Chapter 99: Fated to Meet Again

The funeral lasted for seven solemn days, each marked by an endless procession of mourners paying their respects to the late White Elder. The White Flower Palace, once a sanctuary of quiet discipline, had now become the heart of the empire's mourning. From the highest-ranking officials to the humblest disciples, all came to honor the man who had guided generations.

Dressed in ceremonial robes, the empire's officials arrived in full force. Ministers, commanders, and scholars alike stood in solemn reverence before the White Elder's resting place, offering words of admiration and grief. Their presence spoke of the elder's enduring legacy, his wisdom, and his unwavering service to the empire. The higher officials followed suit, their attendance further solidifying the weight of the loss.

Even the imperial family, unable to attend in person, sent their most trusted representatives to pay tribute.

The four princess consorts, bound by both duty and personal sentiment, also ensured their presence was felt. Though they themselves did not attend, each sent their most capable head maids to observe and report back. These maids, well-trained in diplomacy and discretion, took note of every detail—the atmosphere, the conversations, the way Rin carried himself through his grief.

The world watched as the White Elder was laid to rest, and with him, an era of wisdom and guidance came to an end.

As the last incense burned and the mourners slowly departed, Rin sat alone in the chamber where the White Elder had once guided him. In his hands were four letters—each bearing the distinct seal of a princess consort.

They had been sending him letters, asking if he was okay.

Of course, Rin was fine. Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself. He hadn't expected them to write—he had actually expected them to come in person now that they knew his identity and had been given permission to pursue him. But surprisingly, they seemed to respect his space, even in their eagerness.

He unfolded the first letter and skimmed through its contents, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Then the second. Then the third. By the time he reached the fourth, he was outright chuckling to himself. Each letter carried the distinct personality of its sender—some careful, some direct, and some with thinly veiled attempts at comforting him while also subtly reminding him of their presence.

Still, he appreciated them.

Later that day, Rin stood before the assembled workers of the White Flower Palace, giving his final words before they all dispersed to their new places of employment. The air was heavy with unspoken emotions. Each person here had served the palace with unwavering loyalty, and now their time had come to part ways.

Rin bowed his head, offering his deepest gratitude for their dedication.

None of them knew how effortlessly he had ensured their futures. That, as a prince of the empire, all it had taken was a few recommendations for them to be placed in secure positions across the other palaces.

One by one, they left, until only two remained.

Harumi and Rin—the last apprentices of the White Elder.

The halls of the White Flower Palace had never felt so empty. Together, they moved through the silent corridors, closing the servant quarters one by one, their footsteps echoing in the stillness.

"I'll miss this place," Harumi murmured, running a hand along the wooden doorframe, her voice tinged with melancholy. "It was fun… fulfilling… and happy."

Rin didn't respond right away, only nodding as he took one final look around.

She sighed. "I just wish there was more time."

Rin exhaled slowly. "Yeah… me too."

And with that, they sealed the doors of the White Flower Palace—marking the end of an era.

The two walked together slowly, side by side, their footsteps light against the quiet streets. The once-lively Harumi, who usually carried an easygoing grin, was uncharacteristically silent, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Rin glanced at her. "You sure about this? I can still help you find a job."

Harumi shook her head. "Nah, I just want to go home for a while… be lazy, think things over."

Rin sighed. "That doesn't sound like you."

She smirked faintly. "Maybe. But change is inevitable, right?"

A comfortable silence settled between them before Harumi chuckled, looking up at him. "Remember when you found out that Suzuki was in love with you?"

Rin groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Then Rei. Then Miharu. Then Akane. You acted like the world was ending."

"It was ending," Rin muttered.

Harumi rolled her eyes. "It wasn't. And who was the one who had to drag you back into the servant quarters every time you tried to 'run away'?"

"You," Rin admitted with a small laugh.

Harumi grinned. "Damn right it was."

