A Mistake, Held in Your Arms ~ I Don’t Want to Marry My Matchmaking Partner, So I Will Offer My Virginity to You ~ - Chapter 0

In a corner of the marketplace shrouded in morning mist.

The street, still not fully touched by sunlight, brims with the liveliness of people.

Dried radish leaves sway in the wind, mingling with the scents of vegetables and fish.

From somewhere among the houses, the aroma of freshly steamed white rice and miso soup drifts through the air.

On this early spring morning, their breaths still white in the cold, Hina walks while holding her son’s hand, her shoulders slightly hunched.

Today, at the landlady’s request, she had taken a carriage down the mountain to the market at the foot to run errands.

Tucking the ledger into the front of her kimono, she had set out early in the morning.

Her three-year-old son, Keito, who usually played in a corner of the servants’ quarters, had ended up tagging along today.

Unable to bring herself to scold him, she had bundled him up in a thick haori and brought him with her.

His small hands were cold, yet they clung tightly to Hina’s fingers.

“Mommy, buy me that~!”

Keito pointed toward a sweet potato vendor, steam rising from the stall.

The sweet scent of roasted potatoes wafted on the breeze, but Hina only smiled and shook her head.

“Just looking today. When we get back, we have dried sweet potatoes, okay?”

Separate from that savory aroma, a sudden, softly sweet fragrance tickled her nose.

It was the scent of violets. Hina glanced down. Behind the stone wall, tiny purple flowers swayed in the wind.

When Keito noticed them, his face brightened instantly, and he dashed over with adorable little steps.

“Mommy, can I pick these?”

“Of course. We can press them and make a bookmark.”

“Yay!”

His small hands carefully plucked the violets, enveloped in the spring air.

Hina watched his back with a heart so full it might burst.

The violets bloomed tenaciously yet quietly in the wild.

Just like the two of them now—she thought.

Just as Keito finished picking the flowers and they began walking again—

From beyond the crowd came a low, nostalgic voice, one she recognized.

“…Hina…?”

At the sound, Hina spun around.

As if parting the sea of people, there he stood—undeniably, unmistakably, him.

A black-haired young man with an upright posture. Behind his glasses, those sharp, clear eyes were unchanged, still carrying a hint of sorrow.

The hem of his overcoat fluttered in the wind, his presence as dignified and composed as ever.

“Master…?”

—She had thought she would never see him again.

How much time had passed since that day, when she had numbed her heart and left the house?

Memories of that night flickered through her mind, and her body burned with a phantom ache.

His eyes widened. Then, his gaze shifted to Keito at Hina’s feet.

“That child is…”

Hina stiffened, pressing her lips together, and bowed her head slightly.

“…Forgive me!”

As if fleeing, she quickened her pace into the crowd.

Pulling Keito along, weaving through the waves of people.

The soles of her tabi socks felt cold against the ground, but she barely noticed.

(—Why?)

Why was he here?

Her heartbeat only grew faster.

Lost in the crowd, Hina pressed a hand to her chest.

(…I thought I had forgotten.)

Memories that scorched her heart slowly rose from beyond the morning mist.

Then, a small voice came from below.

“Mommy, it hurts.”

Startled, she looked down to see Keito frowning up at her.

She must have squeezed his hand too tightly without realizing.

“Ah… I’m sorry, Keito.”

Hina bent her knees, crouching down, and pulled his small body into an embrace.

His chilled fingertips, his warm cheeks—all pressed snugly against her chest.

(…That’s right. I have Keito now.)

Hina closed her eyes softly.

No matter how much the past tried to drag her heart back, protecting this little life was everything to her now.

Even if his eyes—so much like his—made her remember those days—

She would live here, with this child.

(Because that’s the path I chose.)

This was the only place they belonged.

Looking at the violets in Keito’s hand, Hina remembered.

Come to think of it, she had met Keiichiro, too, in the season when violets bloomed—