The office lights dimmed behind him, one row at a time, like curtains falling on a stage. The final click of his shoes echoed down the marble hallway of Fujiwara Multimedia before he slipped into the private elevator. The name on his desk still said Fushiguro Ren—a shield. A mask. A life borrowed.
He loosened his tie in the descending lift, glancing at the faint reflection in the mirrored walls. He looked calm. Composed. Perfectly unbothered.
He didn't feel like any of those things.
Outside, the driver stood waiting beside a black car. Ren nodded silently, sliding into the back seat. The door shut with a soft thump—a sound that always made him feel like the world was being sealed off behind him.
"Back to the main house, sir?" the driver asked.
Ren leaned his head against the cool glass, eyes closed.
"…Yeah."
The city lights passed like fleeting fireflies. But his mind lingered somewhere else—on unfinished sentences, almost-smiles, and the faint scent of Yume's hair when she stood beside him
She called me a gentleman.
She smiled when she thought I wasn't looking.
He clenched his fist on his lap. No. That part of him couldn't surface. Not at work. Not when she didn't even know his real name.
Twenty minutes later, the Fujiwara mansion loomed behind its ornate gates. The grand old house stood bathed in warm gold light, the kind that tried too hard to feel like home.
Ren entered through the side entrance—his usual quiet route. The staff bowed, and he gave a small nod. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, not even polite ones.
Up the staircase, past the old painting of his grandfather, past the library with the grandfather clock, he walked until he reached his room. He stepped inside, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him.
Silence.
He tossed the tie on the armchair, slipped off his shoes, and dropped onto the edge of the bed. His fingers hovered over his temple—where a dull ache had begun to pulse again.
Then it came, as it always did: the exhaustion. But it was deeper than physical. It came from wearing too many names, from watching someone he shouldn't want and yet couldn't look away from.
He lay back and closed his eyes.
And just like every night since he was a boy, the dream returned.
A pale moon.
A forest bathed in white mist.
A figure—a fox, eyes full of grief.
And beside it, a creature of purity, shimmering and fading… the Baku.
The dream never showed him faces. Only feelings.
Loss. Guilt. Longing so deep it made his chest ache in his sleep.
When he jolted awake minutes later, the taste of sadness clung to his throat.
[Scene: Fujiwara Mansion – Ren's Bedroom, Evening]
The room is softly lit by the last rays of the sun seeping through the curtains. Ren slips off his jacket and tosses it over the chair. His body aches—not just from work, but from the weight of words and moments he can't name.
He lies down without turning on the light.
His eyes shut.
---
[Dream Sequence – Somewhere between Heaven and Earth]
A snow-laced forest. Silent, timeless.
The trees glow silver, heavy with moonlight.
A fox—no, a kitsune—stands at the edge of a frozen river.
Long white robes flutter. Nine translucent tails sweep behind him like ghostly wings.
His eyes, golden and wet with grief, look toward the sky. He murmurs something—words Ren can't hear but feels in his bones.
Then—
A shimmer of light descends, and with it, a creature draped in dream-smoke and ivory fur. The Baku.
There is a sorrow between them so heavy, it bends the forest air.
They do not touch. They cannot.
The kitsune reaches, but the Baku fades.
His hand slips through nothingness.
And as the kitsune falls to his knees, the world breaks into a quiet sob.
Ren, watching—feeling—wants to scream, to run forward, to stop it.
But he's only a shadow here. Always has been.
---
[Scene: Ren's Bedroom – Nightfall]
Ren jolts awake, breathing hard. His skin is damp with cold sweat.
The room is silent, dark. But inside, his heart drums with the ache of something ancient.
He sits up slowly, wiping his face. His throat feels tight.
Ren (whispering to himself):
"…Not again…"
His hand trembles slightly as he runs it through his hair.
He looks down at his palms—as if expecting to see fur. Smoke. Ash.
But there's nothing. Just skin and memory.
Ren (inwardly):
Why does it feel like it happened to me? Like I lost someone I never met…
He leans against the headboard. The guilt comes like a tide.
Not the loud kind. The old kind.
The kind that lingers quietly in the corners of one's chest.
He stares into the dark.
Ren (inwardly):
Since I was a child… it's always the same. That river. That farewell. That sorrow that doesn't belong to me… but lives inside me.
He closes his eyes again, but only halfway.
Ren (to himself):
"I couldn't save him. Her. Them. Whoever they were."
His voice cracks on the last word, almost like he's trying to mourn something with no name.
He presses his fingers to his temple.
He's never told anyone.
Not his grandfather, not his mother. Not even Reo, who knows everything else.
Because how do you explain a grief that isn't yours?
Because it feels too sacred.
And too real.
---
[Final shot – Window View of the Moon]
Outside the window, the moon hangs like a glowing eye, watching.
And somewhere deep in Ren's chest, a thread pulls—tight and silent.
The same thread that's haunted him since before he had words for loss.
Evening in the Fujiwara Household Kitchen
The light of dusk glimmers through the wooden blinds as the sky melts into soft tones of plum and rose. The house is quiet except for the faint bubbling of miso broth on the stove and the soft humming of Kiyo, who stands at the counter, sleeves folded up, lost in a rhythm she's repeated countless evenings before. Just then, soft footsteps come from the stairs.