Then, Rin smirked at her. "But at least I wasn't the one who turned water black."

Harumi gasped. "I knew you'd bring that up!"

"How do you even burn water?" Rin asked, exasperated. "I gave you clear instructions, Harumi. Clear. And yet somehow, you made the pan blacker than the night sky."

Harumi huffed. "I tried my best! Cooking is just... not my thing, okay?"

Rin shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And yet, despite knowing that, you still kept trying."

"Because I wanted to prove you wrong!" Harumi pouted.

"And did you?"

"…No."

Rin let out a short laugh. "I still remember grabbing your head and making you look at the disaster you created."

"I apologized a million times!"

They both laughed, the moment filled with warmth despite the bittersweetness hanging over them.

As they approached the crossroads, Rin fell silent, watching her.

He still remembered the first time he met her, years ago at the entrance of the White Flower Palace. He had greeted her with a smile, never once thinking that years later, they would be saying goodbye like this.

She wasn't just his closest friend. She was his most trusted partner.

And he had fallen for her.

Hard.

But he could never tell her.

Not when he was Imperial Royalty. Not when she was a commoner.

Not when the world itself was beginning to move toward an uncertain future.

At the crossroads, Harumi took a deep breath. "Well… this is it."

Rin nodded. "Yeah."

She looked up at him, her usual smirk softening. "I'll be back, you know. Eventually."

"I know."

"You better not go getting yourself into trouble while I'm gone."

"No promises."

Harumi sighed, shaking her head before hesitating. "…Take care of yourself, Rin."

She turned to leave, but Rin instinctively reached out, grabbing her wrist.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help you find a job?" he asked, his voice quieter this time.

Harumi smiled at him, but there was something unreadable in her expression. "…No, I don't really need one anymore. I have something to do. Something important."

Rin wanted to ask. He wanted to keep her close, to stop her from leaving. But he couldn't.

Not when he had already seen the future unraveling.

Not when he knew the dangers that lurked ahead.

So, please… he silently begged. Kill my feelings, Harumi.

Harumi smiled again, this time softer, almost wistful. "We'll meet again, Rin. When the time comes… So please, forget about me."

Rin froze.

The words cut deeper than he expected.

He wanted to protest—to tell her that forgetting was impossible.

But instead, he slowly loosened his grip, letting her wrist slip from his fingers.

Calming himself, he took a step back and straightened his posture, making a formal bow. His voice was steady, even as his heart ached.

"Goodbye, Harumi."

Harumi didn't turn back. She simply lifted a hand in farewell and walked away, her figure growing smaller in the distance.

Rin watched her go, standing at the crossroads until she disappeared from sight.

Two paths.

One leading to the Imperial Palace.

One leading somewhere far beyond.

He had been rejected.

And yet, despite the ache in his chest… he felt at peace.

Because they had parted on a good note.

And for now, that was enough.

Hoshimi Rin had returned.

The weight of his name, his bloodline, and his duty settled upon him as he walked towards the Imperial Palace. The towering gates stood as a silent reminder of the world he had once abandoned—a world where he was not just a warrior of the White Flower Palace, not just an apprentice of the White Elder, but a prince of the empire itself.

For years, he had lived under the name Shimuzu Rin, a mere commoner, a servant of fate dictated by the novel Golden Girl's Rise. He had followed the story's path, only to rip it apart with his own hands.

But destruction was never the end.

He could still fix it.

Not as Shimuzu Rin.

But as Hoshimi Rin, the 2nd Imperial Prince of the Hoshimi Empire.

With one last glance at the path Harumi had taken, Rin straightened his back and stepped forward.

The palace awaited him.

And so did the future he was about to forge.

The funeral lasted for seven solemn days, each marked by an endless procession of mourners paying their respects to the late White Elder. The White Flower Palace, once a sanctuary of quiet discipline and rigorous training, had now become the heart of the empire's mourning. It was no longer the place Rin had known—the air of reverence and duty was still there, but now it was drowned in sorrow, in the silence left behind by a man who had guided generations.

