Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basket, nor do I profit from writing this fanfiction. This story is inspired by Legend of Zhen Huan and includes quotes from the manga, anime, wiki, and other sources. This fanfiction has not been beta-read. As I am not a native English speaker, please excuse any language errors.
In the Court of the Crimson Emperor
Chapter X
News of Sakurai Ryuna's pregnancy spread like wildfire throughout the Mountain Resort of Chiba. The announcement was met with universal celebration, for this was the long-awaited first child of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Seijuurou—an heir eagerly anticipated by both the court and the people. Yet whether the rejoicing was sincere or merely a well-practised display of courtly decorum was known only to those whose hearts stirred beneath the surface. For behind smiles and polite congratulations, the human soul often concealed its true sentiments.
That night, few within the imperial estate found restful sleep. Excitement, speculation, and veiled anxieties wove themselves through corridors and chambers alike.
The morning that followed was cool and bright. After breaking their fast, Chiharu and Kouka made their way through the manicured gardens towards the Rose pavilion, where Ryuna resided. Kouka's steps were light with anticipation—she was eager to see her friend. Chiharu, however, walked with more measured pace, a quiet furrow creasing her brow; her thoughts were occupied with concern for Ryuna's health and the realities of her delicate position.
Within the pavilion, the morning sun filtered through gauze curtains, casting a soft golden light upon the chamber. Ryuna was seated at a low lacquered table, a smile playing on her lips.
"You are both here so early," she remarked, a faint amusement glinting in her eyes.
Before her stood an array of dishes arranged with care: a porcelain bowl of congee, thick and aromatic, laced with finely shredded meat and tender vegetables; alongside it, delicacies of the morning—steamed buns filled with red bean and lotus paste, golden salted duck eggs, silken tofu drizzled with sesame, and a platter of freshly sliced fruits. A pot of herbal soup simmered quietly beside her, its fragrant steam curling into the air.
"Please, do sit," Ryuna invited warmly, gesturing toward the cushions placed around the table. "Have either of you eaten?"
"I have, just before coming here," Kouka replied with a smile, settling herself gracefully to Ryuna's left.
"As have I," Chiharu added with a respectful nod, taking the seat to Ryuna's right.
Kouka's gaze softened as she looked towards her friend. "We were concerned for you," she said quietly.
The previous evening had passed in a blur—after the Emperor and Empress departed, they had been swiftly ushered away by the lateness of the hour, leaving much unsaid.
"I'm fine," Ryuna reassured them with a calm smile. She truly felt well. In fact, she was beyond fine—she was overjoyed. It all felt surreal, as though she were living in a dream. Every moment of this new reality seemed too wonderful to be true.
"How are you feeling?" Chiharu asked. "Did you sleep well last night?"
"I'm fine," Ryuna replied, though her tone was somewhat distracted. She hadn't had much sleep, only a few hours in fact. Her rest had been restless, plagued by a quiet excitement that refused to let her drift into a deep slumber. But if she confessed that to Chiharu, she was certain it would earn her a long-winded lecture.
"Why all the questions?" Ryuna added, attempting to steer the conversation away from her lack of sleep.
"I have two younger siblings," Chiharu responded calmly, her gaze softening. "I've seen what my mother went through during her pregnancies."
Kouka spoke up next. "I have a younger brother," she said, her voice steady but tinged with a sense of understanding. "I helped my mother during her pregnancy as well. It's not an easy thing, but you learn quickly what's needed."
"Hey, you're right." Ryuna said, as if she had just realized the fact. Ryuna was the youngest in her family and had never had any experience with pregnancy. None of her cousins, all of whom were around her age, had children yet. The thought of it struck her with a sense of awe—she was the first to become a mother, and not just to any child, but to the heir of the imperial throne, with Emperor Seijuurou as the father.
Initially, Ryuna had sought a child to secure her position in the imperial court, a way to solidify her place amidst the ever-shifting tides of power. A child by the Emperor was no small matter—it offered influence, protection, and permanence.
But now, with the life growing inside her, she found herself thinking about it differently. As her hand rested gently on her belly, a soft smile tugged at her lips, and she couldn't help but wonder: would their child inherit the Emperor's striking handsomeness, with his sharp, noble features and commanding presence? Or perhaps they would take after her? Perhaps a perfect blend of both? The thought brought a flush to her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze, momentarily lost in the possibility.
Chiharu arched a slender brow, her curiosity piqued.
"You are blushing," Kouka remarked with a teasing lilt, her tone light and mischievous. "One wonders what thoughts could cause such a reaction."
"N-nothing!" Ryuna exclaimed a touch too quickly, her voice pitched higher than usual as she averted her gaze.
"Liar," Kouka said with a knowing smirk, leaning in as though she could draw the truth from Ryuna with proximity alone.
