Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 180: Meeting his Parents

[Renji’s POV—Hayato Kurosawa’s Mansion—Late Morning]

I woke up tangled in Hayato’s arms.

Not loosely. Not accidentally.

Wrapped.

His arm was firm around my waist, his warmth steady at my back, and his breath brushed the nape of my neck like he’d decided this was where I belonged. For a mont, I just stayed there, listening to the quiet, letting the calm sink in.

Then—BUZZZ.

Hayato’s phone vibrated on the nightstand.

I winced slightly and glanced up at him. "Hayato... you’re getting a call."

He groaned softly, eyes still closed, and stretched like a cat—slow, lazy, and completely unbothered. I picked up the phone and glanced at the screen.

"Your mom," I said.

One eye cracked open.

"...Already?" he muttered.

I handed him the phone. Without even looking, he hooked an arm around and tugged closer, pushing gently back against the pillows like I was sothing he refused to let go of—even while answering calls.

"What," he said flatly into the phone.

There was a pause.

Then his brows knit together. "What do you an what?" he replied. "It’s only been two months."

Another pause.

"Yes, I know I haven’t co ho."

He glanced down at then—still half-asleep, still tucked into his chest—and sothing softened in his eyes.

"This Sunday," he said calmly. "I’ll co ho." A beat. "I have soone I want to introduce."

My heart skipped. Silence crackled on the other end of the line before a very familiar voice cut through.

"I see," his mother said. "So should I start preparing for a wedding?"

Hayato smirked.

"...You’re sharp," he said.

"Of course," she scoffed. "You think you didn’t inherit that from ?"

He chuckled, low and amused. "Alright," he said. "I’ll see you on Sunday."

Beep.

The call ended.

For a second, the room was quiet again. Then he looked at . Not teasing. Not smug.

Warm.

"Get ready for Sunday," he said gently.

My face heated instantly. "Y-Yes..."

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, lingering there like it was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Cute," he murmured.

And just like that, my heart forgot how to beat normally.

***

[Later—Living Room]

Damn it.

My back. My legs. My everything.

I shuffled out of the bedroom wrapped in one of Hayato’s shirts, the fabric swallowing whole, carrying his scent like a comfort blanket. Every step made my body complain, trembling like it was personally offended by gravity.

"I prepared dinner, my love," he called from the kitchen. "Co fast—"

I glared in his direction. "Easy for you to say co fast. I’m dying with every step."

He glanced over his shoulder, standing at the stove, eggs sizzling softly in the pan. He was wearing an apron—an apron—over a half-bare body, hair slightly ssy, sleeves rolled up like this was his natural habitat.

He smirked.

"I just went a few rounds," he said lazily. "And you’re already this tired?" His eyes dragged over with open amusent. "How are you going to handle in the future?"

I stopped walking.

Turned.

Stared at him like I was witnessing a cri.

"Just a few rounds?" I repeated. "You didn’t let out of bed the entire day, and now you’re calling that a few?" I huffed. "You’re a monster."

He laughed—warm, unapologetic—and walked over, closing the distance in a few easy steps. Before I could protest, he scooped up effortlessly.

"Alright, alright," he said, amusent softening into care. "How about a massage today?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I don’t trust you."

He chuckled, adjusting his hold so I was comfortable. "I promise," he said lightly. "Massage only."

I sighed, already losing. "...You’re very convincing."

He set down gently on a chair, like I was sothing precious instead of a ss held together by stubbornness. Then he picked up a fork and turned back to the stove.

"Sit," he said softly. "Let take care of you."

I didn’t argue.

He fed slowly and patiently, blowing on each bite, watching my reactions like they mattered more than the food itself. When I winced, his touch softened. When I relaxed, his smile followed.

Between bites, he brushed my hair back, pressed kisses to my temple, and murmured things like good, there you go, I’ve got you.

And for the first ti all day, the ache faded into sothing warm.

Safe.

Loved.

I leaned back in the chair, full and drowsy, and looked up at him.

"...You’re spoiling ."

He smiled—soft this ti, with no teasing edge at all.

"Good," he said. "Get used to it."

And sohow, that promise felt safer than anything else.

***

[Sunday Morning—Kurosawa Mansion]

Sunday ca too fast.

I realized it soti around midnight, staring at the ceiling while Hayato slept beside like the world hadn’t just tilted off its axis. His arm was draped over my waist, heavy and sure, thumb occasionally brushing my side even in sleep—as if his body refused to forget .

