Conflicted 

Haruka realized at once what was happening. This was not a simple gift; it was a political maneuver. Seeing his cleverness, and knowing he was the only male heir to the Fujiwara family, they believed he would one day inherit the clan’s immense power. The two families had once been close, though they had grown distant in recent years. And since the Koizumis had no heir of their own, why not adopt a godson, using this opportune moment to mend the fences and strengthen their ties?

After a moment’s thought, a moment that felt like an eternity, Haruka understood all of this. But he still didn’t even know for sure whether Lady Murasaki or Yukishiro Tomoe was his birth mother. How could he now take on a “godmother”? He was not a person who craved power and status, and his first, honest instinct was to refuse.

But then he sighed inwardly, a weary, tired sound only he could hear. The matter of “accepting a mother” was not his to decide. It was never his to decide. Everything had to be considered from the perspective of the Fujiwara family. If Tomoe was my birth mother, he thought with a profound sense of loss, then she has well and truly lost to Lady Murasaki.

Haruka didn’t know how to answer. He turned his head, intending to gauge Lady Murasaki’s reaction, to look for a sign. Due to the angle, he could only see the smooth, pale column of her neck. Before he could even see her chin, she pulled him into her embrace, the back of his head resting against her soft, fragrant chest, completely obscuring his view of her face. He could feel her body was tense. “We were always one family,” Lady Murasaki said, her voice a smooth, even, diplomatic purr. “To speak like this, Nobuna, makes it sound as if we are two.”

Unable to see Lady Murasaki’s face, Haruka could only look at Koizumi Nobuna. She was impeccably dressed, her mannerisms quiet and refined. She looked far younger than thirty, still in the prime of her fragile beauty, but her lovely face always carried a hint of deep, abiding weariness, and her narrow, beautiful eyes seemed to hold a pool of unshed tears.

“Dear sister,” Nobuna said, her voice full of a quiet, desperate sorrow, “it’s not that. You see, he and I have been together for seven years now…” Mr. Koizumi said nothing, his large hand pressing down silently, forcefully, on the tatami mat, his knuckles white. “…and he is no longer able,” his wife continued, her voice breaking slightly. “While we are still young, we must find someone to inherit our path.”

“You are still young, Nobuna. You can find any child you want,” Lady Murasaki said, her voice gentle but distant.

“But they would be an outsider,” Nobuna sighed. “And it is not so easy to find the right one. We are not business people, after all. We don’t care about our fortune; we could give it to anyone. The most important thing is to find someone to carry on the legacy. Otherwise, all of our connections, our life’s work, will be for nothing.”

Lady Murasaki could see that she was not beating around the bush. Her words were sincere; she had clearly been thinking about this for a long, painful time. Lady Murasaki understood this mentality well. She stroked Haruka’s head, thinking, If they were to adopt Haruka as their godson, it would be of great benefit to both him and the Fujiwara family. But Haruka is a filial son. I’m afraid he does not want to accept another mother.

For a moment, she was undecided, caught between political gain and a strange, new, possessive instinct.

Mr. Koizumi picked up his teacup and drained the cold tea in one gulp. “I beg madam to take pity on this half-crippled ‘useless man’,” he said, his voice a low, mournful drone that was all the more pathetic for its sincerity. “Take pity on us, and grant me this one small wish.”

Nobuna’s eyes were filled with anxiety and a raw, pleading look. “Dear sister, I am not trying to steal your child. I just hope to have someone to keep me company, to call me ‘Mama’ once in a while. You know that with our status, we cannot just adopt any child. I feel a connection to him. Please, grant my request.”

Lady Murasaki knew that agreeing would bring many benefits. But she also had her own selfish desires, and she did not want to force Haruka to agree, to see a look of resentment in his eyes. She whispered to him, her breath warm against his hair, “Haruka, you choose. Either way is fine. With Mama here, you don’t have to worry about offending them.”

Even if she says that, Haruka thought, I can’t be a fool and just refuse. That would just make things awkward for everyone.

He glanced at the couple. Nobuna’s face was a mask of pleading anxiety. Mr. Koizumi’s was a mask of barely concealed resentment and humiliation. But whatever their true feelings, it was clear they sincerely, desperately wanted to adopt him.

Haruka knew that agreeing would be beneficial to the Fujiwara family. He hated the idea of “accepting a mother”—in his heart, he only acknowledged Lady Murasaki and Yukishiro Tomoe—but Lady Murasaki was the head of the family. He couldn’t not think of her. I can’t put Mama in a difficult position, he thought. If I just humble myself and accept a ‘godmother’, it’s not as if I’ll lose a piece of flesh. I’ll just say the words. I don’t have to mean them in my heart.

Haruka first made a show of modesty. “How could I be worthy of calling you ‘mother’?”

Nobuna knew she had him. “What are you talking about, child?” she said eagerly, a flicker of hope in her sad eyes. “Our two families are one. There is no question of worthiness.”

Mr. Koizumi, seeing that he had relented, was still not satisfied. Haruka’s initial, silent refusal had deeply displeased him. If this were anywhere else, he would only have to say the word, and countless people would be fighting to become his godson. Why was this boy being so difficult? If it weren’t for the fact that he felt he had wronged his wife over the years, he would have stormed out long ago.

Lady Murasaki chimed in. “You really don’t know how to speak, my child. Hurry up and accept her as your…” She stopped, the words catching in her throat. She realized that, subconsciously, she did not want Haruka to call any other woman “mother.”

Having received Lady Murasaki’s tacit approval, Haruka slowly said, his voice quiet, “Greetings, Godmother.”

Nobuna’s face immediately lit up, a brilliant, watery smile. “Good, good, good,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Haruka felt a strange sense of dissonance. Calling her “godmother” felt incredibly awkward. She was as young and beautiful as Lady Murasaki; still, calling her “mother” just didn’t feel right.

He leaned slightly out of Lady Murasaki’s embrace and looked up at her face. Her brow was furrowed, her expression unhappy. He immediately took her hand and whispered, so only she could hear, “I only have one mama.”

Lady Murasaki, who had endured enough frustration and betrayal in her life to last a hundred lifetimes, was instantly soothed by his simple, childish words, and her mood stabilized.

Nobuna, holding the yellow pear wood bracelet in her palm, blinked her long lashes and said with a radiant smile, “Mama came in a hurry and didn’t prepare anything, so I can only give you this bracelet. If you don’t mind that I have worn it, then please accept it.”

“How could I dare to mind?” Haruka said, his voice polite. “For Godmother to part with such a treasure for my sake is already more than I deserve. I will always wear it.”

As he spoke, he slipped out of Lady Murasaki’s embrace, took two steps forward, and bowed, intending to take the bracelet.

Seeing his handsome, serious face up close, Nobuna was filled with a deep, maternal affection. “Let me put it on for you,” she said.

Haruka couldn’t refuse.

Mr. Koizumi watched as his wife’s pale, delicate fingers gently worked the bracelet over Haruka’s knuckles. “You have rather thick knuckles,” she said with a small laugh. “The priests say that men with thick knuckles have good fortune in… certain areas.”

“What kind of fortune?” Haruka asked curiously.

Nobuna blushed, a lovely pink color spreading across her cheeks. “I imagine you won’t have any trouble with women in the future,” she said in a low voice.

Mr. Koizumi didn’t hear her words, but he watched as she carefully slid the bracelet onto Haruka’s wrist. A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy shot through him, but he trusted his wife, and so he said nothing, just took another sip of tea.