Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Minister Najita read the report twice.

The first time because he refused to believe what was written before him. The second because anger had made him miss several lines.

The dismissal order lay open across his desk, accompanied by several supporting documents explaining exactly why Geto Suguru had been released from custody less than a day after his arrest. Each page was filled with legal terminology and procedural explanations. Chain of custody issues,  improperly filed evidence and contradictory witness statements. Reports that should never have been accepted in their current form.

Najita lowered the papers onto the desk and stared at them in silence.

What an extraordinary collection of excuses.

The more he read, the more absurd the entire situation became. Three ministers were dead. Keido, Kuroda, and Fujita had spent years serving the government, and now they occupied graves. According to these documents, none of the evidence could be relied upon, the prosecution itself had been compromised and Geto Suguru was entitled to walk free.

It was enough to make a reasonable man question whether reason had any place left in government at all.

His fingers tightened around report. The paper crumpled slightly beneath his grip.

No evidence.

Everyone repeated those words whenever Geto Suguru's name surfaced. As though motiveand  opportunity are nothing, and ministers ending up dead shortly after crossing the same man was merely an unfortunate coincidence bestowed upon the nation by fate itself.

The law required evidence. Common sense, however, required very little.

Geto Suguru had every reason to despise the government. He had spent years filling the heads of commoners with dangerous ideas and teaching them to view authority as an enemy. His followers worshipped him with a devotion that bordered on fanaticism.Yet somehow, every attempt to tie him directly to a crime collapsed the moment investigators reached for him.

This man was a killer.

Perhaps not by his own hand. Perhaps no witness would ever stand before a court and testify that they had watched Geto Suguru plunge a blade into another man's chest. But Najita no longer cared about such distinctions.

And now the Crown Prince had involved himself. Surely, the Crown Prince is the reason!

Keido was dead. Kuroda was dead. Fujita was dead.

Did none of that matter?

Had their deaths become so politically inconvenient that the government now preferred to pretend the murderer did not exist?

The thought lingered only long enough to further sour his mood.

With a sharp motion, Najita snatched the report from his desk and hurled it across the room.

The bundle struck the wall with a satisfying crack before exploding into loose pages. Sheets of paper fluttered toward the floor like wounded birds, scattering across the carpet and beneath nearby furniture.

"Unbelievable."

The word emerged through clenched teeth.

The clerk near the door visibly stiffened. His brush froze above the ledger he had been updating. Sensibly, he kept his eyes lowered and his mouth shut.

Najita turned away from the mess before the sight of it could irritate him further. He paced toward the window, hands clasped behind his back so tightly that his knuckles ached.

This entire situation was absurd.

For years, government officials had complained that the Crown Prince was irresponsible. They had criticized his lack of interest in court politics, his tendency to disappear from official functions, and his complete refusal to behave like a proper heir to the throne. Najita himself had shared many of those frustrations.

Now, however, the prince had finally chosen to involve himself and somehow that was even worse.

Because he had not intervened to strengthen the government. He had intervened to protect Geto Suguru.

Somewhere within that sprawling city, Geto Suguru was enjoying his freedom while three ministers remained dead.

Najita felt a familiar bitterness settle in his chest.

This was precisely why dangerous men needed to be dealt with before they accumulated influence.

A fanatic with no followers was merely a nuisance. A fanatic with loyal supporters became a movement. A fanatic who attracted the sympathy of princes became a national problem.

Geto Suguru had somehow achieved all three.

His expression darkened.

That school.

"That school should be burned to the ground," Najita muttered.

Najita returned to his desk and sank heavily into his chair. His gaze drifted toward the scattered pages on the floor. He then reached for a fresh sheet of paper and pulled it toward himself.

If His Majesty intended to leave the Crown Prince unsupervised, then someone needed to explain exactly where that path would end.

Meanwhile, in the Imperial Palace, specifically the Crown Prince's residence, the servants of the Crown Prince had reached conclusions that would have given several ministers immediate heart failure.

The laundry courtyard behind the prince's manor was alive with conversation as servants scrubbed clothing, carried water, and exchanged the sort of information that spread through households faster than disease.

