Kanjuro stepped through the sunset-dyed seawater, walking toward Yukinoshita Haruno, who stood frozen at the junction of blood and waves, soaked and covered in filth. Ignoring the deep-seated hatred and despair in her eyes, he reached out and pulled her cold, trembling body into a tight embrace with an irresistible force.
He looked down at Haruno, who was like a broken doll in his arms, that detestable gentle smile still on his face as he asked softly, "Don't you think... this is very romantic? A blood-red sunset, the azure sea, and a devoted lover dying for you... what a dramatic scene."
Hearing this, Haruno laughed out loud—a dry, desolate laugh mixed with falling tears. "Romantic? Kanjuro, if you think using such means to make me kill Hayato with my own hands would break me or make me compromise with you... it's impossible! Don't even think about it!"
Kanjuro didn't seem surprised by her reaction. He only sighed regretfully and tightened his arms as if to rub her into his very bones, his voice low and affectionate: "It's okay if you don't compromise, Haruno. After all... I like you so, so much."
His embrace was warm and powerful, dispelling the cold of the seawater, but it made Haruno feel a deeper, desperate chill from the bottom of her heart. Her stiff body relaxed slightly, leaning powerlessly against the chest of the man who had taken everything from her, including her will to live, her consciousness a complete blank.
Kanjuro held her like that, turned, and walked back to the shore with steady steps, gently placing her on the soft sand.
As the feeling of solid ground returned, Haruno's hollow gaze focused on Kanjuro's face, which was so close and as handsome as a descending deity. The golden light of the sunset cast an ethereal halo over him; this face had once been the source of all her childhood longings and warmth, but now it had become the origin of all her nightmares.
A surge of extreme exhaustion and resentment welled up in her heart.
She suddenly grabbed the dagger that had fallen to the ground, still stained with Hayato's blood, and with all her strength, slashed it toward her own neck without hesitation!
"You will never... have me!" her resolute voice burst out along with the cold glint of the blade.
However—
The anticipated pain and the ebbing of life did not happen.
At the critical moment just before the blade could slice her carotid artery, Kanjuro simply flicked his finger nonchalantly.
[gospel of luke: Time Reversal]!
An invisible, mighty force instantly enveloped Haruno! To her horror, she saw the blade that had already touched her skin pull away from her neck as if a video were being played in reverse. Her suicidal action was forcibly undone, and everything returned to the state before she had even picked up the dagger! Even the blood droplets that had splattered on the ground flowed back onto the dagger and her hands!
Time was toyed with at his whim.
Haruno stared blankly at her empty hands, then at Kanjuro, her mind reeling.
Kanjuro smiled, his tone carrying a hint of doting reproach, as if scolding a disobedient child: "I said, as my daughter, even if you die... you must have my permission. How could I bear to let you leave so easily?"
"You...!!" Haruno shook with rage, all her composure and pretense completely shattered at this moment. She almost screamed her question, "Kanjuro!! What exactly do you want?! What will it take for you to let me go?!"
Seeing her finally lose control completely, the pleasure in Kanjuro's eyes almost overflowed. He stepped forward again, taking her trembling body into his arms, his chin resting gently on the top of her head. His voice held a near-sighing yet unmistakably dominant tone:
"I never... wanted to force you, Haruno. I always hoped you would come to my side of your own free will." He paused, his tone suddenly shifting to one of unquestionable decisiveness, "But this time... I think I must force you once."
Haruno laughed bitterly in his arms, her laughter filled with mockery and a strange realization: "It seems... you lost, Kanjuro. In the end, you still... have to use force."
Hearing this, Kanjuro smiled helplessly and admitted frankly, "Yes, even at this point, you still refuse to compromise. I certainly lost." He shrugged as if discussing an insignificant matter, "But what else can be done? I just... cannot let go of you."
His frankness was more despair-inducing to Haruno than any threat. She pushed him away with sudden force, tears of breakdown in her eyes, instinctively wanting to flee this suffocating beach.
However, as she turned, she saw two familiar figures who had silently stood behind her at some point, blocking her path.
It was Yukinoshita Yukino and her mother, Yukinoshita Yukino.
Yukino's gaze was calm and deep, carrying a complex hint of shared suffering as she spoke softly: "Sister..."
Seiga's gaze was submissive with a hint of pleading: "Daughter..."
The two of them spoke almost in unison:
"Stop resisting."
"Papa is so good to you, why must you resist?"
Seeing her closest sister and mother acting as Kanjuro's spokespeople and standing on his side, Haruno felt the last shred of her support collapse. She looked at them, tears gushing out, her voice hoarse and pained:
"I!! Why... why are you forcing me?! Kanjuro too! All of you are like this!! It's impossible for me to be with Kanjuro! Absolutely impossible!! This is wrong! This is twisted!!"