On the first day, the highest-ranking officials of the empire arrived in full ceremonial attire, their presence alone a testament to the weight of this loss. Ministers clad in rich silk and embroidered robes stood in solemn reverence before the White Elder's resting place, offering words of admiration and grief. Commanders, battle-hardened and unyielding in the face of war, bowed their heads in silent acknowledgment of the man who had once advised emperors. Scholars, whose wisdom had been shaped in part by the Elder's teachings, whispered prayers for his soul.

The days passed, and the mourners never ceased. One after another, disciples—both past and present—came forward to honor the man who had once stood at the pinnacle of the White Flower Palace. Some wept openly, others gritted their teeth and stood as they had been trained to, but all shared the same pain. The halls of the palace, once filled with the sharp sounds of steel clashing and firm commands, now echoed only with the hushed murmurs of grief.

Even the imperial family, bound by duty and unable to attend in person, sent their most trusted representatives. Their presence alone was enough to command attention, but none dared to speak beyond what was necessary. This was not the time for politics or ambition—it was a time to honor a man who had transcended such things.

Yet, for all the mourners that came, there were those whose absence was felt in a different way.

The four princess consorts did not attend in person. Perhaps they could have—perhaps, now that they knew Rin's identity and had been given permission to pursue him, they should have. But instead, they sent their most capable head maids in their place, each a woman trained in diplomacy, discretion, and observation. These maids did not simply pay their respects; they watched. They noted every detail—the way the empire grieved, the words exchanged among nobles and warriors alike, and most of all, how Rin carried himself through it all.

Even in mourning, he did not falter.

Yet, those who knew him—truly knew him—would have seen the weight pressing upon his shoulders.

As the final day of mourning came to a close, the last incense burned away, and the last mourner departed, leaving the White Flower Palace in a silence that felt heavier than before. The man they had all gathered to honor was gone, and with him, an era of wisdom and guidance had ended.

Rin sat alone in the chamber where the White Elder had once guided him. The room had not changed—scrolls and tomes lined the shelves, the faint scent of aged parchment and incense lingering in the air. The Elder's desk remained untouched, the inkstone and brush resting where he had last left them. It was strange, Rin thought, how a place could feel both exactly the same and entirely different.

In his hands were four letters. Each bore the distinct seal of a princess consort.

He had not expected them.

Or rather, he had not expected them only in the form of letters. He had expected them to come in person, to seize this moment of vulnerability as an opportunity to draw closer to him. Yet, surprisingly, they had shown restraint. Even in their eagerness to pursue him, they had respected his space.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and unfolded the first letter.

The handwriting was elegant, each stroke precise, betraying a meticulous nature. The words were carefully chosen, the tone composed, yet there was something beneath the surface—a quiet, genuine concern hidden beneath layers of formal language.

"You do not need to respond. But know that I am here."

Rin smirked. Typical of Chinen Suzuki. Even in writing, she managed to maintain her reserved grace, yet the weight of her emotions bled through the page.

The second letter was more direct, the handwriting bold and without hesitation.

"You don't have to carry this alone."

Takigawa Rei. No embellishments, no unnecessary words. Just a simple, unyielding statement of support. She would never say something flowery or poetic. She simply wanted him to know she was there, and that was enough.

The third letter, in contrast, was a mix of affectionate teasing and heartfelt sincerity.

"If you need an escape, you know where to find me. Or better yet, let me find you."

Urakawa Miharu. She always had a way of making things seem effortless, as if she could sweep away the weight of the world with a playful smile. Yet beneath her teasing words was an understanding that few others possessed.

Finally, he reached the fourth letter.

It was the longest. The handwriting, immaculate and refined, carried the practiced elegance of someone well-versed in courtly affairs. The words, however, held more warmth than they should have.

