He felt a sudden, sharp urge to run back to his room and lock the door. The house didn't feel like his home. It felt like a stage where the actors had all disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark.
He backed out of the room, keeping his eyes on the empty bed until he reached the hallway. He closed the door quickly, the sound of the latch echoing loudly through the silent house.
"Maybe they went to the hospital? Or some family emergency?" he whispered, trying to find a logical reason. But his gut told him something else. The way Kento had been standing by the door... Kento knew they were gone.
"That brat," Shido hissed, his fear turning back into a protective anger. "He knows something. He's definitely hiding something."
He looked toward Kento's room at the end of the hall. The door was closed, and no light shone from underneath it.
The Kanzaki mansion stood far away from the noise of the city.
It was huge and wide, spread across green land like it owned the night itself. The mansion was not tall like an office building. It was long, grand, and royal, with wide wings stretching on both sides. Soft stone walls, tall pillars, and large glass windows gave it a calm but powerful look.
In front of the mansion, a garden lay perfectly shaped. Tall trees stood in neat lines. Bushes were cut into clean patterns. A stone fountain rested at the center, silent in the night. To one side, a long swimming pool reflected the sky, its water still and dark.
Lights were placed carefully around the garden paths. They did not shine bright. They glowed softly, making the mansion look distant and untouchable. Beyond the garden, trees surrounded the land, hiding the house from the outside world.
The night air here felt different. Cooler. Quieter. Heavier. Most of the mansion was dark. Only one room, high on the upper floor, had its lights on. That single light made the mansion look awake.
Inside that room, the air was very chilly because the air conditioner was working hard. A computer monitor sat on a large desk, its blue glow filling the space. A person sat on a high chair with his back to the door. He wore a long-sleeved t-shirt and pajama. Large headphones covered his ears as he listened to music.
His finger moved the mouse over and over, scrolling through a website. The person picked up a bottle of strawberry juice and took a drink. He let out a tired sigh.
"Nothing but dead ends," he whispered. His voice was quiet and sharp. "Why is there no record of this anywhere? It's like the world is pretending these symbols don't exist."
He opened another website and started typing on the keyboard. He was looking for the meaning of some marks and things that could not be explained. He scrolled through many pages but found nothing. He became annoyed.
"Useless. All of it," he muttered, clicking the mouse harder. "Just people making up stories. I need the truth, not fairy tales."
He grabbed his headphones and pulled them off. The music kept playing, but he did not care. He stood up from his chair. As he walked toward the bed, the light hit his head. His hair was a little messy, but it was still a bright, golden color. This was Kashima.
He opened a drawer in the small table next to his bed. He pulled out a tube of white cream for aching bones. He squeezed some onto his fingers. He pulled his shirt down to reveal his collarbone and started to rub the cream in slowly.
"Damn it," he muttered grumpily, his teeth gritted in pain. "It feels like someone is hammering a nail into my bone."
He rubbed the cream until his skin felt cold. He looked at his reflection in the dark window.
"You're hiding something, Kamitani. And I'm going to find out what it is," he said to the empty room.
He went back to the desk to read more, but he realized his bottle of juice was empty. He shook the bottle, hoping for one more drop, but nothing came out.
"Great. Now I'm thirsty." he sighed.
He grabbed the empty bottle and opened his door. He stepped out into the dark hallway and started going down the grand staircase toward the kitchen to fetch a new one.
He walked down slowly, one step at a time, his fingers resting on the cold railing. The mansion was too big, too quiet. Every step echoed back at him, small and weak, like he did not belong here at all. The high ceiling swallowed sound. The long halls swallowed people.
Sometimes, Kashima felt like a tiny ant crawling through a giant's palace.
He reached the bottom of the staircase and turned toward the kitchen. The walk felt endless. He passed tall statues carved from white stone—men with proud faces and empty eyes. He passed closed doors and dark rooms that looked untouched, like no one truly lived in them.
When he finally stepped into the kitchen, the air changed.
Moonlight poured in through the wide glass walls. It fell over the white counters and smooth floors, turning everything pale and sharp. The kitchen looked clean, perfect, almost lifeless. Like bones polished too well.
Kashima opened a large cupboard, moving boxes of tea and bags of expensive coffee with growing irritation.
'Where is it?' he thought, his jaw tightening. 'I told the maids to put it inside the bottom shelf.'
He knelt down and leaned into the cupboard. The back was dark and cold. He moved heavy glass jars aside. Metal tins clinked softly as he pushed them away. His fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. He pulled out a bottle of strawberry juice. 'Finally.'
He stood up slowly. The bottle felt cool in his hand. For a moment, his stomach growled. His eyes drifted to the counter where a pack of instant noodles lay forgotten.
He reached out.
Then stopped.
His hand froze in the air.
'No,' he thought.
'If the butlers and maids smells this, they'll talk. And Father will hear. And then comes the lecture. Perfect son. Perfect house. Perfect discipline.'
He turned away, but a heavy, dragging sound stopped him. Footsteps scraped unevenly against the marble.
"Careful master… easy steps," a man's voice whispered.
Kashima's body went still.
His heart jumped hard against his ribs. He moved quickly, stepping behind the large marble counter. He pressed his back to the cold stone and peeped around the edge.
Two figures appeared in the dim hall.
One of them was the butler of the house.
The man was old, thin, and straight-backed despite the late hour. His hair was grey and neatly combed. His black uniform was clean, even now. He had served this house longer than Kashima had been alive. He was the closest person his father had ever trusted.
The other man that leaned heavily against him
Kashima's father, Seijurou Kanzaki.
The name alone carried weight.
President of the Kanzaki Group. A man whose words moved markets. A man whose face appeared on magazines, news screens, and business halls across the country. Known for his sharp mind, clean image, and iron control. A man praised for building an empire from nothing.
Tonight, that man was barely standing.
His expensive suit was wrinkled. His tie hung loose around his neck. His steps were uneven, his body shaking with every move. Dark brown hair fell over his eyes, hiding them. The smell of strong alcohol reached Kashima even from a distance.
"Slowly, Master," the butler said again, calm but stiff. "The floor is slippery."
Seijurou laughed—a low, ugly sound.
"Slippery?" he spoke with messy words. "This whole damn house is slippery." He pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers trembling. "Lies everywhere… smiles everywhere…"
Kashima felt his chest tighten. 'Father…?'
Seijurou stopped walking. He leaned more of his weight onto the butler. "That woman…" he muttered. His voice dropped, thick and bitter. "Always smiling. Always busy. Always leaving."
"Master, please. Let's get you to your room," the butler pleaded.
"She thinks I don't know," Seijurou continued, his words slipping over each other. "Meeting people. Talking too softly. Laughing like she used to… not with me." He let out a broken laugh. "Does she think I'm blind?"
Kashima's fingers curled tightly around the bottle.
"She comes home late," Seijurou went on, his voice rising with rage. "Smelling like other places. Other people. Am I a fool? Is this my reward? I built everything. This house. This name. And she treats it like a joke."
Something burned under Kashima's collarbone. He stepped out from behind the counter.
"Father?" The sound cut through the hall.
The butler froze, his eyes widening in the dim light. "Young Master—please. Go back to your room."
Kashima did not move. He looked at the man in front of him. This was not the powerful figure from newspapers. This was not the cold, perfect father who spoke in measured words.
This man was shaking.
"Are you alright?" Kashima asked, taking a step forward. "You're hurt—"
Seijurou suddenly looked up. His eyes were bright red and looked wild and angry. Before Kashima could even reach out to touch him, Seijurou pushed him away really hard right in the chest.
"Don't touch me!" he shouted. "Do you know who I am?!"
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