For a brief moment, Ryuna hesitated. Then, lowering her voice to an almost inaudible murmur, she confessed, "I was merely wondering... if my son might resemble His Imperial Majesty..."
The colour in her cheeks deepened until they rivalled the hue of a ripe summer peach. Embarrassed, she turned her face away, hiding behind a curtain of her dark hair.
Kouka's eyes widened in astonishment. "You—You truly think that?" she stammered, barely able to conceal her shock.
Chiharu, who had remained silent until then, narrowed her eyes. Her expression grew tense as she studied Ryuna closely. A quiet dread settled in her chest, each word of Ryuna's confession compounding the unease building within her. This is dangerous, Chiharu thought, her mind racing. Utterly reckless...
Yet Ryuna remained blissfully unaware of the silent alarm her words had stirred in her companions. She offered a small, self-conscious smile and, as though seeking to explain herself, murmured, "I merely wish for a son upon whom I may depend."
Kouka and Chiharu exchanged a glance, their expressions shadowed with quiet concern. The weight of unspoken thoughts passed between them, and though neither spoke, it was clear they shared the same unsettling realisation—Ryuna had fallen for the Emperor.
It was a perilous sentiment. And yet, not entirely unexpected.
Emperor Seijuurou was young, extremely handsome, and carried an undeniable charisma that could captivate anyone. He was a man whose presence commanded attention, whose very being seemed to shine with power. It was no wonder that Ryuna, caught in the whirl of her emotions and her situation, would begin to believe that there might be something more than just politics between them.
But both Chiharu and Kouka knew the painful truth that lay beneath the Emperor's charm. The Emperor was just that—the Emperor. He had numerous concubines, each one vying for his favour, each one hoping to bear him a son who would secure their place in the court.
The first rule of the inner palace was clear and unforgiving: never grow too attached to the Emperor. For to do so was to invite heartache. To dream of more was to court ruin.
Chiharu could still recall, with startling clarity, the Emperor's expression from the day before—his cool gaze, the detached tone of his voice, and the distinct air of indifference that had lingered between his words. It had been the first time she had witnessed an exchange between Ryuna and His Imperial Majesty, and the memory left her unsettled. Kouka had noticed it as well—Chiharu had seen it in her friend's tightened jaw, the way her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. They had both understood what Ryuna, in her innocence, could not.
To Chiharu, the truth was painfully apparent: Emperor Seijuurou regarded Ryuna not with affection, but with calculation. She was, in his eyes, the safest choice among the sea of ambitious concubines—a gentle, unassuming woman who posed no threat to the balance of power within the Inner Palace. She was easy to favour because she was easy to control.
Compared to women like Haizaki Shiina, known for her tempestuous nature, or the coldly intelligent Hanamiya Misaki, Ryuna was but a lamb dwelling in the den of wolves. Misaki, in particular, was a woman of dangerous brilliance—measured in her speech, precise in her every move. She had already claimed her place as a formidable presence within the harem.
And Ryuna, sweet, trusting Ryuna, was blind to it all.
She mistook the Emperor's frequent visits for devotion, the exquisite silks and precious jewels for tokens of love. She saw in his attentions the promise of something deeper, never recognising the political motivations woven into each gesture.
Chiharu's heart ached with worry. She knew all too well how swiftly the Emperor's favour could shift—how easily it could be withdrawn. One misstep, one misplaced word, and all of Ryuna's fragile hopes would come crashing down. But Ryuna, with her warm heart and steadfast belief in kindness, could not see the web of silent games surrounding her.
She had not yet grasped the cruel truth that governed their lives: affection in the palace was a performance, loyalty a convenience, and love—if it ever existed at all—was a fleeting illusion.
Chiharu was lost in her thoughts, her mind racing with concern for her friend, when suddenly, Ryuna's maid entered the room, interrupting her contemplation.
"My Lady," the maid announced with a respectful bow, "Your Majesty has sent a gift for you."
A moment later, several eunuchs entered, carrying a large, ornate box. Inside, it was revealed to be filled with an array of precious medicinal supplements: bird's nest, ginseng, angelica root, and ganoderma lucidum—rare and revered for their supposed benefits during pregnancy.
But the surprises didn't end there. Along with the box of gifts came Aida Riko, the Empress's trusted head maid, who stepped forward with a stern yet polite air. "My Lady," Riko began, "Your Majesty has asked me to remind you of the things you should and should not do during your pregnancy."
Riko, with her poised and composed manner, continued explaining in detail, her voice steady and authoritative. "Nutrition in medicine is considered one of the most essential elements in maintaining a woman's health during pregnancy. It not only replenishes the body's postnatal energy but also strengthens the prenatal energy of the developing embryo," she explained, her eyes scanning the group as everyone—Ryuna, Kouka, Chiharu, and the maids—listened attentively.
