The air outside the Shiraishi estate was crisp and cool, a welcome reprieve from the oppressive tension inside. Sara stepped out of the building, her heels clicking against the polished stone driveway as she moved towards her car. She ran a hand over her veil, lifting it slightly for better visibility, her thoughts already far removed from the dinner she had just endured.
In her haste, she failed to notice the small purse she had left on the table in the dining room. Izumi, ever observant, had spotted it and hurried to catch up with her.

“Sara-san!” Izumi’s voice rang out as she jogged after her, clutching the forgotten purse in her hands.
Sara paused, her hand on the car door, turning to see Izumi approaching her. Her expression was unreadable, her dark eyes veiled with something that could have been annoyance or indifference.

“You forgot this,” Izumi said, holding the purse out to her. Her voice was polite, but there was an underlying nervousness, as though she wasn’t sure how Sara would respond.

Sara accepted the purse with a small nod. “Thank you.”
Izumi hesitated, fidgeting slightly as if unsure whether to leave or stay. “Um... I wanted to say, I’m sorry about earlier. My mother can be... persistent. The whole matchmaking thing with Fujin-sama and Nahuya-sama was—”
Sara sighed, interrupting her. “Embarrassing?”
Izumi’s cheeks flushed, but she nodded. “Yes. Very. I don’t know why she thinks she can just... force things like that.”
For a moment, Sara said nothing, her gaze drifting upwards to the night sky. The moon was full, its soft light illuminating her face and casting a faint glow over the Shiraishi estate. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm but laced with honesty.

“Izumi-chan,” she began, her voice low but firm, “I don’t have time for things like matchmaking, or whatever your mother had in mind. My life... doesn’t revolve around these games. I’ve built something for myself, something far away from all this.”
Izumi blinked, taken aback by her candidness. “I... see.”

Sara gave her a faint, almost apologetic smile, then opened her car door. “Thank you again for the purse. Have a good night.”
Without waiting for a response, she slid into the car and drove off, leaving Izumi standing there with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity etched on her face.

From the shadows of the Shiraishi estate’s driveway, Isamu watched the scene unfold, seated in his car. He had lingered behind after Aoi left, unable to shake the strange pull Sara seemed to have on him. As he observed her interaction with Izumi, he noticed the subtle nuances in her demeanor—the way she avoided unnecessary conversation, the honesty that laced her words, and the way she seemed utterly unaffected by the grandeur of her surroundings.

When she glanced at the sky, her expression momentarily softening under the moonlight, something shifted in Isamu’s chest.

“She curses her loose mouth,” he murmured to himself, recalling the brief conversation they’d had at once.

A faint smile played on his lips, though he quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality.

Cute, he thought, the word slipping into his mind unbidden.
He lingered for another moment, watching the tail lights of her car disappear down the long driveway, before deciding to head for his own home now.

The hum of the engine filled Isamu’s car as it sped through the quiet streets of Tokyo, his driver expertly navigating the late-night traffic. Isamu leaned back in the plush leather seat, one hand resting on the armrest, the other scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. His mind replayed the dinner events, Sara’s sharp wit and elusive demeanor still lingering in his thoughts.

His phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting his reverie. Glancing at the screen, he raised an eyebrow. The name "Shiraishi Designer"—the woman he knew as his mysterious friend, not the woman from the dinner—flashed on the screen.

“Interesting timing,” he murmured, sliding the green icon to answer.

“Moshi moshi,” he said, his tone calm and neutral.
“Daichi-san,” came Sara’s voice, a mix of exhaustion and amusement. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.”
Isamu smirked faintly, leaning into the conversation. “Try me. You’ve got my undivided attention.”

Sara let out a breath, as if deciding where to begin. “Well, I just left the most bizarre...funeral? It felt more like a circus, honestly. My ex-father’s household decided to put on a show worthy of a primetime drama.”

“Sou ka,” Isamu replied, feigning ignorance but curious to hear her perspective. “What happened?”

“It started with my ex-stepmother trying to act like the perfect grieving host,” Sara began, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “She greeted every guest like she was campaigning for office, bowing, smiling, ‘arigatou gozaimasu’ this, ‘sumimasen’ that. I couldn’t tell if it was a funeral or a PR event.”

Isamu chuckled softly. “Sounds like quite the spectacle. And you?”

“Oh, I just tried to stay invisible. Didn’t work, obviously. People kept staring, whispering, trying to figure out who the mysterious woman in the veil was. I swear, it felt like they were ready to pull out a chalkboard and start mapping out my family tree.”

