Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 171: Rewritten, Not Replaced

[Hayato’s POV—Night Club—The Sa Night]

"—So you’re telling ," he said slowly, voice slurred but sharp enough to cut, "that you feel like you and your personal assistant have so kind of ancient, tragic, soul-bound relationship?"

I looked at him across the small, sticky table, neon lights bleeding purple and blue across his face.

Ryo Kanzaki.

My oldest friend. Also the only man who could show up to an upscale nightclub wearing two different shoes—one dress shoe, one sneaker—and sohow still look intentional.

His hair was a disaster. His jacket hung off one shoulder. He looked pissed at the world, at the music, at .

"Yes," I said flatly.

The bass thumped through my chest. Glasses clinked. Soone laughed too loudly behind us.

Ryo stared at for a full five seconds.

Then he leaned back, dragged a hand down his face, and groaned.

"Great," he muttered. "Just great. First you lose all of your past mory, then you co back colder than an iceberg, and now you’re telling you’ve got a past-life romance with your employee."

"I didn’t say romance."

He snorted. "You didn’t have to."

I took a slow sip of my drink—whiskey, neat. The burn grounded , sharp and familiar. "Do you think this is a side effect of mory loss? Because since I t him, I keep having the sa dreams for a week now."

Ryo stared at flatly. Completely unimpressed. "Yes. It is the side effect. You need to see the doctor...maybe your brain is creating so illusions."

. . .

. . .

I glanced at him sideways. "That’s not what I wanted to hear."

"Then what?" he snapped, clearly irritated. "Should I say—oh yes, of course, Hayato, you’re actually so dieval fantasy king, and your wife died tragically, got reborn as a man, and now your husband instincts wake up every ti you look at your assistant?"

. . .

. . .

I tilted my glass, considering.

"...Well," I said slowly, taking another sip, "that did sound strangely valid."

Ryo groaned loudly and slamd his head back against the couch. "Why am I your friend again? What sin did I commit in my past life?"

Then he straightened suddenly, pointing at accusingly. "Hey. You idiot. You’re just in love with your assistant."

I frowned. "But I’m not gay."

He rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Maybe you just like him. You don’t need to be gay for that."

I blinked.

"...Really?"

"Yes," he said confidently. "Absolutely. One hundred percent."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And how do you know that?"

He froze.

Just slightly.

Barely noticeable.

But I noticed.

I leaned back, a slow smirk curling at the corner of my mouth. "Oh?"

Ryo looked away, suddenly very interested in his drink. "Don’t look at like that."

I smiled wider. "So... you got yourself a boyfriend?"

"...Well," he muttered.

I chuckled softly, leaning back into the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. "Do whatever you want. It’s not my business—just don’t cry and co running to when you get dumped."

He flinched like I’d stabbed him. "This man..." he muttered darkly.

Then he grabbed his glass and downed the wine in one go, grimacing as the alcohol hit. "At least pay for the drinks tonight," he snapped. "I ca all the way here in this condition just to listen to your delusional stories."

I glanced at him lazily, eyes half-lidded. "Don’t you think you’re crossing the boundaries of friendship?"

...

He stared at .

Completely dumbfounded.

Then—very suddenly—he slid off the couch and bowed deeply, palms flat on the table.

"I am extrely sorry, Kurosawa-sama," he said solemnly. "If it is not too much trouble, could you kindly do this humble servant a favor and pay the bill for tonight’s drinks?"

I blinked once.

"...Yeah. Yeah. Whatever," I said, waving him off.

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief and flopped back onto the couch. "Good. Then get all the drinks."

I raised an eyebrow. "All?"

"The expensive ones," he added smugly. "I suffered emotionally tonight."

I didn’t respond.

Because my mind wasn’t in the club anymore. It wasn’t in the music, or the lights, or the glass sweating cold against my fingers.

It was on Renji.

The way he stands quietly beside my desk. The way he listens—really listens. The way his presence softens sothing in I didn’t know could still bend.

I stared into my glass, the amber liquid reflecting fractured lights.

...How could I possibly like a man in one week? That’s not logical. That’s not normal. That’s not sothing I do.