---
Kiyo (without turning around, a faint smile in her voice):
"I thought you might sleep through the whole evening. You didn't even stir when I knocked earlier—must've been a long day."
---
Ren (entering with a slow yawn, rubbing the back of his neck):
"Long enough to knock me out cold. I think I passed out the second I touched the bed."
---
Kiyo (gently teasing, as she stirs the pot):
"Poor boy. The noble prince turned humble intern. Must be quite the adventure, slumming it with the working class."
---
Ren (chuckling as he leans against the counter):
"You say that like I've never lifted a finger in my life. I've done dishes. Twice."
---
Kiyo (smiling as she glances at him):
"Twice in twenty years? Remarkable. Shall I prepare a medal?"
---
Ren (taking the bowl she hands him and blowing on the steam):
"No medal needed. Just maybe don't let Dad find out I like office life better than business dinners."
---
Kiyo (pretending to be scandalized):
"Careful, he might disown you and adopt someone who actually enjoys ten-course meetings."
---
They both laugh. For a moment, there's only the soft clinking of porcelain and the comfortable stillness between a mother and her grown son. But then Kiyo lowers the flame under the pot, and without looking at him, she speaks with careful calm.
---
Kiyo:
"How's the office really, Ren? How's this whole act of hiding your identity and working as just another face in the crowd?"
---
Ren (slightly surprised by her tone, but answering evenly):
"It's… strange, at times. But also kind of refreshing. No expectations, no special treatment. Just me and the work. I like it."
---
Kiyo (quietly):
"And the people there? Your colleagues—how are they treating you?"
---
Ren (with a faint nod):
"They're smart. Focused. Some are intense, but it's a good kind of pressure. It keeps you alert."
---
Kiyo (a little more curious now):
"Is there anyone you get along with particularly well?"
---
Ren lifts his spoon again, but doesn't answer immediately. A small flicker crosses his expression—subtle, but not unnoticed. Kiyo notices everything.
---
Kiyo (not missing the pause, her voice soft but playful):
"Ah… there it is. That little silence. That careful blink. You hesitated, Ren."
---
Ren (slightly evasive, brushing it off with a smile):
"You're imagining things."
---
Kiyo (crossing her arms, clearly not buying it):
"Don't do that. I've known you since you were a baby who couldn't lie about stealing sweets. I know that look. Who is it?"
---
Ren (setting his spoon down, voice lowered):
"There's just this one colleague. A writer."
---
Kiyo (raising an eyebrow):
"A writer?"
---
Ren (after a pause):
"She's... different. She doesn't try to impress anyone. Doesn't talk much, but when she does, it's like every word is measured. Like she sees through all the noise."
---
Kiyo (smiling knowingly):
"And do you think she sees through you?"
---
Ren (half-smiling, almost to himself):
"Sometimes I think she does. Other times, I'm not sure if she even notices I'm there."
---
Kiyo:
"Which means she absolutely does."
---
Ren (laughing softly):
"She's not like anyone I've met before. There's something about her… but I can't explain it yet. Maybe I'm not supposed to."
---
Kiyo (gently, but with a trace of amusement):
"Well, that sounds like the perfect beginning to a story. A young writer who hides her brilliance, and a boy pretending not to be a prince. I'd read that novel."
---
Ren (smirking):
"You romanticize everything."
---
Kiyo (smiling back):
"Only when the story is worth it."
---
Just then, the back door opens and a familiar voice echoes through the house.
---
Reo (shouting from the hallway):
"Smells like miso and something suspicious. I know you're hiding the good stuff!"
---
Kiyo (calling out, amused):
"Only hiding it from boys who come home too late!"
---
Reo enters with his usual dramatic flair, throwing his bag onto the chair and sniffing the air like a seasoned critic.
---
Reo:
"I hope this stew is edible, Mother. I've heard rumors from the staff."
---
Ren (grinning):
"Don't listen to them. She's trying to poison me slowly."
---
Reo:
"As long as I get to inherit your car, go ahead."
---
Kiyo shakes her head with a laugh, handing Reo a bowl.
---
Reo (taking a bite, then looking impressed):
"Okay, wow. This is actually incredible. Is this the same woman who once added pickled plums to curry?"
---
Kiyo:
"Be grateful, or I'll add wasabi next time."
---
Reo (mouth full):
"So… speaking of interesting news, I heard we're launching a new book next month. Fujiwara Multimedia's pushing it hard. A novel called Faded Invisible Thread—have you heard of it?"
---
Ren (carefully neutral):
"I've seen the draft."
---
Reo:
"Apparently, the author is only twenty. Crazy talented, from what I hear. Jin's been hyping her up like she's a literary goddess or something."
---
Kiyo (eyeing Ren):
"Oh? A twenty-year-old prodigy? That's impressive. What's her name?"
---
Ren (with a subtle smile):
"I don't think I'm allowed to share that yet."
---
Kiyo (raising an eyebrow):
"How mysterious. And convenient."
