Chapter 15: Cherry Blossom Possession
The morning air in the market district was a vibrant tapestry of scent and sound, crisp with the promise of autumn yet warmed by the early sun filtering through the canvas awnings. It was a symphony of sizzling grills, the rhythmic thump of cleavers on wooden blocks, and the melodic calls of vendors hawking fresh tuna, glossy eggplant, and persimmons the color of a sunset.
Through this organized chaos moved the Aizawa family, a portrait of traditional elegance amidst the bustling commerce. They were all dressed in matching indigo yukata with a subtle geometric grey pattern, a public declaration of their unity and taste. Shouta led, his broad shoulders filling the garment, his stride deliberate and unhurried. Beside him, Hizashi seemed to glide, the fabric flowing around his slender form, his long blonde hair piled in an intricate knot held by two simple jade pins. He carried a woven basket over one arm, his eyes already scanning for the freshest produce.
A few paces behind, Katsuki walked with Eijirou. Katsuki had worn his yukata with a deliberate carelessness, the belt tied lower, the collar loose enough to show the strong line of his throat. His spiky blond hair was a defiant splash of color against the indigo. Eijirou, in a deep crimson yukata that matched his eyes and hair, was a louder, brighter presence, his laugh booming as he pointed at a stall selling novelty dumplings shaped like cartoon characters. He was every bit as large as Katsuki, his alpha presence warm and open where Katsuki’s was sharp and contained.
At the heart of the procession, walking slightly slower, were Izuku and Kenji.
Izuku felt the soft brush of his own yukata against his calves, the fabric whisper-light. His hair, freshly washed and shining, cascaded down his back, a river of black silk. He clutched a small, embroidered pouch in his hands, his fingers twisting the cords nervously. Today felt different. Significant. He was walking beside Kenji, not just as his boyfriend in the private space of their homes or parks, but here, in the full view of their community. The world knew they were a couple, of course—rumors in a town this interconnected were as reliable as the tides—but this was a statement. An unveiling.
Kenji, in a charcoal grey yukata with a black geometric obi, looked effortlessly poised. His swimmer’s build was accentuated by the clean lines of the garment. He walked close to Izuku, his posture relaxed yet radiating a quiet, protective dominance. His black mullet was neatly styled, his gaze sweeping the crowd with a confident, almost proprietary air.
“Nervous?” Kenji murmured, his voice low enough that only Izuku could hear over the market din.
“A little,” Izuku admitted, his eyes darting to the faces they passed. “Everyone’s looking.”
“They’re looking because you’re beautiful,” Kenji said, his fingers brushing against Izuku’s, a clandestine touch that sent a jolt up Izuku’s arm. “And because they’re finally getting confirmation that the best omega in this district is officially taken. Let them look. Let them see.”
His words were a balm and a brand. Izuku straightened his shoulders, a small, determined smile touching his lips.
Their first stop was inevitable: the Aizawa family’s own market stall. It was a pristine, minimalist setup of polished dark wood and gleaming glass, standing out among the more cluttered, vibrant stalls. A small, elegant sign simply read ‘Aizawa: Seasonal Delicacies.’ Inside, Hizashi’s assistant, a quiet beta woman, was arranging delicate boxes of sushi rolls while Hizashi himself took his place behind the counter. This was his weekly public contribution, a demonstration of skill and grace that enhanced the family’s reputation.
“Ah, Hizashi-san!” called an elderly omega woman from the next stall, where heaps of daikon radishes were stacked like ivory pillars. “The family looks magnificent today! Like a scene from an old painting!”
Hizashi bestowed a radiant smile upon her. “You’re too kind, Yamada-san. The weather blessed us for our stroll.”
Shouta gave the woman a respectful nod, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the stall’s operations, ensuring everything met his exacting standards.
It was then that old man Tanaka, the fishmonger whose stall had supplied the Aizawas for two generations, waddled over. His sharp eyes, faded but perceptive, skipped over Shouta and Hizashi, past Katsuki and Eijirou, and landed squarely on Izuku and Kenji. A wide, gap-toothed grin spread across his weathered face.
“Well, well, well,” he cackled, his voice like grinding stones. “The rumors are true, then! Little Izuku-chan, all grown up and paired! And with Takahashi’s boy, no less. A fine match! A strong, traditional alpha for a perfect, blooming omega. Congratulations are in order!”
His voice carried. Heads turned. A soft ripple of attention moved through the nearby crowd.
