The amount of information was overwhelming for Minamoto Tamako to accept. She walked numbly forward, the butler pushing her shoulders from behind.

After returning to her room, a dozen attendants wheeled in racks of wedding dresses, surrounding Minamoto Tamako and displaying the dresses.

Each dress was exquisite; the floor-length ivory satin wedding dress, with a skirt that draped like solidified cream, had the bodice adorned with mother-of-pearl sakura blossoms, each petal's edge trimmed with silver thread, shimmering coldly under the lights.

Among them, Minamoto Tamako spotted a familiar wedding dress, seemingly the one worn by the bride at the music box chapel wedding.

The butler noticed her staring at it and called the maid to help her try it on. The butler left the room, closing the door for privacy as she changed.

Minamoto Tamako let the maids dress her, feeling a heavy emptiness in her chest, a sense of being lost and helpless.

Only when the maid had finished dressing her in the wedding gown and pushed a mirror in front of her did she come to her senses, staring blankly at her reflection.

Very beautiful.

Just as she had once imagined.

Minamoto Tamako's thoughts drifted to the wedding, visuals of herself holding her mother's hand and walking down the aisle, with the groom awaiting at the end, always freezing with Fushimi's face.

No matter how much she thought, doubted, regretted, or even tried to cut ties, she couldn't replace the groom's face in her mind.

She didn't want to marry so soon, let alone to someone she didn't know.

Upon realizing this, Minamoto Tamako gradually gathered her wits, her small mind clearing, and she shivered violently, staring at her reflection, feeling particularly estranged.

Tamako, what's going on?!

You're supposed to become a famous detective and police chief! How can you marry some random guy for no reason?!

Besides, even if it means breaking up, Fushimi must explain himself face-to-face! How can you just say a sentence and leave? We've already kissed; how can he not take responsibility? There's no such good fortune in the world!

Minamoto Tamako clenched her small fists, secretly boosting herself, looking at her reflection, her gaze burning.

She took off the wedding dress, changed back into her own clothes, requested to go out, but was still refused. So she tried to sneak out, and after several attempts, all of them failed.

The Kujo residence was filled with cameras, her grandfather was incredibly wealthy, installing such costly surveillance equipment freely.

Even with surveillance, the hallways and garden outside were patrolled by dedicated staff 24/7. Minamoto Tamako tried a movie-plot escape through a shift change... After attempting it, she realized movies were deceiving. During shift changes, there's actually one more person, making the place even more tightly guarded, leaving no gaps to exploit.

Minamoto Tamako fussed about all night, to no avail. The next day, she anxiously slept all day, waking up in the afternoon, had lunch, tried bribing the maid, and failed again.

By evening, she was out of ideas… In the face of absolute power, schemes and tricks have no room for maneuver.

Minamoto Tamako even thought Fushimi really didn't like her anymore, or else he would have come to find her by now. When she was captured and taken to Cat Island, Fushimi came to rescue her, so why not this time?

Did Fushimi really break up with her?

Should I still go back to find him?

...

Minamoto Tamako was lost in chaotic thoughts for a while, then thought of a not-so-good plan. She hid in her room, closed the door, and used her pink flip phone to call her mom.

The phone rang several times before connecting. Minamoto Tamako placed the phone to her ear, sneakily glancing at the door, fearing the butler would come in and take her phone away.

"Moshi Moshi? Mom! It's me! That wedding thing, did you arrange it? Or was it Grandpa's decision?" Minamoto Tamako asked softly.

"I didn't arrange it, but I heard about it," Kujo Yua replied, holding the phone with her shoulder, reviewing documents at her desk, multitasking as she asked, "What's the matter? Didn't you agree to it?"

"I didn't! I absolutely didn't agree!" Minamoto Tamako replied hastily.

"Is that so? You haven't broken up with Fushimi Roku?" Kujo Yua asked again.

"Uh, this... I'm, I'm not sure either..." Minamoto Tamako's voice suddenly softened.

"You're unsure about even that? It shows your relationship is just half-hearted, can't withstand storms, can't endure trials. You might as well end it early," Kujo Yua remarked.