---
Ren doesn't reply. He just picks up his bowl and returns to eating, though a faint look lingers in his eyes—something between pride and distance. Kiyo exchanges a quick glance with Reo, who simply shrugs and keeps eating, oblivious to the emotional undercurrent between mother and son.
---
Kiyo (gently pressing the thread further, pretending casual curiosity):
"Only twenty, and already making waves in the company. That kind of talent doesn't just appear overnight. She must be quite something, hm?"
---
Ren (slowly, choosing his words):
"She's… focused. Quiet most of the time. Doesn't try to stand out, but somehow still does. When she speaks, everyone listens—even the senior editors. It's like… she's already lived three lives and has the patience to let the rest of us catch up."
---
Reo (chewing thoughtfully):
"Whoa, poetic much? You sure you're not crushing on her already, big bro?"
---
Ren (not meeting their eyes, feigning nonchalance):
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just saying she's different from the rest."
---
Kiyo (folding her arms, her tone sly):
"'Different from the rest.' That's how your father described me once. Next thing he knew, he was kneeling in a snowy shrine proposing with a hairpin and a poem."
---
Ren (groaning softly, hiding his face behind the soup bowl):
"I regret opening my mouth."
---
Reo (grinning, now very invested):
"No, no—don't stop now. This is getting interesting. So, what's this writer's name? I want to see what kind of woman can knock down the walls of Fortress Ren."
---
Ren (quietly, but firm):
"I told you. I can't share that."
---
Kiyo (gently probing, her voice lower):
"Can't share, or don't want to?"
---
Ren doesn't respond immediately. His fingers tap gently against the bowl, the same rhythm he always falls into when trying to sort thoughts that don't want to be named out loud. Kiyo leans in slightly, her eyes softer now.
---
Kiyo (tenderly):
"Ren, you don't have to hide how you feel. Not from me. I know you—better than anyone. You've always carried things too carefully, too quietly. But sometimes… it's all right to speak freely, even if the feelings are still forming."
---
Ren (after a long pause, almost a whisper):
"There's something about her. Not just her talent. Something… familiar. Like I've met her before in a dream I forgot but remembered the moment I saw her."
---
Reo (mock-dramatic):
"That's it. You're doomed. You've entered full poetic simp mode."
---
Kiyo (with a warm smile, gently tapping Reo's arm):
"Hush, Reo. Let your brother feel something without turning it into a joke."
---
Ren (half-smiling):
"It's not like that. I don't even know what it is yet. Maybe admiration. Maybe curiosity. Maybe both. But… there's something in her that unsettles me—in a good way. She makes me… want to be more."
---
Kiyo (looking at him deeply):
"Then maybe, just maybe, this hidden internship of yours is doing exactly what we hoped it would."
---
Reo (raising a brow):
"What, turning him into a poet?"
---
Kiyo (gently):
"No. Turning him into someone who listens to his heart."
---
There's a small silence after that. The kind that doesn't need to be filled. The pot continues to simmer gently in the background, casting soft clouds of steam into the kitchen's warm glow. Ren looks down at his bowl, his expression unreadable—but the kind of unreadable that hides something quietly blooming.
---
Kiyo (after a moment, teasing lightly):
"Next time she visits the estate for a work meeting, you'll let me know, won't you? I'd love to meet the writer who has my son speaking in riddles."
---
Ren (laughing despite himself):
"If she ever visits, you'll be the first to know. Though I doubt she'd come here willingly… she doesn't like attention."
---
Reo (elbowing him):
"She might make an exception—if you ask."
---
Ren (pretending to roll his eyes):
"I'm going to my room before this turns into a matchmaking session."
---
Kiyo (smiling, calling after him):
"Tell her I said hello, even if it's only in your dreams tonight."
---
Ren walks away, but his pace is slower than before. As he climbs the stairs, Kiyo watches his back quietly, her eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the overhead light.
---
Reo (leaning back in his chair, smirking):
"He's a goner, huh?"
---
Kiyo (softly):
"No. He's just beginning."
Ren closed his door, leaned against it, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Yume…" he murmured, staring at the ceiling. Her name felt like a secret he didn't know how to keep.
He sat on the edge of his bed, her face flashing in his mind—quiet eyes, focused hands, the way she chewed her pen when lost in thought.
"Why do you feel so familiar?" he wondered, resting his head in his hands.
A faint smile tugged at his lips—one he didn't notice.
Downstairs, the scent of soup lingered. But up here, it was all her.
That night, as the house fell quiet and the city lights blinked in the distance, Ren drifted into sleep.
In his dream, he stood beneath a wisteria tree, petals falling like whispers. The air shimmered, soft and golden. And there she was—Yume, in a white yukata, barefoot on the grass, looking at him with the same unreadable expression she wore at work.
She didn't speak, but somehow he heard her.
"You remember me, don't you?"
Ren stepped closer, heart pounding. He reached for her hand, but the dream blurred like ink in water. She was fading.
"Wait—" he called, but his voice didn't reach her.
Only her gaze lingered.
And then, morning broke.
Ren woke up, breathless, staring at the ceiling. The wisteria was gone—but her eyes remained.
"Who are you really, Yume?" he whispered into the quiet dawn.....