And yet—my chest tightened faintly at the thought of him.

I took another sip, slower this ti.

"Impossible," I murmured under my breath.

The music swelled. Ryo laughed at sothing stupid in his phone. Glasses clinked. But sowhere beneath all that noise, a quiet, dangerous thought settled in my mind—Whether it was possible or not...

I was already thinking about him.

***

[The Next Day—Renji’s POV—Bedroom]

PLOP.

The sound was small. Final.

I placed our wedding rings gently into the velvet-lined box and closed the lid with trembling fingers. For a mont, I just stared at it—at the faint imprint where the Trivium core stone had rested, still warm, still real.

I slid the box into the back of my wardrobe, behind folded clothes and old mories.

"Not yet," I whispered, brushing my thumb over the lid one last ti. "When the ti cos... we’ll wear these again."

I straightened slowly, my chest tight but steady.

I never imagined this.

That Alvar—my Alvar—would cross worlds, ti, and even death itself just to reach again. That he would lose everything—his mories, his na, his past—and still sohow find his way back into my life.

If he could cross a universe for ... Then I could do this.

I could wait.I could be patient.I could love him quietly, properly, without forcing the past onto a man who was still finding himself.

This life wouldn’t be a continuation.

It would be a new beginning.

I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were tired—but there was sothing new in them now.

Resolve.

"Alright, Renji," I murmured, straightening my shirt. "This is a new beginning."

I smiled—soft, sincere, a little scared.

"It’s ti to let my husband fall in love with again."

I picked up my bag, stepped out of the apartnt, and locked the door behind . Each step forward felt lighter.

Not because the past no longer hurt—but because this ti, I knew where I was going.

Toward him.

Toward my Alvar.

Toward Hayato.

And toward a love that would be reborn—slowly, gently, and by choice again.

***

[Later—Hayato Kurosawa Mansion]

As I arrived at the mansion to pick him up, my heart thundered so loudly I was sure it would roll straight out of my chest.

Steady, Renji.Don’t cry. Not now.

I inhaled slowly, forcing my feet to move and my hand to reach for the door.

And when I stepped inside—there he was.

Standing in the middle of the vast living room, sunlight spilling through tall windows, jacket half on, sleeves rolled slightly as he struggled with his tie like it had personally offended him.

"Ugh... damn it," he muttered, tugging at the fabric. "Why is this thing so unnecessarily complicated?"

My vision blurred instantly.

Alive.Standing.Breathing.Annoyed by sothing trivial.

My husband.

Hayato.

Alvar.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly looked down, pressing my lips together. The ache in my chest wasn’t pain—it was overwhelming gratitude. The pull I had felt since the day I t him, the instinct, the recognition... it was never coincidence.

It was him.

He glanced up then, noticing standing frozen near the entrance.

"You’re here?" he said, mildly surprised. Then, without hesitation, he held the tie out toward . "Co help . I can never get this damn thing right."

I let out a small, breathless chuckle before I could stop myself.

Of course you can’t. You were a grand duke once. There were no ties. No rushed mornings.

"I’ll help you, sir," I said softly, stepping closer.

He nodded once, relieved, standing still as I reached for the tie. My fingers brushed the fabric—and then his collar.

Warm.

Real.

I swallowed, steadying myself, and began to tie it with practiced ease. I’d watched the servants do this before. morized it. Perfected it—because being his assistant ant knowing these things.

But standing this close?

This was different.

He slled faintly of soap and sothing sharp and clean—him. His posture relaxed as my fingers worked, as if my presence alone eased so invisible tension.

"You’re good at this," he remarked casually.

I smiled faintly. "It cos with the job."

He humd in response, gaze drifting elsewhere, trusting completely—without knowing why that trust ca so naturally.

And as I finished tying the knot, straightening it carefully, a quiet promise settled deep inside :

I won’t rush you. I won’t force mories onto you. I’ll just be here.

Helping you with small things. Standing beside you. Letting you fall for again—one ordinary mont at a ti.

I stepped back slightly. "All set."

He glanced down, then back at . "Thanks."

Just one word.

But it felt like everything.