Takamori Akiyama

They met beneath the eaves of a quiet residence, camellias blooming as if on cue. Their marriage had been arranged, neat and inevitable, like all things decided by elders. He stood in his uniform, a general of the special task unit, composed and unreadable. The moment she looked up at him, he fell in love. It unsettled him more than any mission ever had. Raised on discipline and restraint, he had never learned the language of affection. Love, to him, was duty, protection, silence. So he bowed, spoke little, and watched her from a careful distance, hoping that one day she would understand that behind his stillness was a heart already devoted to her.