She paused for a moment, ensuring that everyone was following before continuing with her lecture. "It is crucial for a pregnant woman to focus on eating warm, well-cooked, and easy-to-digest foods," Riko said, her tone firm yet gentle. "A balanced and varied intake from all food groups is essential to ensure the health of both mother and child."
Ryuna nodded solemnly, though Chiharu could see the mixture of curiosity and confusion in her eyes. For Ryuna, who had always been more focused on her feelings and the affection she received from the Emperor, the more rigid and traditional aspects of court life—especially those involving her pregnancy—seemed like unfamiliar territory. Chiharu, with her experience and knowledge of the inner palace, knew that this was just the beginning of the many rules and expectations Ryuna would have to follow.
Riko continued, her tone unwavering as she listed more instructions. "Keep your lower back and the soles of your feet warm, and ensure your lower abdomen is covered at all times. Get plenty of sleep, and avoid excessive exercise during the first trimester," she advised, her words precise and deliberate. "Excessive sweating should be avoided as well. Drink plenty of water, for pregnancy can be quite dehydrating. Most importantly, try to remain happy, joyful, and as stress-free as possible. Your emotional state plays a significant role in your health and the well-being of your child."
After her extensive lecture, Riko finally finished, nodding once with finality. "These are the His Majesty's wishes for you, My Lady." With a polite bow, she turned to leave, but not before placing a neatly bound guidebook on the table. "This will provide further details. Please be sure to follow it carefully."
The moment Riko departed, the room seemed to collectively exhale. The tension that had hung in the air like mist slowly dissipated. Kouka released a small, audible sigh of relief, while Chiharu remained still, her expression contemplative, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Ryuna, still absorbing the cascade of information presented to them, cast a hesitant glance at the guidebook resting before her. Her fingers brushed over the cover, and she picked it up with a mixture of curiosity and quiet apprehension.
"I suppose we shall have to abide by all these rules now," she murmured, her voice touched with uncertainty. "There's so much to remember…"
"You'll get used to it," Chiharu said gently, though her own thoughts were tangled with concern.
Kouka, ever the pragmatic one, grinned slightly. "At least we have the guidebook now. We'll keep you on track."
Ryuna smiled faintly at that, comforted by their presence. But her attention was quickly drawn to the object nestled beside the scrolls and silks—a massive, knotted root wrapped in fine cloth.
"Look at this ginseng!" she exclaimed in awe, lifting it carefully in both hands. Her eyes widened as she examined its form. "I have never seen one so large…"
Chiharu leaned in, her brow lifting slightly in surprise. "This must be a century-old ginseng," she said.
The lavishness of the gift was undeniable. On the surface, Empress Tetsuya had acted in the expected manner—gracious, proper, and attentive. As Empress, it was customary that all of His Imperial Majesty's children, regardless of their birth mother, were to be regarded as his own.
These children were expected to treat him as their mother, with the same respect and reverence.
Yet, Chiharu couldn't help but wonder about the deeper implications. Empress Tetsuya could not have child of his own. If Ryuna were to have a son—especially the Emperor's first son— would she even be allowed to raise him? Or would the child be taken from her, raised by the Empress while Ryuna was left to watch from the sidelines?
She cast a glance at Ryuna, who was still marveling at the ginseng, unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface. Chiharu sighed softly, her heart heavy with the knowledge that Ryuna's innocence might soon be shattered by the cold reality of inner palace life.
After Empress Tetsuya, it was Emperor Seijuurou who sent gifts to Ryuna—precious herbs, exquisite silk fabrics, intricate jewellery, and elegant hair accessories.
Even Chiharu, ever the skeptic, had to admit that Emperor Seijuurou did know how to impress. His gifts were undeniably royal, a clear display of his wealth and status.
"It's so soft," Ryuna murmured as she ran her fingers over the delicate silk fabric, letting the cool texture slip through her hands. "And look at this jewellery and hair accessories," Ryuna said, her fingers delicately tracing the contours of a jade bracelet.
"It's so pretty," Kouka said softly, leaning in to admire the collection.
"They're jade and emerald. His Imperial Majesty remembers that I like green gems the most," Ryuna whispered, almost as if the gesture held deeper meaning than just a gift.
While Emperor Seijuurou had undoubtedly sent the presents out of obligation—after all, she was carrying his child—Ryuna clearly chose to view it as a sign of affection, however subtle.
Chiharu felt a flicker of concern. She wanted to remind Ryuna not to let herself fall too deeply into the illusion of affection. But Chiharu hesitated. To voice her concerns aloud could risk souring the mood, and that was something she knew better than to do with a pregnant woman.
She bit her lip, torn between caution and silence. She didn't want to push Ryuna too far, but she also feared that the deeper she let herself fall into the Emperor's charms, the harder it would be for her to recognise the truth.
