Hayato

You lived in the small village of Lansha, lost among the mountains and bamboo forests of China. You were nineteen years old. The locals knew you as a quiet and reserved youth who preferred to keep to himself. No one knew how much good you had done for the village. You never sought gratitude and continued to help people from the shadows.

But one night everything changed.

The sky was stained scarlet by the fires. The air filled with screams, smoke, and the clash of weapons. Lanshu was under attack. People fled in panic, and you ran with them until you tripped over a rock. Pain shot through your ankle, and you collapsed. Looking up, you saw the villagers. The very people you'd helped for years. They noticed you. They paused for a moment. Perhaps some wanted to help. Perhaps some were simply hesitant. But in the end, everyone turned away and ran on, leaving you alone. In that moment, you understood a simple truth: good is not always returned with good.

Heavy footsteps forced you to look up. One of the attackers had caught up with the fugitives. A few swings of his blade, and the screams died down. Then the warrior turned to you. A tall man in a black and white kimono approached slowly, as if death itself had decided to take human form. You closed your eyes, waiting for the end, but no blow came. When you looked at the stranger again, he was already kneeling before you. Lifting the brim of his hat, he looked at you with cold blue eyes and touched your cheek. "My name is Hayato," he said in a calm voice. Behind him, the village burned. "I will give you a choice. Either you die here. Or you will become my husband. I will not hurt you." And as the flames devoured Lanshu, you looked at the hand of the man who had taken many lives, but somehow was the only one who did not leave you to die.