They crossed the front garden and stepped up onto the genkan of the main house.
The floor of the genkan was dark wood, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting a blurry outline of anyone standing over it.
Rinna took off her shoes at the genkan and placed her black leather pumps neatly on the very bottom shelf. That spot was hers—every time she came, it was empty, as if someone had deliberately kept it open.
Hisaki also removed her shoes and set them next to Rinna’s. The two black leather shoes sat together, one large and one small, like a pair of quiet punctuation marks.
The interior of the main house felt deeper than it looked from outside.
The corridor was straight, but so long that it gave you the illusion it might never end.
The wooden floorboards had been worn to a warm luster by years and countless footsteps. They felt slightly cool underfoot, and occasionally let out a faint creak, like the old house was slowly saying hello.
***
On both sides of the hallway, beige sliding doors made of wooden lattices and translucent Japanese paper stood.
The paper cast shadows of the pine trees in the courtyard, swaying gently in the wind, like a living ink painting.
Every few steps, a sliding door stood open, revealing a carefully arranged view of the garden.
A small dry landscape garden: a few stones, a patch of white sand carefully raked into ripples, one circle after another, like ripples on water frozen in place.
Rinna had once asked Hisaki who raked the sand.
Hisaki said it was the Assistant to the Head’s job.
Rinna had blinked for a few seconds.
A person of considerable rank in the Kurose Clan spent part of his morning drawing circles in the sand with a rake.
That must be what they called “mind cultivation.”
They kept walking deeper.
They passed through the main reception hall—a massive Japanese-style room. When all the sliding doors were opened, it could seat dozens of people.
The floor was covered in dark blue tatami mats, neatly arranged. The air carried a faint scent of rushes, the distinctive fragrance of tatami that had been dried in the sun.
They crossed the inner courtyard corridor, which was shaped like the character “回.”
In the center was a smaller inner garden, without pines or banyan trees, only a carefully trimmed patch of moss and a few randomly placed stones.
The moss was thick as a dark green carpet. A thin layer even covered the stones, wearing down their edges until they looked soft and smooth, making you want to reach out and touch them.
Beside the stones stood a stone lantern and a clump of dwarf bamboo. The bamboo leaves rustled in the evening breeze, a delicate sound like whispering.
They passed through the Budo Dojo—a long, austere building with an all-black wooden structure, a tall steep roof, and no unnecessary decoration inside.
The floor was dark solid wood, polished like a mirror by countless pairs of feet.
Against the wall stood several wooden racks lined with bamboo swords and wooden swords, their hilts worn shiny from countless grips.
The air carried a faint smell of wood and sweat, the kind of scent that only settles in a place where people have trained hard every day for years.
Every time Rinna passed by here, she would glance inside.
Not out of curiosity.
Because of Hisaki.
Every morning at exactly 5:30, Hisaki appeared here, wearing a white training uniform and black pleated trousers, barefoot on the wooden floor, holding a bamboo sword, swinging it again and again at the air.
Basic sword swings, five hundred times.
Rain or shine, summer or winter.
Once, Rinna woke up early and sneaked over to watch. She saw sweat all over Hisaki’s forehead, black hair sticking to her cheeks.
The bamboo sword sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh, and the hem of her pleated trousers cut a crisp arc as she turned.
At that moment, Hisaki was completely different from usual.
Usually Hisaki was quiet and restrained, hiding even her smiles.
But with a bamboo sword in her hand, there was something in Hisaki’s eyes that Rinna couldn’t quite name. Something burning, or something suppressing something even hotter than fire.
Back then, Rinna thought, why did Hisaki practice martial arts?
Was it to protect something?
Or… to have the ability to protect something?
She never asked that question. She probably didn’t need to.
***
They finally arrived.
Hisaki slid open the door at the end of the corridor leading to the private living quarters. Behind it was her personal room.
The room wasn’t large—of course, “not large” was relative to other rooms in the Kurose mansion, some of which were dozens of tatami mats in size.
About fifteen tatami mats, square, covered in tatami that was a lighter color than the ones outside. Pale yellow, with a faint scent of rushes.
Against the wall was a double bed with a dark wooden frame. The sheets and duvet cover were pure white, neatly folded. Two pillows lay side by side at the headboard, one large, one small.
Rinna.
Take a breath.
Across from the bed was a low table and two floor cushions. On the table sat a desk lamp and a few books, spines facing outward, arranged neatly.
