Episode 4: The Ruin of Dreams

The morning sun filtered weakly through the paper shōji, casting pale rectangles of light on the worn tatami mats of the Sakamori drawing room. Where yesterday had been the bustle of tea and carefully chosen laughter, today there was only a hush—an aftermath heavy with unspoken wounds.

Hana moved silently among the low tables set for the day’s preparations, arranging fresh cups and steam-warmed tea pots with the same care she always took. But her mind was elsewhere, a constant ache blooming in her chest. Haruto—his polite bows, the flicker of guilt in his eyes as he watched Ayame, the warmth he once bore only for her—all of it spiraled through her thoughts like shards of glass.

She barely registered when Ayame swept into the room, her powder-white face luminous beneath the morning light, her satin kimono whispering against the floor. Two of their cousins—young women decked in the latest Western fashions—followed her, chattering softly as they sank onto cushions nearby.

“Isn’t it exquisite?” Ayame was saying, folding her hands demurely in her lap. “To think, by this time next month, I’ll be Mrs. Takeda. Haruto-san’s family has already begun preparations.”

Her voice was a soft melody, confident and triumphant. Hana’s breath caught as she paused behind a shōji panel, pretending to adjust a tea pot. She focused on the cracked glaze, willing her heart to stop pounding so loudly.

“Yes, imagine,” one cousin replied, her eyes bright with envy. “You’ll have a house in Tokyo, dresses from Paris—everything a modern young woman could wish for.”

Ayame laughed, the diamond light in her smile cutting Hana sharper than any blade. “And, of course, my dear stepsister Hana will remain here to attend to Father and Mother. Such a pity she lacks the… refinement for society.”

Her refinement. Hana’s throat tightened. She clenched her fingers into the linen of her kimono, nails digging in despite herself, and forced one step back. The floorboard creaked.

All three heads turned at once. Ayame’s crimson lips curled into a mock-sympathetic smile.

“Hana, do you wish to join us?” she asked in a voice as sweet as honey. “We were just discussing the engagement. Would you care to help me with the invitations?”

Hana forced a bow. “Of course,” she whispered, her own voice brittle.

She stepped into the room, sliding between the laughing women, her face a mask of polite calm. They handed her a stack of embossed cards—ivory, edged in gold—each bearing the Takeda crest and the date of the upcoming engagement celebration.

“See, Hana,” Ayame said, plucking a quill from the lacquered stand and dipping it into ink. “Next week, we’ll send these to every family in Kyoto. The Sakamori name will ring through every street.”

Her words dripped with triumph. Hana took a card, ink-stained fingers brushing Ayame’s. That single touch sent a jolt of pain through her—an electric shock of betrayal.

She bowed again and slipped from the room, clutching the cards to her chest. The door slid shut behind her, muffling the distant echo of Ayame’s laughter.

---

Flight to the Garden

Hana fled through dimly lit corridors, her heart pounding as though she ran for her life. She passed portrait-lined walls and closed doors behind which servants moved with hushed urgency. She reached the sliding doors that opened onto the Sakura garden and burst through them, stepping onto the stone path almost blindly.

Petals drifted around her in slow motion, like pale snowflakes settling on moss and stone. The air was cool and scented with the faint sweetness of cherry blossoms—beauty that mocked her sorrow.

Without thinking, she sank to her knees on the damp ground, the silk of her kimono brushing against the cold stones. Her fingers fumbled at her chest, seeking air in the tight cage of her ribs.

Tears—silent, searing tears—slipped down her cheeks, each one a confession of her broken heart. She tasted salt and shame, the bitter truth that the one she loved belonged to another.

She pressed her palms into her eyes, as if to staunch the flow, but the tears would not be denied.

“I… I loved him,” she whispered to the falling petals. “Just one moment… just one chance…”

Her voice cracked, and she folded forward, forehead pressing against the damp stone. She could feel the world twisting around her—her father’s frailty, Chiyo’s cold calculations, Ayame’s triumph, Haruto’s betrayal—all converging into one unbearable moment.

---

Haruto’s Arrival

Soft footsteps on the gravel startled her. She lifted her head, brushing damp hair from her face, and saw him standing at the edge of the path. Haruto Takeda.

His suit was damp from the morning mist, but he stood tall and composed, as if carved from marble. Yet his eyes betrayed him. In their dark depths, she saw remorse and conflict warring with duty.

“Hana,” he said, voice husky with emotion. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She looked away, hating him and loving him all at once. “You did,” she replied, her voice trembling. “You meant every word of it.”

Haruto stepped closer, but she retreated another inch, her back against a flowering bush heavy with pink petals.

“I tried,” he confessed, throat working. “I tried to stop it. But… my father—my mother—they would have cut me out from everything if I refused.”

She closed her eyes, tears still streaming. “Then you chose them over me.”

He pressed a hand to his brow, as if to stop his own thoughts from tearing him apart. “Forgive me… I have no choice.”

Those words struck her like final blows. No choice. As though her love held no weight against his family’s ambitions.

She watched him fumble for more words—apologies half-spoken, regrets unsaid—but none of them could bridge the chasm yawning between them.

---

The Final Goodbye

Footsteps approached along the path—deliberate, measured. Ayame emerged from the shadows, her pale pink kimono glowing against the dark green of the garden.

“Haruto,” she purred, gliding toward him as though she owned every step of this world. “I thought I might find you here.”

He straightened, adjusting his tie as if to reclaim composure. He offered Ayame his arm without hesitation. At the touch of her silk sleeve on his, his entire posture shifted—duty and desire entwined in one fraught moment.

Hana rose unsteadily to her feet. She folded her arms across her chest, drawing the deck of invitations closer to herself as a makeshift shield.

Haruto glanced at her once—just once—his eyes fleeting with sorrow. Then he turned back to Ayame.

“Shall we?” he said softly.

Ayame nodded, her smile triumphant. “Yes, Haruto-san.”

Hand in hand, they walked away together, their steps soft against the stone path. They passed beneath the canopy of blossoms, their petals drifting over Haruto’s polished shoes, marking his departure from Hana’s life.

Hana watched them go, her fingers trembling around the invitations until the paper cut her palm. She did not move until their footsteps faded into silence.

When at last she dared to exhale, the Sakura petals above seemed to weep for her.

And in that silent garden, where only the wind and the fading blooms remained, Hana understood the true cost of her family’s salvation—and the ruin of her own dreams.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***