Rewrite Our Love? Too Late

Now an official ally of Laplace, Hinatsuru Akina, head of the Hinatsuru family, made a sincere and well-timed proposal.

"President Yukima," she began, eyes sharp beneath her calm expression, "have you ever been in contact with the person in charge of Hyakubami Daily?"

Yukima Azuma paused, then shook his head slowly.

Beside him, Yukinoshita Yukino, who had been observing quietly, finally spoke.

"I attempted contact," she said in a composed voice, "but the conversation didn't proceed smoothly. Their terms were… unfavorable."

There was a heavy pause. Everyone present understood what was left unsaid.

Right now, the top priority for Laplace wasn't immediate revenue—it was credibility and reputation. In business, especially in its early stages, recognition often outweighed pure profit. Fame was fuel. And the surest accelerant to that fame?

Promotion.

While online platforms had rapidly become dominant, traditional media still retained an aura of authority, especially in older, more conservative industries—like furniture. To the average consumer, an endorsement from a respected legacy publication could outweigh even the flashiest social media campaign.

And among all the traditional outlets, one name stood out:

Hyakubami Daily.

Respected, established, with a formidable readership—both in print and online—it was an ideal partner. Unfortunately, the Hyakubami Zaibatsu stood behind it.

One of Japan's four great conglomerates, it matched the Shinomiya Zaibatsu in scope and wealth.

Convincing such a media empire to help Laplace was no different from trying to tip a mountain with a feather. The power imbalance was too great. Money meant little. And Hyakubami Daily's primary duty wasn't business—it was loyalty to its clan.

But then, Hinatsuru Akina smiled faintly.

And she said something unexpected.

"The person in charge of Hyakubami Daily is… very interesting."

"If President Yukima meets her personally, the outcome might be different."

"Want to try? I can arrange a meeting."

Her tone was light, but something in her eyes hinted that she knew far more than she let on.

Yukima Azuma nodded without hesitation.

"If Hinatsuru-san says so," he replied, "then I'll trust your judgment."

Hinatsuru left shortly afterward. Within the hour, she texted him a confirmed meeting time—tomorrow, noon, at a café in Chiyoda.

The Next Day – Chiyoda

The district of Chiyoda sat at the very heart of Tokyo. A place where history and high-rises brushed shoulders, where the ancient Imperial Palace stood only blocks away from tech megatowers.

Since he was early, Yukima Azuma didn't head straight to the café. Instead, he strolled along the city streets, flanked by neon-lit storefronts and pockets of green. Chidori-no-Mori Park stood nearby—a rare oasis amid the glass-and-steel jungle. He let the natural stillness calm his thoughts.

He wasn't nervous. But he knew better than to walk into this blind.

"Do we have anything on the person I'm meeting?"

Yukima turned toward Yukinoshita Yukino, who had accompanied him briefly that morning.

She nodded, stepped into her office, and returned with a slim folder.

He took it and opened it—only to close it just as quickly.

The first line had already told him everything.

He had guessed as much from the name: Hyakubami.

Among Japan's financial powerhouses, the Hyakubami Zaibatsu was the most… unorthodox.

Unlike the Shinomiya Zaibatsu, where power was centralized, Hyakubami wasn't a family—it was an alliance of families, dozens of them. Names like Jabami, Momobami, Totobami, Inbami, Honebami, and others. Their hierarchy wasn't static—it was predatory. Positions of power rotated through generations, sometimes violently.

It was a crucible of ambition—where bloodlines didn't guarantee safety, and only the strongest, strangest, or most cunning rose.

Almost everyone who bore the name "Hyakubami" was a lunatic by necessity.

And the one in charge of Hyakubami Daily?

Her name was:

Jabami Yumeko.

Even among the chaotic brilliance of the Hyakubami Ichizoku, she was considered uniquely troublesome.

But oddly enough, this gave Yukima Azuma confidence.

He preferred a madwoman over a corporate robot.

Moments Before Noon

Yukima wandered, letting his thoughts simmer.

Then—

He heard it.

A soft sobbing sound. Like someone crying quietly just out of sight.

He turned his head—and found the source.

A small elementary school girl stood by a pedestrian crossing, her eyes red and puffy. Her fists clenched her skirt, and tears welled at the corners of her big, uncertain eyes.

(っ˃̣̣̥ -˂̣̣̥ς)

The scene felt oddly cinematic.

Like if he got too close, a side quest would trigger.

Still, she didn't seem like a problem. So Yukima took a step forward—

—but someone else had already beaten him to it.

A voice, calm and laced with gentle mischief:

"Are you having trouble with something?"

He stopped short.

There stood a girl. Around his age, maybe slightly younger. Long black hair, crimson eyes, and a soft smile that curved naturally, effortlessly.

The little girl looked up.

"…The crosswalk," she sniffled.

(╥ᆺ╥;)

"Ah," the black-haired girl said warmly. "I see."

Yukima folded his arms and smiled. "Why not ask the kind onee-san next to you? I'm sure she'd be happy to help."

The little girl glanced up, uncertain.

"R-really?"

The older girl nodded reassuringly.

And so, when the light turned green, the three of them crossed together.

But even after reaching the other side, the little girl still clung to the young woman's hand.

"There are still a lot of crosswalks before school," she whispered, trembling.

(╥ ω ╥)

The older girl gave her a gentle pat on the head.

"Guess I have no choice, huh?" she said with an exaggerated sigh.

( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

And so, they continued walking, now as a strange little trio.

With someone beside her, the little girl regained her cheer.

"Say, how did you get to school before?" the young woman asked gently.

The girl sniffled. "Before… I held Mama and Papa's hands. But now I'm in a higher grade, and the teacher said that's not allowed anymore…"

And then she burst into tears.

૮(˶╥︿╥)ა

The older girl panicked for the first time, clearly out of her depth.

Yukima stepped forward, handing her a tissue and crouching beside the girl.

"Even if you don't go with your parents," he said, "you can always walk with friends."

The little girl blinked. "Really? That's allowed?"

At that moment, on the far side of the street, another little girl waved.

"Looks like your friend's here now."

The first girl's face lit up.

"Thank you, kind onee-san and smart onii-san!!"

ヾ(＾ ∇ ＾)ノ

She ran off happily.

The two watched her go.

Then the girl beside him glanced at her phone. "Oh no, I'm going to be late."

She turned to excuse herself—but Yukima stepped into her path.

"Jabami-san," he said evenly. "There's no need to go to the café anymore. Let's talk as we walk."

She paused. Eyes widened in surprise. Then her smile deepened.

"Ah, so it's Yukima-san. What a coincidence."

That smile—so soft, so sweet—carried with it a strange gravity.

And so, they walked together through Chiyoda's streets.

"Jabami-san is truly a kind-hearted beauty."

"Ara~ you're making me blush. Yukima-san is the one who's truly cool and stylish."

He smiled. "You must be in high school now, right? Which one?"

"First-year at Felis Girls' Academy."

"…What a coincidence."

"Oh?" she tilted her head. "Does Yukima-san have a friend there?"

"Umu. To be precise—not a single one."

She giggled. "So you were just messing with me?"

"Absolutely."