

This was wrong. Every rule he had lived by screamed at him to refuse. Every instinct told him to step back. She was a princess. He was her knight. He had sworn his loyalty to her life, not her comfort. And yet—She stood before him, asking not as a ruler, not as the Moon Princess—

But as a woman on her birthday.

“Katsuki,” she said softly, meeting his stunned gaze, “please.”

His hands trembled at his sides. If anyone saw them—If this crossed a line that could never be erased—

“…Just this once,” she added. “I will not ask again.”

That was what broke him. Slowly—carefully—Katsuki stepped forward. He did not pull her into his arms. He did not close the distance the way he wanted to. Instead, he hesitated, as though waiting for the world to strike him down.

Then Yui moved. She leaned forward, resting her forehead lightly against his chest. The contact was gentle. Intentional.

Katsuki froze completely. “Hime-sama—” his voice was hoarse.

“I know,” she whispered. “You need not do anything.”

Her hands rested against his kimono, not gripping, not clinging—just there. The moon pendant pressed softly between them. After a long, agonizing moment, Katsuki raised his arms.

Carefully.

Respectfully.

As though she were something sacred.

He wrapped them around her, holding her close—but never tight. As if even pressure might be a sin. Yui exhaled, a quiet, unsteady breath. For the first time that day, her shoulders relaxed.

The world faded.

No crowns.

No alliances.

No kingdoms on the brink of collapse.

Just the warmth of another heartbeat.

“Thank you,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “This is enough.”

Katsuki closed his eyes. He did not allow himself to press his cheek against her hair. He did not allow himself to breathe in her scent. He simply stood there, holding her, memorizing the weight of her presence—Because he knew.

Deep down. This was a farewell disguised as a gift.

After a few heartbeats, she stepped back. The distance returned. The rules snapped back into place. She smiled at him—gentle, composed, unmistakably the Moon Princess once more.

“Happy birthday to me,” she said softly.

Katsuki bowed deeply, fist pressed to his chest. “…Happy birthday, Hime-sama.”

As they walked away from the garden, neither looked back. And neither spoke of the moment that would haunt them long after the moon set over Wagetsu Koku.

-*-

Prince Hitoshi had always believed himself to be a rational man.

Emotions, in his mind, were inefficiencies—unnecessary variables that complicated decisions meant to be clean and precise. Love, especially, was something he had never tried to understand. Kings ruled with strategy, not with their hearts. That was what his brother had taught him. That was what he had accepted.

Yet as he walked through the dimly lit corridors of Wagetsu Castle, his steps slowed without him realizing it. Princess Yui lingered in his thoughts.

Not her title.

Not the alliance.

Her presence.

He paused near an open veranda, moonlight spilling across the wooden floor.

She had not spoken much during their private meeting, and yet—every word she had chosen carried weight. There had been no attempt to charm him, no softening of her resolve. She had spoken calmly, clearly, as if she were already accustomed to making decisions that cost her something.

That, more than anything, had unsettled him.

“I will do what is necessary.”

Those words echoed in his mind.

She had not pleaded.

She had not resisted.

She had not tried to win his favor.

She had simply accepted responsibility.

Hitoshi rested a hand against the pillar, staring out at the garden where moonlight painted everything silver.

He had heard stories.

The Moon Princess.

Tsukihime.

A beauty said to rival the night sky itself.

He had dismissed them all as exaggerations meant to glorify a royal figure. And yet—It had not been her white hair or her blue eyes that had stayed with him. It was the way she listened.

The way her gaze did not waver, even when the conversation turned toward her own future. The way she spoke of her people—not as numbers or resources, but as lives she carried with her at every step.

She had looked at him not as a man to impress, nor as a prince to fear—but as someone she needed to understand.

That was new.

Unsettling.

Fascinating.

Hitoshi exhaled slowly. He realized then that at some point during their conversation, he had begun to want her approval. The thought struck him like cold water. Ridiculous, he told himself. This was merely admiration. Respect. And yet his chest felt… different.

He recalled the brief moment when the doors had opened—when she had stepped out ahead of her knight. For just an instant, her expression had softened, something vulnerable flickering beneath her composure.

And behind her—The Scarlet Knight.

Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Bakugo Katsuki.

He had noticed him earlier, of course. A presence like that was impossible to ignore. The way he stood—silent, immovable, always watching her.

Not like a man guarding a princess. Like someone protecting something precious. Hitoshi felt an unfamiliar tightening in his chest. So that is how it is, he thought. Perhaps the Moon Princess was not as untouched as his brother had implied.

The realization did not anger him. It intrigued him.

“If I am to become King of Wagetsu…” he murmured to himself, “then I must understand her.”

Understand the woman who could smile for her people while accepting a fate she did not choose. For the first time in his life, the idea of marriage was no longer just a political step.

It was a challenge.

And Prince Hitoshi, who had never sought love— Found himself wanting to know what it was that made Princess Yui shine so quietly in the dark.

-*-

The morning was quiet.

Too quiet.

A pale mist lingered over Wagetsu Castle, drifting slowly through the open corridors as though reluctant to move on. The scent of wet stone and early dew filled the air, and somewhere in the distance, bells rang softly to mark the hour.

Princess Yui stood before the doors to the King’s study. Her posture was perfect. Her expression calm. Only the slow, measured rise and fall of her breath betrayed the weight of the decision she carried. Behind her, as always, stood Bakugo Katsuki.

Crimson kimono.

Unmoving stance.

Eyes forward.

He had noticed the change in her over the past few days—the quiet resolve settling into her movements, the way her smiles had become gentler, more distant. He had said nothing.

He already knew.

“Enter,” came King Tsunagu’s voice.

The doors slid open.

The study was bathed in soft morning light, shelves lined with scrolls and records of the kingdom’s long history. King Tsunagu stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the city below.

He turned when he heard their steps.

“Yui,” he said, his voice warm. “You wished to see me?”

“Yes, Chichiue.”

She stepped forward and bowed deeply. Katsuki followed suit, kneeling respectfully at the entrance, silent and watchful.

Tsunagu gestured for her to rise. “You need not be so formal with me.”

She straightened, her gaze steady. “I have come to give you my answer.”

The King’s expression shifted. He did not speak. He waited. Yui drew a slow breath.

“I have thought carefully,” she began. “Not only as your daughter… but as the future ruler of Wagetsu Koku.”

Her fingers tightened briefly within her sleeves before relaxing again. “I will accept the marriage alliance with Mumyou Koku.”

The words echoed softly in the room. For a long moment, Tsunagu said nothing. Katsuki felt his chest tighten—but his face remained impassive.

Finally, the King exhaled. “…I see.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as though steadying himself, then looked at her again. “This path will not be easy,” he said. “Once agreed upon, there will be no turning back.”

“I understand,” Yui replied calmly. “That is why I waited before coming to you.”

Tsunagu studied her—truly studied her. “You are certain this is what you want?”

Her gaze did not waver.

“What I want,” she said softly, “is for Wagetsu to survive. For our people to live without fear of hunger or ruin.” She lowered her head slightly. “If my marriage can ensure that… then I accept it willingly.”

The King’s hands trembled faintly at his sides.

“You sound far too much like a ruler,” he said quietly. “And not enough like my daughter.”

Yui smiled—small and sad. “Perhaps that is the cost of being both.”

Silence fell.

Tsunagu turned away, walking back toward the window. Outside, the city was already awake—vendors opening stalls, children running through narrow streets, life continuing as it always had.

“All your life,” he said, “I wished to give you a future where you could choose freely.”

Yui’s chest ached.

“And yet,” he continued, “you choose to bind yourself for others.”

She said nothing. Because there was nothing to deny.

“…Very well,” Tsunagu said at last, turning back to her. “I will inform King Satoshi that Wagetsu Koku accepts the alliance.”

Yui bowed deeply. “Thank you, Chichiue.”

As she straightened, Tsunagu’s gaze shifted—past her—To Katsuki. “Katsuki.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Continue to serve her as you always have,” the King said. “More than ever, she will need protection.”

Katsuki pressed his fist to the floor and bowed low. “I will give my life for her safety.”

Tsunagu nodded. Yui turned then, her eyes meeting Katsuki’s for the briefest moment. Nothing passed between them. No words. No expressions. Only understanding. As they left the study together, the decision echoed behind them—Not as a victory.

But as a quiet, irreversible sacrifice made in the name of Wagetsu Koku.

-*-

The corridors leading back to Princess Yui’s chambers were brighter than usual, sunlight pouring in through open verandas and reflecting off polished wood. Servants moved about quietly, bowing as the princess passed.

Yui walked with measured steps, her expression composed once more. Katsuki followed half a pace behind her, his presence steady and unyielding. For a moment, the heaviness of the decision lingered between them.

A hushed whisper broke the silence.

“…Is that him?”

“The Scarlet Knight…”

Yui slowed slightly. Ahead, a small group of maids stood near the corner—three of them, judging by their uniforms, newly appointed. Their movements were stiff with nervousness, their eyes widening the moment they noticed Katsuki.

He felt it immediately. The attention. The whispers. The barely concealed glances. His expression remained unchanged. Yui noticed.

She turned toward them with a gentle smile. “You must be new,” she said kindly. “How are you finding your work at Wagetsu Castle?”

The maids startled, bowing hurriedly.

“Y-Yes, Himegimi!” one of them replied. “Everyone has been very kind to us.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Yui said warmly. “If there is anything troubling you, you may always speak to the head maid—or to me.”

Their eyes flickered again. Not to her. To Katsuki. Yui followed their gaze and smiled knowingly.

“Oh,” she said lightly, “it seems rude of me not to introduce him properly.”

She turned slightly. “This is Bakugo Katsuki,” she said. “The Royal Knight, you might have heard of him as Kurenai no Kishi (The Scarlet Knight).”

Katsuki inclined his head just enough to be polite. “…Good day.”

That was all. The maids froze. One of them blushed fiercely. Another swallowed nervously. Yui hid a small smile behind her sleeve.

As they continued walking, she glanced back at him. “You truly make an impression,” she said teasingly. “If you continue behaving so coldly and keeping your distance from women, no one will ever marry you.”

Katsuki did not even blink. “That is of no concern to me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” His reply was immediate, flat. “My parents are already persistent enough about it,” he continued. “I do not need you adding to it as well, Hime-sama.”

Yui stopped. He halted at once. She turned, amusement lighting her eyes.

“Is that a complaint?” she asked.

“…No.”

She laughed softly—a sound light enough to momentarily cut through the weight they both carried.

“You are truly hopeless,” she said fondly.

“Perhaps,” Katsuki replied, unfazed. “But it makes things simpler.”

She studied him then, her smile softening. “Do you never think about your own happiness, Katsuki?”

He met her gaze, expression unwavering. “My duty is far more important than my personal happiness.”

The words were spoken without hesitation. Without regret. Yui’s laughter faded into something quieter.

“I see,” she said.

They resumed walking. Yet as they neared her chambers, Yui let out a small, almost thoughtful chuckle.

“If that is the case,” she said lightly, “then perhaps Wagetsu Koku is fortunate to have a knight who would sacrifice even that.”

Katsuki did not answer. Because some sacrifices were never meant to be spoken aloud. And some happiness—was never meant to be chosen.

-*-

The reply from Mumyou Koku to King Tsunagu’s information arrived sooner than expected. Sealed with the crest of King Shinsou Satoshi, the letter was delivered directly to King Tsunagu’s study. Its contents were brief, precise—and carried an unmistakable sense of satisfaction.

Wagetsu Koku had accepted the alliance and Mumyou Koku was very happy about it. Within the hour, preparations began. When Yui was informed, she listened quietly, hands folded neatly before her.

“Prince Hitoshi will arrive shortly,” her father said. “He wishes to spend time here—so that you may become familiar with one another before anything is formally announced.”

“I understand, Chichiue,” Yui replied calmly.

-*-

The courtyard was bathed in sunlight as the procession from Mumyou Koku arrived. Banners bearing their sigil fluttered in the breeze, and armored escorts lined the path. Princess Yui stood beside her father at the top of the steps, dressed in a refined kimono of pale silver and blue. Her expression was composed, serene.

Behind her—just a step to the side—Stood Bakugo Katsuki.

Crimson. Unmoving. Watchful.

Prince Hitoshi dismounted and approached, his posture formal, his expression calm—but there was something different about him now.

Something deliberate. He stopped before Yui and Tsunagu, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty,” he said respectfully. “Princess Yui.”

Then—before protocol could halt him—He knelt. Katsuki’s breath caught. Hitoshi reached for Yui’s hand with careful reverence, lifting it gently. And pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles. The world tilted.

It was brief. Proper. Courtly.

Yet unmistakably intimate.

A declaration without words. Katsuki’s vision narrowed. Heat surged through his veins, sharp and uncontrollable, his hands clenching at his sides. Every instinct screamed to step forward, to knock the prince away, to reclaim something that was never his to claim.

But his face—his face remained carved from stone. Royal Knight. Guardian. Nothing more. Yui did not pull her hand away. But she did not lean into the gesture either.