“Let me guess,” Isamu said smoothly. “They got it all wrong?”
“Completely,” Sara laughed. “One person thought I was a long-lost cousin. Another was convinced I was some secret love child. I mean, I’m flattered, but seriously?”

Isamu allowed himself a quiet laugh. “Did anyone get it right?”
“Not until later,” Sara admitted. “One of my...step-siblings recognized me. Mahira. He dragged me to the aisle to pay my respects. Honestly, I didn’t want to, but he was persistent.”
“You’re talking about the Shiraishi family, aren’t you?” Isamu asked carefully, his voice neutral.

There was a sharp pause. Sara’s voice dropped slightly, tinged with suspicion. “Wait...how do you know that?”
Isamu hesitated for a fraction of a second before smoothly replying, “Oh, there was this small local article I came across earlier today. It mentioned a funeral at the Shiraishi estate and speculated about the identity of a mysterious woman who showed up. Besides, she was rumoured to be led near the open coffin by the young master of the family, Gumi Mahira. It wasn’t hard to piece two and two together, especially considering what you’ve told me before.”

Sara exhaled, the tension easing from her tone. “Ah, I see. Small-town gossip makes the big city news, huh? Figures. What did the article say about me?”

“Just the usual speculation,” Isamu replied, her coquettish voice, eliciting a faint smile. “Mysterious veiled woman, connected to the family, possibly a long-lost relative or some scandalous secret.”

Sara laughed, the sound bitter. “They love a good soap opera, don’t they? Well, for the record, yes, I am connected to the Shiraishi family—unfortunately. My father, Kamui Shiraishi, is the head of that circus. My mother—well, she’s not in the picture anymore. Long story short, they divorced when I was young, and my mom...she wasn’t in a good place afterward. The court gave my dad custody, but I didn’t stay with him long. I moved out as soon as I could and built my own life.”

There was a pause, and Isamu could hear her fingers drumming against something, likely the steering wheel.

“My mom’s doing better now,” Sara continued, her tone softening. “But it’s been a long road. She’s still recovering, and I visit her when I can, but...it’s complicated.”

“Taihen desu ne,” Isamu said quietly, his voice filled with genuine understanding. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, although I don't know much about the Shiraishis. How is your mother now?”

“She’s stable,” Sara said, her voice growing fainter. “She’s getting better, little by little. But...it’s hard seeing her like this, knowing how vibrant she used to be.”
Isamu nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Have you been visiting her often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Sara admitted. “Between work and...everything else, it’s hard to find the time.”
“Make the time,” Isamu said firmly but gently. “Even a short visit could mean the world to her.”

There was silence for a moment, then Sara sighed. “You’re right. I’ll try to visit her more.”

Isamu shifted in his seat, deciding to change the subject. “So, did you meet anyone interesting at this...eventful funeral?”

Sara let out a dry laugh. “You mean aside from the awkward twins trying to strike up a conversation with me? Not really. Although, I did spot two of Tokyo’s most eligible bachelors. Fujin Isamu and Nahuya Aoi. Ever heard of them?”

Isamu smirked, his tone playful. “Can’t say I haven't. Honestly, seeing how famous these men are. What were your first impressions?”

“Oh, Fujin Isamu looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there,” Sara quipped. “He was all serious and brooding, like some kind of anime antihero. Aoi seemed friendlier, but I’m pretty sure he was just as done with the whole thing as I was.”

Isamu chuckled, genuinely amused. “Sounds like they left quite an impression.”

“Hardly,” Sara said, her voice light. “They just added to the overall absurdity of the night. Honestly, the whole thing felt like a bad episode of Terrace House.”

The laughter bubbled up before Isamu could stop it. “You have a way with words, Sara. Never a dull moment with you.”

“Glad to keep you entertained, Daichi-san,” she said, her tone teasing.

There was a pause, then Sara added, her voice softening. “Thanks for listening, by the way. You’re...easy to talk to. I don’t know why, but I feel like I can just be myself with you.”

Isamu smiled faintly. “That’s what therapists are for, isn’t it?”
Sara laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Fair point. I did promote you to therapist status in our first conversation.”

“And I’m just living up to your expectations,” Isamu replied smoothly.

Sara chuckled again, the sound warm. “Well, goodnight, Daichi-san. And thanks again for letting me vent.”
“Goodnight, Sara,” Isamu said, his voice soft.

The call ended.
Isamu leaned back in his seat, the faint smile lingering on his lips. Sara was an enigma, a puzzle he found himself increasingly drawn to. And he had a feeling that this was only the beginning.