I, on the other hand, was wide awake.

et his mother.

My stomach twisted.

I shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, but of course—he noticed.

"You’re thinking too loudly," he murmured, eyes still closed.

"...Sorry."

One eye opened. He looked at , amused but gentle."Nervous?"

I hesitated. "...A little."

He rolled onto his side, fully facing now, close enough that our noses almost brushed. His hand slid up to my cheek, warm and steady.

"You don’t have to impress anyone," he said quietly. "Just be yourself."

I laughed weakly. "That’s what makes it scary."

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to my lips—slow, reassuring."She’ll like you," he said. "Trust ."

Sohow... I did.

The mansion was unusually busy. Staff moved softly but efficiently, the air thick with preparation. Sowhere down the hall, a garnt bag waited like a challenge.

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar for the tenth ti.

"Do I look okay?" I asked.

Hayato, already dressed, leaned against the doorfra, arms crossed, watching with that calm, unreadable expression.

"You look perfect," he said imdiately.

"That’s not helpful," I muttered.

He walked over and fixed the collar himself, fingers brushing my neck, grounding ."Breathe," he murmured. "You’re not walking into a battlefield."

I glanced up at him. "...Feels like it."

He chuckled softly and pressed his forehead to mine.

"I’ll be right there," he said. "The entire ti."

That helped more than anything.

As the car pulled out of the gates, my hands fidgeted in my lap. Hayato noticed instantly and took one without a word, intertwining our fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. Then shook my head. "No. But... I will be."

He squeezed my hand once. "That’s my boy."

My face ward, but I didn’t pull away. The road stretched ahead, leading sowhere unfamiliar—sowhere important. And as nerves fluttered in my chest, excitent followed close behind.

Because whatever waited at the end of this Sunday... I wouldn’t be facing it alone.

***

[Hayato’s Parents’ House—Later]

eting Hayato’s mother... Wasn’t difficult at all.

In fact, it was almost too easy.

The mont I stepped inside, she had taken both my hands in hers, eyes sparkling like she’d just found a long-lost treasure.

"Oh my," she’d said warmly. "Nice to et you, sweetie."

And just like that—I was hers. She adored . Completely. Unconditionally.

But—His father was another story.

The director of Kurosawa.co sat across from us at the dining table, fingers folded neatly, posture straight, gaze fixed on like I was a docunt being audited. It wasn’t hostile. Just... sharp. Calculating.

Like a scanner.

Hayato sat beside as if nothing in the world could faze him, one arm resting casually behind my chair. His mother placed a shrimp gently onto my plate, smiling so brightly it almost looked like a fluffy cloud.

"Here, dear," she said. "You should eat well."

I bowed slightly, startled by her kindness. "Thank you so much."

Her smile widened.

"So," she continued casually, "do you like lilies... or roses?"

I blinked. "...Pardon?"

"Oh," she said breezily, waving her hand. "For the wedding hall decorations. I can’t decide between lilies and roses."

I nearly choked.

Heat rushed straight to my face. "I— I haven’t really—"

She giggled delightedly. "Hoho... such a cute reaction—"

"Stop staring at my man," Hayato cut in flatly, spoon clinking against his bowl. "You’re making uncomfortable."

The table went quiet.

His mother blinked once.

Then smirked.

"Heh," she said, amused. "So jealous? Even of your own mother?"

He scoffed. "Especially of you."

I stared at my plate, cheeks burning, while she laughed openly, clearly enjoying every second. Then—His father spoke.

"Why didn’t you visit for two months?" he asked calmly, eyes shifting to Hayato. "Didn’t we agree you’d co ho every Sunday?"

Hayato took a bite of rice, completely unfazed.

"I’ve been busy," he said casually. "Unlike so directors in na."

His father’s brow twitched.

"I have to handle the entire company," Hayato continued smoothly, "because the so-called ’Director’ is too busy playing oyakata with his friends."

A beat.

Then—

"Oi," his father snapped. "That’s called networking."

His mother laughed again. "Boys, boys—eat first, fight later."

Hayato leaned back slightly, lips curling into a satisfied smirk. His hand brushed mine under the table, grounding and reassuring.

I glanced at him.

Despite the teasing. Despite the tension. Despite the scrutiny. This table felt... warm.

Chaotic.

Alive.

And for the first ti, I realized—I wasn’t just eting his family. I was being pulled into it.