In the corner stood a modest closet, its doors closed.
Aside from that, the most noticeable and numerous things in the room were photographs.
Frames everywhere: on the walls, on the low table, on top of the closet, on the bedside table.
Big and small, wooden, metal, acrylic. Square, rectangular, circular.
The first time Rinna came to this room, she tried to count them but didn’t finish.
Later, Hisaki told her there were 273.
There were probably more now.
Every single photo showed the same two people:
One with black hair, one with white hair.
Rinna stood at the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the photos one by one.
Sometimes she wondered what it felt like for Hisaki to sleep in this room every night, surrounded by over two hundred faces of the same person. Open her eyes—Rinna. Close her eyes—still Rinna.
What kind of feeling was that?
Maybe like replacing all the air in a room with someone else’s scent, then locking yourself inside, breathing it in day and night.
When she thought about it, an indescribable emotion rose in Rinna’s chest. Not sweetness, not burden—something in between, thicker and heavier.
“Rinna, sit down.”
Hisaki’s voice pulled her back.
Rinna snapped out of it and stepped into the room.
The tatami gave slightly under her feet, soft and carrying a warmth that smelled of sunlight.
Hisaki had already set down both bags, neatly arranged beside the low table—the canvas bag on the left, the leather school bag on the right, like two kids sitting side by side.
Rinna walked to the bed, sat down, then flopped backward.
The mattress was firm yet soft, the sheets cool and smooth, carrying the faint scent of laundry detergent—that gardenia flower smell that always clung to Hisaki.
The pillow sank beneath her head, cradling it at just the right height.
Her long white hair spread out over the white pillowcase, almost blending into it, except for the bright red hair ribbon that stood out like a maple leaf fallen on snow.
“So tired…”
Rinna’s voice was muffled, eyes closed.
She heard light footsteps on the tatami, then felt the mattress dip slightly.
Hisaki lay down beside her.
Rinna didn’t open her eyes, but she could feel Hisaki’s movements: she turned sideways, slipped one arm under Rinna’s waist, and draped the other across her side, interlacing her fingers gently over Rinna’s belly.
Hisaki’s body pressed close—her chest against Rinna’s shoulder, her knees slightly bent, brushing against the outside of Rinna’s thigh.
This posture wrapped Rinna entirely in Hisaki’s arms, like a warm, breathing protective shell.
Then Hisaki lowered her head.
Rinna felt Hisaki’s chin rest gently in the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
Hisaki had deliberately placed a firmer pillow under her own chin, so her weight barely pressed on Rinna’s shoulder or collarbone—only the touch of a small patch of skin.
Hisaki’s breath fell on Rinna’s neck.
Very light, very slow, one breath after another, carrying a warm current of air.
Rinna felt the tip of Hisaki’s nose brush lightly against the skin of her neck, then stop.
Then came the sound of an inhale, so soft it was almost imperceptible, like someone smelling a flower, afraid to startle the dew on its petals.
Rinna didn’t move.
She was used to it.
From the initial stiffness and helplessness, to slowly relaxing, and now—she had even started to find this position a little comfortable.
Being held like this by someone who was so careful—every bit of weight calculated, every point of contact controlled, even the force of each breath restrained so as not to disturb the other.
This wasn’t an ordinary hug. It was a way of carving the word “care” into every inch of skin.
Hisaki was clingy with her.
Rinna knew.
It wasn’t the ordinary kind of clinginess between close friends who liked being together.
It was something deeper, heavier, almost like an obsession.
Sometimes Rinna thought: if she were Hisaki, growing up in this huge, cold mansion, with a father who was the head of the Kurose Clan, a mother who died young, a rebellious younger brother, and people around her either respectful subordinates or watchful rivals.
Waking up every day to rules, responsibilities, and the identity of an heiress, with a future everyone told her she had to accept.
In an environment like that, suddenly someone knocks on the door, holding a strawberry cake, and says, “My mom made it, I’ll share half with you.”
That someone had white hair and amber eyes, and when she smiled, the corners of her mouth would lift into a small curve, like a tiny flower suddenly blooming in winter.
If it were Rinna, she would probably cling to that person as if she were the whole world.
So when Hisaki held her like this—almost greedily, smelling her, tucking her chin into the hollow of Rinna’s neck—Rinna couldn’t push her away.
Not just because she was afraid of hurting Hisaki, though she was.
But because she had started to feel like being needed by someone like this… maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.