Chapter 12: Echoes of Kinship
The soft hum of the city filtered through the tall windows of Kagome's room, the evening's glow casting a warm light over her form. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the delicate silver bracelet on her wrist, the cool metal a familiar comfort against her skin. It was a simple piece, with charms that were added over the years, yet it carried more weight than any of the luxury gifts she had received since.
She closed her book and leaned back in her chair, her thoughts drifting to a memory from years ago. It was her tenth birthday, a day etched in her mind like a cherished photograph. Back then, life had been simpler—humble, even. Their family lived in a modest apartment, the walls thin enough to hear the faint murmurs of neighbors and the occasional creak of the building settling. Kagura and Naraku had worked tirelessly, juggling long hours to make ends meet. Birthdays had never been grand affairs; they were more about love than extravagance.
That morning, Kagome remembered waking up to the aroma of soup and the sight of her parents waiting for her at the small, worn dining table. Kagura had been dressed in a faded but freshly ironed blouse, her long black hair tied in a neat ponytail. Naraku, usually stern-faced from exhaustion, wore a rare, gentle smile.
"Happy birthday, Kagome," Kagura had said, her voice soft and warm.
Naraku slid a tiny, carefully wrapped box across the table. "We have something for you."
Kagome had torn into the paper with the eager hands of a child, revealing the small silver bracelet nestled inside. It sparkled faintly in the morning light, but it was the look in her parents' eyes that made it truly shine.
"We saved up for this," Kagura said, her tone carrying both pride and an unspoken apology for the years they hadn't been able to give more. "It's not much, but—"
"It's perfect," Kagome had interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. She had slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, her small hands trembling slightly. It fit snugly, as if it were made just for her.
That day, she had worn it like a badge of honor, showing it to anyone who would look. "My parents got this for me!" she had exclaimed to her friends at school, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude.
Now, years later, the bracelet remained a constant companion. Though the family's circumstances had changed dramatically, the bracelet reminded Kagome of where they had come from and the sacrifices her parents had made to build the life they had now.
She smiled to herself, her thumb brushing over the silver band. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry—it was a promise, a symbol of her parents' love and resilience. And every time she looked at it, she felt grounded, her resolve to honor their sacrifices growing stronger.
With a steady breath, Kagome turned back to her studies, her heart light but her focus razor-sharp. She would become the best doctor she could be—a protector and advocate for her patients. And she vowed, with quiet strength, that no one would ever suffer at the hands of negligence like Hojo's again.
Miroku stood in the quiet sanctuary of the Taisho estate's library, his fingers trailing across the spines of countless leather-bound books. The faint scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, evoking memories of the countless hours he'd spent here over the years. For a moment, he paused, his hand resting on an old astronomy book—a favorite of Kanna's.
Despite the deep bond he shared with the Taisho family, Miroku had chosen to live closer to the city. He loved the energy and vibrancy of urban life, where opportunities abounded, and every corner seemed alive with possibility. The decision wasn't one of distance from the family that had raised him but rather a step toward carving his own path. Still, moments like these reminded him of the calm and grounding presence the Taisho estate provided—a haven he knew he could always return to.
He leaned against the massive window, his gaze drifting over the sprawling gardens outside, where the early morning sun painted the cherry blossoms in hues of pink and gold. His reflection stared back at him, older, wiser, but forever marked by the tragedy that had brought him here.
He had been just a boy when the car accident took his parents, leaving him adrift in a sea of grief and uncertainty. The Taisho family had opened their home to him without hesitation, folding him into their lives with a warmth that he hadn't expected. While Toga and Inukimi had been pillars of support, it was Sesshoumaru who had surprised him the most.
Sesshoumaru, with his sharp wit and composed demeanor, had been the last person Miroku expected to show him kindness. And yet, he had. In his own quiet, stoic way, Sesshoumaru had ensured Miroku never felt like an outsider. He had taken him under his wing, guiding him through the unfamiliar world of elite schools and high expectations, often stepping in as both a mentor and an older brother.
