Chapter 4: The Embrace of a Promise || Yakusoku no Hōyō

  Shunsuke’s Apartment, Roppongi Hills → September 23, 2022

  "A promise kept is sometimes nothing more than staying, quietly”

  Shunsuke lay beside Miyu as morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft gleam across the silk sheets. The brightness was pure and clear, bathing the room in a calm, almost sacred peace. Silence lingered, broken only by the faint murmur of the city and the distant chirp of a bird outside.

  The world seemed far away, as if it no longer existed. For now, it was only the two of them, sealed in their own quiet bubble.

  She was nestled against his chest, her breathing soft and steady against his skin. He drew in a slow breath, her sakura perfume—light and floral—blending with the warm, woody trace of his sandalwood cologne.

  Her nearness grounded him, an anchor that eased the tension coiled deep inside. The relief she gave him was profound, a sharp contrast to the constant undercurrent of strain that shadowed his life beyond these walls. With her here, the burden of family expectations and the cold mask he wore each day seemed to dissolve, leaving only a quiet, unshaken contentment.

  It was a freedom he hadn’t even known he was missing.

  His thoughts drifted back to last night. That familiar cold numbness had begun to creep in, the kind that left him feeling detached from everything and everyone.

  But then he remembered—her hand on his cheek, her voice soft yet steady, calling his name and pulling him back. It was as if she knew, instinctively, how to reach him, how to tether him to the present.

  He’d asked her over and over if she was okay. Thinking back now, he felt a flicker of embarrassment; she probably thought he was losing his mind. Yet it had never been about wanting to sleep with her. What he craved was her nearness, the peace she brought him.

  They hadn’t gone further, and truthfully, he was glad. The real fulfillment came from the trust she had given him simply by staying, a trust he had no idea how to repay.

  Carefully, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips grazing her temple—a silent promise that he would always be there for her, no matter what.

  The last time he had held someone this close was with Ren.

  He shook his head, banishing the memory, a fleeting frown crossing his face. He didn’t want to think about him—not now, not here with Miyu. The past was a cold, cutting thing; this moment was warm, alive, real.

  A light tapping on the wooden floor broke his thoughts, followed by the familiar weight of something leaping onto the bed.

  Kuro had hopped up and sprawled across his stomach with a satisfied grunt. The raccoon regarded him with regal disdain, the dark mask on his face hiding what Shunsuke had long since learned to read as blatant expectation.

  He chirped.

  “I know, I know. I haven’t made your breakfast yet,” Shunsuke said with a quiet laugh, amused by the animal’s impatience.

  Kuro flicked his tail, unimpressed, and made himself more comfortable on Shunsuke’s chest.

  Miyu stirred, her lashes fluttering as her eyes opened to meet Shunsuke’s gaze.

  “Ohayō, Miyu,” he whispered, his voice a soft murmur in the stillness.

  She smiled, nodding. “Ohayō, Shunsuke,” she answered warmly.

  Kuro chirped again, a sharp little sound that all but demanded, Now get up and feed me.

  Shunsuke chuckled, and Miyu’s smile grew as she glanced at the raccoon.

  “Your raccoon has personality,” she giggled.

  “Yeah,” Shunsuke said with a quiet smile. “Thinks he’s some kind of fluffy emperor.”

  His eyes returned to her, filled with tenderness and something close to reverence. His lips hovered just above her forehead, hesitant.

  Was it alright? Was he allowed to be this close?

  “It’s fine,” she whispered, as though she had read the unspoken question in his eyes.

  He lowered his head, his lips brushing gently against her skin—a quiet, fragile acknowledgment of the trust they had built.

  Kuro chirped again, a little louder this time, his dark eyes fixed on Shunsuke’s face as he nudged his arm.

  Shunsuke chuckled. “Kuro, you won’t starve if I give you food thirty minutes later,” he said, the words a gentle tease.

  Miyu laughed too, the sound light and warm.

  The raccoon sat up on its hind legs, placing its front paws on Shunsuke’s chest, a perfect, pouty picture of dramatic desperation.

  “Alright, alright, you spoiled drama queen,” Shunsuke scoffed gently, carefully scooping Kuro into his arms.

  The raccoon let out a huff, as if to say, It’s about time.