Gossip traveled at the speed of light.

A maid wrung water from a garment and leaned slightly closer to the others.

"Then don't believe me," she said. "I am serious. We were ordered to prepare His Highness's bath at midnight."

"That doesn't mean she's going to be his wife," The servant beside her looked unimpressed.

"You're only saying that because you did not see them together."

"I am saying that because I did see her."

The second servant folded her arms. "What kind of noblewoman visits the Crown Prince at night, stays until morning and then wanders around with her hair completely unarranged? I passed her earlier near the east corridor Hair hanging everywhere and has no attendants other than the prince himself."

The first maid looked thoughtful. "Perhaps His Highness likes unconventional women."

"His Highness likes breathing. That does not mean breathing qualifies someone to become empress."

A few servants quickly hid their laughter.

"No elegance. No propriety. No awareness of appearances whatsoever." The second servant shook her head.

"Yet His Highness clearly likes her."

The words silenced the group.

Unfortunately, that was difficult to deny.

The prince had personally issued instructions regarding the mysterious woman. Meals have been prepared for too, even the food the Crown Prince doesn't like was prepared to accomate the woman and servants dismissed whenever she appeared.

The evidence was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

One servant lowered her voice as she spoke. "Do you think she might become the future wife of His Highness?"

One of the older maids nearly dropped the sleeve she was folding.

"His Highness's wife?" she repeated, lowering her voice despite the fact that everyone present had already leaned closer. "You should be careful saying things like that."

"Why?" the younger servant asked immediately. "Everyone is thinking it."

That, unfortunately, was true.

The arrival of the mysterious noblewoman had accomplished something few political scandals ever managed. For nearly an entire day, she had become more interesting than taxes, court appointments, and whatever dispute currently occupied the ministers. The palace employed hundreds of servants. Hundreds of servants meant hundreds of eyes. Hundreds of eyes inevitably produced hundreds of opinions.

One maid shook her head firmly while hanging wet garments onto a line. "I still don't believe she comes from a proper noble family. Noble ladies spend half their lives worrying about appearances. This one doesn't seem to care at all."

"Perhaps she is confident."

"Or perhaps she is strange."

"His Highness is strange."

The courtyard erupted into poorly concealed laughter.

The Crown Prince had spent years building a reputation that made explaining his behavior impossible. Whenever servants thought they understood him, he immediately did something that proved otherwise.

"That is not the point. Did none of you notice how she walks?" The older maid rubbed her temples.

Several servants exchanged glances.

Now that she mentioned it...

"She does walk strangely."

"Not strangely."

The older maid frowned as she searched for the right words. The words 'like a man' only drifted like soap on a wet floor away from her mind.

"Purposefully."

The others stared. "Purposefully?"

"Like a soldier."

The comment earned immediate consideration. Because now that she mentioned it, the observation was difficult to dismiss.

The woman was graceful enough, but not in the manner expected of court ladies.  She walked so confident even when the Crown Prince himself was walking beside her, as if they are equal.

"You're right." A younger servant snapped her fingers. "Maybe she comes from a military family. She's so tall!"

"Military families still teach their daughters how to behave."

"You are all focusing on the wrong thing." The oldest maid present said, maiing the others looked at her. She glanced around before lowering her voice. "Has anyone actually learned her name?"

Silence answered her.

The woman had appeared, occupied the Crown Prince's residence, remained overnight and somehow no one knew who she actually was.

Sooner or later, someone would discover the identity of the woman who had captured the Crown Prince's attention.

Suguru held a bow in one hand while examining the target positioned across the field.

A soft breeze moved through the trees surrounding the training grounds. Morning sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, illuminating the carefully maintained gardens and stone pathways.

The women's kimono Masanori had acquired was admittedly expensive. Long sleeves concealed Suguru's hands while elegant layers of fabric disguised his frame from a distance. Combined with his long dark hair, the result was unfortunately convincing.