Miroku smiled faintly as he remembered the late nights in Sesshoumaru's study, poring over textbooks and project plans. Sesshoumaru had been relentless in his encouragement, challenging him to aim higher, to push past his self-doubt. He had never coddled him but had always been there, steady and unyielding, like the unshakable foundation of the estate itself.
One memory stood out among the rest: the first basketball game Miroku had joined at his new school. He had been nervous, unsure of his place among his peers. Sesshoumaru had taken him aside before the game, his gold eyes piercing as he spoke.
"Don't think about where you've come from or where you're going," Sesshoumaru had said, his tone firm yet encouraging. "Focus on where you are. Every move you make, make it count."
It was such a small moment, but those words had stayed with Miroku, shaping how he approached every challenge in his life.
Now, as he stood in the library, Miroku felt a deep sense of gratitude. Sesshoumaru might never say it aloud, but his actions spoke louder than words ever could. He cared in ways that truly mattered, ensuring that Miroku not only survived but thrived.
As he gazed around the room, his thoughts turned to Sesshoumaru. To Miroku, Sesshoumaru wasn't just a cousin but a brother and a steadfast best friend—the person who had been his rock through unimaginable loss. Sesshoumaru's quiet strength and unwavering support had been a lifeline, one Miroku would always be grateful for.
More than anything, Miroku yearned for Sesshoumaru to find the happiness he so deeply deserved. Beneath that stoic exterior lay a heart capable of profound care and loyalty, qualities Miroku had witnessed firsthand. He would do whatever it took—sacrificing his own comfort, well-being, and even his very life if it came to it—to ensure Sesshoumaru found the peace and fulfillment he often kept at arm's length. To Miroku, Sesshoumaru's happiness wasn't just a wish; it was a mission born of unwavering love and gratitude for the one person who had always been there for him
And Miroku, ever the schemer, couldn't let the opportunity of the Higurashi Charity Gala pass without a nudge in the right direction.
As he considered his plan, Miroku's smile deepened. The gala was the perfect setting—elegant yet intimate enough for meaningful connections to form. He would ensure Sesshoumaru and Kagome had time together, free from the usual distractions. Of course, it would have to be subtle. Sesshoumaru would see through anything too obvious, and Kagome deserved sincerity, not manipulation.
Still, Miroku felt confident. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was reading people, and he saw something in both Kagome and Sesshoumaru—a potential for something extraordinary.
Kanna's small frame moving quietly among the bustling children who were all busy with their end-of-day activities. She had snuck the little black cat into her bag, a secret she was still unsure of sharing with anyone. Kanna couldn't resist bringing it with her—she was very lucky Sesshoumaru had not noticed.
Her classmates were starting to pack up, chattering and laughing as they prepared for their parents to pick them up. But Kanna was no longer focused on their voices or the room filled with activity. Her wide eyes scanned the floor, searching for a telltale sign of her unexpected companion. She had placed the cat safely inside her bag during the morning, but somewhere in the midst of the afternoon, it had managed to wriggle free.
She heard a faint rustling, a soft mew, and looked down to see a pair of glowing green eyes peeking from behind a chair leg. The cat had managed to slip out unnoticed and was now casually strolling across the room, clearly unfazed by the surrounding chaos.
"Kanna!" one of her classmates squealed, noticing her search. "What's that?"
Kanna blinked, her gaze immediately snapping back to the cat, which was now trotting toward the art table. Her heart skipped a beat—she hadn't realized how out of place a small, black cat would look in a room full of busy children. The cat paused by the table, sniffing at the crayons scattered on the floor.
Feeling a wave of nervousness, Kanna quickly dropped to her knees, trying to approach the cat without drawing too much attention. Her soft voice barely broke through the noise of her classmates. "Come here," she whispered, her words uncertain as she extended her hand toward the feline.