  Shunsuke carried the huffing raccoon into the open kitchen and set him down on the counter. He pulled some fruit from the fridge—a few strawberries, a handful of blueberries—and placed them on the counter.

  Kuro’s nose wrinkled, and he let out a loud, theatrical huff of disdain, as if to say, Don’t you dare. I am a noble beast; that is beneath me.

  Shunsuke raised an eyebrow. “These are expensive, Kuro. And I don’t have any tuna here. I forgot to get some,” he said, his fingers gently rubbing the raccoon’s head.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Kuro let out a plaintive chirp, then flopped onto the counter with an exaggerated sigh, as if to signal that he was now, in fact, going to starve.

  Shunsuke chuckled and put the fruit back in the fridge, closing the door with a gentle click.

  “Well, since you don’t want these, I guess there’s nothing for you. You’ll just have to wait.”

  The teasing was clear in his voice.

  Kuro chirped again, a sound of pure disbelief, then hopped off the counter and nudged his leg in protest.

  Shunsuke’s laugh was a low, warm sound. He opened the fridge again, his movements slow and deliberate, and pulled a can of tuna from the back.

  “Oh, what a surprise,” he said, holding it up. “Look what I found just now.”

  Kuro, a picture of rapt attention, immediately sat up on his hind legs, chirping eagerly. He hopped back onto the counter and sniffed at the can, as if to verify its contents were indeed tuna.

  Shunsuke couldn’t help but laugh at the raccoon’s serious, almost suspicious, antics.

  He quickly opened the can and rinsed the tuna under the faucet, washing away the oil.

  Kuro’s nose twitched, and he let out a sharp, happy chirp, his victory complete.

  Later that morning, Shunsuke and Miyu were snuggled on the couch, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the apartment. She felt a profound sense of safety with him, a feeling that defied logic. Her mind couldn’t explain it, but her soul seemed to recognize his as a safe harbor.

  “I can’t explain why I feel this, but I’m so grateful for it,” she murmured, her voice a soft, honest confession against his chest.

  Shunsuke’s hand was gentle on her cheek, his thumb stroking a slow, reassuring path. “Sometimes love doesn’t ask why it chose someone,” he said softly, the words a balm.

  “I…I’ve never been in love before,” she whispered, the admission barely audible.

  He shifted, his hand moving to gently stroke her arm. “That’s okay, Miyu,” he said, his voice laced with understanding. “We’ll take it slow.”

  She nodded, a soft sigh escaping her. “I heard that men like it when their girlfriend is pure,” she murmured, the words an echo of the insecurities she’d carried for years.

  Before she could say another word, Shunsuke’s arms tightened around her, pulling her close in a fierce, protective embrace. “I don’t care about that, Miyu,” he said, his voice a low, final command, leaving no room for argument or doubt.

  “You dissociated last night,” she murmured against his chest, her voice a soft, knowing whisper. “You were hurting too, weren’t you?”

  Shunsuke’s body went rigid for a brief moment before he gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes… I was.”

  A soft, pained sigh escaped Miyu. “I don’t remember it all,” she confessed, her voice barely a breath. “I was… kidnapped. By a rival family. They wanted to provoke my father, to force him into a mistake.” Her voice trembled with the memory, a raw, unsteady thing.

  Shunsuke pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “If it’s too painful,” he whispered, his voice a steady anchor, “you don’t have to speak about it.”

  Miyu pulled back, meeting his gaze, her eyes a mirror of deep, painful memories. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice stronger now, laced with a fierce resolve. “I want you to know. I want you to know what I carry with me.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath, preparing herself. Shunsuke’s hand moved to her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear.

  “I’m here, Miyu-chan. Tell me what you’re comfortable with.”

  A fragile smile touched her lips as tears traced a slow path down her cheeks. “Thank you, Shunsuke.”

  She leaned into him again, finding a quiet comfort in his presence.

  “I lost consciousness during…” she took a shaky breath, the words a fragile confession. “When I came to for a minute, I saw a man standing with his back to me. I was clothed. In his shirt and a jacket…”

  Shunsuke’s breath hitched, a sharp, silent intake of air. His mind reeled, a chaotic storm of memories. He knew that night. The infiltration of the Shimizu-gumi, the brutal command to hinder them. But a single act had changed everything: he had shot the oyabun, a cold, reflexive act of violence after he’d seen the man violating a girl. She had been from the Nakashima-gumi. He had saved her that night.