"I could tell you to rest, but I know you won't. I could tell you that grief fades, but I know you already understand that. So instead, I will simply say this—allow yourself to feel, if only for a moment. The world will still be here when you lift your head again."

Shinegori Akane. She had always been the most politically astute, the most calculating. Yet here, she was simply speaking as someone who understood what it meant to bear the weight of expectations.

Rin exhaled through his nose, his smirk softening into something quieter.

Even when they were apart, even when he had not sought them out, they had still reached for him.

For all the complexities that came with their relationships, for all the tangled emotions that had yet to be fully unraveled—one thing was clear.

They cared.

And for now, that was enough.

The courtyard of the White Flower Palace was bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, its golden light spilling across the worn stone pathways and casting long shadows of the gathered workers. They stood in silence, waiting for Rin to speak, their faces a mix of solemn acceptance and lingering uncertainty. For years, this palace had been their home, their purpose. Now, with the passing of the White Elder, that chapter had come to an end.

Rin faced them with unwavering composure, his hands clasped behind his back. These were the people he had trained alongside, the people who had sharpened their blades under the same sky, shared meals in the same hall, and fought side by side in service to the empire. Some had been here longer than he had. Others had only just begun their journeys. And yet, each one had given their loyalty to the White Flower Palace.

He bowed deeply.

"Thank you," he said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of finality. "Each of you has served with dedication and honor. Wherever you go from here, know that you do not walk alone. The White Elder believed in you. And so do I."

The gathered workers lowered their heads, some clenching their fists, others swallowing down the emotions threatening to rise. None of them knew how effortlessly Rin had secured their futures. With only a few recommendations and a handful of letters, he had ensured that each of them would find safe and stable employment across the empire's other palaces, their talents recognized and valued. It had taken no effort at all.

But that was the least he could do for them.

One by one, they turned to leave, murmuring quiet farewells as they departed. Some offered him nods of respect. Others hesitated, as if wanting to say more, before stepping away. The courtyard slowly emptied, the air growing heavier with each farewell.

Until only two remained.

Harumi and Rin—the last apprentices of the White Elder.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence of the palace pressed in on them, stretching through the empty halls that had once been alive with the sounds of training, of laughter, of the White Elder's stern but wise voice. Now, all that remained was a hollow stillness.

Together, they moved through the corridors, closing the doors to the servant quarters one by one. Each creak of the wooden frames echoed in the emptiness, a quiet reminder that this place, once bustling with life, was now nothing more than a memory.

At the final door, Harumi paused, running her fingers along the worn frame. Her maple-colored eyes, usually alight with mischief, were filled with something softer—something that mirrored the ache Rin felt in his own chest.

"I'll miss this place," she murmured. "It was fun… fulfilling… and happy."

Rin didn't answer right away. He simply nodded, casting one final glance down the corridor. The walls that had seen him rise from a nameless apprentice to a warrior of the empire, the courtyard where he had honed his swordsmanship under the White Elder's watchful gaze—it was all behind him now.

Harumi sighed. "I just wish there was more time."

Rin exhaled slowly. "Yeah… me too."

And with that, they sealed the doors of the White Flower Palace—marking the end of an era.

The two walked together through the quiet streets, their footsteps light against the stone pathways. The wind carried the distant sounds of the bustling city, but between them, there was only silence.

Harumi, who usually carried an easygoing grin, was uncharacteristically subdued, her gaze focused on the path ahead.

Rin glanced at her. "You sure about this? I can still help you find a job."

She shook her head. "Nah, I just want to go home for a while… be lazy, think things over."

Rin sighed. "That doesn't sound like you."

Harumi smirked faintly, though there was little amusement in it. "Maybe. But change is inevitable, right?"

A comfortable silence settled between them before she suddenly chuckled, looking up at him. "Remember when you found out that Suzuki was in love with you?"

Rin groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Then Rei. Then Miharu. Then Akane. You acted like the world was ending."