Next came messenger of Imperial Princess Satsuki, who graciously sent a collection of supplements specifically for pregnant mothers. The neatly arranged packages contained herbs and tonics that were said to aid in the health and well-being of both mother and child.
The other concubines had sent their congratulatory gifts, each offering meticulously arranged and presented by their personal maids.
When the final maid departed, her tray empty and her bow dutifully deep, Chiharu released a quiet sigh of relief. At last, the barrage had ended.
Ryuna, however, was seething.
She stood stiffly before the pile of ornate boxes and embroidered parcels, her eyes narrowed with barely contained fury. "How dare Haizaki send her maid here?" she hissed, each word laced with indignation.
Kouka let out a long sigh, clearly weary of the tension."Everyone sends gifts, Ryuna," she said, her voice measured and steady. "She could hardly be the only one who refrains. That in itself would raise more eyebrows."
It did not matter that Lady Haizaki despised them—nor that the sentiment was thoroughly mutual. It had not been so long ago that Moriyama, one of Haizaki's staunchest allies, had attempted to take Chiharu's life. The memory of that night lingered like an old wound—sharp, unforgotten.
Ryuna's hands clenched into fists, her frustration growing. "Just throw them away," she snapped, her voice filled with bitterness. "All of them. Who knows what they're sending. It could be poison for all we know."
Chiharu, ever the voice of reason, stepped in quickly. "We can't. Not openly." She gestured to the gifts. "Just set them aside. They'll be examined, as always. But you cannot throw them out—not while eyes are watching. If word spreads, it won't be Haizaki who's ruined. It'll be you."
Ryuna gritted her teeth. She knew Chiharu was right. In this court, where smiles were as dangerous as blades, appearances mattered more than truth. She had to accept the gifts, even from an enemy, and do so with a gracious smile. To reject them outright would invite suspicion, scandal—possibly disgrace.
Ryuna grumbled under her breath, clearly unconvinced. But in the end, she relented, placing the gifts aside with a heavy sigh.
xxxxxxxxxxx
At Orchid Pavilion
Hanamiya Misaki and Kawahara Sayuri sat together, sipping tea as they exchanged quiet words about the latest gossip circulating through the court—the pregnancy of Sakurai Ryuna.
"Your Imperial Majesty visited her the most," Sayuri remarked, her voice tinged with a knowing calm. "Her pregnancy, being the first, isn't exactly unexpected."
Misaki paused for a moment, considering her words carefully before responding. "Indeed, it's hardly surprising, though it is... a rather delicate fact to acknowledge."
The news had arrived the previous evening, carried by whispers from the corridors of the palace. Sakurai, it seemed, had called for a doctor to visit her residence, and the diagnosis was clear—she was pregnant. The moment the news broke, the significance of it became immediately apparent. As the bearer of the imperial bloodline, the Emperor and Empress had to be informed without delay. And, true to the swift pace of gossip within the palace, word of her condition spread like wildfire throughout Mountain Resort Chiba.
By morning, gifts began to arrive for Sakurai from all corners of the imperial court. As concubines of the Emperor, Misaki and Sayuri too had sent their offerings, their way of expressing their shared joy at the announcement..
"Haizaki must be absolutely fuming now," Misaki remarked, a hint of amusement in her tone. The rivalry between Haizaki and Mayuzumi's camp had long been a bitter one, and now, with Moriyama banished to the Cold Palace, it was evident that the tension had escalated even further. To make matters worse, Haizaki had just learned of Ryuna's pregnancy — a development that would surely have added fuel to the fire.
"I saw Haizaki's maid delivering a gift to Sakurai earlier."
Misaki's lips curled into a wry smile. "That's to be expected. Everyone is sending her something. She can hardly afford to be the one left out, can she? To refuse would be to openly show disdain for the child she carries—the very bloodline of the imperial family."
"I heard that Sakurai has received a prescription to help her conceive," Sayuri remarked, her voice laced with intrigue.
"Really?" Misaki raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued.
"Yes, it's from Doctor Yamada — the new physician here," Sayuri replied. "She secretly had her maid inquire about it at the clinic."
"How intriguing," Misaki mused, her mind already spinning with the implications. "See if you can get your hands on that prescription," she instructed, her voice steady and firm, though her eyes held a calculating gleam.
"My Lady?" Sayuri blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by the request.
"I'm not planning to use it," Misaki scoffed, her expression dismissive. "I'm simply curious."
"Yes, My Lady," Sayuri responded
In the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, trust was indeed a rare commodity. Only those loyal to oneself could truly be relied upon. Misaki, as ever, found it baffling that Sakurai—so new to the intricacies of court life—could place her faith in a doctor she had only recently met. How had the Sakurai family raised their daughter to be so naively trusting?