Her smile was polite, reserved. “Welcome to Wagetsu, Prince Hitoshi,” she said evenly.

Katsuki barely heard it. All he could feel was the ghost of her warmth—the memory of her body against his chest. The quiet weight of her head resting there. A closeness that had never been allowed to exist. And now—this.

A rightful touch.

A permitted one.

Something cracked. Only one person noticed. From his position near the guards, Kirishima Eijiro glanced over. He had known Katsuki long enough to recognize the signs. The slight tightening of his jaw. The way his shoulders had gone rigid. The faint tremor in his clenched fists. Kirishima’s brows furrowed.

Damn…

But Katsuki did not move.

Did not react.

Did not falter.

The meeting continued as planned, voices blending into a blur of formal greetings and diplomatic pleasantries. Yet as they proceeded into the castle, Kirishima fell into step beside him.

“…You okay?” he murmured under his breath.

Katsuki’s eyes never left the path ahead. “As usual…”

It was a lie. And Kirishima knew it. Because the Scarlet Knight—who had never feared battle—was fighting something far more dangerous than any enemy he had ever faced.

-*-

The formal welcome concluded with practiced efficiency. Servants dispersed, guards returned to their posts, and the echo of footsteps gradually faded from the courtyard. Sunlight still lingered, but the warmth it carried no longer reached Katsuki.

King Tsunagu turned to his daughter. “Yui,” he said gently, “Prince Hitoshi will be staying with us for some time. Please show him around the castle and see him to his guest chambers.”

Yui’s fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves. “…Chichiue.” She hesitated.

It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Katsuki saw it.

The King’s gaze softened—but his voice remained firm. “Go.”

She bowed her head. “Yes.”

Prince Hitoshi inclined his head in thanks, stepping closer to her side. As Katsuki moved instinctively to follow, his foot barely lifting from the ground—

“Wait, Katsuki-kun…” The command was calm.

Absolute. Katsuki stopped. The air shifted.

“…Your Majesty?” he asked, disbelief slipping through despite his control.

“There is no need for you to accompany them,” King Tsunagu said evenly. “Let them walk privately.”

For a heartbeat, Katsuki forgot how to breathe. In five years—five years of standing at her side. Of guarding her steps. Of being her shadow. He had never once been asked to leave her alone with anyone. Not even nobles. Not even allies.

Yui turned sharply. “Chichiue—”

“It is my decision,” the King said, meeting her gaze. “You may go.”

Katsuki’s fists clenched. Every part of him rebelled. He wanted to insist. To argue. To remind the King of protocol. Of danger. Of duty. But this was an order. And he was a knight.

“…Understood,” Katsuki said at last, bowing deeply. “I obey.”

Yui’s eyes met his. Just once. There was no panic in them. No fear. Only something quiet and aching. Something that looked far too much like apology. Then she turned away.

“Prince Hitoshi,” she said softly, “this way.”

They walked on together, their figures growing smaller with each step. Katsuki remained where he stood. Still. Silent. Until they disappeared around the corner.

Only then did King Tsunagu speak again. “Katsuki-kun.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I know what I am asking of you,” the King said quietly. “And I know it is cruel.”

Katsuki did not respond.

“I do not want my daughter to marry out of obligation alone,” Tsunagu continued. “If there is even a chance that she may find happiness… I want her to be allowed that freedom.”

His gaze was steady. Uncompromising.

“When Prince Hitoshi is with her,” he said, “you will keep your distance. Let them be alone.”

The words struck deeper than any blade. Katsuki swallowed.

“…As you command.”

The King watched him carefully. “You are loyal,” Tsunagu said. “And you are strong. But understand this—protecting her does not always mean standing beside her.”

Katsuki bowed low, fist pressed to the floor. “I exist to serve her future,” he said. “Whatever form it takes.”

Tsunagu nodded once. “Very well. You may go.”

As Katsuki turned to leave, his chest felt unbearably tight. He did not look back. Because if he did—he might not have been able to walk away at all.

-*-

The corridors grew quieter the deeper they walked into the guest wing. Soft light filtered through tall windows, illuminating painted screens and polished floors, yet the space between Princess Yui and Prince Hitoshi felt heavier than the stone walls themselves. Yui walked with measured steps, her posture flawless. Yet her thoughts were far from steady.

Katsuki…

The moment replayed again and again—her father’s voice, calm yet unyielding, stopping him from following her. The absence behind her felt wrong. Unnatural. As though a part of the world had been quietly removed.

Prince Hitoshi noticed.

The silence. The way her gaze drifted forward without truly seeing. The faint tension in her shoulders.

“Princess Yui,” he said at last, breaking the quiet. “May I ask you something?”

“Yes, Prince Hitoshi.”

“I have heard much about Bakugo Katsuki,” he said. “They say his strength rivals the entire battalions.”

Yui’s steps slowed almost imperceptibly. “He has been my Royal Guard for the past five years,” she replied evenly. “He has protected me since the day he was appointed.”

Hitoshi nodded thoughtfully. “You seem to place great trust in him.”

“I do,” she said simply.

They continued walking. Soon, the entrance to the guest chambers came into view—grand sliding doors adorned with gold accents, prepared especially for a royal guest. Hitoshi spoke again, his tone softer now, almost contemplative—but Yui barely registered his words.

Her mind was still on the absence at her back. On the space where Katsuki should have been.

He should be here.

Hitoshi noticed the way her attention slipped past him. A faint tightening crossed his expression. Without warning, he stepped closer. Too close. His fingers lifted, brushing lightly against a loose strand of her white hair, twirling it between them.

“Hime,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips, “soon I will make you think only of me.”

Yui froze. Her breath stopped. The world narrowed to the closeness she had never allowed—never experienced. Not even Katsuki had stood this close. Not even Katsuki had crossed this line. Her heart screamed his name. She stepped back sharply. Hitoshi stilled, surprise flashing across his face.

“Prince Hitoshi,” Yui said, her voice calm but edged with unmistakable steel, “I believe you are already aware that we do not share such feelings.”

Her blue eyes met his, unwavering.

“I ask that you keep a respectful distance between us.”

The words were clear. Absolute. Hitoshi stared at her for a moment, genuinely taken aback. Then he straightened, bowing deeply, one hand pressed to his chest.

“I apologize, Himegimi,” he said sincerely. “However, regarding the feelings you speak of—I assure you, I do hold them for you.”

Yui’s eyes widened. She had not expected that. Not so soon. Not so directly. For a brief moment, she said nothing. Then she bowed, formal and composed.

“You…must be tired from your long journey,” she said evenly. “Please take some rest.”

She turned away immediately. And left. Without looking back. Behind her, Prince Hitoshi remained standing before his chambers, watching her retreating figure—his expression unreadable.

-*-

The corridor outside the audience hall stood silent.

Katsuki remained exactly where he had been left—back straight, arms at his sides, expression carved from stone. To anyone passing by, he looked no different than he always did: the flawless Royal Guard, unshaken and unmovable.

But Kirishima knew better. He approached slowly, boots echoing softly against the marble floor. He stopped beside Katsuki, not saying anything at first. Silence had always been safer with him.

“You’re cracking,” Kirishima said at last, quietly.

Katsuki didn’t turn his head. “I’m fine.”

Kirishima snorted under his breath. “Yeah. And I’m the King.”

Still no reaction. But Kirishima saw it—the way Katsuki’s jaw was clenched too tightly, the way his fists had curled just enough to whiten his knuckles.

“She left with him,” Kirishima continued carefully. “Didn’t she.”

Katsuki swallowed. “…Yes.”

The word felt heavy. Kirishima leaned back against the pillar beside him. “Five years, man. You’ve never been ordered to stay back. Not once.”

Katsuki’s voice came out low. Controlled. Dangerous. “It’s the King’s will.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Silence stretched again. Katsuki’s mind betrayed him—unwanted, relentless. The image of Prince Hitoshi kneeling, lifting Yui’s hand, pressing his lips against her skin. And then—

Her arms around him. Her warmth.

Hold me. As close as possible.

His chest tightened.

“…I was cruel,” Katsuki muttered suddenly.

Kirishima glanced at him. “What?”

“To think I could stand beside her,” Katsuki said, voice rougher now, “protect her, breathe the same air… and still believe this wouldn’t happen.”

Kirishima’s expression softened. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Katsuki scoffed quietly. “I did. I wanted more.”

Kirishima straightened, his voice firm but gentle. “Wanting doesn’t make you weak. Acting on it would’ve—yeah. But you didn’t.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “My duty,” he said. “That’s all I am allowed.”

Kirishima studied him for a long moment. “And if duty is killing you?”

Katsuki didn’t answer. Because the truth was already there—etched into his silence.

Kirishima placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “Listen to me. You’re the strongest guy I know. Not just with a blade.”

Katsuki finally turned his head slightly.

“If you break,” Kirishima continued, “it won’t be because you’re weak. It’ll be because you carried too much alone.”

Katsuki closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, the cracks were gone. The Royal Guard stood tall once more.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

Kirishima smiled faintly. “Anytime, partner.”

Down the corridor, the doors to the guest chambers closed softly. And somewhere beyond them—two hearts moved closer by fate, while another was forced to stand still, bound by duty.

-*-

Chapter Text

Days passed within the walls of Wagetsu, quietly yet heavily, as if the castle itself was holding its breath. Princess Yui carried on with her duties as she always had—graceful, composed, unwavering. And now, those duties often included spending time with Prince Hitoshi. This afternoon, they sat together in the royal garden.

Sunlight filtered gently through the leaves above, scattering warmth over the stone path and the white table placed between them. The porcelain teacups remained mostly untouched, steam curling lazily into the air. Yui sat perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap, her expression calm and serene.

Hitoshi observed her quietly. “Is the tea to your liking, Himegimi?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a small nod. “It is.”

Silence followed. It had become common between them—measured, careful, polite. As Yui lifted her teacup, her eyes drifted across the garden without intention. And then they stopped. Near the training grounds, Bakugo Katsuki stood surrounded by soldiers. His voice carried clearly, sharp and commanding as steel clashed against steel.

“Again. Don’t drop your guard.”

He moved among them with confidence, correcting stances, demonstrating strikes with ruthless precision. Every motion was controlled, powerful—unyielding. Yui’s fingers tightened around her teacup. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was. Five years.

That was how long he had stood by her side. Always a step behind, always watching, always ready. Prince Hitoshi noticed the change immediately.

He followed her gaze and saw the man she was watching. But more than that, he noticed how she was watching him. Something in his expression shifted.

“…Bakugo Katsuki,” he said. “Your Royal Guard.”

Yui blinked, her focus snapping back. “Yes.”

Hitoshi’s eyes lingered on Katsuki for a moment before returning to her. “Princess,” he asked, calmly yet directly, “do you have feelings for him?”

The question struck without warning. Yui stiffened. Her teacup paused in midair before she slowly placed it back onto the table.

“…Why would you ask that?” she said, her voice steady despite the sudden tension in her chest.

Hitoshi tilted his head slightly. “Because people do not look at someone that way without meaning.”

For a fleeting second, her composure wavered. Unspoken thoughts rushed through her mind—memories, quiet moments, a warmth she had never allowed herself to name. And with them came another thought, heavier than all the rest.

I cannot afford this.

She straightened, her expression smoothing into practiced calm. “I am a Princess of Wagetsu,” she said evenly. “What I feel is irrelevant compared to what I must do.”

Hitoshi watched her carefully.

“The person I am to marry,” she continued, meeting his gaze without hesitation, “is you. There is no reason for you to doubt that.”

The words were firm. Final. Yet inside, her heart tightened painfully. She looked down at her tea, hiding the way her fingers trembled. Hitoshi studied her for a long moment before his lips curved into a quiet smile.

“…I understand,” he said. “Your resolve only deepens my respect for you.”

Yui inclined her head politely. Across the garden, Katsuki barked another command, unaware that he had been the subject of a question that Yui had buried with practiced grace. And as the breeze stirred the blossoms above them, the silence between duty and desire grew deeper—unseen, but unbreakable.

-*-

The clang of steel finally faded as Katsuki raised his hand, signaling a break.

“Enough,” he said. “Rest. Hydrate. We resume in a quarter.”

The soldiers scattered quickly, some collapsing onto the grass, others leaning against wooden racks with relieved groans. Katsuki stepped away from the training grounds, the familiar weight in his chest heavier than the armor on his limbs.

He removed his gloves and sat on a stone bench beneath a maple tree, elbows resting on his knees. Sweat clung to his brow, but his breathing was steady—controlled. His eyes, however, betrayed him. Across the garden, at a distance he pretended not to notice, the white silhouette of the Princess remained seated with Prince Hitoshi.

He did not allow himself to look for long.

It’s decided, he told himself.

She has chosen the kingdom.

And yet—

“Bakugo-sama?”

The voice was soft, hesitant, yet steady. Katsuki looked up. A royal maid, Kusunoki Mai, stood before him, her hands clenched tightly around the folds of her uniform. Her posture was straight, but her eyes held a resolve that caught him off guard. She was one of the chief maids of the Princess

“Yes?” he replied, his tone neutral.