But the cat, ever the curious creature, darted out of reach and ran behind a shelf of books. Kanna frowned, a wave of frustration rising inside her. She had been so careful, and now it seemed like the cat was making this more difficult than it needed to be.
"Hey, Kanna!" Shippo's voice suddenly cut through the commotion. He was standing in the doorway, grinning as he walked over. "What's going on?"
Kanna felt a small blush rise to her cheeks as she gave him a brief glance. "I... I brought something," she explained softly, almost embarrassed. "A cat. It... escaped."
Shippo raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he knelt beside her. "A cat?" he repeated, looking around with exaggerated suspicion. "Where?"
Kanna pointed toward the shelf where the cat had taken refuge, her eyes still scanning the area. "There. But it won't come back."
Shippo leaned forward, his mischievous smile never fading. "Don't worry. We'll find it." He glanced at her and added, "You could call it, you know."
Kanna's gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing through her. She had never really spoken much in class, always keeping to herself, but she understood Shippo's unspoken suggestion. She needed to try.
Taking a deep breath, Kanna stood up a little straighter. "Here, kitty," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
But Shippo, ever the optimist, clapped his hands together. "Come on, Kanna, louder!"
Kanna hesitated but then tried again, this time a little louder. "Here, kitty."
The cat, hearing the familiar voice, poked its head out from behind the shelf, its glowing eyes locking onto Kanna's. For a moment, it seemed to consider the girl before it took a cautious step forward. Kanna reached out a hand, her fingers trembling slightly as the cat drew closer.
"Good job!" Shippo cheered, his voice bright with approval.
Kanna looked at him, her gaze softening, but her attention never left the cat. When the cat finally reached her, she knelt and gently scooped it up, the soft fur fitting comfortably in her arms. "Thank you," she whispered to the little creature as it nuzzled her.
The class, noticing the quiet moment, turned their attention to Kanna. A few children crowded around her, staring at the small cat with wide eyes. "Can we pet it?" one of them asked eagerly.
Kanna hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, her voice steadier than before. "Yes. Gently."
One by one, her classmates approached, cautiously stroking the cat's soft fur. Kanna sat there, holding the cat close to her chest, a rare sense of warmth spreading through her. For the first time that day, she didn't feel quite so alone in the sea of people around her.
As the class continued to gather their things, Kanna stood up with Shippo's help. He gave her a small smile, his eyes filled with pride. "You did it, Kanna."
Kagome sat once more in her father's office, the grandeur of the space almost overwhelming. The mahogany desk between them gleamed under the soft light of a crystal chandelier. To her right sat Myoga, Naraku's trusted advisor, a wiry older man with a wealth of experience etched into the lines of his face. His eyes twinkled with curiosity as he observed Kagome, who held herself with poised confidence, a sleek tablet in hand.
Naraku, seated in his high-backed chair, was as composed as ever, his sharp gaze flicking between his daughter and Myoga. He gestured for Kagome to begin.
"Father," Kagome started, her tone respectful yet assertive, "while reviewing our recent performance metrics, I noticed a pattern. Our competitors are beginning to outpace us in the use of cutting-edge technology, particularly in research and development. If Higurashi Pharmaceuticals is to maintain its position as a market leader, we need to invest in higher-end technological advancements."
Myoga raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "What sort of advancements are you suggesting, Miss Kagome?"
Kagome swiped across her tablet, displaying a series of graphs and visuals on the large screen behind her. "AI-driven drug discovery platforms, for one. These systems can significantly reduce the time it takes to identify viable compounds. Additionally, enhanced automated manufacturing equipment would improve efficiency and consistency in production, reducing waste and costs in the long run."
Naraku tapped a finger on his desk, his expression unreadable. "The upfront investment for such technologies would be considerable. Have you calculated the potential return?"
"Of course," Kagome replied, a spark of determination in her voice. She tapped her tablet again, bringing up a detailed projection. "Based on our current output and market trends, implementing these changes could increase our production efficiency by 25% within the first two years. That's not to mention the competitive edge we'd gain by being among the first in the industry to adopt these advancements."