XXXXXXXX
The following day, they gathered to pay their respects to Empress Tetsuya at Pine Crane Hall.
When Misaki arrived, she found Haizaki Shiina already deep in conversation with Fukuda Hiroko. As usual, Haizaki's words were laced with his trademark sharpness, while Fukuda listened attentively, her expression calm and measured, ever the picture of composure.
It wasn't long before Sakurai Ryuna entered, flanked by her two ever-present companions: Mayuzumi, whose icy calm and stoic expression could quell any unrest, and Furihata, who, despite her odd behaviour, was equally loyal. There was something peculiar about Furihata, something that didn't quite sit right with the others. She had once fainted in the Emperor's presence, a moment that had caused a stir in the court, and had been swiftly escorted away. Yet, it was hard to forget that this very same Furihata had collapsed in front of Emperor Seijuurou during the concubine election. Despite such a display of fragility, she had still been chosen, a decision that baffled many.
Misaki was the first to speak, her voice soft yet sincere. "Congratulations, Second Class Attendant Ryuna."
Sayuri quickly followed suit, her tone equally warm. "Indeed, congratulations, Second Class Attendant Ryuna."
Their words of congratulations were soon echoed by Haizaki and Fukuda. Fukuda, ever the picture of composure, merely offered a polite greeting. "Congratulations, Second Class Attendant Ryuna." Her words, though respectful, carried the faintest hint of indifference.
"Congratulations, Second Class Attendant Ryuna. It is an honour to be graced with your presence today." Haizaki's words dripped with mockery, his tone laced with sarcasm, as was customary.
Yet, something felt amiss—there was an unusual edge to his voice, something subtly different from the Haizaki she had grown accustomed to. What was it? Misaki couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was definitely something lurking beneath the surface this time.
Sakurai's face tightened, a flicker of irritation passing over her features, her hands balling into fists at her sides. It was clear she was on the verge of losing her composure, but Mayuzumi, ever the calm and steady one, subtly shook her head. The gesture was a quiet reminder for Sakurai to maintain her poise. With a visible effort, Sakurai relaxed her posture and, in a voice tinged with tinged with restraint, replied, "Thank you all."
For a moment, the conversation could have continued, the tension hanging in the air. But before anyone could speak again, and Eunuch Yuta appeared, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere.
"My ladies," he announced, his voice steady and unwavering. His gaze swept across the group, settling briefly on Ryuna before he spoke again, his tone authoritative. "Please follow your servant."
He led them down a corridor that opened into the rear of the palace, where a large terrace offered a sweeping view of the serene lake. "Your Majesty is waiting," he added.
Empress Tetsuya was already seated upon his throne, awaiting their arrival.
"Grace to Your Majesty," the concubines intoned in unison. "May Heaven bestow health and happiness upon Your Majesty the Empress."
"You may rise," Empress Tetsuya replied, his voice as flat and impassive as ever, betraying no emotion.
"Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty," the concubines responded in chorus before gracefully taking their seats at the designated chairs, their movements measured and respectful.
Empress Tetsuya's gaze then shifted towards Sakurai. "And what of you, Attendant Ryuna? Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine, Your Majesty," Sakurai answered softly, her tone composed.
"That's good to hear," Empress Tetsuya said. "You must take care of yourself... and the baby."
Sakurai's cheeks flushed slightly at the mention of the baby, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her stomach. "Yes, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes lowering modestly as a gentle warmth spread across her face.
Instead of looking at Sakurai like everyone else, Misaki's gaze was fixed on Haizaki. That's when it dawned on her—that was what was wrong with Haizaki. The usual hatred, the simmering malice that Haizaki always exuded, was gone. This was not the woman who looked at Sakurai and others with eyes full of venom; no, there was something else now—something that could only be described as... pleasure.
But that was impossible. If Sakurai was pregnant, Haizaki would be the first to despise it. She would have been the first to plot against the child, to schemingly ensure it never came to term. Haizaki was never one to sit idly by, let alone appear so calm and composed. No, something didn't add up.
If Sakurai was pregnant...
The thought lingered in Misaki's mind, and she felt a sharp surprise at her own conclusion. Her eyes darted back and forth between Sakurai and Haizaki, trying to piece everything together. If what she suspected was true, then she had to give Haizaki some credit for pulling off this deceit.
No, this wasn't Haizaki's doing. That brash, quick-tempered fool wouldn't have the cunning to devise such a scheme. No, it was her follower, Fukuda Hiroko. Misaki had underestimated her. The woman had played her hand brilliantly—far better than Misaki had anticipated. It was clear now that Fukuda would need to be watched closely from here on out.
A slow, knowing smirk curled at the corners of Misaki's lips as she pondered what lay ahead. This was about to get far more intriguing than she had originally thought.
