The bell rang sharply, echoing through the sprawling halls of Soutou Academy like a well-rehearsed performance.
Ayaka adjusted her school uniform—a simple blazer over a crisp white shirt—and smoothed the red ribbon tied neatly behind her back. Her long white hair cascaded down, framing her delicate features. To any passerby, she was just another second-year student blending into the sea of teenagers.
But Ayaka knew better. Every smile she gave was a calculated act. Every casual laugh carefully measured. Because if anyone discovered she was the daughter of one of the city's most influential politicians, or worse, that she was secretly married to Hiro Minazuki—the silent, stoic son of another political heavyweight—her carefully built facade would shatter.
She slid into her seat, just in time for the teacher's entrance. The classroom buzzed with light chatter—friends catching up, jokes flying around. Nothing here hinted at the storm brewing beneath the surface of her quiet exterior.
Across the room, Hiro entered with his usual quiet confidence. His black Korean-style wavy hair was slightly tousled, eyes sharp and piercing—blue like the winter sky—but unreadable. He didn't acknowledge the stares or whispers about his famous lineage. To everyone, he was simply "Hiro," a reserved, somewhat enigmatic student who didn't speak much but carried an air of authority.
The two had never exchanged more than a few words, yet the knowledge of their secret bond lingered between them like a silent thread—unseen but unbreakable.
Ayaka's best friend, Emi, nudged her softly. "Hey, you're quiet today. Everything okay?"
She smiled gently, shaking her head. "Just tired."
No one suspected the weight she bore.
Hiro, meanwhile, took his usual seat near the window, eyes flicking toward Ayaka for a brief moment before looking away. Neither of them wanted to give anything away.
Because in this school, secrets were currency, and they couldn't afford to lose face—not when their futures depended on it.
As the lesson began, Ayaka's mind wandered, weaving scenarios of how long they could keep up the act. How long before the carefully constructed walls between them and the world crumbled?
But for now, they were just two strangers, blending into the crowd.