The atmosphere in the dining room was suffocatingly silent. Only the occasional clink of knifes and forks against fine porcelain broke through the stillness.
Seated at the long table, the blue-haired young man shifted his gaze to the woman standing at attention nearby.
"Ayaka," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Sit down."
Before she could respond, a colder voice cut through the room.
"This is a family dinner, Ryoma. Servants have no place here."
His mother's crimson eyes flashed with quiet authority.
Ayaka lowered her gaze respectfully, but quickly composed herself again, her posture perfect and unshaken.
"My apologies, young master," she said softly. "I cannot comply with that request."
"I'm just a maid," she added, her tone steady.
She didn't mention that long before Ryoma's parents returned to the mansion, she had often shared meals with him.
It had been forced upon her then—but somehow, over time, it had become a silent routine.
The conversation shifted.
"Why aren't you in college, Ryoma?" his father asked abruptly.
His voice was low, tinged with disappointment. "Or are you just too arrogant to bother?"
Ryoma didn't flinch. "I don't see the point in wasting time or money," he said evenly. "I can learn everything I need on my own."
His father scoffed, but before he could speak again, Saeko—the woman at the head of the table—sighed through her nose.
"So it is arrogance," she muttered.
Ryoma met her gaze, his icy blue eyes locking with her ruby ones.
He didn't say anything further—but in that silent clash of wills, neither side seemed willing to yield.
"And why did you dye your hair?" Masaru's voice broke the quiet with a note of irritation. "Don't tell me you're ashamed of the Murakami bloodline."
The two men locked eyes, their matching shades of sharp blue clashing midair.
"You're making a fuss over hair dye?" Ryoma replied with a sigh, his voice dipped in dry sarcasm. "Really? That's your concern?"
"Is this how the head of the Murakami family speaks?" he added coldly.
"Watch your tone, Ryoma," Saeko snapped, her voice as sharp as the glint in her crimson eyes.
"You've grown more insolent while we were gone, haven't you?"
Her words landed like a judgment. "Looks like coming back was the right decision," she added.
"If we'd waited any longer, you'd be dragging the Murakami name through the dirt."
"Enough, Saeko," Masaru said, raising a hand to silence her.
He turned his attention back to his son, his expression darkening with gravity.
"Ryoma," he said slowly, "I need to ask you something... important."
Ryoma didn't answer immediately. He leaned back slightly, his gaze unreadable as he waited for the question.
"You've met a man named Tatsuma, haven't you?"
The silence that followed was telling. Ryoma didn't need to confirm it-his stillness alone spoke volumes.
Masaru's lips pressed into a grim line.
"I knew it," he muttered. "Listen carefully—stay away from him. He's dangerous."
"He plans to use you—to take you and force my hand. He wants Murakami."
"The Murakami family has stood for centuries. Generation after generation, we've built something enduring. But he..." Masaru clenched his fists under the table.
"He wants to rip it all away. He wants to become Tatsuma Murakami."
"He wants everything we have," Masaru said, his voice tight with a rare trace of fear.
Ryoma didn't respond.
He simply sat there, the ticking of the grandfather clock echoing through the tension in the room.
His expression didn't change—but his silence said everything.
"He's planning something. I'm sure of it," Masaru muttered, the weight in his voice pressing down on the room.
"With his kind of personality, it'll be sudden. Quiet—until it's not."
"You seem to know him quite well," Ryoma said flatly, his tone edged with suspicion. "Don't you, Father?"
Masaru didn't hesitate. "I've known him since before you were even born." His gaze hardened.
"So trust me on this, Ryoma."
Silence followed. Then, without another word, Ryoma rose from his seat, leaving his half-finished meal untouched.
"I understand," he said.
"Wait—at least finish your food—" Saeko also stood, but it was too late.
Ryoma had already stepped out of the dining room, the echo of his footsteps trailing behind him like a shadow.
Masaru exhaled, then turned to Ayaka, who had been quietly observing from the side.
"Ayaka," he said. "Tell Ryoma to return his hair to its original color."
He paused, then added with a faint sneer, "That dyed hair... it's his way of declaring freedom."
But now, that freedom was slipping through Ryoma's fingers.
Masaru knew it.
Ryoma was back under his control. And this time, there would be no escape.
Later that night, Ryoma lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him.
His thoughts spun, heavy and silent, like gears grinding in the dark.
So this was it.
The end of the brief illusion of autonomy he'd carved out for himself.
His father had reasserted control, and whether Ryoma liked it or not, the weight of the Murakami name had settled back on his shoulders.
A few moments later, a small robotic cat—so lifelike it could fool a passing glance—darted through the quiet streets, its mechanical paws softly tapping against the pavement.
Its destination? A modest apartment building.