Izuku felt his cheeks burn. He bowed quickly, his voice a faint flutter. “Thank you, Tanaka-san.”
Kenji stepped forward slightly, placing himself more directly between Izuku and the old man, not in a threatening way, but in a manner that clearly indicated Izuku was under his aegis. He gave a polite, firm bow of his own. “Thank you, sir. I’m a very lucky alpha.”
“Damn right you are!” Tanaka boomed, slapping his thigh. “She’s the image of her mama. Graceful. Modest. I remember when she was this high,” he held a hand at his knee, “helping Hizashi-san pick out snapper, always so careful with the fish. Knew her place. Not like some of the wild things you see nowadays.” His expression darkened for a moment, a clear, unspoken reference to the recent scandal that had gossiped through the market like a foul smell. Then he brightened again. “You’ll be bonding soon, I expect? After his studies?”
“That is the plan,” Kenji confirmed, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of Izuku’s back. The touch was a declaration.
The walk through the market became a processional of soft exclamations and murmured blessings.
At the tea merchant’s stall, a severe-looking beta woman with spectacles paused in weighing out hojicha to nod at Hizashi. “A splendid match, Hizashi-san. Your training shows. He carries himself beautifully.”
Hizashi accepted the praise with a humble dip of his head. “He has a gentle heart. He makes it easy.”
At the stall selling handmade ceramics, the artisan, a gentle-voiced alpha with clay under his nails, smiled at Izuku. “I have a new set of nesting bowls glazing now,” he said quietly, almost conspiratorially. “A pale cream with a maple leaf pattern. I thought of you when I made them. For your future home.”
Izuku’s eyes welled up with touched emotion. “Oh… that’s… thank you, Katsu-san.”
Kenji squeezed his back. “We’ll be sure to come see them when they’re ready.”
Even interactions not directly with them were colored by their presence. As Shouta inspected a bundle of leeks, the farmer, a grizzled alpha, said sotto voce, “You must be proud, Aizawa-san. Both sons. One a powerful alpha, the other a jewel of an omega, well-matched. Your line is secure. Strong.”
Shouta’s expression didn’t change, but a slight gleam of satisfaction entered his black eyes. He gave a single, curt nod. “We have been fortunate.”
Meanwhile, Katsuki and Eijirou navigated the attention differently.
“Hey, Katsuki! Eijirou!” called a group of younger betas and alphas from their school, loitering near a takoyaki stand. “Family outing?”
Katsuki shoved his hands into the pockets of his yukata, affecting a bored slouch. “Yeah. Market day. Don’t you losers have anything better to do?”
One of the alphas, a brawny kid with a shaved head, whistled low, looking past Katsuki at Izuku and Kenji. “So it’s true about your brother, huh? Snagged by Kenji Takahashi. Damn. I heard he was… you know. Perfect.”
Katsuki’s crimson eyes narrowed, his lazy posture snapping into something taut. He took a half-step forward. “You ‘heard’? What’s that supposed to mean? You got something to say about my brother?”
Eijirou placed a steadying hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, but his own friendly grin had hardened at the edges. “He’s just saying Izuku is a great omega, right, man?” His tone was friendly, but his gaze was not.
The brawny alpha held up his hands, backpedaling. “Whoa, yeah! That’s all! Just saying he’s a catch! Kenji’s a lucky guy! Seriously!”
“Damn right he is,” Katsuki grumbled, allowing Eijirou to steer him away. As they walked, he muttered, “Fucking morons. Talking about him like he’s a piece of prime rib.”
“They’re just dumb, Kats,” Eijirou said, his hand sliding down to rub Katsuki’s back. “They see what everyone sees. It’s just… respect, you know? They’re acknowledging it, even if they’re clumsy. Your family… it’s like the standard. Makes people pay attention.”
Katsuki let out a breath, his irritation fading into a sort of grudging pride. “Yeah, whatever. Just keep their eyes to themselves.”
The most significant encounter came at the confectionery stall, famous for its delicate nerikiri wagashi shaped into seasonal flowers. The proprietress, Madame Suzuki, was a tiny, ancient omega with eyes like black beads and a reputation as the neighborhood’s most formidable gossip and moral arbiter. To receive her approval was to have one’s social standing cemented.
Hizashi approached the stall with a reverent air. “Madame Suzuki, good morning. Your autumn leaves look exquisite.”