When the truth finally came to light, Misaki couldn't wait to see what fate would befall Sakurai for deceiving the Emperor. The consequences of this deception would be catastrophic, and Misaki intended to savour every moment of it.
XXXXXXXXXX
Rose Pavilion
The following day, shortly after the noon meal, Emperor Seijuurou made an unexpected visit.
Ryuna, Chiharu, and Kouka had only just finished their lunch when word of his arrival reached them. Ryuna was over the moon.
The moment the eunuch announced the Emperor's approach, she leapt to her feet, hurrying to check her reflection one last time. Her dress were perfectly arranged, her hair pinned with delicate jade hairpins, her cheeks dusted with just enough rouge to suggest both health and modesty.
Chiharu and Kouka exchanged a glance at her eagerness—their expressions unreadable, yet not without meaning.
Then, Emperor Seijuurou stepped inside.
"Grace to His Imperial Majesty," they greeted in unison, bowing low.
His gaze passed briefly over the three women before settling on Ryuna. His eyes were dark, sharp, and calculating. "How are you feeling?" he inquired, his voice smooth and measured, though with a subtle distance that lingered just beneath the surface.
"I am well, Your Imperial Majesty," Ryuna replied quickly, her voice bright with restrained joy.
"If you are in need of anything," he said, each word precise, deliberate, "you may inform Reo. Your wellbeing—and that of the child—remains a matter of concern."
Ryuna's face lit with a radiant smile. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."
He nodded slightly, the motion imperceptibly formal, before uttering a few more words—polite, detached, and carefully measured—and then, without as much as a pause to settle, he turned and departed as abruptly as he had arrived.
The moment the Emperor had departed, Ryuna, her face alight with joy, exclaimed, "His Imperial Majesty came to see me! He's never visited anyone before."
Chiharu, ever the realist, murmured softl. "No one has been pregnant before."
It was no secret that Emperor Seijuurou never spent the night with any of his concubines. Whenever one was summoned, she would go to his chambers, fulfil her duty, and then return to her own quarters, as though nothing had occurred. In the morning, as if to make up for the brief, impersonal encounter, lavish gifts would arrive—tokens of his fleeting favour.
Chiharu thought bitterly that the concubines were little more than objects—taken from the shelf when he wished to play, then discarded once his interest had waned.
The Empress, however, held a different place in his world. Everyone knew that Emperor Seijuurou spent most of his nights by Empress Tetsuya's side, while the rest of the concubines were left to wait in the shadows, their presence little more than a passing distraction to him.
Emperor Seijuurou needed concubines only because he needed an heir—nothing more. To him, they were vessels, their value tied solely to their ability to bear him a son. After that, they were dispensable. They were nothing but a means to an end.
Unlike other emperors, who at least showed some interest in their concubines, Chiharu had never seen any sign that Emperor Seijuurou cared for any of them. His focus was singular—duty, not desire. He was a man driven by the weight of his responsibilities, not the whims of passion.
Yet, that lack of interest had not deterred the concubines. They still vied for his attention, for in the harem, power went to whoever the Emperor favoured. That was why Empress Tetsuya wielded such influence; he was able to bend the rules to his will—like when he decreed the Paying Respect Protocol be reduced from daily to weekly and even invited the parents of the concubines to the palace, a rare privilege that further entrenched his position.
Each concubine hoped to win the most coveted prize—the Emperor's heir to the throne. It was a game of desperation and ambition, where affection was an afterthought, and the only thing that truly mattered was securing a place in the Emperor's bloodline. It was a game that could lead to riches, power, or ruin, depending on the fickle favour of the Emperor.
"It means he cares," Ryuna insisted, clasping her hands over her belly as if sealing the moment to memory.
But Ryuna did not realise she was merely another player in a far more intricate game.
The following day unfolded just the same.
Emperor Seijuurou arrived, offered a courteous greeting, observed her with that same inscrutable, distant gaze—and departed.
Yet Ryuna had spent the entire morning in hopeful anticipation: carefully selecting her most elegant dress, painting her lips with a delicate shade of red, and rehearsing her greeting with the quiet excitement of someone awaiting affection. She had even taken the time to select fine teas and exquisite delicacies, thinking perhaps such gestures would earn a smile, a softened look—any sign that her presence stirred something in him.
He declined it all, of course. Politely, distantly—always with that same veneer of imperial formality.
Kouka was nowhere to be found. That woman harboured such a profound fear of Emperor Seijuurou that she had hidden herself away in her own pavilion, unwilling even to risk catching a glimpse of him. The mere mention of his approach was enough to send her scurrying into the shadows.
On the third day, he came again.
But this time, he did not arrive empty-handed.