Seeing her on the brink of collapse, Kanjuro finally waved his hand, signaling Yukino and Seiga to step back.
"Alright, don't force her anymore." His voice remained gentle.
Just then, a sleek, expensive black luxury car glided silently like a ghost to the side of the road by the beach and stopped.
Kanjuro walked toward Haruno again, ignoring her weak struggles, and scooped her up in a princess carry.
"Let's go, Haruno." Holding her, he walked toward the luxury car.
Haruno went limp in his arms, losing all strength to resist, leaving only numbness and a blank despair. She asked hollowly, "Where... are we going?"
Kanjuro looked down at her dull eyes, a smile that was both extremely gentle and extremely cruel appearing on his face as he clearly uttered three words:
"To choose a wedding dress." "Choose... a wedding dress?"
Yukinoshita Haruno thought she had misheard. She repeated those words in disbelief, as if they came from another absurd world. However, Kanjuro's gentle yet unquestionable gaze, along with her sister Yukino and mother Seiga's complex but clearly "escorting" posture, told her clearly—this was no joke; it was the next cruel reality she had to face.
She was practically coerced into being taken to Tokyo's top luxury wedding dress flagship store.
The lights inside the store were brilliant, like broad daylight. Pure white wedding dresses, exquisite veils, and shining jewelry were displayed under soft lights, creating the sacred and beautiful atmosphere of many girls' dreams. However, to Haruno's eyes, all of this felt only piercing and ironic.
Kanjuro let go of her and went off to change clothes on his own. Yukino and Seiga stayed by Haruno's side, one on each side, seemingly friendly but actually cutting off any possibility of escape. Haruno wanted to struggle, to roar, to tear apart this false facade, but she found to her horror that her consciousness seemed wrapped in an invisible film. A strong, external will was suppressing her thoughts of resistance, making her like a marionette, being warmly guided by the staff to be measured and to pick out styles.
(Move... move already! Refuse!)
(Why... won't my body listen...)
(Kanjuro... what did you do to me?!)
She screamed frantically in her mind, but on the surface, she could only stiffly cooperate. Eventually, a strapless mermaid wedding dress with a very simple design but impeccable tailoring, adorned with fine crystals, was selected. When the staff helped her into the dress, the cool silk clung to her skin and the heavy train trailed on the floor. She looked at herself in the mirror, momentarily dazed.
The person in the mirror had an impeccably beautiful face. The wedding dress highlighted her fine figure perfectly, and the pure white color contrasted with her currently pale complexion, creating a startling, fragile beauty.
Just then, Kanjuro walked over after changing his clothes.
He had taken off his usual school uniform and changed into a custom-tailored black velvet formal suit. The cut was exquisitely elegant, perfectly accentuating his long and upright figure. He didn't wear a tie; the collar of his shirt was casually unbuttoned by two buttons, making him look less solemn and more lazily, unrestrainedly sexy. Under the brilliant lights of the shop, his incomparably handsome face seemed to carry its own soft glow. His deep eyes were filled with a hint of a smile as he walked toward her step by step, like a nobleman stepping out of a medieval oil painting, or a demon king bewitching hearts in the dark of night.
He walked up behind Haruno, his hands naturally and gently resting on her bare shoulders. Through the mirror, his gaze met hers.
"My bride..." His voice was deep and magnetic, carrying undisguised admiration and possessiveness. "Today, you are truly beautiful."
Haruno looked at the scene in the mirror—herself in the sacred wedding dress, and the man behind her who was as handsome as a deity yet also the one who had pushed her into hell. This image was eerie and absurd, yet it carried a near-demonic, heart-palpitating "harmony."
She should have felt disgusted, angry, and filled with endless humiliation.
But... looking at Kanjuro's focused and gentle (even if it was a facade) gaze in the mirror, seeing how perfectly they matched as if they were born to be together, and feeling the undeniable warmth from his palms... a strange, tingling flutter, like a cunning venomous snake, quietly slithered into her cold and desperate heart.
(No... I can't...)
(He's a demon... he destroyed everything I had...)
(But... why...)
Her reason was frantically sounding the alarm, but her emotions—that complex and dark attachment to Kanjuro that had been long suppressed, twisted, and perhaps even existed from the very beginning—suffered a shameful moment of wavering under the impact of this deceptively perfect image.
In the mirror, they looked... so "well-matched." It was as if all obstacles, all ethics, and all pain became blurred in the face of this illusory perfection.
She found that she... actually... could not completely hate this moment.
