By the fourth time, it no longer felt like crossing a line.
It felt like using a tool.
That was the part that unsettled him later.
Not the act.
But how easy it was.
Hirose was starting to ask questions.
In corridors. In pauses after discussions ended.
He had been on the board for twenty-two years. He had seen takeovers, scandals, collapses. He trusted instinct more than spreadsheets.
And his instinct had turned toward Fuhito.
After one meeting, Hirose stopped him near the elevators.
"You were confident about Sano," Hirose said mildly.
"I was," Fuhito replied.
Hirose adjusted his cufflinks. "Men like Sano don't reverse themselves overnight."
"They do when they realize they miscalculated."
Hirose studied him for a few seconds.
"You speak as if you were certain he would."
"I was."
A faint smile touched Hirose's lips. "Confidence without history is interesting."
The elevator doors opened.
Hirose stepped inside.
Before they closed, he added, "This city rewards boldness. It punishes mysteries."
The doors slid shut.
Fuhito stood still for a moment.
Mystery.
It wasn't accusation.
It was attention.
---
That evening, he followed Hirose from a distance.
The older man visited a private club near the river. Dark wood interior. Old money atmosphere. Politicians and donors liked it because reporters didn't.
Hirose stayed for two hours.
When he came out, the parking lot was nearly empty.
Fuhito stepped forward.
"Hirose."
The man stopped. Mild surprise, nothing more.
"You've taken an interest in me," Fuhito said.
"I take interest in variables," Hirose replied.
"You think I influenced Sano."
"I think something did."
"And you'd like to know what."
Hirose didn't deny it.
"You're new," he said calmly. "You arrive, a rival folds, and the board suddenly treats you like insurance. I've been doing this long enough to notice timing."
Fuhito lifted the camera.
Hirose glanced at it briefly. "Photography?"
"Yes."
He didn't rush.
He didn't threaten.
He simply raised it and pressed the shutter.
The click was soft.
Hirose blinked once.
Then looked at him again.
"What were we discussing?" he asked.
"You were concerned about Sano," Fuhito said evenly.
Hirose nodded slowly.
"Unnecessary," he replied after a moment. "He misjudged his position."
"And me?"
"You're useful."
"Any doubts?"
"No."
Hirose adjusted his coat and walked to his car.
His steps were steady. Unhurried.
He drove away without another glance.
Four.
Fuhito stood alone in the parking lot for several seconds.
He didn't feel triumphant.
He felt… aware.
Like he had pressed something delicate and wasn't sure how hard.
Two days later, Daichi Sano collapsed in his office.
The report said brain hemorrhage.
High blood pressure. Long hours. Stress.
The board observed a minute of silence.
Hirose spoke briefly about the unpredictability of life.
His voice was level.
No suspicion. No hesitation.
If he remembered that conversation in the parking lot, it didn't show.
Across the table, Kenshin's gaze moved from Hirose to Fuhito.
Not accusing.
Not friendly.
Just watching.
After the meeting ended, Kenshin caught up to him near the window.
"Sano's death surprised me," Kenshin said.
"It surprised everyone," Fuhito replied.
Kenshin nodded.
"He didn't look unwell last week."
"People hide things."
"Yes," Kenshin said quietly. "They do."
He studied Fuhito for a moment longer.
"You don't seem shaken."
"Should I be?"
"Most people are."
Fuhito held his gaze. "I didn't know him well enough."
Kenshin gave a small nod.
"That's fair."
But he didn't look convinced.
---
At home, Aiko had been waiting.
She rose as soon as he entered.
"You heard about Sano?" she asked.
"Yes."
She hesitated.
"I met him once," she said. "He didn't seem like someone who would… fall apart."
"He didn't," Fuhito replied.
Aiko looked down at her hands.
For a second, her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"You're pale," he said.
"I didn't sleep much."
"Why?"
She frowned slightly, as if searching for the reason.
"I keep waking up," she said slowly. "Like I forgot something."
"What?"
"I don't know."
He watched her closely.
"Do you regret anything?" he asked.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
But she blinked afterward, as though the word had surprised her.
"Why would I?" she added.
"Just asking."
She stepped closer to him.
"If anyone questions you," she said softly, "I'll handle it."
"I can handle myself."
"I know."
She smiled.
It looked almost right.
Almost.
---
That night, Fuhito stood in the dark living room.
The camera rested on the table.
He was certain he had left it angled toward the wall.
Now it faced the center of the room.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he told himself the truth:
You're tired.
He walked to the bedroom without touching it.
---
Across the city, the investigator reviewed Sano's file.
He didn't care about corporate politics.
He cared about patterns.
Two sudden suicides.
One powerful executive withdrawing unexpectedly.
Now that same executive dead within days.
Stress explained some things.
Not timing.
He printed a list of recent board attendees.
A new name appeared repeatedly.
Fuhito.
No history. No background that matched his sudden rise.
The investigator circled it once.
He didn't know what it meant yet.
But he had learned to follow discomfort.
And this name made him uncomfortable.
Around three in the morning, Fuhito woke.
He didn't know why.
The room was quiet.
Aiko slept beside him.
He stepped into the living room.
The camera sat where he had left it.
Still.
Ordinary.
He let out a slow breath.
As he turned away—
There was a faint sound.
Not loud.
Just a small mechanical click.
Behind him.
He didn't move immediately.
Then, slowly, he turned back.
The camera hadn't fallen.
Hadn't shifted.
It simply rested there.
Waiting.