(SAKURA)

Moving out of my father's house wasn't just a step forward; it felt like I was finally reclaiming a part of myself that had been buried under years of complicated family dynamics. Those walls held too many memories I didn't want to relive. So, even though moving in with Neji was under such strange circumstances—a contract marriage for three years—it felt surprisingly liberating. This unconventional arrangement provided the distance and fresh start I had been craving. It wasn't perfect, but for now, it was enough.

I had everything packed up in boxes, sorted out and ready for the big move. From my meticulously organized medical scrolls to those quirky little trinkets I just couldn't let go of. Thank goodness for Ino and Hinata—they were total lifesavers! They lent me their hands and their laughter, making this transition a whole lot smoother. Their warmth cut through the winter chill, reminding me that even in this strange new chapter, I wasn't alone.

This morning, just before the transition, Neji and I were summoned to the Hyuuga association. Outside, winter was in full swing; snowflakes danced softly against the window panes, feeling particularly solemn. We were there for Hyuuga Hizashi's will and a letter meant for his son, securely locked away until he entered into marriage. It struck me that this wasn't merely about partnership; it was about unlocking his father's final words—wisdom reserved for him when he was ready to understand.

The sealed scrolls and the letter were presented to us with a sense of formality, untouched since Hizashi's passing. Neji accepted them with his usual composure, bowing deeply with a reverence that spoke of years of discipline. I followed suit, keeping my head down as the dutiful wife while acutely aware of the elders' scrutinizing gazes upon me—the woman who now bore the Hyuuga name, at least on paper.

As we headed home in silence, the snow continued to fall quietly around us. My contract husband hadn't said a word on the way back; his grip on the scrolls and unopened letter was firm, and the stillness around him felt impenetrable. I matched his quietness; his silence wasn't something to break but rather something that needed time. He had always been like this—a fortress of control whenever emotions threatened to surface.

Once we arrived at the chalet, Neji finally broke the silence. "There are things I need to take care of," he said, his voice curt. It wasn't unkind, but it lacked warmth—a clear reminder of the nature of our arrangement. With that, he stepped inside, leaving me alone in the snow-dusted garden.

I chose not to follow him; this was something he needed to handle on his own. It wasn't my burden to share—not yet. I didn't want to cross that line.

At least we weren't living in the Hyuuga compound—thank goodness for that small mercy in this biting cold. Neji had bought this house long ago with his own savings, a secluded security chalet tucked away outside the capital. I hadn't known about it before, but it didn't take long to realize just how well-off Hyuuga Neji really was—quietly and effortlessly rich.

The chalet stood proudly against winter's embrace, its veranda wrapping around like a warm hug, gleaming against a backdrop of evergreen trees dusted with snow. The sleek modern design felt inviting yet imposing as soft snow piled on its slanted roof.

Despite the cold, the sprawling garden was meticulously kept, and rolling hills stretched endlessly in the distance, leading down to a tranquil lake that shimmered beneath a thin layer of ice. Security jutsu surrounded the property—wide enough to keep any unwanted visitors, especially the ever-watchful Hyuuga clan, from prying.

I couldn't help but think back to that morning when I first moved in.

"A-All of this?" I marveled, turning to him. "It's yours?"

"Yes." Holy hell.

"Wait…" My mind raced, trying to grasp the sheer scale of what lay before me. "You own all of this land?"

He nodded. "I bought it years ago."

"How much—how much did this even cost?" The words tumbled out before I could stop myself.

There was a brief pause as the Hyuuga considered my question. "Four hundred million ryo, give or take," he replied, glancing at me briefly before looking away.

I almost choked. "Four hundred million—" My voice hit a higher pitch as my gaze swept over the estate, sprawling out like a snow-covered fantasy. Who was this man standing before me? How on earth had he earned that much money? The curiosity gnawed at me like another mission report waiting to be filled. "W-What? How?"

"I've worked for it," he said simply, no hint of boasting in his tone. Worked for it. Of course. That was so Hyuuga Neji—quiet dedication, relentless discipline, and an almost mechanical focus on reaching his goals. No shortcuts, no distractions—just an unyielding pursuit of whatever mountain he decided to climb. And clearly, he'd reached the summit.

"You should take a look around. Get familiar with the place," he suggested.

Before I could probe further, he turned and walked back toward the chalet, leaving me alone with the vast expanse of his world. I took his advice and began to explore, each step crunching softly on the frozen ground beneath me. The crisp air stung my cheeks, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. The sprawling grounds stretched out before me, blanketed in a thin layer of snow that sparkled in the pale sunlight. There was a stillness in the air—a quiet beauty that urged you to pause and soak it all in.

I stared out at the lake, its surface frozen solid, and couldn't help but feel small in its presence.

I gazed out at the lake now covered in ice, it was hard not to feel humbled here. It made me think back to those wild nights with Ino—partying until the sun came up, mindlessly splurging on things I didn't really need. If I'd been a bit more sensible back then, could I have afforded something like this at my age? Maybe.

This estate—this home—wasn't just any place to live. It suddenly made sense why the Hyuuga had been so elusive during my first month here. All those days and nights he spent away on missions and the impossible standards he set for himself all clicked into place. He wasn't simply working hard; he was building something, piece by piece. This space was his—completely his. And now, with our contract marriage linking us for the next three years, it felt like a part of me too.