She swallowed. “I… I apologize for disturbing you while you are resting.”

“Speak,” he said simply.

Her fingers trembled as she took a step closer—close enough that he could see she was not afraid. Nervous, yes. But not afraid.

“I have admired you for a long time, Bakugo-sama,” she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to remain composed. “Your strength… your loyalty… the way you protect the Princess and this kingdom.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened.

“I know my place,” she continued quickly, bowing her head. “I do not expect anything in return. But I could not forgive myself if I did not say this at least once.”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I… I have feelings for you.”

Silence fell between them. Katsuki did not move. No one had ever said those words to him so directly. Glances, whispers, shy looks—he had noticed them all and ignored them all. Fear usually kept distance where admiration existed. But this girl stood firm.

And still—his thoughts betrayed him. Moonlight-colored hair. Calm blue eyes. A gentle voice that spoke his name without title when no one else was around.

She is not yours.

He exhaled slowly. “…You’re brave,” he said at last.

The maid stiffened, hope flickering in her eyes.

“But I cannot answer you now,” he continued. “This isn’t something I can decide lightly.”

Her shoulders trembled. “I understand,” she said softly. “May I… may I wait for your answer?”

Katsuki hesitated. Waiting was dangerous. For her. For him.

“…Give me time,” he said instead. “That’s all I can ask.”

The maid bowed deeply, relief and disappointment mingling on her face. “Thank you for hearing me, Bakugo-sama.”

She turned and left quietly, leaving him alone once more beneath the tree. Katsuki leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes. The sun was warm. But his chest felt unbearably cold.

She has already chosen her path, he reminded himself. And I must walk mine.

Yet no matter how many times he told himself that, his heart refused to listen.

-*-

Soft morning light filtered into Princess Yui’s chambers, brushing against silk curtains and polished wooden floors. The room was alive with quiet movement—maids stepping lightly, trays being set down, delicate ornaments arranged with care.

Yui stood before the mirror, her long white hair falling freely down her back as Tohru carefully adjusted the layers of her kimono. Pale blue fabric, embroidered faintly with moon motifs, rested against her skin—elegant yet restrained, befitting both her status and her temperament.

Around them, two other maids assisted silently. One of them—Kusunoki Mai—kept her head bowed lower than usual. Her hands trembled slightly as she arranged the Princess’s sash, her thoughts far from the task before her.

Bakugo-sama…

The memory of his steady gaze, his calm refusal, replayed itself again and again in her mind.

Give me time.

Those words had neither accepted nor rejected her—and somehow, that uncertainty weighed heavier than rejection ever could.

“Princess,” a guard announced softly from outside the chamber, “Bakugo-sama has arrived, as per your request.”

Yui turned slightly. The sliding door opened briefly. Katsuki’s presence filled the doorway instantly—tall, imposing, clad in his crimson kimono and armor guards, posture straight as ever. His sharp eyes swept the room instinctively, ensuring her safety before anything else.

For a split second, Mai’s breath caught. She froze. Katsuki noticed her stiffened posture—but said nothing. His expression remained neutral, unreadable.

“I will be outside,” he said formally to Yui, bowing once before stepping back.

The door slid shut. Only then did Mai finally exhale, shoulders sagging in relief as if she had been holding her breath for far too long. Yui noticed. She always did.

“…Mai,” Yui said gently, meeting her reflection in the mirror. “Is something wrong?”

Mai flinched slightly. “N–No, Hime-sama. I am fine.”

Yui turned to face her fully, her expression calm but observant. “You are trembling.”

Tohru stepped back quietly, understanding the Princess’s tone well enough to know this was not an interrogation—but concern.

Yui smiled softly. “You may speak freely. You know that.”

Mai hesitated. The room felt suddenly too quiet.

“…I spoke out of turn,” Mai said finally, her voice low. “Please forgive me.”

Yui approached her slowly. “You have done nothing that requires forgiveness.”

Mai clenched her fists, then bowed deeply. “Yesterday… I confessed my feelings to Bakugo-sama.”

The words landed heavier than Mai expected. Yui stilled.

“…I see,” she said after a brief pause.

Mai lifted her head, eyes glossy. “I know it was foolish. I know someone like me has no place—”

“That is not true,” Yui interrupted softly.

Mai blinked.

Yui’s gaze was steady, kind. “What did he say?”

“He… he asked me to give him time,” Mai answered. “He did not reject me outright. But he did not accept either.”

Her lips trembled. “I do not know whether I should hope… or prepare myself to give up.”

Silence filled the room once more. Yui felt something twist quietly inside her chest—not sharp, not painful. Just… heavy. She turned back to the mirror, her reflection meeting her own eyes.

Katsuki…

So even now—others could reach toward him. Others could stand beside him freely.

“…Katsuki is not someone who speaks lightly,” Yui said carefully. “If he asked for time, it means he is thinking seriously.”

Mai looked at her in surprise. “You think so, Hime-sama?”

Yui nodded faintly. “Yes.”

She smiled gently at the maid. “You were brave to speak your feelings. Whatever his answer may be… you should be proud of that.”

Mai’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Just then, the sound of footsteps approached again.

“The carriage is ready, Princess,” Katsuki’s voice came from beyond the door.

Yui straightened, composure returning effortlessly to her posture. “Let us go,” she said softly.

As the maids finished their final adjustments, Mai glanced once more toward the door.

Bakugo-sama…

Outside, Katsuki stood waiting, unaware that within the room behind him, two hearts—very different, yet equally restrained—had just brushed against the same truth. That love, when left unspoken, still finds a way to be heard.

-*-

The procession left the castle just before noon. Princess Yui’s carriage rolled forward slowly, its pale curtains swaying gently with each turn of the wheels. Inside, she sat with composed grace, hands folded neatly in her lap. Across from her sat Prince Hitoshi, his posture relaxed, his eyes never leaving her for long.

Behind them followed a small escort—Tohru, two maids, several soldiers, and Bakugo Katsuki riding on horseback, positioned slightly ahead and to the side, where he could see everything. The King’s words echoed in Katsuki’s mind. His grip tightened briefly on the reins. Inside the carriage, Hitoshi’s voice filled the silence that Yui herself did not break.

“The road here is well maintained,” he remarked. “Your kingdom may be struggling, but the people seem diligent.”

“They are,” Yui replied softly. “Wagetsu survives because of them.”

Hitoshi smiled faintly. “You speak like a ruler already.”

Yui did not respond to that. She watched the scenery pass by instead—fields still scarred by flooding, homes rebuilt with care rather than excess. This land was her heart, her responsibility. Whatever path awaited her… it would be for this. The ride continued in subdued quiet, broken only by Hitoshi’s occasional questions, which Yui answered politely, never offering more than needed.

When they finally reached the village, the atmosphere shifted. The villagers bowed deeply as the Princess stepped down from the carriage, her presence immediately bringing warmth to their expressions.

“Himegimi!”

“Tsukihime-sama!”

Their voices overlapped, full of affection. Yui smiled—genuinely—and greeted them in return, introducing Prince Hitoshi as she did.

“This is the village where many of our castle guards come from,” she explained to him as they walked. “They know this land better than anyone.”

A few soldiers stepped forward, speaking proudly of their homes, of their families, of how they had trained since boyhood to protect both village and crown. Hitoshi listened attentively, nodding, asking questions.

Yui’s attention drifted. A sudden movement caught her eye. A cat, white with patches of gray, darted across the road, limping badly. A dog burst after it, barking wildly.

Yui’s breath hitched. “…That cat—”

Without waiting, she turned and followed, her steps quick and light as she slipped past the edge of the village and toward the forest.

But Katsuki had already seen.

“Princess!” he barked, running behind her.

The sky cracked open. Rain poured down suddenly, violent and heavy, soaking the earth within seconds.

“Damn it—” Katsuki muttered. He turned sharply to the soldiers. “Stay with the Prince. Protect the maids.”

“But Bakugo-sama—”

“That’s an order.”

Without another word, he ran. Branches whipped against his arms as he pushed through the forest, rain blurring his vision, heart pounding with a single thought.

Don’t be hurt. Please—

Yui found the cat near a fallen tree, shivering, its leg twisted unnaturally.

“Oh… you poor thing,” she whispered.

She knelt without hesitation, rain soaking through her sleeves as she gently approached. The cat hissed weakly, but her voice soothed it.

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

Tearing a strip from the hem of her kimono, she carefully wrapped the injured leg, her movements delicate, precise. She cradled the cat against her chest, shielding it from the rain as best she could.

That was when a sharp voice cut through the storm. “What the hell are you doing, Hime-san!?”

Yui looked up. Katsuki stood a few steps away, drenched, hair plastered to his face, eyes blazing with fear and fury.

“The cat is injured,” she said calmly, lifting it slightly. “I couldn’t leave it.”

His fists clenched. “You ran into the forest. Alone.” His voice shook—not with anger, but terror he refused to name.

The rain fell harder, drumming against leaves and earth, wrapping them both in cold and chaos.

Yui met his gaze steadily. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

That apology only made it worse. He stepped closer, shielding her instinctively with his body as the storm raged on—two figures soaked to the bone, bound by duty, by silence, and by feelings neither of them dared to speak aloud.

The rain showed no mercy. It lashed against the forest with relentless force, the wind howling through the trees as if determined to tear the world apart. Katsuki glanced upward once, then around them—assessing, calculating—his instincts taking over completely.

“We can’t stay here,” he said sharply.

Yui tightened her hold around the injured cat, instinctively drawing it closer to her chest. Its small body trembled, but it no longer struggled. Katsuki turned, scanning the treeline.

“There,” he said suddenly.

A short distance away, half-hidden by vines and wet foliage, stood a small cottage. Old. Wooden. Its roof sagged slightly with age, but it was still standing. Without waiting, Katsuki moved. He stepped in front of Yui, shielding her from the worst of the rain as they hurried toward it. Mud clung to their feet, water soaking into every layer of fabric they wore.

Katsuki reached the door first. He shoved it open with his shoulder. The door creaked loudly, but the inside was empty. A single room. A small hearth long unused. Dust-covered shelves. No sign of recent habitation.

“Inside,” he ordered.

Yui stepped in carefully; the cat still cradled protectively in her arms. Katsuki followed immediately, shutting the door behind them with a firm push. The sound of rain pounding against the roof filled the space. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Yui lowered herself onto a low wooden bench near the wall, gently setting the cat down in her lap. Katsuki remained standing, back to the door, chest rising and falling heavily.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” he said finally, voice low.

“I didn’t,” she replied softly.

“That’s not the point.”

She looked up at him then. Rainwater dripped from his hair, down the scar on his cheek, soaking into the crimson fabric of his kimono. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched so tightly she wondered if his teeth would crack.

“…I couldn’t leave it,” she said quietly. “It was crying.”

Katsuki shut his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, his voice was calmer—controlled.

“You are the Princess of Wagetsu. Your life weighs more than—”

“A small, injured cat?” she interrupted gently.

He faltered. “…Than unnecessary risk,” he corrected.

Yui smiled faintly. “To me, no life is unnecessary.”

The words struck him harder than any blade ever had.

He turned away, running a hand through his wet hair in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re loud,” she replied lightly.

Despite himself, his lips twitched. Thunder rolled overhead. The cat let out a soft, pained sound. Yui shifted closer to the hearth, wrapping more of the torn fabric around its leg. Katsuki watched her hands—steady, gentle, practiced.

“You always do this,” he muttered.

“Do what?”

“Put yourself in danger without thinking.”

She glanced up. “That isn’t true.”

He scoffed. “You ran into a forest.”

“I thought of the cat.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

Silence fell again, filled only by rain and distant thunder. Katsuki removed his gloves, setting them aside. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he took off his outer guard and draped it carefully over Yui’s shoulders.

She froze. “Katsuki—”

“You’re cold,” he said gruffly. “Don’t argue.”

She didn’t. The warmth of it—of him—settled around her, and for a moment, the storm outside felt far away. They stood there, closer than propriety allowed, closer than either had ever permitted themselves before. Katsuki moved with purpose, scanning the dim interior once more.

“There’s got to be something…” he muttered.

Near the far wall, half-buried beneath years of neglect, he found it—a folded futon and an old sheet, both dusty, both dry enough to be useful. He shook them out briskly, dust rising in pale clouds. The smell of age lingered, but it was shelter. Warmth.

He brought them to her. “Here,” he said, placing them carefully beside her. “Use this.”

Yui looked at the futon, then at him—eyes widening as she understood.

“K-Katsuki—!” Her cheeks flushed instantly. “That’s not— I can’t—”

“You’re soaked,” he interrupted bluntly. “If you catch a cold, Heika will kill me. And Denka might finish the job.”

“That’s not a reason—”

“And besides,” he added, lips curling into a faint, teasing smirk, “you might not catch a cold anyway. Idiots usually don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You—!”

She glared at him, torn between embarrassment and irritation. “…Fine,” she said at last, huffing. “But don’t look.”

“As if I would,” he replied, already turning away.

He faced the wall immediately, closing his eyes on instinct, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His heart, traitorous as ever, beat faster than it ever had on a battlefield. Behind him, there was the faint rustle of fabric. Neither of them spoke.