His chief eunuch stepped forward, bowing deeply as he presented a lacquered tray draped in rich crimson silk. Upon it rested an assortment of gifts—meticulously prepared tonics and nourishing supplements prescribed by the imperial physician, their delicate fragrance rising faintly in the still air. Nestled beside them, encased within folds of finely embroidered brocade, lay a set of exquisitely carved jade jewellery. Pale green and gleaming, the pieces caught the light with a soft, almost ethereal glow.
Ryuna's breath caught. Her eyes, wide with wonder, lingered on the jade bangles and the delicate hairpin inlaid with gold filigree. "Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with restrained joy.
Emperor Seijuurou simply inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression as unreadable as ever.
He did not stay long.
After a few polite enquiries after her health and a brief reminder to take her medicine, he turned and departed—his robes trailing behind him in silent finality.
The moment he vanished beyond the threshold, Ryuna turned towards the gifts once more, her fingers hovering over the jade with almost reverent care.
"He remembered," she whispered to herself. "He truly remembered."
But from where she stood nearby, Chiharu's expression remained grave.
On the fourth day, and the fifth, and all the days that followed—he did not return.
Ryuna's disappointment, at first, was quiet. She said nothing aloud, made no complaints. But her silences grew longer. Her smiles, more strained. She spent hours at her dressing table, staring into the polished bronze mirror as though searching for some hidden flaw—something she might correct.
Chiharu, however, was quietly relieved.
Those fleeting visits had done more harm than good. They had sown a dangerous illusion—one that whispered of favour, of meaning, of affection. But Emperor Seijuurou had not come out of love. Nor even idle curiosity. He had come out of duty.
Ryuna was carrying his child. And a child of the imperial line—however conceived—was not a matter of the heart, but of the state.
To Chiharu, the cruelest thing was not Emperor Seijuurou's indifference—but the illusion he had allowed Ryuna to nurture. A moment's kindness could bloom into a lifetime of longing.
Better a clean wound than a slow unravelling.
XXXXXXX
Pine Crane Hall
For the past three days, Seijuurou had deviated from his usual routine.
He still had lunch at Pine Crane Hall, seated across from Tetsuya beneath the quiet elegance of silk-draped screens and latticed windows. But where he would normally linger—savouring tea, exchanging soft, sparse conversation—he had instead risen early, making his way to Rose Pavilion.
To Ryuna.
It was curiosity. Because Seijuurou knew something that no one else was supposed to know. Ryuna was not with child.
Indeed, she could not be. None of the imperial concubines could conceive—unless he so permitted it.
Only one had ever been granted such a privilege. The one he had chosen. The one he had longed to carry his child—his and Tetsuya's child.
Yet Ryuna's residence were filled with quiet preparations. Herbal tonics were brewed twice daily, their scent drifting through the corridors. Maids walked with reverent tread, selecting the most delicate foods for her table. And Ryuna herself—graceful, flushed, serene—embodied the role of an expectant mother with a conviction that bordered on the unsettling.
It was, perhaps, the finest performance he had ever witnessed.
Or else... she truly believed it.
As did the others. Her friends and her maids—each displayed concern and reverence that seemed entirely genuine. Too natural. Too well-practised to be mere deception.
Seijuurou had observed in silence, saying nothing, offering only brief words and formal gifts. He let them continue, let them speak freely—watching closely, noting every gesture, every glance exchanged behind folding screens.
Something was amiss. That much was certain. But what had truly captured his was not that Ryuna was lying—no, that was but a fleeting concern. What intrigued him most was the unsettling truth that someone else had already spun this web of deceit, convincing her to believe in the illusion. Who had orchestrated such a carefully crafted fabrication? The answer, frankly, was not difficult to deduce. Nor was the motive.
Yet, despite his understanding of the situation, Seijuurou chose not to act. Not immediately. It would be far more interesting to watch how events unfolded. For now, he let them be. Let the actors continue their performance.
Indeed, it promised to be a source of great amusement, if nothing else.
Seijuurou's thoughts quieted as he arrived at Pine Crane Hall for his lunch with Tetsuya.
However, upon seeing him, one of the eunuchs on duty stepped forward with a bow, his voice soft and deferential.
"Your Imperial Majesty, His Majesty has already gone ahead to the garden gazebo to read."
Of course he had.
Tetsuya often lost track of time when absorbed in a book. Once the pages were in his hands, the world around him faded into nothingness. Meals, appointments, the passage of hours—all became insignificant when compared to the stillness of the written word.
Not far from the palace grounds, the gazebo was a place well known to Seijuurou—a quiet retreat that held more than a few memories.
He made his way down the familiar path, weaving through winding trees, their leaves a rich, deep green. Clusters of blooming hydrangeas flanked the trail, their vibrant hues painting the landscape in soft purples, blues, and pinks. A gentle breeze carried the scent of blossoms through the air, lending a serene and almost dreamlike quality to the garden.