Reaching the door of a certain unit, the robot cat attempted to push its way in—but found the door locked.
Undeterred, it began banging on the door with its tiny metal paws.
Bang bang bang.
After a few seconds, the door creaked open with a grumble from within.
"Ugh... who the heck comes by at this hour?" a tired voice muttered.
The woman at the door blinked in the dim light, peering into the empty hallway.
No one.
Then—
"Down here, Chisato."
The voice was deep, masculine—and coming from below.
"Wha—!?"
Chisato let out a yelp and jumped back, startled. Her eyes dropped to the robotic feline staring up at her.
"Fluff?! What the hell are you doing here?! And how do you even know where I live?!"
"Well," the robotic cat said smoothly, "let's just say I'm your biggest fan."
Before she could react, Fluff casually trotted past her and entered the apartment as if he owned the place.
"Nice place," he said, his synthesized voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Or, should I say... impressively empty. Ever heard of furniture? Or, I don't know, decorations?"
"Excuse me?" Chisato snapped, shutting the door behind him with a huff. "Don't just barge in like that!"
She crossed her arms, glaring down at him. "And who are you to judge my apartment, huh? You're a talking robot cat!"
Fluff gave a mechanical shrug. "Hey, even robot cats have taste."
"But seriously though... why is it this empty?" Fluff asked, tilting his mechanical head with exaggerated curiosity.
Chisato rolled her eyes. "You didn't come all the way here just to judge my interior design, did you?"
She walked past him and gestured toward the door. "Come on. If you're here, then it must be for something important."
With a soft click, she locked the front door and led him down a narrow hallway.
At the end, she pushed a secret door, revealing a hidden ladder descending below the apartment.
Fluff followed her with practiced ease, metal paws clicking on the stairs.
The moment he reached the bottom, his sensors were overwhelmed.
The room was chaos.
Stacks of papers. Wires. Snack bags. Empty cups. The very definition of organized mess.
"...So this is where you keep all your interior design skills," Fluff quipped, tail swishing.
"Shut up," Chisato shot back without missing a beat. "I've been busy. No time to clean."
She dropped herself onto a worn-out sofa with a sigh, grabbing a half-full can of energy drink off the table.
Fluff jumped onto the coffee table, lazily wagging his tail and sweeping aside some empty chip bags in the process.
"So," she said, cracking her neck, "this is about Ryoma again, isn't it?"
"You are absolutely right, a girl who doesn't clean her own lair," Fluff replied with mock disappointment.
"Hey!" Chisato sat up, visibly offended. "You don't get to judge me. I have priorities, and scrubbing floors isn't one of them."
The robot cat's joking tone faded.
"Well then," he said, voice leveling out, "I need your help again, Chisato."
The room, cluttered as it was, suddenly felt heavier.
Chisato's interest was piqued the moment she saw Fluff's expression shift.
"What is it this time?" she asked, straightening up and giving him her full attention.
Fluff's tail flicked once before he spoke.
"Ryoma's parents have returned from overseas," he said solemnly. "And with them... his freedom is gone."
Chisato's eyes narrowed slightly. "Gone?"
"Stripped away by strict traditions, suffocating expectations. He's no longer free to live as he chooses."
Fluff's voice dropped into a low murmur, almost wistful. "He's like... a bird trapped in a cage."
Chisato's shoulders relaxed, her expression softening at the words.
"Poor Ryoma..." she murmured. "That doesn't sound like the kind of life he deserves."
A moment of silence passed between them. "But convincing his parents?" she said finally, frowning.
"That won't be easy."
"Which is why you're not going alone," Fluff replied. "Take Takina with you. She can help."
Chisato gave a small nod, her confidence returning. "Alright. With Takina by my side, we've got a shot."
Fluff gave an approving flick of his tail. "Good. Go to the Murakami mansion. Be there by 3 PM sharp."
"Why so specific?" Chisato raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason it has to be that exact time?"
"Because Ryoma won't be there before then," Fluff replied calmly. "He's tied up until the afternoon."
Chisato crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes in curiosity. "How do you know all this?"
Fluff sat up straight, chest puffed with pride. "Because, technically..." he said with a grin in his voice, "I live in that mansion too."
Chisato stared at him for a beat. "You what?"
"Long story," Fluff replied smoothly. "Now go save your prince."
"I'll be there at 3 PM too. I'll show you the way," Fluff said confidently before dashing up the stairs and disappearing into the night.
Chisato blinked. "Wait... why would he need to show me the way if I already know where it is...?"
She stood there in confused silence for a moment, then let out a sigh, brushing her hair back.
"Whatever. I guess we'll figure it out when we get there."
The Next Day.
Ryoma had just returned from the salon, his once—blue hair now restored to its natural brown.