  “He asked me about my name,” Miyu continued, her voice gaining a fragile strength. “I could only utter that I was from the Nakashima-gumi. I didn’t see his face, only the unfinished dragon on his back.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “When I woke up, I was at home, in my room,” she whispered. “He wore sandalwood too. Since then, when I was anxious, I would seek out sandalwood. It was the only thing that made me feel safe.”

  Shunsuke held her tighter, a silent, trembling fortress. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The girl from six years ago—the one who had haunted his memories, the one whose life he had saved with a single act of violence—was here in his arms.

  “I wish I could meet him again,” Miyu murmured against his chest, her voice a fragile thing. “Just to thank him. That he saved me and gave me my life back… and… that he not only saved one life that night.”

  Shunsuke looked down at her, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

  Miyu gave him a soft, weary smile. “I… I got pregnant,” she confessed. “I have a five-year-old daughter. Her name is Yuki.” Her smile widened, laced with both fear and hope. “I hope you… still want me.”

  The words were a fragile question, but Shunsuke’s answer was instant and unwavering. He smiled, a genuine, relieved smile that reached his eyes, and nodded. “Of course I want you. I will protect you and Yuki. Both of you.”

  Miyu’s body seemed to relax, a soft sigh of relief escaping her. “Thank you, Shunsuke,” she whispered. “It’s like… I’ve known you so much longer than since last night.”

  Shunsuke gently stroked her hair, his heart finally settling. “I feel that too, Miyu,” he murmured, the words a silent promise that their connection was built on more than just a fleeting moment.

  They heard a soft tapping on the wooden floor. Kuro hopped onto the couch, curling up against Shunsuke’s side. “Looks like the balcony is too boring for him,” Miyu said playfully, her voice a gentle balm. Shunsuke simply nodded, his arms still holding her close, his body a silent, trembling fortress.

  “My older brother abused me since I was a child,” Shunsuke said, his voice a low, painful rasp. “My parents… they just looked away.” His grip on her tightened, a silent admission of the physical and emotional scars he carried. “When I was eighteen, my father forced me to become a host. Because, as he always said, I was worthless.” His voice broke, each word laced with a deep, festering wound. “At least I should make money for the family.”

  His body began to tremble, a shiver that had nothing to do with cold. “So Shun Ishihara was born. The Midnight Prince,” he continued, the words a bitter taste on his tongue. “I became famous by twenty. Earned what others only dreamed of… but no one ever asked about the scars. The truth is, I liked being a host, but not what came with it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I was sexually exploited… the only one in the club. A direct order from my father.”

  Miyu looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “That’s horrible,” she whispered, the words barely a breath. “I… I always…” She stopped, the sentence hanging unfinished in the air. A wave of shame washed over her. She felt sick knowing that she had idolized Shun Ishihara. The truth behind his popularity made her stomach churn.

  Shunsuke realized her pain. He gently lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Miyu, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft, a fragile thread. “What’s the matter? Is it because of me?”

  She took a deep, shaky breath, her gaze dropping to his lips. “It’s… alright,” she managed to say. “It’s just… I feel horrible knowing I idolized Shun Ishihara.” A blush crept up her neck. “Not all of my thoughts were… umm…”

  Shunsuke’s smile was soft, gentle, and utterly genuine. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice a quiet balm. “I’m not upset.” He hugged her tightly, holding her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. “As long as you can love the real man… at least a little bit.” His voice was barely a whisper, a question that held a hint of a tremor.

  Miyu leaned in and gently kissed him, a soft, reassuring touch against his lips. Shunsuke reciprocated, his eyes closing, a quiet surrender.

  “I love the real man,” she whispered against his mouth, her words a warm, sincere promise, “more than any fantasy.”

  Shunsuke let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the sound a soft, shaky exhale of relief. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words raw with emotion. “It means so much to me.”

  Miyu snuggled closer, her body molding against his, her fingertips making slow, gentle circles over the fabric of his shirt. “No need to thank me,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. “Not for this.”