As I stepped into the chalet, a wave of cozy warmth enveloped me, a stark contrast to the chilly winter air outside. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting soft shadows that danced across the floor, and there was Neji, already waiting for me.

The first thing that struck me was how tidy and orderly everything was. There were no stray objects, no clutter— just this perfect, understated neatness that spoke volumes about its owner. My moving boxes, haphazardly stacked in the corner, felt like a rebellious invasion of his pristine space. A twinge of guilt washed over me; it was as if I'd already disrupted his world.

Neji's gaze flickered to me for a moment before returning to my boxes. "You'll want to unpack soon," he stated, breaking the silence.

"Right," I mumbled, feeling oddly self-conscious as I kicked off my snowy boots at the door. "I'll get on it."

He then showed me around the place. The chalet was modest in size compared to the sprawling gardens outside, yet it had an inviting charm that made me feel both welcomed and slightly out of place. The living space was functional and comfortable, though I couldn't help but think that the Hyuuga probably never turned on the TV that sat quietly in the corner. My eyes were drawn to the kitchen next—it was fully equipped and well-maintained. The worn utensils hinted at frequent use, making me think that this guy must cook often but had yet to share a meal with anyone.

Then there was the library attached to the living room. Scrolls and books lined the shelves like old friends waiting for me to dive in; my fingers itched to start reading. I could already picture myself curled up there by a crackling fireplace, losing track of time in pages filled with history and jutsu theory.

We hadn't really talked much since I arrived. What was there to say? Neither of us had ever lived with someone of the opposite gender before. Naruto didn't count—living with him felt more like sharing space with an overgrown, ramen-loving brother. But Neji? He was something else entirely—a complete stranger, silent and reserved.

He was... proper, precise, and a little intimidating. I'd never caught him glancing at a woman's chest or anything like that—not that I'd been looking. Hinata once described her cousin as 'chaste,' almost proudly. There were no kunoichi sneaking out of his room at dawn back at the Hyuuga compound—no dating scandals or gossip swirling around his name. He was the very definition of propriety—except for those occasional massage therapy sessions that Hinata insisted were entirely professional. At least, that was her take. Not that it mattered; this wasn't a real marriage anyway. I wasn't here to judge his personal life or keep tabs on his habits outside these walls.

Still, there was a quiet relief in knowing I wouldn't have to worry about any scandalous affairs complicating our arranged setup. If loyalty was part of the deal for him during our time together, then it had to be for me as well—no outside romances or emotional messes allowed. Falling for anyone definitely wasn't on my time-travel mission checklist. My last date had left me less than eager for any repeat—cute didn't quite make up for dull.

"Down here," Neji said, his calm voice slicing through my thoughts as he gestured toward a staircase leading to the basement. "It's a workshop. I use it for medicine."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Wait… do you actually make them yourself?" The idea fascinated me, and he nodded curtly without elaborating. Was there anything this man couldn't do?

"Your place isn't exactly what I imagined," I said after a moment of contemplation, half-thinking out loud.

"What did you imagine?" he asked, his tone neutral but curious.

I shrugged, a small grin tugging at my lips. "I don't know, something… colder? Like gray walls, perfectly aligned furniture, and zero personality? You seem like the type."

There it was, just barely—a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips. "You'll adapt," he replied evenly. His tone was practical, like everything else about him; no warmth, but not dismissive either.

"What about my sleeping arrangements?" I asked as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. "No way am I sharing a room with you."

Neji shot me a calm glance, unfazed by my protest, before stopping by a door just past the staircase. "Not the master bedroom. This one's yours—the guestroom." He swung the door open, stepping aside for me to take a look.

The guestroom was simple but clean—no frills or unnecessary clutter. It wasn't anything extravagant, but it wasn't bare either. It had just enough warmth to be functional and impersonal enough to feel temporary. It would do.

"You can keep your belongings here," Neji said matter-of-factly. "It's your space now."

"Should I unpack everything tonight, or…?"

"The sooner you adjust, the easier this will be. Do you need help with anything?"

"No, I can handle it," I insisted, didn't want to owe him any more favors—not over something as trivial as unpacking boxes.

"Anyway, make yourself at home," he added smoothly, his tone surprisingly easy.

"How much did you read, Neji?" I asked suspiciously. There was no way he could have grasped all the emotional baggage that came with me moving in.

"I'm not blind, Haruno."

"Thanks for having me in." My words came out a bit unsure but sincere enough to catch his attention for a moment longer.

Neji nodded, already taking a step back. "When you're done, meet me downstairs." With that he disappeared down the hallway. We're going to need this conversation anyway a necessary discussion for the unconventional arrangement we were stepping into.

There were still parts of this house that remained firmly his, off-limits and untouched by our arrangement. At the far end of the hallway stood a heavy wooden door, likely leading to his master bedroom. He hadn't shown it to me, nor had he mentioned the den on the third floor. An invisible line was drawn between us, a silent rule reminding me how much we were still strangers trying to coexist under one roof.

Once I was alone, I glanced around the space that wasn't truly mine yet but would have to become so. Sunlight pooled on the floorboards like melted snow; it felt serene, inviting even. But there was an anxious knot forming in my stomach—this house held his essence, his scent lingering like an echo in every corner.

Next chapter... Rules and Boundaries

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