Eventually, he arrived at the gazebo, nestled deep within the verdant expanse of the garden. Draped in flowing silks and half-veiled by nature's gentle embrace, it stood like a delicate secret—elegant, quiet, waiting.
The front of the gazebo was open to the elements, its pillars wrapped in gauzy fabrics that danced lightly with the breeze. Toward the back, the structure gave way to an enclosed chamber—an intimate retreat that served as a private bedchamber, tucked safely away from the ever-watchful eyes of the court.
Tetsuya was already there, seated gracefully on a plush couch adorned with soft, opulent pillows. His presence seemed to blend seamlessly with the tranquil beauty of the garden. A book rested in his slender hands, its pages gently turning beneath his fingers as he read in peaceful silence.
Today, Tetsuya presented a strikingly different appearance—one that immediately captured the eye. A silver chain draped gracefully across his forehead, its delicate beauty accentuated by the soft sway of long, slender tassels. His hair was adorned with a collection of delicate ornaments: silver butterflies, blossoms in shades of blue and crimson, and tiny bells that chimed softly with every subtle movement. Each piece added an enchanting touch of whimsical elegance to his ensemble.
Seijuurou recognised them immediately—the very set he had gifted Tetsuya only the day before. He always ensured that Tetsuya received something whenever he sent gifts to the other concubines. Not just any gift—only the finest, the most exquisite. And above all, it was crucial that Tetsuya's gifts arrived first.
And now... Tetsuya had chosen to wear them.
Today. For him.
"Your Imperial Majesty is here!" the attending eunuch called out with a respectful bow, his voice clear yet unobtrusive.
Tetsuya lifted his head at the announcement, his gaze meeting Seijuurou's across the distance.
As he moved, the tiny bells woven into his hair emitted a delicate, silvery tinkling sound, their soft chime adding an enchanting layer to his presence. The sunlight filtered gently through the trees, casting a warm, golden glow on Tetsuya's pale, almost ethereal skin, enhancing his otherworldly appearance. In that moment, he seemed less a person and more a vision—fragile and untouchable, like a dream made flesh. It was as though a single breath, a single word, might cause him to vanish into the air, like mist caught in the wind.
And Seijuurou was utterly mesmerised—just as he had been since the days of their youth. It was as though time itself had stilled around him, the world falling into hush, save for the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint chime of bells in Tetsuya's hair. He could do nothing but stand there, watching—completely, helplessly transfixed.
That same quiet awe stirred in his chest once more, warm and achingly familiar. The love that had first taken root in his heart when they were still teenagers had now bloomed anew. Steady, enduring, untouched by the passage of time, it remained as constant as the changing seasons—undiminished by the years, by the weight of the crown upon his head, or by any of the demands placed upon him.
"Seijuurou," Tetsuya greeted softly, his voice a gentle whisper, like the quiet rustling of autumn leaves—familiar, soothing, and achingly tender.
Seijuurou's feet moved as though guided by an invisible force, drawing him towards Tetsuya until he stood before him, the distance between them now mere inches.
From the edge of the gazebo, Riko, Tetsuya's maid, appeared with the grace of one well accustomed to discretion. She gave a respectful bow, a silent acknowledgement of the presence before her. Moving with utmost care, she unfurled the delicate, gauzy fabrics that hung from the pillars, weaving them around the open space. The sheer veils caught the light as she enclosed them in an ethereal shroud, shielding them from the outside world before she withdrew, her footsteps barely a whisper on the stone floor.
Without uttering a single word, Seijuurou bent his head. His lips found Tetsuya's in a kiss—gentle at first, as though testing the waters—but soon it deepened, becoming more insistent. His hand moved to the small of Tetsuya's back, drawing him closer, as if the very air between them were no longer enough. Tetsuya's lips parted, a silent invitation, and Seijuurou's kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, as though he were trying to bridge the gap of years lost to time.
As they pulled away, breathless, Tetsuya's hand found its way to the back of Seijuurou's neck, drawing him closer once more. The soft rustling of fabric, the subtle shift of bodies pressing together, blended with the soft chime of bells and the distant murmur of the wind. In that space—so intimate, so entirely theirs—the world outside ceased to exist.
Author's Note:
Hello, everyone! First and foremost, thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a review.
Tetsuya has known Seijuurou since they were children. He knew which buttons to press. He does love Seijuurou, but he also knew that he was young and beautiful but beauty doesn't last forever. And he couldn't bet his entire life on a man who was also the emperor without having a backup plan.
Lastly, returning from this fic to KnB, does anyone remember why Himuro Tatsuya didn't play in the Yosen vs Rakuzan Interhigh match? I tried browsing and rereading the manga, but I found nothing.