"It was ending," Rin muttered.

Harumi rolled her eyes. "It wasn't. And who was the one who had to drag you back into the servant quarters every time you tried to 'run away'?"

"You," Rin admitted with a small laugh.

Harumi grinned. "Damn right it was."

Then, Rin smirked. "But at least I wasn't the one who turned water black."

Harumi gasped, scandalized. "I knew you'd bring that up!"

"How do you even burn water?" Rin asked, exasperated. "I gave you clear instructions, Harumi. Clear. And yet, somehow, you made the pan blacker than the night sky."

Harumi huffed. "I tried my best! Cooking is just... not my thing, okay?"

Rin shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And yet, despite knowing that, you still kept trying."

"Because I wanted to prove you wrong!"

"And did you?"

"…No."

Rin let out a short laugh. "I still remember grabbing your head and making you look at the disaster you created."

"I apologized a million times!"

They both laughed, the warmth of shared memories momentarily pushing back the weight of their impending farewell.

But as they reached the crossroads, the laughter faded.

Rin fell silent, watching her.

He still remembered the first time he had met her, years ago, at the entrance of the White Flower Palace. He had greeted her with a smile, never once thinking that years later, they would be saying goodbye like this.

She wasn't just his closest friend. She was his most trusted partner.

And he had fallen for her.

Hard.

But he could never tell her.

Not when he was Imperial Royalty. Not when she was a commoner.

Not when the world itself was beginning to move toward an uncertain future.

Harumi took a deep breath. "Well… this is it."

Rin nodded. "Yeah."

She looked up at him, her usual smirk softening. "I'll be back, you know. Eventually."

"I know."

"You better not go getting yourself into trouble while I'm gone."

"No promises."

Harumi sighed, shaking her head before hesitating. "…Take care of yourself, Rin."

She turned to leave, but Rin instinctively reached out, grabbing her wrist.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help you find a job?" he asked, his voice quieter this time.

Harumi smiled at him, but there was something unreadable in her expression. "…No, I don't really need one anymore. I have something to do. Something important."

Rin wanted to ask. He wanted to keep her close, to stop her from leaving.

But he couldn't.

Not when he had already seen the future unraveling.

Not when he knew the dangers that lurked ahead.

So, please… he silently begged. Kill my feelings, Harumi.

Harumi smiled again, this time softer, almost wistful. "We'll meet again, Rin. When the time comes… So please, forget about me."

Rin froze.

The words cut deeper than he expected.

He wanted to protest—to tell her that forgetting was impossible.

But instead, he slowly loosened his grip, letting her wrist slip from his fingers.

Calming himself, he took a step back and straightened his posture, making a formal bow. His voice was steady, even as his heart ached.

"Goodbye, Harumi."

Harumi didn't turn back. She simply lifted a hand in farewell and walked away, her figure growing smaller in the distance.

Rin watched her go, standing at the crossroads until she disappeared from sight.

Two paths.

One leading to the Imperial Palace.

One leading somewhere far beyond.

He had been rejected.

And yet, despite the ache in his chest… he felt at peace.

Because they had parted on a good note.

And for now, that was enough.

Hoshimi Rin had returned.

And the future awaited him.

The warm morning sun bathed the land in golden light as Harumi walked alone, her steps steady despite the distance she had traveled. The path before her stretched endlessly, a winding road lined with swaying trees and golden fields, their leaves rustling softly in the early breeze.

Yet, despite her solitary walk, she carried no hesitation. Each step was deliberate, precise. This was the path she had chosen—one she had always known she would take.

Ahead, a carriage awaited her.

A sleek, black and gold design, unmarked by any royal insignia, yet exuding an air of quiet authority. It was not an ordinary vehicle. No, this carriage belonged to those who worked in the shadows, those who carried the weight of unseen responsibilities.

