Episode 5: A Cruel Bargain

The rain began that evening, a thin silver curtain sweeping across the Sakamori estate. It drummed softly against the shoji screens, weaving a melancholy song that seeped through the walls. Hana sat at the edge of her futon, staring at the flicker of the oil lamp that cast long, trembling shadows across the tatami.

Her chest felt hollow. She had not spoken since the garden—since the moment Haruto’s back disappeared beneath the falling blossoms, his hand resting on Ayame’s arm. The deck of invitations still lay on her low writing table, an unholy testimony of her defeat.

When the sliding door creaked open, Hana flinched.

Chiyo entered like a wraith, her crimson kimono glowing in the lamplight. Behind her, the faint rustle of Ayame’s satin steps followed. Both carried an aura of triumph—one cold and calculated, the other sharp with youthful pride.

“Hana,” Chiyo began, her tone honeyed and poisonous, “you’ve been so quiet. Is something troubling you?”

Hana lowered her eyes, pressing her trembling hands against her knees. “No, Mother,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

“Good,” Chiyo said smoothly, settling herself across from Hana on the tatami. “Because the time for childish dreams has ended. It is time to serve your family.”

Hana stiffened, lifting her gaze slowly. Something in Chiyo’s eyes—dark, gleaming—made her blood run cold.

“What… what do you mean?” Hana asked, though she already knew.

Chiyo’s lips curved into a smile as sharp as a blade hidden in silk. “I mean this: Ayame will secure wealth by marrying Takeda Haruto. And you, my dear, will secure power.”

Ayame tilted her head, feigning innocence as her vermilion lips curled into a smug little smile.

“Power?” Hana echoed, her pulse thundering in her ears.

“Yes,” Chiyo said, her voice soft as rain against a coffin lid. “General Kuroda Renji.”

The name fell like a stone into the quiet room, shattering what little peace remained in Hana’s heart. Her breath caught in her throat.

“No…” she whispered.

“Yes.” Chiyo’s eyes glimmered, merciless as winter frost. “He is the most feared man in Japan—General of the Imperial Forces, undefeated in battle, a man who commands armies with a word. Do you know what that means for us? Security. Power. The Sakamori name restored to glory.”

Hana’s nails dug into the fabric of her kimono. “They call him… the Cruel General,” she said, her voice breaking.

Ayame laughed lightly, her voice a cruel music. “So dramatic, sister. Rumors always grow larger in the mouths of fools. Perhaps he’s not a monster—perhaps he simply… enjoys discipline.”

“Enough,” Hana whispered, shaking her head. “You can’t—”

Chiyo’s voice sliced through her plea like a katana through silk. “You will not refuse me, Hana. For years, I have clothed you, fed you, given you a place under my roof while your father lay rotting in his futon. This is your duty. Your sacrifice will keep this family alive.”

Hana’s throat constricted. She looked past Chiyo, past Ayame, to the shadowed corner where a family portrait hung—her father’s strong, proud face smiling in a world that no longer existed. Is this what he would have wanted?

“Mother…” Hana’s voice trembled like a leaf in the storm. “Please. Not him. Anyone but him.”

Chiyo rose, her silhouette a tower of silk and venom. Her smile widened, cruel and final. “The engagement will be announced within the fortnight. General Kuroda has already agreed to the proposal. His letter arrived this morning.”

Hana’s breath shattered in her chest. “He… he agreed?”

“Yes.” Chiyo leaned down, her perfume suffocating, her words pressing like nails into Hana’s skull. “Stop dreaming of boys who will never fight for you. A man like Kuroda—he does not ask. He takes. And now… you belong to him.”

With that, Chiyo turned, her steps gliding like a phantom across the floor. Ayame followed, pausing only to cast Hana a glance of cruel delight.

“Congratulations, sister,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “A monster for a husband. How very romantic.”

The door slid shut behind them with a sharp snap, leaving Hana alone in the dim room where the rain whispered secrets of despair.

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Hana sank to her knees, the papered floor cold beneath her. Her fingers clutched at her kimono, wrinkling the soft silk as though she could tear herself free from this nightmare.

General Kuroda Renji. She knew the stories. Soldiers who had marched under his command spoke of rivers of blood, of an iron gaze that made men quake, of a heart carved from stone. They said he once executed a man for speaking out of turn. They said he smiled when the enemy burned.

And now… he would be her husband.

“No…” The word broke from her lips like a sob. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, as if to strangle the cry clawing its way up her throat.

She stumbled to the sliding door, flinging it open. The garden lay beyond, drowned in silver rain. The Sakura petals she had wept among yesterday were gone, beaten into the earth by the storm.

Hana stepped out onto the engawa, the chill rain slashing against her skin. She tilted her face to the sky, letting the cold water blind her, wash her clean—or drown her if it wished.

“I’d rather die,” she whispered to the storm, her voice shaking, “than be his wife.”

But the night swallowed her vow whole, carrying it away on the wind like another broken dream.

And far away—in a shadowed house of stone and iron—a man with eyes like tempered steel sealed a letter with black wax, his name etched in bold strokes: Kuroda Renji.

The cruelest man in Japan had chosen his bride.

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