Suguru had tolerated it solely because walking through the manor disguised as a noblewoman was considerably easier than explaining why a wanted political agitator kept appearing in the Crown Prince's private quarters.

The disguise had worked. Perhaps too well because several servants now bowed whenever they passed him.

Suguru stood at the edge of the training grounds with the bow resting loosely in his left hand, because what he truly wanted in that moment had very little to do with archery and everything to do with silencing the man currently behind him.

Satoru, of course, looked entirely at ease with the situation.

He was seated in the shade with one leg bent and the other stretched out, elbow propped lazily against his knee while he watched Suguru with amusement, as though the concept of consequences had never once been properly explained to him or had simply failed to take root. The three arrows he had already loosed earlier were visible in the target across the field, all clustered so tightly in the center.

He tilted his head now, voice carrying easily across the distance between them. “Are you going to land that or not?”

Suguru did not look back at him immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the target as if the wood circle had personally wronged him, though in reality he was simply counting the exact angle required to make Satoru regret speaking at all.

“I am preparing,” Suguru said at last

Satoru made a small sound of understanding that was clearly not understanding at all. “That looks less like preparation and more like you’re asking your ancestors for help.”

Suguru, however, simply closed his eyes for a moment, as if the act itself might prevent him from doing something regrettable with the bow in his hand.

“What is that?” Satoru continued, leaning forward slightly with interest that bordered on provocation. “Some kind of ritual? Should I leave you alone so the spirits can guide your aim properly?”

Suguru finally turned his head toward him and glared at him.

“Your Highness, close your mouth before I mistake your tongue for the target,” He said, shooting deathly glares at the prince.

Satoru blinked once, then smiled in a way that suggested he had not taken the warning seriously in the slightest. If anything, it seemed to amuse him more. He leaned back again and gestured vaguely toward the target.

“That sounded almost threatening. Do you want me to move? I don’t want to ruin your shot.”

Suguru exhaled through his nose to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. He raised the bow slightly, adjusting his stance that made wearing women's kimono awkward.

Suguru drew the bowstring back in one smooth motion, the fabric of the borrowed sleeves shifting slightly with the movement, and for the first time

Suguru angled the bow just slightly.

Toward Satoru.

The servants who were wtching secretly gasped in shock. How dare she point a weapon towards their crown prince?!

“Oh?” Satoru murmured. “Is that for me?”

Suguru did not answer.

The silence stretched just long enough to become suspicious.

Then, instead of releasing the string, Suguru exhaled again and adjusted his aim back toward , forcing himself to remember that assassinating the Crown Prince in broad daylight, would likely complicate his future.

“I am reconsidering my life choices,” Suguru said flatly.

“That means you’re thinking too hard,” Satoru laughed and repliedreplied, as if offering advice. “Just shoot. It’s only an arrow. Worst case scenario, you hit me.”

“That would be tragic,” Suguru said without looking at him.

He released the arrow.

The arrow did not strike the target. It did not graze the edge, it did not even dignify the wood with the courtesy of a near miss, instead it flew through the air with all the confidence of something that had absolutely no intention of obeying Suguru’s will and burying itself somewhere in the grass beyond the training field, out of sight and out of relevance.

For a moment, the entire garden seemed to be in collective disbelief, as though even the wind had expected better results and needed time to recover from the disappointment. A few attendants shifted uncomfortably, pretending not to have witnessed anything at all although they had somewhat expected for the 'woman' to miss.

Suguru lowered the bow slowly and looked at the target.

Then, finally, he turned his head toward Satoru with an expression that carried no softness whatsoever, only the promise of consequences that had not yet found a socially acceptable outlet.

“Do not laugh,” he said.

Satoru, seated comfortably under the shade like a man personally immune to both fear and wisdom, placed a hand over his mouth in a gesture that might have resembled restraint if his eyes were not already curved with amusement.

“I’m not laughing,” he said.

He was, in fact, smiling in a way that suggested laughter had already occurred internally and was now simply refusing to stay contained.

Suguru stared at him for a long moment, then shifted his attention back to the field as if looking at Satoru any longer might result in decisions that would later be regretted by at least one governing body.