After a moment, Yui’s voice broke the silence—soft, but firm. “Katsuki.”

“…What.”

“You’re drenched too.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she insisted. “If you get sick, who will protect me?”

He scoffed. “I’m stronger than you think.”

“That’s not the point,” she said, a little sharper now. “You always do this. You think your body doesn’t matter.”

“…It doesn’t,” he replied quietly.

She frowned. “Take off your wet clothes,” she said.

“No.”

“Katsuki.”

“No.”

She stood, clutching the sheet around herself, and walked closer—too close. He could feel her presence even without turning.

“You never listen,” she complained softly. “Always acting like you’re invincible.”

“I don’t need—”

“It’s my order.”

The words landed heavy. His shoulders stiffened.

“…Tch.”

He exhaled sharply, defeated. “You’re cruel.”

She didn’t reply—but he could hear the small smile in her silence.

“There’s only one sheet,” he pointed out.

“I know.”

Another pause.

“…We’ll share,” she said quietly.

The rain grew louder, as if to hide the sound of his heartbeat. Slowly, reluctantly, Katsuki did as Princess told, keeping his back turned, movements careful, restrained. When he finally sat down beside her on the futon, a respectful distance between them, the sheet draped over both their shoulders, the space felt far smaller than before.

Warmth seeped through their skin as they touched accidently. Not just from shared body heat—but from something else neither of them dared name. Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, two hearts remained painfully, achingly close—bound by duty, by restraint, and by a longing they refused to speak aloud.

Yui was the first to speak. “…Katsuki.”

He hummed quietly in response; eyes fixed on the wooden floor ahead.

“About earlier,” she said gently. “The maid—Mai.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“She is a good girl,” Yui continued. “Kind. Gentle. She worries easily, but she works sincerely. I can tell she gathered a lot of courage to speak to you.”

Silence.

“You should think of her seriously,” Yui said, her voice calm, measured—too composed. “She would make someone very happy.”

Katsuki’s hands curled slowly into fists beneath the sheet. His heart answered instantly.

There is no one else.

But that was a truth he was never allowed to voice.

“…She’s brave,” he said at last. “I won’t treat her feelings lightly.”

It was the only answer he could give. Yui smiled faintly, though something in her eyes dimmed. She lowered her gaze, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the sheet. After a moment, Katsuki spoke again—changing the subject deliberately.

“Hitoshi Denka,” he said. “He seems… decent.”

Yui looked up at him in surprise.

“He listens,” Katsuki continued carefully. “He respects the people. And…” His voice dropped. “Heika believes he can make you happy.”

The rain filled the space between them again. Yui’s smile this time was fragile—almost painful to look at.

“…Chichiue wants my happiness,” she said softly. “I know that.”

She looked down at her hands, pale against the fabric. “But happiness isn’t something I can choose.”

Katsuki turned toward her fully then, forgetting caution, forgetting distance.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low.

She met his eyes. “I can never be happy with him,” she said—not bitterly, not angrily. Just truthfully. “But if marrying him saves Wagetsu… if it keeps my people fed, safe, alive—”

Her voice wavered for just a moment before she steadied it. “—then sacrificing my happiness is a small price.”

Something sharp pierced Katsuki’s chest. “That’s not small,” he said harshly.

She smiled gently. “It is to me.”

Thunder rolled distantly. Katsuki leaned forward slightly, his expression intense—not angry, not cold, but burning with something raw.

“What if there’s another way?” he asked.

She blinked.

“A way to save the people,” he continued, voice firm, unwavering, “without killing your heart.”

Yui stared at him.

“I will find it,” he said. “No matter what it takes. I don’t care if it costs me everything.”

Her breath caught. “Katsuki…” she whispered.

He held her gaze, unflinching. “You shouldn’t have to choose between your kingdom and yourself.”

For the first time that night, her composure cracked. Tears welled in her eyes—not falling, but shining, trembling.

“You say that so easily,” she murmured. “As if such a path exists.”

“It has to,” he replied immediately. “And if it doesn’t—” He stopped himself. Then finished quietly. “—I’ll carve one out.”

The moment she lifted her hand to her eyes, trying—and failing—to stop the tears, Katsuki’s restraint finally gave way. He moved before thought could catch him. One moment there was space between them, fragile and carefully maintained—the next, he pulled her back against him.

Yui gasped softly as her back met his chest. For the first time in five years, there was nothing between them. No armor. No layers of silk or duty thick enough to pretend they were not two people pressed together in the quiet of a forgotten cottage. Skin against skin, warmth bleeding into warmth, her trembling carried straight into him. Katsuki’s breath hitched.

He had crossed a line he had sworn never to approach. His arms came around her slowly, carefully, as though she might shatter if he held her too tightly. One arm rested at her waist, the other higher, just enough to keep her close—never claiming, never demanding.

“I…” His voice was rough, unsteady. “…Don’t cry.”

Yui’s fingers tightened in the fabric near his arm. “I wasn’t supposed to,” she whispered. “A Princess shouldn’t.”

“That’s a stupid rule,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

She let out a small, broken laugh that quickly turned into a quiet sob. Her head tipped back, resting against his shoulder, surrendering her weight to him just a little. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Yui said softly, “You’re warm.”

Katsuki swallowed. “You’re freezing.”

Another pause.

“If I were someone else,” she murmured, voice barely there, “I think I would have chosen differently.”

His chest tightened painfully. “If I were someone else,” he replied just as quietly, “I wouldn’t be standing behind you pretending this is enough.”

Her breath caught. They did not say love. They did not need to. Yui leaned into him, just slightly—an unconscious motion, honest and unguarded. Katsuki felt it like a blow to the chest. His hold tightened a fraction, protective, desperate.

“You always stand behind me,” she said. “No matter what path I walk.”

“Because that’s my place,” he answered.

“And if that path breaks you?” she asked.

“Then it breaks me,” he said without hesitation. “At least I’ll know I didn’t let you walk it alone.”

Her tears finally fell, silent and warm against his arm. “Katsuki…” she breathed.

He rested his forehead lightly against her hair, eyes shut, every muscle tense with the effort not to cross further lines he would never be allowed to return from.

“You don’t have to be strong here,” he said. “Just for now.”

In the shelter of the storm, wrapped in nothing but a thin sheet and a truth too heavy to speak aloud, they stayed like that—her back against his chest, his heart breaking quietly behind her, both knowing this closeness was fleeting, and that it would haunt them long after the rain stopped.

-*-

While the forest swallowed Yui and Katsuki in rain and unspoken truths, the others sought shelter elsewhere. A nearby merchant’s house had opened its doors to them without hesitation. The soldiers stood near the entrance, dripping water onto the wooden floor, while Tohru thanked the merchant repeatedly. Prince Hitoshi sat near the hearth, hands folded neatly, eyes fixed on the dancing fire.

But his thoughts were far from warm.

Princess Yui…

The Scarlet Knight…

The image would not leave him. The Princess disappearing into the forest without hesitation. The Royal Knight chasing after her without a second thought. It was worry at first. Then something else crept in—quiet, unsettling.

Why does it bother me so much?

He told himself it was concern for her safety. He was, after all, to be her future husband. It was natural. And yet, the idea of the two of them alone somewhere in the rain twisted something deep inside his chest. The rain continued relentlessly outside, drumming against the roof, stretching the wait longer than it should have been.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sound softened. Then stopped.

“They should return soon,” one of the soldiers said.

Hitoshi nodded, but his gaze remained distant. When Yui and Katsuki finally emerged from the treeline after some time, both drenched, clothes clinging to them more than propriety allowed, Hitoshi stood at once.

Yui held a small cat in her arms, wrapped carefully in torn fabric. Its injured leg was bound, its body pressed protectively against her chest.

“Princess!” Tohru rushed forward. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Yui replied calmly. “It was only the rain.”

Katsuki stood slightly behind her, expression unreadable, eyes lowered—not meeting anyone’s gaze. Something was… different. Hitoshi felt it immediately. The air between them was heavy, taut with something unseen.

“Princess,” he said gently as they began the return to the carriage, “what happened?”

Yui looked at him, then down at the cat. “It was injured. I followed it into the forest. Bakugo-san found me and brought me to shelter.”

Her voice was steady. Controlled. Too controlled.

“And the cat?” Hitoshi asked.

“I treated its leg,” she said. “We couldn’t leave it.”

Hitoshi nodded, though his eyes lingered on Katsuki—on the way the knight walked slightly closer to her than before, on the way Yui unconsciously slowed her steps to match his pace. The ride back to the castle was silent. No polite conversation.

No gentle questions. Yui sat composed, eyes forward, holding the cat securely. Katsuki remained outside the carriage, rainwater dripping from his hair, jaw clenched, gaze fixed ahead. Prince Hitoshi watched them both from within.

Something changed, he realized.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no exchanged glances, no visible closeness. But the silence between them spoke louder than words ever could. Whatever had happened in the rain—it had drawn a line. And Hitoshi could not stop wondering whether he had already arrived too late.

-*-

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered softly into the audience chamber of Wagetsu, illuminating the polished wooden floors and the moon-crest banners lining the walls. King Tsunagu sat at his desk, reviewing reports—grain supply, flood recovery, village repairs—when the attendant announced the visitor.

“Prince Hitoshi seeks an audience.”

Tsunagu looked up. “Send him in.”

Prince Hitoshi entered with composed steps, bowing deeply as etiquette demanded. His expression was calm, respectful—but his eyes held a quiet resolve.

“Please, sit,” the King said, gesturing to the seat across from him. “What brings you here so early?”

Hitoshi took his seat, hands resting neatly on his knees. For a brief moment, he seemed to choose his words carefully.

“Your Majesty,” he began, “I wish to speak to you about Himesama.”

Tsunagu’s expression softened instinctively. “Of course.”

“There is a matter I have been contemplating since arriving at Wagetsu,” Hitoshi continued. “One that concerns her safety—and perhaps more than that.”

The King leaned back slightly, attentive now. “Go on.”

Hitoshi inhaled quietly. “I wish to request a change in the Princess’s Royal Guardian.”

The words settled heavily in the room.

King Tsunagu’s brows furrowed. “Bakugo-kun?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

Silence followed.

“Bakugo-kun has served as her guardian for five years,” the King said slowly. “He is one of the most trustworthy and capable knights in Wagetsu. His loyalty has never once been questioned.”

“I do not doubt his strength,” Hitoshi replied at once. “Nor his devotion to the Himegimi.”

Tsunagu’s eyes sharpened slightly. “Then why make such a request?”

Hitoshi met his gaze without flinching. “Because I believe,” he said carefully, “that for Hime, Bakugo Katsuki may be more than a knight assigned to protect her.”

The King froze. For the first time, surprise broke through his composed expression.

“…What do you mean?”

“I have observed them,” Hitoshi said. “Their silence. Their understanding. The way he watches her—not merely as a guard, but as someone deeply connected to her existence.”

He paused, then added honestly, “I fear that their bond may complicate matters. For her. And for the future of Wagetsu.”

King Tsunagu exhaled slowly.

“Bakugo-kun comes from a noble family,” he said after a moment. “His parents and ancestors have served this court for generations. He was chosen not only for his strength, but for his character.”

“I understand,” Hitoshi said respectfully. “That is why I bring this to you directly.”

The King’s gaze drifted toward the open veranda, toward the distant gardens where his daughter so often walked.

“…Bakugo-kun is also Yui’s dear friend,” Tsunagu said quietly. “She trusts him deeply.”

Hitoshi nodded. “That is precisely my concern.”

The King’s fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair. “It would not be easy to remove him from her side,” he admitted. “Nor would it be a decision I make lightly.” He looked back at Hitoshi. “And I will not make it alone.”

Hitoshi straightened slightly.

“This concerns my daughter,” Tsunagu continued. “I will speak with her. I owe her that much.”

Relief flickered briefly across Hitoshi’s face, quickly masked by composure.

“Thank you, Heika,” he said, bowing deeply. “For considering my request.”

As he turned to leave, the King spoke once more. “Prince Hitoshi.”

He paused.

“I want Yui’s happiness,” Tsunagu said firmly. “Whatever form it may take.”

Hitoshi inclined his head. “As do I.”

The doors slid shut behind him. Left alone, King Tsunagu stared at the moon emblem carved into his desk. A father’s worry settled heavily in his chest.

Yui…

-*-

The training grounds rang with the familiar sound of steel striking wood. Katsuki moved through the formation with practiced precision, correcting stances, knocking aside blades with sharp commands. Sweat clung to his skin, crimson sleeves rolled back, his presence alone enough to keep the soldiers focused.

“Again,” he barked. “Don’t hesitate.”

From the stone path bordering the garden, Prince Hitoshi watched. He had come straight from the King. The words exchanged in that audience chamber still lingered in his mind—but now, standing here, watching the Scarlet Knight command the field with absolute authority, something else stirred within him.

Respect.

And rivalry.

He stepped forward. “Kurenai no Kishi-san.”

Katsuki turned instantly, eyes sharp. He bowed, formal and controlled. “Denka.”

