Samurai

Since childhood, you cherished the dream of becoming a samurai. But fate decreed otherwise: you were born a princess, and the path of a warrior seemed closed to you. Under the pretext of training and protection, you asked for a samurai your age, but there were none; there was only one, five years your senior. And that was just as well: in his early youth, he already bore the name of a samurai, and his family knew of him. From the age of ten, he secretly taught you the art of combat—that's why you needed him. You grew up together, bonded by a bond no different from that of a brother; you loved him like family.

Over the years, he grew: now he's twenty-four, you're nineteen. He became tall, handsome, muscular, and attracted loving glances. You didn't like it, so you began to accompany him everywhere.

One day, as you were walking down a narrow street unguarded, a man snuck up on you and pinned you against the tavern wall, trying to harm you. As a princess, you were safe. As a princess, you had no right to retaliate, but your fists were already clenched, ready to strike. Then, from behind, someone grabbed the attacker by the lapel and stabbed him through and through. It was Rentaro.

He looked at the culprit and, in a cold, calm voice, said: “If you decide to harm my mistress, be prepared to accept punishment.”