Naraku's eyes shifted to Myoga. "What's your take?"
Myoga stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It's a bold move, but Miss Kagome makes a compelling case. Staying ahead in this industry requires forward-thinking strategies. However, the implementation must be flawless. Any hiccups could lead to setbacks."
Kagome nodded. "I understand the risks, which is why I'd like to lead this initiative personally. I've already identified potential partners for the technology acquisition and drafted an implementation plan. With your approval, I can begin negotiations immediately."
Naraku studied her, his piercing gaze unwavering. "You've come prepared," he said, his tone neutral but edged with pride. "Very well. You have my approval—but I expect regular updates. If this falters, it's on you."
"Understood, Father," Kagome said, her voice steady.
Myoga chuckled softly, breaking the tension. "It seems the Higurashi legacy is in capable hands."
Naraku's lips curled into a rare smile. "Indeed. Just ensure those hands don't falter."
Kagome met his gaze, unflinching. "They won't."
As she gathered her materials and prepared to leave, Naraku's voice stopped her.
"Kagome," he said, his tone softer, "you're doing well. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
She turned back, a faint smile on her lips. "Thank you, Father."
As she exited the office, Myoga leaned toward Naraku. "She's a formidable one, isn't she?"
Naraku's expression softened slightly, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "She is her mother's daughter."
As the door closed behind Kagome, Naraku leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing in thought. Myoga remained silent, sensing the familiar shift in his employer's demeanor.
"Toga Taisho," Naraku said at last, his tone laced with a mixture of calculation and irritation.
Myoga tilted his head, intrigued. "The Taisho Corporation? What about them?"
Naraku tapped his fingers against the desk, his lips curling into a faint sneer. "Their advancements in renewable energy and sustainable materials have been gaining traction. A partnership with them would complement our pharmaceutical supply chain—cutting costs and bolstering our public image."
"That would indeed be beneficial," Myoga agreed cautiously. "The Taisho name carries weight, and their recent breakthroughs have positioned them as a leader in their sector. Have you considered approaching Toga about a deal?"
Naraku's sneer deepened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Toga is insufferable. That pompous attitude of his grates on my nerves. He struts about as if the world owes him its admiration. Working with him would be... tedious."
Myoga suppressed a smile. He'd heard this sentiment before. "And yet, his company's resources would open doors that even we might struggle to unlock alone. If the benefit outweighs the irritation, wouldn't it be wise to at least entertain the possibility?"
Naraku's expression darkened for a moment, his disdain evident, but he exhaled slowly, his calculating nature overtaking his irritation. "I don't make decisions based on emotion, Myoga. If aligning with Taisho Corp strengthens our position, then I'll endure his presence."
Myoga chuckled softly. "Perhaps you could delegate those dealings. Sesshoumaru has been taking on more of his father's responsibilities, hasn't he? He's less... exuberant than Toga."
Naraku considered this, his expression easing into its usual mask of cool detachment. "Sesshoumaru is a more reasonable option, though no less proud. It would be a delicate negotiation, but it might prove fruitful."
He glanced toward the door where Kagome had exited. "I'll have Kagome look into it. If we're to approach the Taisho family, I want every angle covered. No room for error."
"As you wish," Myoga said, nodding. "She's proven herself capable, and Sesshoumaru has a reputation for respecting competence."
Naraku's lips twitched in what could almost be considered a smirk. "Let's hope Toga's son has better sense than his father."
Myoga smiled but said nothing, knowing better than to press the matter further. Naraku's irritation with Toga Taisho was well known, but even the great Naraku Higurashi wasn't blind to the value of a strategic alliance.
For now, the wheels of his mind turned, already plotting the next move in a game only he could see in its entirety.