Harumi approached, her amber eyes glinting under the sunlight—only for a moment, their hue shifting into a brilliant gold.

As the carriage door swung open, a woman dressed in the pristine uniform of a high-ranking head maid stepped out, her sharp gray eyes locking onto Harumi's with the disciplined precision of someone who had been trained to observe and serve with unwavering loyalty.

She bowed deeply.

"Princess, we have come to escort you home."

There was no hesitation in her words. No uncertainty.

And yet, Harumi could sense it—the slight stiffness in the maid's shoulders, the unspoken questions lingering behind her carefully measured gaze.

Harumi's lips curled into a soft smile. She tilted her head slightly, gazing past the maid towards the road behind her. The one she had left.

"It's that time again, huh?" she murmured, her voice carrying a weight of anticipation. "I can finally meet him in this persona… but first, there's much to prepare."

She stepped forward, the hem of her modest servant's garb brushing against the carriage steps. But before she could fully board, the maid hesitated, as if struggling with something.

"Princess," she said cautiously, her voice softer now, "Master Rin seemed… saddened when you told him to forget about you. Are you certain you want to leave him like that?"

Harumi's expression softened.

A rare trace of melancholy flickered in her golden eyes, an emotion she rarely allowed to surface.

"Oh, Mei," she said, almost amused. "You don't have to worry. My Rin isn't someone who would break over something like that."

Her gaze flickered toward the distant city, her lips curving into something far gentler.

"I won't lie—I'll miss him. It will be lonely not seeing him for a while… but this is how it has to be."

Mei frowned slightly, her usual mask of professionalism cracking. "I will not question your decision, but are you sure you can trust him? He is an Imperial Prince, after all. He could take advantage of you."

Harumi laughed softly, shaking her head. "Shhh… You wouldn't understand, Mei. How much we've been through. How much he means to me."

With slow, deliberate movements, she reached up, pulling out her hairpin.

Golden strands cascaded down her back, shimmering like molten sunlight in the morning glow. The disguise was gone. The servant named Higashi Harumi no longer existed.

Only Ayumi remained.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling the crisp air, as if drinking in the weight of her true self.

"He's been the same through every cycle," she murmured. "That unyielding look when he faces trouble, the selflessness in his every action, the way he speaks to me—so freely, so rudely—like I'm just another person, not someone to be worshiped or feared."

Her golden eyes fluttered open, filled with quiet resolve.

"He always understands what I want, without me needing to say it. He is the one and only person I can truly rely on."

Mei remained silent, but the flicker of doubt did not fade from her expression.

"Even so, Princess…" the maid hesitated before continuing. "Are you truly sure? The Golden Dragon has never confirmed that he is—"

"The Golden Dragon left me with this task so that he could rest and regain his power," Harumi—no, Ayumi—interrupted, her voice gentle yet firm.

"This time… Rin and I will need him."

A long pause.

Mei clenched her fists, her nails digging into the fabric of her gloves.

"This is our last chance…" Ayumi murmured, turning her gaze towards the distant horizon. "And I refuse to waste it on uncertainty."

Mei stiffened.

She had served her mistress for many years, had questioned her choices before, but never—never—had she seen her so certain of something.

This man—this prince—was different.

There was something in her mistress's voice, in her expression, that told Mei there was no room for persuasion. No hesitation. No fear.

Ayumi stepped into the carriage, settling into the plush interior, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders.

The door remained open for a few moments longer.

She let her eyes drift toward the road one last time, her smile unwavering.

"Nothing will change," she whispered, more to herself than to Mei. "The Golden Dragon will be overjoyed when he sees Rin again."

The head maid lowered her head, suppressing whatever doubts still lingered.

"As you wish… Princess."

With that, the carriage doors shut.

The wheels turned.

And as the vehicle moved forward, carrying Ayumi toward her true destiny, the path behind her faded into the distance—leaving behind nothing but memories and the unspoken promise of a reunion yet to come.