Even deep in her heart, a faint and shameful voice was saying: If... if only all this hadn't started in such a cruel way... If... As soon as this thought surfaced, it caused Haruno a surge of intense self-loathing and panic. She squeezed her eyes shut, not daring to look at herself and Kanjuro in the mirror again.
But that unbidden softening and fluttering caused by him had already been branded deep into her chaotic soul.
Kanjuro seemed to sense her subtle emotional change. The curve of his lips deepened, and his hands on her shoulders tightened slightly, drawing her closer to him and creating an even more intimate posture in the mirror.
"Look," he whispered in her ear, like a devil's temptation, "we... were born to be together."
During the subsequent wedding photo shoot, Haruno was in a daze almost the entire time. She allowed the photographer to direct her, putting on shy or happy smiles as requested—smiles that were stiff and hollow, yet under the foil of Kanjuro's impeccable tenderness, they managed to piece together the illusion of a "happy couple."
The flashbulbs kept flickering, recording these twisted and beautiful scenes.
Yukinoshita Haruno, wearing a wedding dress that symbolized purity and vows, stood beside the man who was her "father" in both a legal and ethical sense, her heart repeatedly torn between the abyss of despair and a forced, twisted indulgence.
She knew that once some boundaries were crossed, there was no turning back. And Kanjuro, with a smile, was personally pushing her over that line.
During a break in the wedding photo shoot, while the makeup artist had temporarily stepped away, Yukinoshita Haruno stood alone in front of a giant floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was still wearing that sacred wedding dress, so beautiful it felt unreal. Looking at the stranger in the mirror, a massive sense of absurdity and powerlessness almost swallowed her whole.
Finally unable to help herself, she spoke with a raspy voice to the reflection of Kanjuro, who had quietly walked up behind her at some point, offering one last question of unwilling defiance:
"Kanjuro... what exactly... do you want?"
She didn't understand. He had set up such a scheme, manipulated Hayama, and forced her to this point—could it really just be for this absurd, anti-ethical "wedding"?
Kanjuro didn't answer immediately. He only stepped forward slowly and embraced her from behind, gently yet irresistibly. His arms encircled her waist in the wedding dress, and his chin rested lightly on the top of her faintly scented hair. Through the mirror, he locked eyes with her gaze, which was filled with pain and confusion.
His movements were extremely gentle, completely different from the cruelty and violence he showed to others.
"What do I want?" Kanjuro repeated her question, his lips curling into a near-doting arc. His voice was deep and magnetic, like the most intimate whisper between lovers. "Haruno, look..."
He tightened his arms slightly, letting her feel his presence more clearly.
"To Yuigahama, I exploited her innocence to stain her hands with blood; to Yukino, I tore her pride to shreds to let her sink while fully conscious; to Hiratsuka Shizuka, I tampered with her memories to make her dependent through fear... To the vast majority of people in this world, I can inflict the most cruel methods without hesitation."
He counted his "crimes" in a tone as flat as if he were listing items on a menu, but every word was like an ice pick piercing Haruno's eardrums.
"But... only to you, Haruno." His tone shifted, and his gaze through the mirror became more focused, even carrying a near-obsessive tenderness. "I have used the most patience, the most 'tenderness'."
He gently turned her body around to face him, his fingers touching her cheek, which was trembling slightly from shock and complex emotions.
"You are the only one for whom I am willing to spend so much effort, and even... willing to give the form of 'marriage.' You are the only woman who can rightfully stand by my side and be called my 'wife'."
His fingertips were warm, and his eyes were as deep as the starry sky, churning with a frightening, twisted, yet incredibly focused emotion.
"Could it be..." He leaned in slightly, approaching her, his warm breath brushing against her cheek, his voice carrying a bewitching power. "Facing such'specialness,' such 'uniqueness'... you really don't feel... moved at all?"
"..."
Yukinoshita Haruno stared blankly at his face so close to hers, at the undisguised, obsessive light in his eyes that saw her as an "exception," and listened to his words that absurdly blended cruelty and tenderness... (Only gentle to you...)
(The only wife...)
(Special... exception...)
These words were like the sweetest poison, precisely injected into her riddled and crumbling defenses.
She knew full well it was a trap, knew it was manipulation, knew that behind the "tenderness" he spoke of lay an even deeper darkness... but an indescribable emotion, a mix of vanity, the need to be wanted, and that already-rooted twisted attachment, uncontrollably sprouted and spread in her heart.
Looking at his incomparably handsome face and feeling his focus, which at this moment seemed to center the entire universe on her alone, a shameful and dangerous flutter finally broke through the dam of her reason.
The feeling of being moved, like a wildfire, was at this moment... clearly perceived by her, despite her constant resistance and denial.
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