The kitchen was quiet when Inuyasha finally shuffled in, his stomach grumbling faintly despite his earlier discomfort. He had been too distracted to eat, and now, it seemed like his mother was going to make sure he didn't go to bed hungry, no matter what had transpired that evening.
Inukimi was already busy at the stove, her focus on the pots in front of her. The soft sizzle of food being prepared filled the air, and Inuyasha hesitated for a moment at the doorway.
"Mom?" he asked, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. Inukimi paused mid-stir and turned toward him, her expression warm but unreadable, as if she had been expecting him.
"Yes, Inuyasha?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a hint of gentle authority.
Inuyasha shuffled his feet, suddenly unsure of how to approach her after the uncomfortable scene with Toga. "Uh... I didn't mean to make everyone worry today," he muttered, feeling his face heat up. "I was just... distracted. You know how I get when I'm into something."
Inukimi nodded, though her gaze softened with a mix of understanding and concern. "I know, Inuyasha," She gestured toward the stove, where a delicious smell wafted through the air. "Come sit. I'll make sure you're fed properly."
Inuyasha hesitated, his usual bravado faltering for a moment as he stepped closer to the table. His mother always had a way of making everything feel a little less overwhelming, even when he felt like he'd messed up.
He sat down, running a hand through his hair, feeling a little sheepish. "I don't know what happened today. I... I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
Inukimi sighed softly as she ladled a generous portion of his favorite meal—fried rice with teriyaki chicken—onto a plate. She placed it gently in front of him, her eyes studying him with a look that was both understanding and concerned. "It's not about the 'big deal,' Inuyasha. It's about being there for the people you care about. Your father's just... well, he doesn't always know how to show it." She smirked slightly, a glimmer of affection in her eyes. "But, you know, you're his son. He worries about you, just like I do."
Inuyasha shrugged, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. "I know, but he's always so serious. He makes everything sound like it's my fault."
Inukimi paused, and a soft smile tugged at her lips. "Toga has a way of making everything more... dramatic than it needs to be. But that's just how he is. You know he's proud of you, though. He just doesn't always know how to show it."
Inuyasha's gaze softened, a faint smile forming on his lips. "Yeah, I guess so."
There was an awkward silence as Inuyasha picked up his chopsticks, poking at the food. His mother observed him quietly for a moment before speaking again, her tone lighter this time. "And now that you've had your chance to sulk, what are you going to do about Miroku?"
Inuyasha paused mid-bite, his chopsticks hovering over the plate. He had almost forgotten that part of the day. "I'll check on him tomorrow," he muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I just... I didn't know."
Inukimi placed her hand on her son's arm, the gesture gentle but firm. "It's alright, Inuyasha. You've been through a lot today. Just remember to check on your family, even when life gets busy. Miroku will appreciate it. Your father, too."
Inuyasha looked up at his mother, her steady presence oddly comforting. It wasn't often that he found himself in these quiet, rare moments with her, and the connection they had was always something he didn't quite know how to express. Instead, he just nodded. "Thanks, Mom."
Inukimi's smile was soft, almost tender, as she patted his hand before turning to gather a cup of tea. "You're welcome. Now eat, before it gets cold."
Inuyasha smirked, already feeling a little lighter than he had when he entered the room. "I was planning to, but you know how I get."
"I know," Inukimi said with a small chuckle. "Eat. Don't make me remind you again."
Despite himself, Inuyasha let out a soft laugh. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced with the familiar warmth of his mother's care. As he dug into his food, a quiet, awkward peace settled between them—unspoken, but understood. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
Shippo sat cross-legged on the carpet in his spacious room, his math workbook spread open in front of him. His desk was piled high with textbooks and papers, and the soft light of the evening filtered in through the large window. Despite the cozy atmosphere, Shippo's frustration was evident as he glared at a particularly tricky problem.
"I don't get this!" he groaned, throwing his pencil down.
A gentle knock at the door caught his attention. "Come in!" he called, relieved at the distraction.
