~ CHAPTER 9 – Fault Lines ~

{ Masumi Aikawa’s POV }

It starts with a message from her mother.

No greeting. No warmth.

Just a demand:

“The Hinami family is expecting a formal dinner this weekend. Wear something appropriate. Do not be late.”

Masumi stares at her phone for a long time before locking the screen.

She already knows what this is.

A test.

A reminder.

A tightening of the leash.

By the time she and Tetsuya arrive at the restaurant, everything already feels like it’s unraveling.

His parents are waiting at the head of the table. Her parents sit beside them like royalty, expressions stiff with expectation. The waitstaff hovers in crisp uniforms, the table glinting with polished silver.

Masumi barely has time to sit before the questions begin.

“Have you two made any progress?”

“Is the match proving to be fruitful?”

“Have you discussed future planning?”

The word marriage hovers in the air like smoke.

Tetsuya shifts in his seat. Masumi can feel the tension coiled in his posture.

She answers before he has to.

“We’re still getting to know each other.”

Her mother’s eyes narrow. “That’s what the trial is for. You’re halfway through it already.”

Masumi’s fingers curl beneath the linen napkin on her lap.

Her father sips his wine. “Three months is generous. Frankly, we’re expecting a decision by the end.”

Tetsuya speaks at last, voice calm but firm.

“I’m not ready to commit to marriage.”

The room stills.

Masumi glances at him, surprised — not by the words, but by the way he says them. Not like an excuse. Not like fear.

Just facts.

“I agreed to the trial,” he continues, “because I thought it would help us figure out what we want. If this becomes a deadline, it stops being real.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Then his mother sighs — loud and theatrical. “You’ve always been so stubborn.”

Masumi leans forward, cutting in.

“We agreed to this trial on mutual terms. That includes the right to walk away.”

Her mother’s lips twitch. “You’re not children, Masumi.”

“No,” she says softly. “But that doesn’t mean we belong to you.”

After dinner, they walk together in silence.

Neither of them says anything until they reach the edge of campus.

Then, finally, Tetsuya stops.

“You didn’t have to say that.”

She looks up. “Say what?”

“Stand up for me.”

Masumi crosses her arms. “You stood up for me first.”

He looks away, smiling faintly. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, quietly:

“This would be easier if I hated you.”

Masumi raises an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No,” he says. “And that might be the problem.”

*

*

*

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s POV }

The apartment is quiet when I get home.

Masumi’s shoes are gone, her room closed, the light under her door faint.

She always stays out late after dinners with our parents.

I know the look she gets when they talk about duty and family pride — that tight-jawed smile she wears like armor.

And I hate how familiar it feels.

I head to the kitchen for water and pause when I notice something on the counter.

A slip of folded paper.

My name isn’t on it, but I recognize Masumi’s handwriting — clean, sharp, almost too perfect.

I don’t mean to read it.

But when I pick it up, the first line pulls the air out of my lungs.

“Proposal: Trial Engagement between Masumi Aikawa and Tetsuya Hinami — to proceed in place of original arrangement.”

Original arrangement?

I read it again.

That can’t be right.

But there it is — in neat ink and formal language — stating what should have been mine. A name scratched out. Replaced.

My name.

I sink into a chair, heart thudding.

She didn’t just agree to this match.

She took it from me.

Before I even knew it was being offered.

Before I could be offered.

Why?

Why didn’t she tell me?

And worse… Why does this hurt more than I thought it would?

Shoichi texts me, asking if I want to meet up, and I don’t answer.

I stare at the paper in front of me.

The more I read it, the more it looks like a shield.

Not a betrayal.

Not a theft.

But protection.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

I slip the page back where I found it and go to my room.

Because now I have a secret too.

One I’m not ready to confront her about.

Not yet.

*

*

*

{ Masumi Aikawa’s POV }

Yasuko doesn’t look at her during breakfast.

It’s subtle — barely noticeable.

No silence, no argument. Just… avoidance.

Just a quiet, distracted energy that clings to her like static.

Masumi pretends not to notice.

She pours her tea, flips through her planner, runs through her mental checklist of everything she has to do — and still, that silence hums in the background.

She’s felt this kind of distance before.

Usually from herself.

When Yasuko stands to leave, Masumi catches her wrist gently.

“Hey,” she says, soft but firm.

Yasuko blinks. “Yeah?”

Masumi hesitates.

For once, she doesn’t know what she’s about to say. Doesn’t have the script.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Yasuko says quickly. Too quickly.

Their eyes meet for a heartbeat too long.

Masumi lets go. “Alright.”

Yasuko nods and walks out the door.

The second it closes behind her, Masumi sits back, unsettled.

She knows that look.

She’s worn it herself — when trust starts to bend but hasn’t snapped.

Something’s changed.

She just doesn’t know what.

Yet.

That night, she finds herself pacing her room, resisting the urge to ask. To corner. To confess things that Yasuko doesn’t even realize she needs to hear.

But the last time she told the truth too early, it blew up in her face.

So she waits.

She always waits.

But this time, she’s not sure Yasuko will.

*

*

*

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s POV }

I don’t bring it up.

Not that morning, or the next, or the one after that.

I didn't ask her why she didn’t tell me.

I don’t ask her if I was really meant to marry a stranger.

And I don’t ask her what she’s given up — or how long she’s been doing it.

Because the truth is, I think I already know.

I just don’t want to hear it out loud.

Shoichi notices I’m off. Of course he does.

But he doesn’t press.

Instead, he walks beside me a little slower than usual, matching my pace. Like he’s giving me time to find my words.

Eventually, I say, “Do you think people can love you… and still hurt you without realizing?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

When he does, his voice is soft.

“I think love isn’t always clean. But it still counts.”

That night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The crumpled note is tucked in the back of my sketchbook now — hidden between blank pages, where I can’t ignore it but won’t have to face it.

I don’t hate her.

I want to.

I used to.

But now, all I feel is this strange mix of anger and gratitude, guilt and grief — like I’ve been given something I didn’t ask for, and she’s the one paying for it.

Masumi isn’t the villain.

She never was.

And maybe that’s what hurts most of all.