Suguru exhaled through his nose, then raised the bow again. Hd drew the string back again, the fabric of the kimono tightening slightly around his arm.

The arrow flew again and missed again.

For a fraction of a second, Suguru did not move. He simply stood there, bow still raised, eyes fixed on the empty space where competence was supposed to have manifested. Then he lowered the weapon and turned fully toward Satoru again, who was now laughing with no sound, wheezing like a seal.

Suguru’s glare sharpened.

Across the field, Satoru remained seated beneath the shade of the tree, making a visible effort to compose himself. The effort was failing spectacularly. Every time he appeared close to regaining control, his gaze drifted toward the target, remembered where Suguru's arrows had actually landed, and the corners of his mouth immediately started twitching again.

It was deeply offensive.

"Stand up."

Satoru looked up. "What?"

"Stand up. I wish to hit you," Suguru said, throwing the bow onto the grass.

That only seemed to improve Satoru's mood.

He rose from the grass in one smooth motion, brushing a few leaves from his sleeves as though being threatened with violence by Suguru was a perfectly ordinary part of his daily routine.

"You're wearing women's clothing," he pointed out. "Perhaps another time." His eyes moved lazily over the expensive kimono. "Preferably in my room."

Suguru considered shooting him.

The Imperial Palace was a remarkable institution. Centuries of tradition, political authority, and administrative complexity had produced one undeniable truth.

Nobody gossiped harder than palace servants.

Servants watched as the Crown Prince crossed the field and stopped directly behind the mysterious woman occupying his residence.

Suguru sensed him approaching and immediately knew trouble was coming. Before Suguru could threaten him, two arms wrapped around him from behind.

Satoru rested his chin lightly against Suguru's shoulder, humming delightfully.

The servants watching from afar collectively stopped pretending they were not watching. From their perspective, the Crown Prince had approached the woman staying in his residence and embraced her in broad daylight without the slightest concern for appearances.

"Your servants keep staring at me as though I am some kind of animal in a travelling circus." Suguru said, leaning onto Satoru while he pinched his arm tightly in revenge, which Satoru ignored.

Satoru followed Suguru's gaze toward the attendants scattered around the grounds.

"They are curious." Satoru sounded genuinely amused. "At the moment, you might actually be rarer than jade."

Then, still holding Suguru, he shifted their position slightly until both of them had their backs toward the servants. His arms remained loosely around Suguru's waist as he lowered his head slightly. From a distance, it probably appeared as though the prince was simply speaking quietly into the woman's ear.

Suguru tilted his head to the side, already welcoming the kiss that didn't need to be announced.

Satoru leaned in, his nose brushing against the curve of Suguru’s cheek before his mouth found his. To Suguru's disappointment, the kiss didn't even last a second.

The Crown Prince withdrew immediately afterward, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who had just interrupted his own affection.

Suguru narrowed his eyes. "That was hardly worth turning us around for."

“What? Did you expect I would smother you?” Satoru's arms remained around Suguru's waist while he rested his chin against his shoulder again.

Suguru only rolled his eyes to not make his disappointment show further. It was obvious that the prince was trying harness some kind of reaction to stroke his ego.

"Do you have plans tomorrow?" Satoru asked suddenlh. "Let's go fishing."

"Fishing?"

Satoru sighed dramatically. "Must you sound so surprised every time I suggest a normal activity?"

"You are dramatic," Suguru pinched his arm again.  "I'm going to distribute food in Samegahashi so that's a no."

Unlike certain members of the Imperial Family, Suguru actually maintained a schedule. 

Satoru immediately brightened. "Can I come?"

"No. You have responsibilities as a prince."

"I can help. I am very wealthy, i can donate a lot and even help distributing."

Suguru rubbed his forehead. The problem with Satoru was that ordinary logic frequently failed against him. Most people understood when a conversation had reached its conclusion.

Suguru finally turned within the loose circle of his arms before reaching up and pressing a brief kiss against his lips. It was for two reason. One was to shut Satoru's running mouth, the second is to satisfy himself.