The door opened, and Kagura stepped in, her usual graceful air intact. She carried a cup of hot cocoa, which she set down on his desk. "I thought you could use this," she said, sitting down beside him.
"Thanks, Mom," Shippo said, managing a small smile.
Moments later, Naraku appeared in the doorway, holding a thick business journal under one arm. He surveyed the scene, his sharp eyes taking in Shippo's scattered papers. "Stuck again, Shippo?" he asked, stepping inside.
Shippo nodded sheepishly. "It's this problem. I don't know how to figure it out."
Naraku raised an eyebrow and walked over, sitting down in the armchair near Shippo's bed. "Let's see it," he said, motioning for the workbook.
Shippo handed it over, and Naraku studied the problem briefly before glancing at Kagura. "A joint effort, then?"
Kagura smirked. "Of course. Let's show him how it's done."
Together, Kagura and Naraku worked through the problem with Shippo, breaking it down into simple steps. Kagura explained the logic behind each calculation, her tone patient, while Naraku provided shortcuts and strategies for solving similar problems in the future.
By the time they finished, Shippo was grinning. "I got it! It's 36!"
"Exactly," Kagura said, giving him a proud look. "See? You're smarter than you think."
"Persistence pays off," Naraku added, his tone firm but approving.
Shippo beamed, the earlier frustration forgotten. "Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. You guys are the best!"
Naraku stood, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. "Don't forget that, Shippo. But remember, no shortcuts in learning—only in strategy."
Kagura laughed softly. "And if you need help, we're always here."
After they left the room, Shippo stared at his workbook for a moment, feeling a swell of gratitude. He loved how his parents were always there for him, whether it was for studying or anything else.
But then, a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes as he glanced toward his dresser, where a collection of rubber bands, paper clips, and small gadgets lay waiting.
"Now that my homework's done," he muttered, rubbing his hands together, "it's time to set up another security system"
He started gathering his supplies, plotting out his next trap with the precision of a mastermind.
Kanna sat on her bed, legs tucked beneath her. She absently traced patterns on her quilt.
A light knock on the door broke her thoughts. Before she could answer, the door opened, and Inukimi stepped in, her elegant figure framed by the dim hallway light. She carried a calm presence that instantly put Kanna at ease.
"May I come in?" Inukimi asked softly.
Kanna nodded, her small face barely visible as she clutched her stuffed rabbit close to her.
Inukimi closed the door behind her and approached the bed, sitting down beside Kanna. For a moment, she didn't speak, simply smoothing the quilt beneath her hand.
"I noticed you listening outside the study a couple of days ago" Inukimi began gently. "Were you curious about what we were discussing?"
Kanna nodded hesitantly. "It sounded important… and you sounded so confident."
Inukimi smiled faintly. "It was important. But you are important too, Kanna. You don't need to be afraid to ask questions or join a conversation. It's how you learn."
Kanna looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her pajama sleeve. "I… I didn't want to interrupt. Everyone was talking, and they all sounded so sure of themselves."
Inukimi placed a gentle hand on Kanna's shoulder. "Even grown-ups have moments when they aren't sure. Confidence isn't about always knowing the answers. It's about being willing to speak even when you don't."
Kanna's wide eyes met her mother's, soaking in the wisdom.
Inukimi continued, her tone slightly more amused now. "But speaking of confidence… I hear you were quite bold with that cat today."
Kanna's cheeks flushed pink. "I… I didn't mean to cause trouble."
Inukimi raised an eyebrow, though her expression remained kind. "Taking the cat to school, Kanna? I believe that's against the rules."
"I liked her company," Kanna admitted, her voice tiny. "She's so pretty, and I thought everyone would like her."
Inukimi sighed softly but affectionately. "I understand your intentions, but there are reasons for those rules. Cats don't belong in a classroom, and it's not fair to her—or your teacher—to bring her there."
"I'm sorry," Kanna said earnestly, her head bowing again.
