Tell your grandfather

The walk to your grandfather’s study felt heavier than usual, not out of fear, but out of the sheer gravity of the news. You found him seated behind a low table, the scent of old paper and bitter matcha filling the air. He didn't look up from his calligraphy until you spoke the words: Midori was carrying your child.

He set his brush down with a steady hand, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

"I see," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "The girl from the brothel. I suppose her training was effective."

"Is it... acceptable?" you asked, bracing for a lecture on lineage or the complications of a bastard heir. "Given her background and our lack of marriage?"

Your grandfather let out a short, huffing laugh that might have been a chuckle. "Doe, do not be so naive. Whether she came from a palace or a pleasure house matters little compared to the result. If she satisfies your needs and is capable of carrying a healthy pregnancy to term, then there is no 'problem' to speak of. In fact, it is the natural order of things."

You blinked, surprised by his pragmatism. "You aren't concerned about the morality of it? The household's image?"

"Morality?" He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Those who shout the loudest about 'moral righteousness' and 'traditional purity' are almost always the ones engaging in these exact activities behind closed doors. They simply lack the honesty to admit it. High-society families have been built on the backs of such 'activities' since the dawn of the Shogunate. A man of your standing produces heirs; the method and the mother are secondary to the survival of the bloodline."

He picked up his brush again, signaling the end of the tension. "Keep her healthy. Ensure the child is strong. That is your only duty in this matter.