The old woman peered at him, then past him, her gaze sweeping over the entire family. It lingered on Shouta, whom she gave a minuscule nod of recognition. It flicked to Katsuki and Eijirou, and one thin eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly—acknowledgment of a strong, if flashy, alpha pair. Then her eyes landed on Izuku and Kenji.
For a long moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched, thick with assessment. Izuku felt frozen, his breath caught in his chest. Kenji’s hand on his back was firm, unmoving.
Finally, Madame Suzuki’s wrinkled lips pursed. She looked at Kenji. “Takahashi Kenji. You are studying law.”
It wasn’t a question. Kenji bowed deeply. “Yes, Madame.”
“A disciplined field. It requires a clear mind and a strong will. Your father was a disciplined man.” Her beady eyes shifted to Izuku. “Izuku Aizawa. You make the persimmon jelly for your mother’s stall. You do not over-sweeten it. You understand balance.”
Izuku bowed so quickly he almost tipped forward. “Th-thank you, Madame Suzuki. I try to follow Mama’s instructions.”
“Hmph.” The sound could have meant anything. She looked at their proximity, at Kenji’s protective stance, at the way Izuku subtly leaned into the touch. She looked at Izuku’s downcast eyes, the modest drape of his yukata, the complete absence of brashness.
“Come here, child,” she commanded, her voice brittle but clear.
Izuku glanced at Hizashi, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. He stepped forward, Kenji’s hand falling away, though the alpha remained close, watchful.
Madame Suzuki reached out a claw-like hand. She didn’t touch Izuku’s face or hair. Instead, she gently patted the back of Izuku’s hand, where it clutched the embroidered pouch. Her skin was paper-dry and cool. “A good heart reveals itself in the hands,” she intoned cryptically. Then she looked past Izuku, at Kenji again. “You will care for this heart. You will not let the world coarsen it. A gentle omega is a reflection of a strong alpha’s protection. Do not fail.”
It was a blessing, a charge, and a threat, all in one.
Kenji bowed again, lower this time. “On my honor, Madame. I will not fail.”
The old woman gave a single, sharp nod. She turned, selected two wagashi shaped like perfect, tiny chrysanthemums from her display, and placed them in a small box. She handed it not to Hizashi, but directly to Izuku. “For the young couple. A sweet beginning.”
Tears truly did spring to Izuku’s eyes then. This was the ultimate seal of approval. He accepted the box with both hands, bowing deeply. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
As they moved away from the stall, the atmosphere around them seemed to shift, to warm. The sidelong glances became more openly admiring, the whispers more clearly congratulatory. They had passed the test.
Finding a moment of semi-privacy near a less-crowded aisle of pottery stalls, the family paused. Katsuki immediately grabbed one of the chrysanthemum wagashi from the box Izuku held. “Old bat’s still scary,” he mumbled around the sweet bean paste.
“Katsuki!” Hizashi chided gently. “Respect. Her approval means everything.”
“It does,” Shouta agreed, his voice a low rumble. He looked at Izuku, a rare, full expression of pride softening his stern features. “You conducted yourself perfectly, baby. Exactly as you should.”
“Kenji as well,” Hizashi added, smiling at the young alpha. “You presented a united, respectful front. Madame Suzuki would not have given her blessing otherwise.”
Kenji inclined his head. “It was easy. I just had to follow Izuku’s lead.” He said it with a charming humility, but his eyes when they met Izuku’s were blazing with possession and triumph.
Izuku felt dizzy with a cocktail of emotions: relief, pride, a deep-seated happiness, and the heavy, sweet weight of expectation. He was everything they said he was. He was the exemplary omega. The thought of the girl from weeks before, Akane, flitted through his mind—exposed, shamed, exiled. That would never be him. He was here, in the sunlight, receiving chrysanthemums from Madame Suzuki, his alpha’s hand warm on his back, his family’s pride a tangible cloak around him.
Eijirou, who had been quietly observing, looped an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “It’s really cool, man. Your whole family. It’s like… you just know how it’s supposed to be, you know? Solid.” His red eyes were earnest.
Katsuki leaned into the touch, a faint smirk on his face. “Tch. It’s just normal. But yeah.”
The walk back through the market was a victory lap. Congratulations came from all sides now, freely given. The tofu vendor, the pickles seller, the woman who sold handmade brooms. Izuku’s cheeks ached from smiling, from bowing. His small pouch was now filled with little gifts—a sample of a new plum seasoning, a sprig of fragrant herb, a tiny, lucky cat charm from a vendor who winked at Kenji.
The end.