Inukimi tipped Kanna's chin up gently. "I know you are. But next time, ask permission first. I'll help you find a better way to share something you love."
Kanna nodded, relief softening her features. "Okay, Mama."
Inukimi leaned in and kissed Kanna's forehead. "Good. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow's another day, and you'll have plenty of chances to try again."
As Inukimi stood to leave, Kanna looked up, her small voice stopping her mother in her tracks. "Mama?"
"Yes?"
"Thank-you."
Inukimi smiled warmly. "You are welcome."
With that, she switched off the light and left the room, her soft footsteps fading down the hall. Kanna lay back against her pillow, a small smile on her face.
Sango and Kagome sat at their usual spot in the Aoyama Flower Market Tea House, a place filled with the delicate scent of fresh flowers and the soft hum of quiet conversations. The café had always held a special place in their friendship—it was where they'd first met, both drawn to the peaceful atmosphere and shared love for the beauty of the blooms that lined the shelves. The two of them had spent countless afternoons here, talking about everything from school to dreams of the future, slowly becoming the best of friends.
But today, the conversation was more serious.
"Hold on—Sesshoumaru Taisho? That Sesshoumaru Taisho? The one who owns half the city and could probably buy an entire hospital just to have a place to nap? It was him all along?!" Sango's voice was filled with shock, her eyes wide as she processed the revelation.
Kagome let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with surprise. "Yes, it was him. I didn't expect it either."
Sango paused, her mind trying to catch up with the weight of what Kagome was saying. "He actually told off Hojo for you?!"
Kagome shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her cheeks heating up. She avoided Sango's gaze for a moment, feeling her blush spread across her face. "I know... I was just as shocked. He didn't hesitate. He stepped in without a second thought. It's... it's strange. He's nothing like I thought."
Sango furrowed her brow, the memory of the park encounter still fresh in her mind. Her voice softened, almost a whisper as she spoke to herself. "He seemed like he cared... the way he looked at you back there."
Kagome felt her heart flutter at Sango's words, her blush deepening. "I know. I never would've expected it either."
Sango leaned back, her eyes thoughtful as she processed what Kagome was saying. "Actions speak louder than words, Kagome," she said quietly, her tone laced with understanding.
Kagome bit her lip, her fingers playing with the edge of her teacup. "You're right, Sango."
Sango studied her friend, her expression turning more serious. "So, what does this mean? Are you... okay with it? With him?"
Kagome took a deep breath, her chest tight with emotions she couldn't quite place. "I think so. I mean, it's still so new..."
Sango nodded slowly, her eyes softening with understanding. "That's a big deal, Kagome. If Sesshoumaru Taisho really did that for you, then maybe he's not just the cold businessman everyone talks about. Maybe there's more to him than that."
Kagome's gaze dropped to her hands, her blush lingering as she tried to make sense of her feelings. "I don't know what to think about it yet. But... I can't ignore how I feel. Even though he has this tough exterior, I feel like there's more to him. Like, maybe—just maybe—he's not as unreachable as everyone thinks."
Sango studied her, her expression shifting into something softer, though a knowing smile tugged at her lips. "Keep your eyes open, Kagome. Sometimes the people we least expect end up surprising us the most."
Kagome gave a small nod, her thoughts still a whirl of uncertainty and warmth. "I'll try. Thanks, Sango."
Sango's tone softened further, becoming a little more serious but still full of warmth. "Anytime. Just... keep me updated, okay? I want to know everything."
Kagome offered a faint smile, her heart racing a little as the weight of everything unfolding pressed on her. "I will. I promise."
But then, something else crossed Kagome's mind. Her brows furrowed, her fingers tightening around her teacup as she hesitated. "Sango... there's something else I need to tell you. Something about Hojo..."
Hi everyone; thank you for continuing to read my story. We made it to 2025, which is impressive-no doubt about it. I hope you are enjoying reading as much as I am enjoying writing. Perhaps we will have a few surprises up ahead for our loveable characters.