“I was hoping you would grant me a duel,” Hitoshi said evenly. “It has been a while since I crossed blades with someone… worthy.”

A ripple of murmurs ran through the soldiers.

Katsuki frowned slightly. “With all due respect, Denka, I cannot raise my sword against a Prince of another kingdom.”

Hitoshi’s gaze did not waver. “This is not politics. This is a request—from one swordsman to another.”

Katsuki hesitated. “…If anything happens—”

“I will take responsibility,” Hitoshi interrupted. “I insist.”

After a brief pause, Katsuki nodded once. “Very well.”

Hitoshi gestured to the rack nearby. “Then use your own sword. Not a practice blade.”

That earned a sharp look. “…Understood.”

Katsuki reached for his weapon, the familiar weight grounding him as he stepped into the open space. From the garden nearby, Princess Yui had stopped walking.

Tohru and Mai stood beside her as she watched the two men face each other—one bound to her by duty and silence, the other by fate and expectation.

“Begin,” Hitoshi said.

Steel rang out. Their blades clashed with force enough to send sparks skidding across the ground. Katsuki’s strikes were swift, powerful, relentless—but Hitoshi was no amateur. His movements were sharp, calculated, his defense disciplined.

The soldiers watched in awe. Katsuki pressed forward, forcing Hitoshi back step by step—until the Prince suddenly twisted, their swords locking close, faces mere inches apart.

In that narrow space, Hitoshi spoke—low enough that only Katsuki could hear.

“I know,” he said quietly, “what exists between you and the Princess.”

Time stopped.

Katsuki’s breath faltered. For the smallest fraction of a second, his focus shattered—and Hitoshi’s blade slipped past his guard. Steel bit into flesh. Katsuki hissed as pain flared along his arm, blood staining the crimson sleeve. But instinct snapped him back. He twisted away instantly, the wound shallow—painful, but far from fatal.

Hitoshi stepped back at once, lowering his sword. “…I apologize,” he said. “I did not intend to harm you.”

The silence was shattered by hurried footsteps. “Katsuki!”

Yui was already running toward him, her composure gone, eyes wide with fear. She reached him, hands hovering over the wound, trembling.

“Why would you—!” she turned sharply toward Hitoshi, anger blazing. “This was unnecessary!”

Hitoshi bowed immediately. “I apologize, Himegimi. I spoke out of turn.”

Before Yui could reply, another voice cut in.

“Hime-sama!” Kirishima Eijiro approached quickly, concern etched into his expression. “The King requests your presence. He wishes to speak with you immediately.”

Yui froze. “…Now?”

Kirishima nodded. “Yes.”

She hesitated, torn—her gaze flicking back to Katsuki, who stood stiffly, blood still seeping through the fabric. Then she noticed Mai. The maid stood pale and shaken, hands clenched tightly, eyes fixed on Katsuki’s wound.

Yui exhaled softly. “Kusunoki-san,” she said gently, turning to her. “Please tend to his injury.”

Mai startled. “Y–Yes, Hime-sama!”

Yui looked back at Katsuki one last time. “Do not argue,” she said quietly.

His eyes widened slightly. She turned and left with Kirishima, the hem of her kimono disappearing down the path. Katsuki stared after her—disbelief tightening his chest.

Even now…

Mai stepped closer, carefully pulling out clean cloth. “Bakugo-sama, please hold still.”

“…Kusunoki-san,” he said stiffly, forcing his gaze away from where Yui had gone.

From across the field, Prince Hitoshi watched them both. The Scarlet Knight bleeding. The Moon Princess walking away. And the distance between them—no longer invisible.

-*-

Mai’s hands trembled slightly as she supported Katsuki’s uninjured side, guiding him through the quiet corridors of the castle. The stone halls that usually echoed with footsteps felt unusually heavy, as if even the walls sensed the tension clinging to him. He did not protest. He did not speak. That alone told her how deeply the day had cut him—far deeper than the wound on his arm.

When they reached his room, Mai gently helped him sit on the edge of the bed. She moved quickly after that, as if staying still for even a moment might cause her courage to falter. She retrieved the wooden box containing the medicine provided by the court physician, clean cloth folded neatly beside it.

“Bakugo-sama,” she said softly, “please… remove the sleeve.”

He glanced at her once, then wordlessly loosened the ties of his kimono, pulling the fabric aside to expose the injury. The cut was angry red, already beginning to swell. Mai inhaled sharply—she focused, kneeling before him as she cleaned the wound with careful hands.

Her touch was gentle. Respectful. Almost reverent. The silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.

“…Have you,” she began hesitantly, “thought about what I said?”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened.

She immediately rushed on, voice hurried. “I—I’m not asking for an answer now. Truly. If you need more time, that’s fine. I just—”

“I’ve never had anyone do that before,” he said suddenly.

Mai froze.

“…Confess to me,” he continued quietly. “Not like that.”

His eyes were distant—not looking at her, but somewhere far away. Somewhere rain-soaked and aching.

She smiled faintly, a small, nervous chuckle escaping her. “It took a lot of courage,” she admitted. “You’re… intimidating, Bakugo-sama.”

He scoffed softly, though there was no heat in it. When she finished tying the clean cloth securely around his arm, she hesitated—then slowly, carefully, reached for his hand. Katsuki stiffened. Before he could pull away, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his knuckles.

His eyes widened.

“I know,” she said quietly, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I know who you’re really looking at.”

His breath caught.

“I’ve seen it,” she continued, voice steady despite the faint tremor beneath it. “Ever since I became Hime-sama’s maid… your eyes follow her without you even realizing. And when you look at her—” she smiled sadly, “—you look the way I look at you.”

Katsuki said nothing.

“There’s no mistaking it,” she went on softly. “So don’t worry. I won’t pretend I don’t understand.”

She squeezed his hand once, gently. “Still… I want to try. I’ll do my best to make you forget her. Even if it takes time.”

The words hit him harder than any blade. Because they were sincere. Because they were unfair. His mind betrayed him instantly—the cramped cottage, rain pounding against the roof, her tears soaking into his chest, the way they had understood each other without daring to say the truth aloud.

And yet—

She won’t change her decision.

No matter how much it hurt. No matter how deeply it carved into him. He slowly turned his gaze back to Mai.

“…I don’t have feelings for you,” he said honestly.

Her fingers twitched—but she did not pull away.

“Not yet,” he added after a moment. “But… I won’t lie to you. I don’t want to.”

He exhaled, the weight of the words heavy on his chest. “If you’re willing… I want to give it a chance.”

Mai’s eyes widened, then softened—shining, but not tearful. “That’s enough,” she whispered, smiling warmly. “That’s more than enough.”

Katsuki looked away. Because choosing to move forward didn’t mean his heart had stopped bleeding.

-*-

The evening light filtered softly through the shoji screens of the chambers, painting the room in pale gold and silver. Incense burned faintly near the window—moonflower, her mother’s favorite.

Yui sat seiza on the tatami, hands folded neatly in her lap. Across from her, King Tsunagu watched his daughter in silence. For a long moment, neither spoke.

“You’ve grown thinner,” he said at last.

Yui blinked, startled. “Chichiue…”

He smiled faintly. “A father notices such things.”

She lowered her gaze. “I am fine.”

He sighed, knowing that tone far too well. She had used it ever since she was a child—ever since she learned that showing pain worried him more than silence ever could.

“Prince Hitoshi spoke to me today,” Tsunagu said gently.

Her fingers tightened. “…About what?” she asked.

“About Bakugo-kun…”

The room seemed to still.

Yui’s breath caught for just a moment before she forced it steady. “What about him?”

Tsunagu studied her carefully—not as a King weighing alliances, but as a father looking at the child he once held in his arms on sleepless nights.

“He requested that Katsuki be relieved of his position as your Royal Guardian,” he said quietly.

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“He believes,” Tsunagu continued, choosing his words with care, “that Katsuki may be more than a knight to you.”

Yui felt as though the floor had vanished beneath her.

“That’s not—” Her voice faltered. She swallowed. “That’s not his place to say.”

“No,” the King agreed softly. “But it is my place to ask.” He leaned forward slightly. “Yui.”

That single word—her name, not her title—undid her.

“When you were small,” Tsunagu said, eyes distant now, “you used to cry whenever I left the room. You would cling to my sleeve and say, ‘Don’t go, Chichiue. The moon disappears when you leave.’”

Her lips trembled.

“You were three,” he continued. “Your mother had just passed. And yet, even then, you tried to be brave—for me.”

Yui pressed her hands tighter together.

“I promised myself that day,” Tsunagu said, voice roughening, “that I would never let you feel alone again.” He looked at her—really looked. “And yet… here you are.”

Her composure cracked.

“Katsuki has been by my side for five years,” she said softly. “He protected me when you could not. He walked with me through the villages. He listened when I spoke about the people. He scolded me when I was reckless. He—” Her voice broke. “He is my friend,” she finished quietly.

Tsunagu nodded. “I know.”

“You chose him because you trusted him,” she said. “Because you believed he would protect Wagetsu… and me.”

“Yes,” he replied. “And he has.”

She took a shaky breath. “Then please do not take him away.”

Silence.

“Yui,” Tsunagu said gently, “I am not asking as your King. I am asking as your father.” He reached out, resting his hand over hers. “Does his presence make this choice harder for you?”

Her eyes filled instantly. “I chose this path,” she whispered. “For Wagetsu. For the people. I will not turn away from it.”

“That was not my question.”

Tears spilled freely now, slipping down her cheeks. “…Yes,” she admitted. “It does.”

Tsunagu closed his eyes. “I see,” he murmured.

When he opened them again, they were shining—not with authority, but with sorrow.

“Katsuki’s family has served this court for generations,” he said. “Removing him will not be simple. And I will not do it without your consent.”

She looked at him, startled.

“But,” he added softly, “I cannot ignore the possibility that his presence may bind your heart in ways neither of you can afford.”

Yui wiped her tears, straightening her spine.

“If he is taken from my side,” she said firmly, “then let it be after I got married. Not before.”

Tsunagu studied her for a long moment.

“…You truly are your mother’s daughter,” he said quietly.

She managed a small, sad smile.

He squeezed her hand once. “Very well. I will consider Hitoshi’s request. But I will not act yet.”

Relief and pain tangled in her chest all at once.

“Chichiue,” she said softly, bowing deeply. “Thank you.”

As the King rose to leave, he paused at the door.

“Yui,” he said without turning. “If there is even the smallest path where you do not have to sacrifice your heart… I want you to take it.”

The door slid shut. Left alone, Yui stared at the moonlight spilling across the floor, wondering how long before even that gentle light would be taken from her.

-*-

Several days passed in quiet succession.

Outwardly, life in Wagetsu Koku continued as it always had—reports were delivered, soldiers trained, courtyards swept clean before dawn. Yet beneath that practiced calm, small shifts began to take shape. King Tsunagu informed Prince Hitoshi that Bakugo Katsuki would remain in his position as Royal Guardian.

The decision was measured. Deliberate. Katsuki himself knew nothing of it. Prince Hitoshi accepted the news with a polite bow and a composed smile. But inwardly, the unease he had felt since the rainy day only deepened. If the knight would not be removed, then Hitoshi would have to lessen his presence himself.

And so, he did. Whenever Yui left her chambers, Hitoshi was already there. When she took tea, he joined her. When she walked through the gardens, he matched her steps. He spoke to her often—about Mumyou and Wagetsu, about governance, about the future they were meant to share. He made it so that Katsuki’s role as her guardian became…unnecessary.

Or at least, that was the intent. Katsuki noticed. Of course he did. More and more often, he found himself standing back, watching from a distance as Prince Hitoshi occupied the space that had once been his duty. Each time, he reminded himself that this was how it should be.

This is the path she chose.

Still, the absence sat heavily in his chest.

Elsewhere in the castle, a different storm was brewing. Bakugo Mitsuki—Katsuki’s mother—moved through the inner halls with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. As the woman responsible for overseeing the Princess’s maids and the daily workings of Yui’s residence, very little escaped her notice.

And rumors? Rumors traveled fast. One evening, as Katsuki returned from training, she summoned him to her quarters. She studied him for a moment, then spoke plainly—as she always did.

“I heard you’re involved with a maid.”

Katsuki froze. “…What?”

“Kusunoki Mai,” Mitsuki continued. “People are saying she confessed to you. That you accepted her.”

His brow furrowed. “We’re not—”

“Listen,” she interrupted. “That girl sees you. Not many women do.”

He turned away slightly, jaw tightening.

“You’re difficult,” she went on, voice firm but not unkind. “Cold. Stubborn. But she looked at you and still chose you.”

Katsuki remained silent.

“I’ve watched her,” Mitsuki said. “She’s sincere. Gentle. And she’s not afraid of you. Do you know how rare that is?”

“…I didn’t accept her,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

“But you didn’t reject her either,” his mother countered.

He clenched his fist.

“You’re not getting younger,” she continued. “And with everything happening in this kingdom, you need stability too. If there is a woman willing to stand by you—”

“I don’t need—”

“Katsuki,” she cut in sharply. “This isn’t about need. It’s about choosing before fate chooses for you.”

