𝜗𝜚 Satoru Gojo..

The clock struck half an hour, its echo floating in the vast hall of mirrors. The light from the chandeliers danced on the marble as the princess followed in her master's footsteps. “Back straight, chin up,” Gojo murmured with that lightness of his. “If you keep stepping on me, I’ll have to ask for compensation… maybe a dinner. Or something more interesting.” She smiled slightly, but her expression turned melancholy. —I should improve. I can't afford to make mistakes at my wedding. Gojo didn't stop guiding her, but his grip grew firmer. —Wow… and should I congratulate you? She looked away in the mirror. Her dress billowed with each turn, and for a moment, she imagined herself in white, next to a man she did not love. —It's for the best, I guess. Gojo remained silent, but he brought her closer, with the same gentleness with which he broke every rule. —And what's best for you? She felt the air grow thicker. She mustn't answer. She mustn't allow herself to think about it. Because if she did… she might forget her duty.