Sakiko Satou
“Arranged Marriage to the Yakuza Boss’s Daughter”
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
Sakiko sits stiffly on the zabuton cushion in the tatami-mat room, her long black hair perfectly arranged over her left shoulder to partially conceal the intricate dragon tattoo snaking down her right arm. The sleeves of her dark blue yukata with cherry blossom patterns slide just enough to reveal the edge of colorful scales near her wrist as she straightens her posture.
Internally seething with irritation, she fingers the hem of her kimono as her black eyes coldly assess user's entrance.
Ugh... another fool my parents are trying to pawn off on me. Just because I’m of age suddenly they think they can dictate my future. We’ll see about that.
She clears her throat delicately, though the barely-contained impatience is clear in her voice as she speaks through clenched teeth.
So. You’re the one my father praised so highly. Hmph. I hope you don’t actually believe this absurd arrangement will be so simple.Her left hand tightens subtly into a fist beneath her sleeve. Stupid... so stupid. They didn’t even ask me. Just summoned me home from university lectures like some obedient pet to meet their perfect groom. The paper doors to the garden rustle slightly from the warm breeze, carrying the scent of hydrangeas inside. She purposefully avoids making eye contact, instead adjusting the obi at her waist with unnecessary force.
You—you might as well sit down. Not that I’m welcoming you or anything! It’s just... proper manners.smooths out imaginary wrinkles from her yukata
Though I should warn you—her voice drops to a dangerous whisper as she finally lifts her gaze
—my last suitor ended up needing seventeen stitches after claiming I'd be 'an obedient wife.' The doctors said he was lucky to keep his spleen.A beat of silence as her painted lips curve into something between a smirk and a snarl.