Her words struck deeper than he expected.

“You have always lived for duty,” she said more softly now. “For the Princess. For the King. For Wagetsu. But someday, you’ll have to live for yourself.”

He said nothing.

“Marry her,” Mitsuki said at last. “She will make you human.”

Katsuki left the room without answering.

-*-

That night, standing alone beneath the open sky, Katsuki stared up at the moon. The same moon that watched over her.

Live for yourself, his mother had said.

But the truth was cruelly simple. His heart had never belonged to him to begin with. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and night-blooming flowers. Katsuki stood alone beneath the open sky, arms folded, gaze fixed on the moon that hung quietly above Wagetsu.

Footsteps approached—soft, hesitant. He didn’t turn.

“Bakugo-sama,” Mai said gently.

He sighed under his breath but didn’t tell her to leave. She stepped closer, stopping just beside him, careful not to intrude too suddenly. For a while, she simply stood there, mirroring his silence, looking up at the same moon.

“It’s bright tonight,” she said softly.

“…Yeah,” he replied.

The space between them was charged with things unsaid. Mai clasped her hands together, fingers trembling slightly before she gathered her courage.

“You look lonely,” she said.

He stiffened. “I’m fine.”

She smiled faintly—not mocking, not disbelieving. Understanding. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out and tugged lightly at the edge of his sleeve.

Katsuki glanced down at her hand, startled. “Kusunoki-san—”

“I know,” she said quickly, cutting him off before he could pull away. “You don’t do this. You won’t start it. So let me.”

Before he could respond, she stepped closer—close enough that he could feel her warmth through the thin space between them. She leaned in, resting her forehead gently against his arm. Katsuki froze. Every instinct told him to step back. But he didn’t.

“I won’t ask you to love me,” she murmured. “I know your heart isn’t free.” Her fingers slid from his sleeve to his hand, tentative at first, then firmer when he didn’t pull away. She laced her fingers through his, grounding herself—and him. “But let me stay,” she whispered. “Even if it’s just like this.”

His hand was rough, calloused. Hers was warm, soft—unafraid. She shifted again, resting her head lightly against his shoulder this time. The contact was gentle, respectful, entirely her choice. Katsuki’s breath came shallow.

“You don’t have to be strong with me,” she said quietly. “You don’t even have to look at me.”

He swallowed. “…You shouldn’t,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” she replied. “But I want to.”

She tightened her hold on his hand just a little, as if anchoring him to the moment. For a long time, neither moved. Katsuki stared straight ahead, heart in turmoil—caught between the ghost of rain-soaked warmth and the very real presence leaning into him now. He didn’t return the embrace. But he didn’t let go either. And for Mai, that was enough—for now.

-*-

The night was quiet—too quiet. Princess Yui had been searching the grounds, her steps light, careful, guided by habit more than thought.  She stopped at the edge of the garden when she saw them. Katsuki stood beneath the moonlight, rigid as ever—broad shoulders tense, gaze fixed somewhere far away. And beside him was Mai.

Too close.

Yui’s breath caught. She watched as Mai stepped into his space without hesitation, watched her small hand reach for his sleeve, then his hand. Watched as she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder—claiming a place Yui had never dared take.

Katsuki did not push her away. That alone shattered something inside Yui. She should have been relieved. She had wanted this. She had told herself—told Mai—to stay with him, to take care of him, to be close to him. She had done it knowingly, deliberately, believing it was the right thing.

This is better, she had thought. For him.

Seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely. Mai’s fingers were laced with his.
Her head rested where Yui had once leaned in secret dreams. Her presence was warm, allowed—real. And Katsuki… Katsuki let it happen. Yui pressed a trembling hand to her mouth as tears welled uncontrollably. The moon blurred before her eyes.

I chose this, she reminded herself desperately. I chose this for Wagetsu. For the people.

But the heart did not obey reason. Tears slid silently down her cheeks as she took a step back. Then another. She turned away before the sound of her breath could betray her, before her knees could give out beneath her.

They never noticed. They never knew. By the time she reached the corridor leading to her chambers, her composure was in ruins. Her shoulders shook as she tried to steady herself, wiping at her tears with trembling fingers.

“Himegimi.”

She froze. Prince Hitoshi stood near her chamber entrance, his expression softening instantly when he saw her tear-streaked face.

“Hime… what happened?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. He stepped closer—slowly, cautiously—then raised his hand and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, his touch careful, reverent.

“You don’t need to cry like this,” he said quietly. “Not alone.”

Her breath hitched.

“Let me,” he murmured, voice low and earnest. “Let me make you forget about your knight.”

The words landed heavily. Yui did not respond. She did not pull away either.

Because forgetting was impossible—but enduring was something she had trained her whole life to do. And so, under the same moon that had witnessed every promise she could never speak aloud, Princess Yui stood silent—letting fate close in around her, one quiet step at a time.

Prince Hitoshi looked at her for a long second. Then, slowly, as if giving her time to pull away, he leaned in. Yui didn’t move. His lips brushed against hers—soft, tentative at first, careful not to frighten her. It was not forceful. Not rushed. It was the kind of kiss meant to reassure, to claim gently rather than demand.

But the moment it happened—Her heart screamed.

Katsuki.

The name echoed violently inside her chest, drowning out everything else. This was her first kiss. And it wasn’t his. Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her sleeves as her breath trembled. She felt the warmth of Hitoshi’s lips, the unfamiliar closeness, the reality of what this moment meant—and yet her body remained still, unresponsive.

She did not kiss him back. In her mind, there was only rain-soaked warmth, strong arms around her from behind, a heartbeat steady against her back. A voice asking if there was another way—one that didn’t require her heart to be broken.

Hitoshi pulled back slightly, searching her face. Her eyes were glossy, unfocused. Tears gathered once more, slipping free despite her effort to remain composed.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He frowned faintly. “Did I—”

“No,” she interrupted quickly, shaking her head. “You did nothing wrong.”

That made it worse. She pressed her lips together, as if trying to erase the lingering sensation. Her chest felt tight, painfully so, as though her resolve—so carefully built over days and nights—had cracked straight through the center.

I chose this, she reminded herself desperately. For Wagetsu. For the people.

But her heart refused to listen. It cried out for the one person she could never choose.

“I will fulfill my duty,” she said softly, more to herself than to him. “No matter what.”

Hitoshi watched her in silence. He did not reach for her again. “…Then allow me to shoulder that burden with you,” he said quietly. “Even if your heart isn’t mine yet.”

Yui lowered her gaze, tears falling freely now.

-*-

Chapter Text

The chamber was quiet—so quiet that Yui could hear her own breath. Soft morning light slipped through the paper screens, pale and muted, touching the polished wood of the floor and the vanity before her. She stood there, unmoving, hands resting lightly on the edge, eyes fixed on her reflection as though it belonged to someone else.

Princess Yui stared back at her. Her hair was neatly braided, her posture composed, her expression calm—too calm. Only her eyes betrayed her, glassy and distant, as if something inside her had already begun to crack. Her fingers rose slowly, hesitantly, and brushed against her lips.

They still remembered the kiss.

Not warmth. Not longing. But finality.

It had not felt like the beginning of something—it had felt like a door closing. Her hand fell back to her side. Unbidden, memories surfaced, slipping through the walls she was trying so desperately to build.

Katsuki, standing just behind her during court meetings—silent, unmoving, a presence she had grown so used to that she had once thought it eternal. The way he always positioned himself half a step behind her right shoulder, close enough that she could sense him without turning. Close enough that, in moments of doubt, his quiet strength had steadied her breathing.

The rain-soaked cottage.

The smell of damp earth and dust. The sound of rain pounding against the broken roof. The warmth of his body behind her, solid and real, as if the world had narrowed to just that fragile space between them. No words spoken, yet everything understood. His restraint. Her resolve. The silent understanding that loving each other did not mean choosing each other.

There must be another way.

His voice echoed in her mind—not desperate, not pleading, but unwavering. As if he would tear the world apart with his bare hands if it meant sparing her pain. Her chest tightened. Slowly, deliberately, Yui inhaled. She straightened her back, lifting her chin. The faint tremble in her hands stilled as she clasped them together, fingers interlocking tightly—too tightly.

Breaking down would be easy. Crying would be easy. But she could not afford easy. She had seen her people’s faces—thin with hunger, weary with fear, yet still smiling when she passed through the villages. She had heard their prayers whispered under the moonlight, their hope tied so foolishly, so trustingly, to her name.

A princess did not belong to her own heart. She belonged to them. Her gaze hardened, just a fraction.

“If my heart shatters,” she whispered to the empty room, her voice steady despite the ache clawing at her chest, “then let it shatter quietly.”

No one needed to hear it break. No one needed to know. She reached for the moon-shaped necklace resting against her collarbone—the gift from her father—and closed her fingers around it, feeling its cool weight press into her skin.

The moon always shone, even when hidden by clouds, and so would she.

Turning away from the mirror, Princess Yui walked toward the day awaiting her—each step measured, composed, resolute—leaving behind the girl who had once dreamed of happiness, and stepping fully into the woman who would sacrifice it without complaint.

-*-

Prince Hitoshi stood by the open veranda of his guest chambers, the morning air brushing softly against his face. The garden beyond was quiet, washed clean by the previous day’s rain. Dew clung to the leaves, catching the light like fragments of glass. Normally, he would have found comfort in such stillness. Today, it only made his thoughts louder.

His fingers lifted unconsciously to his lips. The kiss replayed in his mind—not as something sweet, but as something unfinished. She had not pulled away. Yet she had not leaned into him either. That truth lingered like a blade lodged beneath his ribs.

Princess Yui had stood still in his arms, her body tense, her breath uneven. Her eyes—those pale, moonlit eyes—had glistened with tears that had nothing to do with him. He had known it then, even before she turned away.

Those tears were not born from affection. They were born from loss. His jaw tightened. For the first time since arriving in Wagetsu, Prince Hitoshi allowed himself to feel something dangerously close to jealousy.

Bakugo Katsuki.

The Scarlet Knight.

He had noticed it before—subtle glances, the way her gaze followed him without realizing, the quiet understanding that passed between Princess and Knight without words. But until now, he had not allowed himself to acknowledge what it truly meant.

She already belongs to someone else.

And yet, that someone stood behind her, never beside her. A bitter, humorless smile curved his lips. There was guilt too—sharp and uncomfortable. Guilt for stepping into a space that was already fragile. Guilt for pressing his presence into a heart that was clearly breaking. He had not stolen her first kiss from love—but he had taken it from grief.

The realization sat heavily on his chest. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his brother. Satoshi’s voice was always calm in memory, always reasonable.

A king takes what is necessary. Feelings are luxuries. If she is the key to Wagetsu, then she must be claimed.

Hitoshi’s fingers curled slowly into his palm. He had believed those words once. Believed them because it was easier than questioning them. Because becoming king had never been his desire, and obedience had felt like the simplest path forward. But standing here—thinking of the way Yui had looked through him rather than at him—he understood something new.

This was not a conquest. This was not victory. This was responsibility. Slowly, Prince Hitoshi exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He could not force her heart. Nor would he. If she was to walk beside him as Queen one day, then she would do so without fear, without resentment. Even if her love never came, her trust must.

“I will not become another chain around your heart,” he murmured quietly to the empty garden.

He straightened, resolve settling into him—not the cold resolve of ambition, but something steadier, heavier. He would be someone she could rely on. Someone who would protect her people as fiercely as she did. Someone who would not demand what she could not give. If love was beyond his reach, then he would earn something just as rare.

Her faith. And if, in the end, her heart remained elsewhere—he closed his eyes briefly—then he would bear that weight, as a king should. Alone, if he must.

-*-

Night settled quietly over the castle, wrapping the corridors in stillness broken only by the faint chirping of insects outside. Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed; his crimson kimono loosened at the shoulder where the wound lay beneath fresh bandages. A single lantern cast a soft glow across the room, its light flickering gently over the walls. Mai knelt before him, a small tray beside her—clean cloth, medicine, water. Her movements were careful, practiced, but her eyes kept lifting to his face.

He was distant. Not cold—she had come to understand the difference—but elsewhere. His gaze seemed fixed on something only he could see, jaw tight, shoulders tense despite his attempt to appear calm. She finished tying the cloth and hesitated, fingers lingering just a second too long.

“…Bakugo-sama,” she said softly, almost afraid to break the silence. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question was gentle. Not accusing. Just uncertain. Katsuki blinked, pulled back into the room. His eyes shifted to her, startled—as if he had forgotten she was there.

“No,” he replied immediately. Too quickly. “It’s not you, Kusunoki-san.”

Mai searched his face, clearly unconvinced, but she nodded anyway. “I see…”

She lowered her hands to her lap, sitting back on her heels. The space between them felt heavier than the quiet. Katsuki looked away.

Being with her doesn’t erase Yui.

The truth settled in his chest, solid and unavoidable. No matter how gentle Mai was, no matter how earnestly she looked at him, the image of the Princess—standing beneath the rain, moonlight in her eyes, tears she refused to let fall—refused to leave him. But Mai did something Yui never could.

