Chapter 2: The Runaway Bride

The Zenin estate was transformed into a spectacle of opulence on the day of the wedding, its austere halls draped in crimson and gold banners that fluttered like the ambitions of the clan itself. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, mingling with the murmurs of gathered sorcerers, clan heads, and dignitaries, all seated in precise rows on tatami mats. Lanterns cast a warm glow over the ceremonial hall, their light reflecting off the polished wooden floors, but the atmosphere was anything but warm. It was a stage for power, a performance of tradition, and Megumi Fushiguro stood at its center, a reluctant actor in a play he hadn’t written.

Clad in a black kimono embroidered with the Zenin crest in silver thread, Megumi looked every bit the part of the clan’s prized heir. His dark hair was neatly combed, his posture rigid, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease, a storm brewing beneath his stoic mask. He hadn’t seen Hana Kuroso since their brief meeting weeks ago, but the elders had assured him she was prepared, her family eager for the alliance. The thought of her—elegant, composed, a stranger—did little to ease the knot in his chest. This wasn’t about love or choice; it was about duty, a word that had haunted him since childhood.

The ceremony was set to begin at noon. The officiant, an elderly sorcerer with a voice like dry leaves, stood ready at the altar, a low table adorned with sacred artifacts. The guests waited in expectant silence, their eyes darting between Megumi and the empty space where the bride should have appeared. Naobito Zenin sat at the front, his silver hair gleaming under the lantern light, his expression a mix of impatience and smug satisfaction. The other elders flanked him, their faces carved from stone, as if daring anyone to disrupt their carefully orchestrated plan.

Minutes ticked by. The murmurs grew louder, a ripple of unease spreading through the crowd. Megumi’s fingers twitched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the sliding doors at the far end of the hall. Where was she? The Kuroso family’s representatives, seated near the front, shifted uncomfortably, their whispers sharp with worry. Naobito’s smirk faltered, replaced by a scowl that promised retribution.

Then, the doors burst open, and a young messenger stumbled in, his face pale and slick with sweat. He dropped to his knees, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. “L-Lord Zenin!” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Hana Kuroso… she’s gone! She fled this morning with a sorcerer from the Gojo clan!”

The hall erupted into chaos. Gasps and shouts filled the air, a cacophony of shock and outrage. The Kuroso representatives paled, their heads bowed in shame, while the Zenin elders exchanged furious glances. Naobito’s face darkened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrest of his chair. “Gone?” he growled, his voice low but venomous. “With a Gojo?”

Megumi stood frozen, his mind racing. Hana had run away. With a Gojo sorcerer, no less. The audacity was almost admirable, a bold defiance of the Zenin clan’s iron grip. But the implications were dire. This wasn’t just a personal betrayal; it was a public humiliation, a wound to the clan’s pride that would demand blood—or at least a swift correction.

Naobito rose, his presence silencing the room like a blade slicing through noise. “This is an insult to the Zenin clan,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of authority. “The marriage will proceed. We cannot afford to lose face.”

Megumi’s heart thudded, a rare crack in his composure. “She’s gone,” he said, his tone flat but edged with disbelief. “There’s no bride.”

Naobito’s eyes narrowed, sharp as a hawk’s. “There will be a bride.” His gaze swept the room, cold and calculating, before landing on a figure near the back, lounging against a pillar with a drink in hand. “Nobara Kugisaki.”

Megumi’s breath caught, his stomach twisting. Nobara, who had been watching the unfolding drama with barely concealed amusement, froze mid-sip, her eyes widening. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice dripping with incredulity, loud enough to draw every eye in the room. She set her glass down with a deliberate clink, straightening to her full height, her orange hair catching the light like a warning flare. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not marrying him!” She jabbed a finger at Megumi, who looked as horrified as she felt.

The crowd murmured, a mix of shock and curiosity. Yuji Itadori, seated among the guests with Maki Zenin and Satoru Gojo, let out a strangled “Whoa!” before Maki elbowed him into silence. Gojo’s grin widened, his blindfold doing nothing to hide his delight at the chaos.

“This is not a request,” Naobito said, his tone icy and unyielding. “You are a sorcerer of sufficient skill and standing, Kugisaki. You will marry Megumi in Hana’s place. The ceremony continues.”

Nobara laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoed through the hall. “Oh, hell no! You think you can just snap your fingers and make me play house with Fushiguro? I’m not some pawn in your creepy clan games!” She crossed her arms, her stance defiant, her eyes blazing with the kind of fire that could burn the estate to the ground.