Minamoto Tamako was indignant, loudly retorting, "Our relationship is not half-hearted!"

Kujo Yua gave an acknowledging sound, then asked, "Alright, let's say you're right... What did you call about?"

"I, I don't want to be engaged to a stranger; I want to..." Minamoto Tamako recalled her grandfather's words, unable to voice the latter half 'want to find Fushimi.'

Fortunately, Kujo Yua completed it for her: "You want to find Fushimi Roku, right?"

"Yes." Minamoto Tamako nodded, her voice very small.

Kujo Yua closed the folder, sighed deeply, took the receiver off her shoulder, placed it on the desk phone, activated the speakerphone, leaned forward, and asked seriously:

"Have you made up your mind? If you escape from the Kujo family, you will no longer be a lady of the Kujo family."

"Your grandfather, uncle, cousin, and others, except me, all your relatives will consider you a disgrace, and you'll have nowhere to go during festivals every year."

"Furthermore, the Kujo family will no longer protect you, and in Hokkaido, you'll have no special privileges and might even face retaliation from the Kujo family."

"Are you willing to pay such a price for a man?"

Minamoto Tamako didn't hesitate for even a second, she nodded firmly, even if her mother couldn't see: "I am willing."

Kujo Yua's face showed a smile, and she said, "You're much braver than I was back then; I thought for three days."

Minamoto Tamako caught the implication in her mother's tone, surprised and excitedly asked, "Are you coming to take me away?"

Kujo Yua immediately denied it: "Impossible, I'm too busy to handle Tokyo."

Minamoto Tamako's heart sank halfway, then she heard Kujo Yua continue: "However, there's a Ducati 888 in my room, and I think there are a few boxes of fuel too, right?"

"Uh, so what?" Minamoto Tamako didn't understand.

"It's time to prove your determination and courage. Remember, this is definitely not for a specific man but for yourself. You're defending and pursuing your own love, not going crazy for a man." Kujo Yua paused, asking, "Do you know how I married your father back then?"

"No, no, I don't..."

Minamoto Tamako had never heard her mother mention it, nor had she ever asked about it herself.

"Riding a motorcycle, crashing through the floor-to-ceiling window, jumping outside the building, and rushing straight out." Kujo Yua finished, then remembered her daughter's small stature, fearing she might mess it up, hurriedly added, "Forget it, I'll come to pick you up tomorrow..."

Unfortunately, her last sentence didn't get through, busy tones came from the phone the moment Minamoto Tamako heard the first sentence, she had already impatiently hung up.

Kujo Yua hurriedly called back, but no one answered. She was slightly worried, yet couldn't call Kujo Mutsumi to confirm the situation—if she mentioned it, Kujo Mutsumi would know Tamako planned to escape by jumping the car and that she would come back tomorrow to pick her up.

I should've just kept quiet...

On the other side, Minamoto Tamako hurriedly left the room, unsurprisingly stopped by the maid. She lied, saying she wasn't escaping, just wanted to visit her mother's old room.

Although noticeably nervous while lying, visibly having something to hide, the maid didn't think much of it and led her to the room where Miss Kujo Yua used to live.

As soon as Minamoto Tamako entered, she was hit by a chilling blend of leather and metal scents.

The room's walls were spray-painted with exaggerated skulls, flame patterns, and crooked English curses, with some places deeply gouged by sharp objects.

A modified motorcycle headlamp hung from the ceiling, by the window stood a black iron bed with studded and chain-patterned sheets, a few well-thumbed Bosozoku comics thrown beside the pillow.

The wardrobe doors half-opened, revealing a row of leather jackets adorned with metal badges, including one with "Extreme Evil Angel" written in fluorescent paint on the back, faintly glowing in the dim light.

Most striking was the rug in the center of the room—a full motorcycle seat cover, edges fixed with studs, with a few rusty wrenches and a broken-stringed electric guitar tossed on it.

The entire room felt like a nest marinated by a rebellious girl with anger and engine oil, even the air exuded a chaotic signal of "Don't mess with me."

Minamoto Tamako looked around, dumbfounded.

Mom was… a delinquent Bosozoku girl?!

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