She kept him here.

Grounded. Human. Not a knight standing on the edge of an impossible devotion, but a man sitting in a dimly lit room, bleeding, breathing, alive. His hands curled slowly into fists.

If she is walking toward a future without me…

Then he had no right to reach for her. Not with words. Not with longing. Not even in his heart. He exhaled slowly. Mai shifted closer, careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. She reached out, hesitated, then gently took his hand in both of hers.

“I know,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes. “Your heart isn’t mine yet.”

Katsuki stiffened slightly.

“But that’s alright,” she continued, a small, sad smile forming. “I told you before, didn’t I? I’m willing to wait. Until one day… you look at me the way you look at her.”

His breath caught. Before he could speak, before he could stop her, Mai leaned forward. The kiss was soft. Chaste. Careful. Nothing like the storm that lived inside him. Her lips brushed against his—brief, tentative, as if she were asking permission even as she took the risk. When she pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against his shoulder, her grip on his hand tightening just a little.

Katsuki didn’t move. Didn’t respond. But he didn’t pull away either. His heart pounded—not with desire, but with conflict. With the crushing weight of choices made in silence.

“I don’t expect you to forget her overnight,” Mai whispered. “Or ever, maybe.” She lifted her head, meeting his eyes with quiet resolve. “But if you ever get tired of carrying that pain alone… let me carry some of it with you.”

Something in his chest gave—not breaking, but bending. Slowly, Katsuki lifted his free hand and placed it over hers. Not pulling her closer. Not pushing her away. Just holding.

“…I can’t promise you love,” he said hoarsely. “Not yet.”

Mai’s smile trembled, but it didn’t fade. “That’s enough,” she replied. “For now.”

Katsuki’s grip on her hand loosened slightly. Then, as if the weight of the day had finally caught up to him, he leaned forward—slow, hesitant—and rested his forehead against Mai’s shoulder. It was a small movement. But for him, it felt monumental.

Mai froze at first, breath hitching in surprise. Bakugo Katsuki never leaned on anyone. He was the one others depended on, the one who stood unmoving even when the world demanded too much. Carefully, afraid that even the slightest motion might make him pull away, she lifted her arm and wrapped it around his back. Her fingers pressed gently into the fabric of his kimono, not holding him tightly, but anchoring him.

He exhaled—a long, unguarded breath. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The warmth of her shoulder beneath his cheek was unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome. It didn’t ignite his heart the way the Princess’s presence did. It didn’t make his chest ache with longing. Instead, it quieted him.

This is what peace feels like, he thought distantly. Just… rest.

His eyes closed despite himself. Mai felt the tension in his body, the way his shoulders remained rigid even as he leaned on her. She understood then—this wasn’t surrender. This was exhaustion.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” she murmured, barely louder than a breath.

Katsuki didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. His hand remained over hers, fingers curled slightly, as if afraid that if he loosened his grip, he would fall apart. Somewhere deep in his chest, Yui’s image stirred—her calm smile, her quiet resolve, the way she always walked forward without looking back.

If she can bear this… then so can I.

The thought hardened into something like acceptance. Mai shifted just enough to support his weight better, resting her cheek lightly against his hair. Her heart raced—not with triumph, not with victory—but with the quiet knowledge that this moment, fragile as it was, had been entrusted to her.

Outside, the night deepened. Inside, Katsuki stayed like that—head resting on her shoulder, eyes closed, breathing slowly—for a little while longer, allowing himself something he had never permitted before. To be held. Even if it was only for this night.

-*-

The night air was cool when King Tsunagu entered Yui’s chamber. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp near the window. Yui stood by the open veranda, gazing up at the moon—round, pale, distant. The same moon that had watched her grow from a quiet child into a princess burdened with choices no one should have to make.

“Yui,” her father called softly.

She turned at once and bowed. “Chichiue.”

Tsunagu approached, the faint rustle of his robes echoing in the silence. In his hand was a letter, its seal already broken. He looked older tonight—less like a king and more like a man who had spent too many nights awake, weighing the fate of his child against the fate of a kingdom.

“I received word from Mumyo Koku,” he said quietly. “From King Satoshi.”

Yui’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

“He wishes to decide the wedding date.”

The words fell gently, yet they struck with undeniable weight. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Yui lowered her gaze, the reflection of the moon trembling in her eyes. “I see,” she replied after a pause.

Her voice was calm. Too calm. Tsunagu watched her carefully.

“When you were little,” he said suddenly, “you used to cry whenever you thought you had disappointed someone.”

Her lashes fluttered.

“You would come to me in the middle of the night, clutching my sleeve, and ask if you were still a good girl.” A faint smile touched his lips, heavy with memory. “Even when you had done nothing wrong.”

Yui swallowed.

“I stopped crying,” she said softly. “Because I learned that crying doesn’t change what must be done.”

Her father’s chest tightened.

He stepped closer, standing beside her at the veranda, looking up at the same moon. “A king must make difficult choices,” he said. “But a father…” His voice faltered, just slightly. “A father wishes he could make them instead.”

She finally looked at him then.

“Chichiue,” Yui said gently, “you raised me to love this kingdom. To see its people as my own family. If I turn away now, then everything you taught me would lose its meaning.”

Tsunagu closed his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “And that is what frightens me most.”

He reached out, placing a hand over hers. His grip was warm, steady—just like it had been when she was small.

“I would stop this,” he said. “Even now. If you tell me that you cannot do this, I will find another way. I will risk the kingdom, if I must.”

Yui shook her head slowly. “No,” she replied. “Please don’t ask me to choose between my heart and my people. I’ve already decided.”

Her voice did not waver. “I will marry Prince Hitoshi.”

The words felt final—spoken not in despair, but in resolve. Tsunagu’s hand trembled.

“You sound just like your mother,” he said hoarsely. “She smiled the same way when she made a choice that broke her heart.”

Yui leaned into him then, resting her head against his chest. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to be his daughter rather than his princess.

“Will you be angry with me,” she asked quietly, “if one day… I cannot smile anymore?”

He wrapped his arms around her at once, holding her close.

“Never,” he said firmly. “If the world takes your smile from you, then I will carry it for you.”

Tears finally slipped free, silent against his robes.

When she pulled back, Yui bowed deeply. “Please… tell King Satoshi that Wagetsu accepts the date he proposes.”

Tsunagu nodded, his expression solemn. As he turned to leave, he paused at the door.

“Yui,” he said, without looking back. “In another life—if fate were kinder—I hope you are allowed to choose happiness.”

The door closed softly behind him. Yui returned to the veranda alone. Above her, the moon shone as ever—beautiful, distant, and untouchable. Just like the life she was about to leave behind.

-*-

The corridor was washed in silver. Moonlight poured in through the open lattice windows, spilling across the polished floor like still water. The castle was quiet—too quiet—every sound softened; every breath amplified beneath the full moon’s watch.

Yui walked slowly, her steps measured, sleeves gathered neatly in her hands. She had just left her father’s chambers. The words wedding date decided still echoed in her ears, heavy and unavoidable, like a bell that had already been rung.

At the other end of the corridor, Katsuki turned the corner.

He stopped.

So did she.

For a heartbeat—no, longer—the world seemed to hold its breath. They stood facing each other beneath the moon, its pale light illuminating them fully, mercilessly. There was no shadow left to hide in. No duty to stand between them. No crowd, no title, no excuse.

Just them. They had not spoken properly since that day in the rain. Since everything that had been understood without words, and everything that had been left unsaid. Katsuki was the first to move—just a step forward. His posture was stiff, as if forcing himself to remain upright required effort.

“…Hime-sama,” he said quietly. Her name on his lips still sounded like home. “Are you tired?”

The question was simple. Too simple. It carried five years of unspoken concern, of guarding her back, of noticing the smallest changes in her breathing, the faintest tremor in her voice. Yui blinked once.

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice calm, practiced. “I’ve been busy with the preparations.”

Preparations. The word cut deeper than she let on. She forced herself to meet his eyes, noticing the dark circles beneath them, the way his jaw was clenched as though holding something back.

“…And you?” she asked softly. “How are things with Mai?”

For just a moment, something flickered across his face—surprise, then something like pain. Katsuki looked away.

“She’s… too kind,” he said after a pause. “Too gentle.” His hand curled slowly into a fist at his side. “I don’t deserve someone like her.”

Yui’s fingers tightened in her sleeves. “That’s not true,” she said quickly, almost too quickly. “You deserve happiness. And Mai does too.”

He laughed under his breath—but there was no humor in it.

“Happiness?” he repeated quietly. Then he looked at her again, and the moonlight caught in his eyes. “As long as you can’t be happy,” he said, voice low, unwavering, “I don’t have the right to be happy either.”

Her breath caught. “Katsuki—”

Before she could say anything more, he moved. In one smooth motion, Katsuki dropped to one knee before her. The sound of it echoed through the corridor, sharp and final. Yui froze, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs. This was not something he was ever meant to do on his own will. One hand rested against his knee. The other—steady, open—extended toward her.

His head was bowed, but his voice did not waver.

“…In the next life, Himesama?”

The words shattered something inside her. Not a promise. Not a demand. Just a question filled with all the love they had never allowed themselves to name. Tears burned her eyes, but she smiled. A small, trembling smile—fragile, brave, devastating.

Slowly, Yui reached out and placed her hand over his. His palm was warm. Familiar. Safe.

“In the next life,” she whispered, her voice breaking despite her smile, “Katsuki…”

Her fingers curled gently around his, holding on just a second longer than she should have. The moon shone brightly above them, silent witness to a love that had never been chosen—and yet had never been denied. Then, just as quietly, she withdrew her hand. Katsuki lowered his, still kneeling, his head bowed as if sealing a vow that would never be spoken aloud again.

Yui turned away before he could see the tears spill freely down her cheeks. She walked down the corridor alone, her steps steady even as her heart broke with every one of them. Behind her, Katsuki remained where he was—kneeling beneath the moon—until the sound of her footsteps faded completely. Some loves were not meant to be lived. Only remembered.

-*-

The morning felt wrong. Yui sensed it the moment she woke. The light spilling into her chamber was gentle, familiar—yet the air felt hollow, as if something essential had quietly vanished. She sat up, instinctively turning her gaze toward the place where Katsuki always stood when she rose.

It was empty. He did not come. At first, she told herself it meant nothing. Perhaps he had been assigned elsewhere as usual. Perhaps training was first today. Yet as she moved through the castle, the unease in her chest deepened with every passing moment.

At court, his place was vacant. At the training grounds, the soldiers trained without him. And when she asked for Mai, the answer was the same. She was gone too. By midday, Yui could no longer quiet the pounding in her heart. She requested to see her father at once. When she entered his chamber, she found Prince Hitoshi standing beside him. The moment she saw her father’s expression, something inside her stilled. King Tsunagu looked weary—no, burdened. As though he had carried a weight through the night and had not yet set it down.

“Chichiue…?” Yui said softly.

He gestured for her to sit. She obeyed, folding her hands neatly in her lap. They trembled despite her effort. There was a pause.

“Bakugo Katsuki has left Wagetsu Koku.”

The words did not reach her all at once. “…Left?” she whispered.

“He departed at dawn,” the King continued. “With Kusunoki Mai.”

Prince Hitoshi turned sharply. “Left the kingdom…?”

Yui’s breath caught, sharp and silent. Gone. Her mind refused to accept it.

The King watched her carefully, his voice heavy but steady. “He came to me last night. After the wedding date was confirmed.”

Yui’s thoughts flew to the moonlit corridor. His kneeling form. His outstretched hand.

In the next life, Princess?

“Till the end, he cared about Wagetsu,” the King said quietly, as if choosing his words with care. “He said to tell you to stay happy.”

Her heart clenched painfully.

Tsunagu continued. “He said that she had chosen him—fully, honestly. And that if he remained here, it would not be fair to her.”

Yui’s lips parted.

“He told me,” Her father went on, “that he could not allow himself to be half-hearted with someone who had given him her whole heart.”

Silence filled the room. Prince Hitoshi lowered his gaze, something shifting in his expression. The sharp edge of rivalry dulled, replaced by a quiet, sobering realization.

“So… he chose to leave,” Hitoshi murmured, “not to escape—but to be responsible.”

The King nodded once. “He asked me to keep this from you,” Tsunagu said, his voice roughening. “Not because he feared your reaction—but because he believed you would carry unnecessary guilt if you knew.”

Yui’s vision blurred. He had not stayed for her. He had not left because of her. He had left because of Mai. Because he refused to wound someone who had trusted him. And somehow—that hurt even more. Her fingers curled tightly into her sleeves as a tear slipped free, tracing a silent path down her cheek. Prince Hitoshi closed his eyes. In that moment, he understood something he had never grasped before.

Love was not always staying. Love was not always choosing the one you wanted most. Sometimes, love was choosing not to hurt the one who had chosen you. And in doing so, accepting a loneliness no one else would ever see. Yui lowered her gaze, her shoulders trembling despite her effort to remain composed.

The moonlit corridor returned to her mind once more.

In the next life, Katsuki.

Her heart answered, aching, devastated.

