Chapter Text
The soft sound of water trickling from the fountain was almost a whisper, accompanied by the singing of birds and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Yuji stood there, motionless, for so long that he didn’t notice the morning advancing. His golden eyes were fixed on the central sculpture of the fountain — an image of his mother, carved with such delicacy it seemed almost alive. Jin, his father, had the fountain built as a tribute to the wife he had lost, but for Yuji, the stone figure was all he had to know her by. Raised by Wasuke, his grandfather, he had barely spent any time with his father, who dedicated himself to business and preserving the family fortune. His absence was filled with silence and a void that not even the beauty of the garden could soothe.
That garden, vast and adorned with carefully chosen flowers, was like a refuge for Yuji. There, he could dream uninterrupted, letting thoughts of a world beyond the village of Villeneuve fill his mind. But the day couldn’t be spent solely in daydreams. He sighed, pulling his gaze away from the fountain, and finally turned back toward the house.
The interior of the family mansion was as impressive as the garden: crystal chandeliers reflected the sunlight, and the walls were adorned with imported tapestries and gilded mirrors. It was a stark contrast to the simplicity of the surrounding village, a constant reminder of how separate they were from the common villagers. Upon entering, Yuji found his younger sisters already immersed in their usual obsessions.
— This dress is out of fashion, Yuna! — complained the youngest, holding up a pastel pink dress adorned with lace.
— Then don’t wear it! — retorted Haruka, adjusting a tiara studded with small pearls. — I’m sure Father will buy us more during his next trip to the city.
Yuji shook his head, accustomed to his sisters' vanity. Despite their wardrobes overflowing with fine clothes and jewelry, they never seemed satisfied. His older brothers, on the other hand, were debating horses and business matters, their authoritative voices echoing through the halls. It was all part of the routine — a routine that, for Yuji, had long since lost its charm.
He adjusted the cuffs of his light blue ruffled shirt and straightened his shoulders. It was always expected of him to maintain composure, to represent the grace and elegance of the family. Even so, he felt out of place in this world of excess. Closing the door behind him, he stepped outside, allowing the morning breeze to envelop him.
As he walked down the village's main street, he noticed the villagers' gazes, always a mix of curiosity and caution. His family’s wealth did not make them beloved in Villeneuve — quite the opposite; it only reinforced the distance between them and the simple townsfolk. Yuji, however, made a point to greet everyone he passed, trying to ease the invisible tension hanging in the air.
The village, with its stone buildings and cobblestone streets, had a simple charm, but Yuji felt trapped there. He had always dreamed of something beyond the golden hills, something that would make him feel truly alive. But the day seemed like any other until a strange unease began to settle in his chest. Something was about to change.
For the villagers, outsiders were met with suspicion. The growing crime, fueled by Vincent’s gang, was a constant concern. The group caused trouble at will, robbing travelers, stealing goods, and occasionally leaving a trail of destruction in small towns. This insecurity made anything or anyone out of the ordinary immediately suspicious — and Yuji, with his peculiar ways, was no exception.
There was another reason for the wary looks. In their society, omegas were seen as pillars of domestic life, destined for the role of caretakers of the home and family. They were expected to be submissive, graceful, and content with their limited roles. But Yuji defied all these expectations. He wasn’t the type to fit into the imposed mold. His joy came from books, from the ideas within them, not from the dull, tedious conversations echoing through the village streets.
The villagers, especially the women, loved to gossip. It was almost a local art form, and only his beta sisters, Yuna and Haruka, could rival them in skill. Yuji, however, never cared for such trivialities. As he walked down the main street, he observed the interactions with a certain melancholy. People seemed so satisfied with the monotony of their lives that he wondered if they had ever dreamed of something more. There was no ambition, no greater desires — just the eternal repetition of the same stories.
Sighing, he pushed aside the dark thoughts and headed toward the baker's stall. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, bringing a small smile to his face.
— Bonjour — he greeted politely.
The baker, a robust and perpetually busy alpha, barely lifted his eyes to nod in response, encouraging Yuji to place his order.
— One baguette, please.
As he waited, his eyes wandered to the jars of red jam carefully arranged on a shelf. He selected one and placed it in the basket he carried.
— And this as well, s'il vous plaît.
After paying, Yuji thanked the baker and continued on his way. The sun was now higher, warming the village gently and illuminating the cobblestones of the narrow streets. As he turned a corner, he spotted Jean, the old beta potter, standing beside his stubborn mule. The cart hitched to the animal was filled with freshly fired ceramics, but Jean seemed lost in thought.
— Good morning, monsieur Jean. How are you? — Yuji greeted as he approached.
The old man lifted his eyes with a tired smile, his voice hoarse with age.
— Good morning, my boy. I think I’m fine… or maybe not. — He scratched his head, puzzled. — The problem is, I can’t remember what I lost.
Yuji suppressed a smile. It wasn’t uncommon to see Jean like this, distracted and a bit forgetful. But before he could say anything, the mule, curious, stretched its nose toward Yuji’s basket. The animal snorted loudly, clearly interested in its contents.
— Easy there, girl — Yuji said softly, chuckling. He pulled out a red apple from the basket, the very one he had brought in case he ran into Jean along the way.
The old potter watched with gratitude as Yuji offered the fruit to the mule, which soon calmed down.
— Always a savior, huh? — Jean commented, adjusting the cart as the mule chewed contentedly.
— Just trying to keep the peace around here, — Yuji replied with a gentle smile. — But be careful, monsieur Jean. Your memory seems to be playing tricks on you lately.
Jean laughed, a sound full of affection and resignation.
Yuji turned to leave when Jean's hoarse voice called out again.
— Where are you headed? — the old potter asked, adjusting the mule's position, now satisfied after devouring the apple.
Yuji paused but didn’t fully turn back. He simply raised the book he carried, its worn cover and yellowed pages a testament to its age.
— I’m returning this book to Père Roberto, — he replied with a faint smile. — It’s about two lovers in charming Verona...
Jean raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
— Are any of them potters? — he interrupted, his tone laced with disinterest.
Yuji blinked, slightly surprised.
— No.
— Then it sounds boring, — Jean declared with a wave of his hand, dismissing the entire story without remorse.
Yuji let out a low sigh, already accustomed to the old man’s reaction. It was always the same. Anything unrelated to the village, local customs, or daily activities was met with disdain or indifference. He knew what to expect, and yet a small pang of frustration always surfaced.
As he resumed his walk down the cobblestone street, his thoughts began to wander.
Just once, Yuji thought, his golden eyes fixed on the distant horizon, I’d like to meet someone who wanted to hear the story of Romeo and Juliet. Someone who understood the beauty and tragedy of these two lovers, who saw beyond the monotonous routines of this place.
He clutched the book to his chest, feeling the weight of his own desire to escape. Villeneuve was his home, but at the same time, it was like a cage. He knew there was something beyond — something greater, something he couldn’t yet name but that constantly called to him, like the echo of a distant dream.
In the distance, the sound of the small church bells announced the next hour. Yuji quickened his pace, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. Père Roberto always appreciated Yuji’s visits, even though most villagers considered him an eccentric and reclusive scholar. It was the only place in the village where he could talk about books without being met with scornful comments or vacant stares.
Still, deep in his
mind, the question lingered: Would there ever be someone who shared these longings?