Naobito’s expression didn’t waver. “Refuse, and you will face the consequences of defying the Zenin clan. Your position as a sorcerer, your allies, your future—all will suffer.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Nobara’s bravado faltered. Her gaze flicked to Megumi, who stood rigid, his fists clenched, his eyes fixed on the floor. She knew what the Zenin clan was capable of—petty cruelties, calculated punishments, and a knack for making life hell for anyone who crossed them. She’d seen it with Maki, who bore the scars of their disdain, and she’d heard the stories of Megumi’s own struggles under their thumb. Refusing might feel good, but it would come at a cost, and not just for her.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not wearing some frilly dress, and I’m definitely not calling him ‘dear’ or any of that nonsense. You want a show? I’ll give you one, but it’s gonna be my show.”

Naobito nodded, satisfied, though his eyes gleamed with something predatory. “Proceed.”

Megumi’s mind was a whirlwind. This was absurd. Nobara, his friend, his infuriating, hammer-wielding partner, was now his… fiancée? He wanted to protest, to tell Naobito to shove his decree, but the weight of the clan’s expectations pressed down on him, a noose he’d been dodging his whole life. And deep down, a small, traitorous part of him wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. Not that he’d ever admit it—not to himself, and certainly not to her.

The ceremony was a disaster. Nobara refused the traditional bridal attire, storming out of the dressing room in a tailored black suit with crimson accents, her hair pinned up in a way that screamed defiance rather than submission. She stood at the altar, glaring at anyone who dared comment on her choice, her hammer resting conspicuously at her side. Megumi, still in his black kimono, kept his eyes fixed on a point above her head, avoiding her gaze. The officiant rushed through the vows, his voice trembling under the weight of the tension in the room.

When it came time to exchange rings, Nobara shoved the band onto Megumi’s finger with enough force to make him wince. “Don’t get any ideas, Fushiguro,” she hissed, loud enough for only him to hear. “This is temporary. I’m not your wife-wife.”

“Believe me, I’m not thrilled either,” he muttered, slipping the ring onto her finger with equal reluctance. The cold metal felt like a shackle, a reminder of the absurdity of their situation.

The guests clapped politely, but the air was thick with awkwardness. Yuji’s enthusiastic applause was quickly silenced by Maki’s glare, while Gojo’s barely stifled laughter earned him a sharp look from Naobito. The reception that followed was no better. Tables laden with sake and delicacies lined the hall, but the mood was strained, the guests whispering about the scandal of Hana’s escape and the audacity of Nobara’s defiance.

Nobara, true to form, leaned into the chaos. She downed sake like it was water, ranting to anyone who would listen about the Zenin clan’s “stupid power trips” and their “obsession with controlling everything.” Megumi sat silently at her side, his expression unreadable, his mind elsewhere. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Nobara had looked at the altar—fierce, unyielding, and somehow… beautiful. The thought caught him off guard, and he buried it quickly, blaming it on the stress of the day.

As the night wore on, the newlyweds were ushered to their shared quarters, a spacious room in the Zenin estate with sliding doors that opened to a moonlit garden. The room was sparsely furnished—a low bed, a wooden table, a single lantern casting soft shadows—but it felt suffocating, the weight of their new reality pressing down on them.

Nobara flopped onto the bed, kicking off her boots with a dramatic sigh. “Well, that was a circus,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “So, what’s the plan, husband?” The word dripped with sarcasm, her grin sharp as a blade. “We fake this until the clan forgets about it?”

Megumi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression as guarded as ever. “Something like that,” he said, his voice low. “But the Zenin don’t forget. They’ll expect us to… act like a married couple.”

Nobara snorted, rolling her eyes. “What, like hold hands and make googly eyes? Pass.” She sat up, her expression softening slightly, though her fire remained. “Look, I know this sucks for you too. So let’s make a deal: we play along in public, but in private, we’re just us. Friends. No weird stuff.”

Megumi nodded, relief washing over him. “Deal.”

But as he watched her sprawl across the bed, her confidence unshaken even in the face of this absurdity, he felt something stir in his chest. It was faint, barely a flicker, but it was there—a warmth, a pull, a dangerous spark that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Nobara was his friend, his teammate, nothing more. And yet, as she tossed her hair and shot him a challenging grin, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this forced union might unravel him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Outside, the moon hung low, casting silver light over the garden. In the distance, a wolf howled, a lonely sound that echoed the uncertainty of the path ahead.

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