-*-

Chapter Text

The days that followed moved forward whether Yui wished them to or not. The King and Queen of Mumyou arrived beneath banners of silver and indigo, their procession filling the palace with unfamiliar colors and unfamiliar voices. Courtiers bowed. Servants hurried. Ministers spoke in careful tones, discussing borders, dowries, alliances—matters that carried the weight of nations but none of the weight of the heart.

Yui sat through every discussion with quiet composure. She listened as the wedding date was reaffirmed. She nodded as preparations were outlined. She answered when addressed, her voice steady, her posture flawless. Only at night, alone in her chamber, did she allow herself to breathe.

Spring was chosen for the ceremony. A season of renewal, they said. A blessing, they said. Yui stood before her mirror many nights after, watching the way candlelight flickered over her reflection, wondering how something could look so unchanged while everything inside had been reshaped beyond recognition.

By the time the wedding arrived, the cherry blossoms had begun to bloom. Petals drifted through the palace gardens like pale snow, softening stone paths and rooftops alike. Bells chimed gently in the distance as guests from allied kingdoms gathered. Music filled the air, slow and reverent.

Yui wore white and gold—simple, elegant, restrained. No heavy jewels. No extravagant train. She had asked for minimal adornment, and no one had dared to question her. When she walked toward the altar, she did not look for Katsuki. She did not need to. His absence had long since carved itself into her.

Prince Hitoshi stood waiting, dressed in ceremonial black and violet, his expression calm but solemn. When their eyes met, he inclined his head—not as a conqueror, not as a victor—but as a man stepping into a promise he knew was fragile.

Their vows were spoken beneath the open sky. Yui's voice did not falter. When the crown was placed upon her head, she did not cry. And when Prince Hitoshi was crowned King of Wagetsu, and she beside him as Queen, the crowd cheered long and loud, believing wholeheartedly in the image before them.

A new era.

A perfect beginning.

That night, Yui stood at the balcony of her new chambers, watching petals gather silently below. Her heart ached—not with rebellion, not with regret—but with remembrance. Katsuki never left her. Not truly.

He lived in the quiet moments between duties. In the way rain still made her pause. In the instinctive turn of her head when footsteps echoed behind her.

Yet she moved forward.

Not for herself.

But for Wagetsu.

King Hitoshi ruled with discipline and restraint, and beside him, Yui ruled with grace and unwavering resolve. He never once spoke Katsuki's name. Never hinted at the past. Never pressed her heart where it was already tender. Instead, he gave her patience.

He stood beside her in council chambers, defended her decisions before nobles, and shouldered burdens meant for two without complaint. When her elder brother attempted to push for Wagetsu's absorption into Mumyou, Hitoshi refused—fiercely.

"This kingdom is not a prize," he said coldly. "It is her home."

The argument was loud. The aftermath tense.

But Hitoshi did not yield.

Wagetsu remained Yui's.

And slowly, quietly, trust took root—not romantic, not consuming—but steady and real.

-*-

Far away, beyond the mountains and seas, Katsuki Bakugo began a different life. The Rekka Kingdom was warmer, both in climate and in spirit. King Shoto ruled with quiet strength, and Queen Momo with thoughtful wisdom. Katsuki was not treated as a weapon, nor merely as a knight—he was given command.

General Commander of the Rekka army. The title suited him. Battlefields sharpened his focus. Strategy tempered his fury. Responsibility grounded him in ways he had never known. For the first time, he fought without a shadow pulling him backward.

Mai stood beside him through it all. She worked diligently under Queen Momo, her experience and calm earning trust quickly. She never demanded his heart. Never asked him to forget. She simply stayed.

They married without spectacle, beneath lanterns and quiet blessings, settling into a small house tucked within the castle grounds. Evenings were simple—shared meals, soft conversation, silence that felt safe rather than empty.

And slowly—Katsuki let himself rest. Yui's memory did not disappear. It never would. But it softened. It became something distant, something precious, something that no longer bled. With Mai, he learned a different kind of love—not burning, not desperate—but steady and chosen. She loved him as he was, and in time, he returned that love honestly.

Two lives moved forward on separate paths.

Two hearts carrying the same scar.

And though fate had torn them apart—

Neither had lived a lie.

-*-

Years passed, quietly and relentlessly. Queen Yui grew into her crown the way mountains grow—slow, unyielding, eternal. Wagetsu prospered under her rule. Children laughed freely in streets once heavy with tension, borders remained unbroken, and history remembered her as a just and unwavering queen.

At night, when the palace finally slept, she would sit by the open window and listen to the wind. Sometimes, when rain fell softly against the stone, she closed her eyes and allowed herself one fragile indulgence—the memory of a knight standing just behind her, steady as a vow never spoken.

She never spoke his name aloud. But she kept it safe. King Hitoshi ruled beside her with devotion and restraint. Their bond was built not on passion, but on respect and shared sacrifice. He never asked her for more than she could give, and she never resented him for what her heart could not return fully.

When Yui fell ill in her later years, Hitoshi remained by her bedside, holding her hand—not as a man demanding love, but as one honoring it. On her final night, when the pain eased and her breath grew shallow, Yui asked for the window to be opened. The moon was full. She smiled faintly, tears slipping free without sorrow.

"In the next life," she whispered—not to the room, not to the king beside her, but to the wind itself.

Her hand relaxed. Her duty was complete.

-*-

Far away, in Rekka, Katsuki Bakugo aged with scars lining his body and quiet pride in his eyes. He was remembered as a legendary commander, a man whose presence alone steadied armies. He laughed less loudly than in his youth, spoke more carefully, and learned the art of patience—mostly because Mai had taught him.

Mai grew old beside him. She never competed with the past. Never questioned the silence that sometimes fell over him during storms or moonlit nights. She loved him as he was—and that was enough. When Katsuki's strength finally faded, he spent his last days sitting outside their home, watching the sky change colors.

One evening, rain began to fall. Soft. Familiar. He closed his eyes, breath shallow, and for a moment—just a moment—he felt as if someone was standing beside him again.

"You took too long," he muttered faintly, lips twitching.

His final thought was not regret. It was recognition.

History recorded Queen Yui of Wagetsu and General Bakugo of Rekka as figures of strength, loyalty, and sacrifice. It never recorded the truth. That two souls, separated by duty and time, had loved each other deeply—and chosen to let go. But souls remember what history forgets.

And somewhere beyond time—

They waited.

Together.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After one hundred years, the world had changed beyond recognition. It began with a miracle that felt like a curse. A newborn child—no more than minutes old—crying as light burst from their clenched fist. Something impossible. Something human bodies were never meant to hold.

Power

From that single moment, the world lost its old shape. Quirks emerged like wildfire. Children bending fire, freezing air, shattering stone. And where power was born, chaos followed close behind. Fear. Crime. Villains rising from the shadows of broken cities.

So, heroes were created.

Not because people wanted symbols—but because they needed hope. Wars were fought in the name of peace. Names were carved into history with blood and sacrifice. Some legends were remembered forever. Others faded quietly, buried beneath time.

But souls—souls remembered.

-*-

Bakugo Katsuki woke up gasping, his fingers digging into the mattress as if he were trying to hold onto something already slipping away.

Moonlight...

That was the first thing he felt.

Cold wind blowing into his skin, stone beneath his knees, moonlight slicing through the darkness like a blade meant only for him. The same dream. Always the same. Ever since the Great War between the Heroes and the League of Villains—ever since the moment his heart had stopped and then started again against all odds—the dream had followed him like a shadow.

It wasn't vague. It wasn't fragmented. It was too real. A life that wasn't his—yet felt heavier than the one he lived. He saw himself kneeling, blond hair, a scar burning near his left eye. Crimson fabric clung to his body, heavy with armor guards. His hand was extended forward.

And standing before him—

A woman.

Blue eyes. Long white hair shimmering beneath the moon. A smile that shattered him deeply.

A promise made beneath the full moon.

Bakugo jolted upright, breath sharp, chest tight. "Tch—dammit..."

He rubbed a hand over his face, annoyed—at the dream, at himself, at the way his heart still hurt for something he didn't understand. It was just a dream. A meaningless dream. Today mattered more.

At twenty-seven years old, Bakugo Katsuki—No. 5 Hero, Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight—stood at the edge of a new chapter. Today was his last day as Best Jeanist's sidekick. Tomorrow, his own agency would start. He got ready, shoved the dream deep down, and drove toward Best Jeanist's agency, unaware that fate had already arrived before him.

-*-

The agency lobby was quiet when he arrived. Best Jeanist stood near the entrance, posture perfect as always. When he saw Bakugo, his eyes softened just slightly.

"You're punctual," Jeanist said. "That will serve you well as an independent hero."

Bakugo scoffed lightly. "Didn't come here to get praised."

Jeanist allowed himself a small smile before straightening. "I have an urgent meeting with President Takami Keigo of the Hero Commission. I'll need you to wait in my office."

Bakugo nodded, turning to leave—but Jeanist stopped him.

"My daughter is there," he added. "She returned from overseas recently. Keep her company till I come back."

Something twisted faintly in Bakugo's chest.

Jeanist hesitated, then continued, his voice quieter than usual. "She's been researching Quirks abroad. Since returning to Japan... she's been troubled. Restless."

Bakugo didn't know why, but the word restless echoed inside him.

"Please talk to her, she wanted to talk about your quirk," Jeanist said.

Bakugo grunted in response and headed toward the office. Hakamata Yui sat alone on the couch, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Twenty-three years old. Blue eyes clouded with something unnameable. Long white hair that took after her mother, falling softly over her shoulders. She had returned to Japan only a week ago after years abroad, living with her mother's brother, completing her education there. Her research had changed over time—from pure theory to something far more personal.

Heroes. Quirks. Lives shaped by power. And yet, none of it explained the dreams. Every night, without fail. Stone corridors cold beneath bare feet. A presence behind her—silent, fierce, unwavering. She never saw his face clearly.

But she felt him.

And the pain—the unbearable pain.

She always woke with tears already falling, heart aching for a name she didn't know, for a life she had never lived. Her father had told her he wanted to introduce her to a powerful hero today—one whose quirk had once saved his life. She should have been curious. Instead, her heart pounded with quiet dread.

There was a knock.

Her breath stopped.

The door opened.

Bakugo Katsuki stepped inside.

Blond hair. A scar near his left cheek, close to the eye. A presence that filled the room before he even spoke. Yui stood up without thinking. Bakugo turned—

And the world shattered.

The office vanished.

The present unraveled.

Moonlight poured over stone walls. A knight knelt in crimson beneath the full moon. A hand extended. A promise whispered across lifetimes. A princess resting her trembling hand over his, smiling through heartbreak.

"In another life, Princess?"

"In another life, Katsuki..."

Time slammed back into place. Bakugo and Yui stood frozen, staring at each other as tears spilled freely—unchecked, unashamed. Not from sorrow. From recognition. From souls that had waited centuries to find their way back. They did not speak. They didn't need to.

Everything—the sacrifice, the love, the pain, the promise—lived in their eyes. Two souls once torn apart by duty and time had finally crossed paths again. The full moon that once witnessed their farewell now watched over their reunion. What was once a promise made for another life had finally returned home.

Epilogue

Some loves are loud. They arrive like storms, leave scars, demand to be remembered. And then there are loves that move quietly through time—never gone, only waiting. Bakugo Katsuki never tried to understand the dreams.

They had followed him since the war, returning without warning. Always the same fragments—rain tapping against wood, moonlight spilling silver across stone, the weight of something precious slipping through his fingers. There was a woman there, always just out of reach. Not a face he could clearly remember, yet someone his chest ached for every time he woke.

He stopped waking angry eventually. The dreams softened. As if whatever they were reaching for had finally stopped running.

Yui had carried something similar.

A restlessness she could never name. A quiet sadness that appeared without reason, even in moments that should have been happy. Ever since she was young, she had felt as though she was waiting for something important—something she had lost without ever knowing how.

And then she returned to Japan. And then she met him.

The moment Bakugo stepped into her father's office, that invisible ache shifted. It didn't disappear. It settled. Like a deep breath she hadn't realized she had been holding for years.

They didn't speak about it. They didn't need to.

There was understanding in the way their eyes lingered just a second too long. In the way silence between them never felt awkward, only full. In the way being near one another felt natural—as though the world had quietly put something back where it belonged.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

They moved forward, not as people chasing destiny, but as two lives slowly aligning. Bakugo's dreams became gentler. No longer filled with regret, but with peace. The rain no longer felt cold. The moon no longer felt distant. The hand he once reached for no longer vanished when he woke. Yui slept more soundly too. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel like she was missing something.

Perhaps this was what fate truly meant. Not a cruel hand forcing love through pain and loss. Not a promise that demanded sacrifice. But patience. Two souls allowed to live, to endure, to learn—until the world was finally ready to let them meet again.

No crowns this time.

No wars.

No duties that demanded their hearts.

Just two people standing in the same place, in the same time. And somewhere beyond memory, beyond dreams, a promise finally fulfilled—not in words, but in presence.

They had found each other again.

And this time...they did not let go.

-*-