A small gesture of compliance—but one that carried weight.
Inside the sleek, futuristic building of Murakami Tech, Ryoma stood among a group of employees, holding a compact gadget in his hand.
His brows furrowed as he turned it over, unimpressed. "What the hell is this supposed to be?" he snapped.
The room fell silent. A young employee flinched under Ryoma's gaze.
"This gadget is useless," Ryoma continued sharply. "Did no one test this before handing it to me?"
"S-Sorry, sir!" the employee bowed deeply, his hands trembling. "My mother is sick, and it's been hard to focus lately..."
Ryoma narrowed his eyes for a moment. Then his tone shifted—still firm, but less biting.
"Don't come to work if you're not focused. What are you, stupid?" he barked, but then sighed. "Take a break. Seriously."
The employee looked up in surprise, confused by the sudden shift.
"I'll make sure your salary comes in tomorrow," Ryoma added, almost grumbling. "I'll bump it up. Use it for your mom's treatment."
The employee's eyes widened. "T-Thank you, sir...!"
Ryoma turned away, waving dismissively. "Just come back when your head's clear. Don't make me say it again."
Despite his sharp words and impatient attitude, Ryoma Murakami wasn't heartless.
In a world built on efficiency, sometimes the coldest voices hide the warmest intentions.
"You're a good boss... My mother will be really grateful for this!" the employee said with heartfelt gratitude, bowing deeply before turning to leave.
Ryoma leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he muttered, eyes looking away.
He acted cold and indifferent—gruff, even—but beneath the sharp edges, there was a quiet care in everything he did.
With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the blueprints scattered on his desk.
His blue eyes scanned over one design in particular, brow twitching.
"...Ugh. What even is this? 'SnackSaver'? This thing's totally unnecessary." Just then, a voice rang out from behind him.
"Ryoma, I want to see how you work."
Without waiting for a response, his father stepped into the room and casually snatched one of the blueprints off the table.
"Father?!" Ryoma spun around, startled by his sudden presence.
Masaru held the blueprint between his fingers like a curious relic. "What is this supposed to be? 'SnackSaver'?"
He read aloud from the description:
'A smart snack container equipped with a biometric time—lock system. Designed to only open once the user's stress levels have lowered.'
A pause. Then a slow, almost disbelieving raise of the brow. "This is your idea of innovation?"
Ryoma winced slightly. The blueprint had originally been a joke—something he mocked up during a late night of boredom.
He never thought the R&D department would actually prototype it.
Before he could explain, another voice chimed in—calm, but cold.
"You're wasting company money on something like that?" Saeko appeared behind her husband, arms crossed and gaze piercing.
Her red eyes locked onto Ryoma with the precision of a scalpel.
"If you keep signing off on pointless ideas like this, do you know what'll happen?" she said sharply. "This company could go bankrupt under your name."
Saeko Murakami—head of finance. If Masaru was the sword of the company, Saeko was the shield.
And when she spoke, even senior executives shut their mouths.
Ryoma's jaw tightened. He wanted to speak—his pride screamed at him to talk back-but he knew that would only prolong the argument.
"...Sorry," he muttered at last, his voice low.
It wasn't an apology of defeat. It was the kind that let the storm pass...
After that, Ryoma sat at the head of a long meeting table, his expression sharp and unreadable.
Across from him sat executives from a partner company, each shifting slightly under the weight of his words.
"I believe I made it clear. If your team can't meet the standards we set, we'll take our business elsewhere," Ryoma said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
He wasn't always this harsh. But today, with both of his parents watching from the observation room behind the glass, there was no choice but to embody the role of the perfect heir.
Once the meeting ended, Ryoma barely said a word. By the time the clock struck 2:30 PM, he had returned to the mansion, removed his tie, and thrown himself onto the bed in his room.
The weight of the day clung to him like a second skin.
Just as he let out a long sigh, a knock interrupted his rare moment of peace.
"Ryoma, it's your mother. Open the door," Saeko's voice called from the hallway.
Ryoma grimaced.
She was the last person he wanted to deal with right now.
Strict, demanding, and utterly incapable of admitting fault—his mother didn't leave room for excuses. Or for breath.
With a quiet grunt, Ryoma tossed an adult magazine toward the edge of the bed, barely managing to shove himself under the covers in time.
The door creaked open. Of course, she'd find it unlocked.
"Ryoma? I saw you go upstairs. You must be here somewhere," Saeko stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
She stood still by the bedside, eyes scanning the room with the precision of a hawk—until they landed on the edge of the mattress.
Her eyes narrowed.
An adult magazine lay within reach.
Without hesitation, she snatched it up and immediately crumpled it in her hand.
"Magazines like this will rot your brain!" she snapped in pure disapproval.
She looked around once more, but Ryoma had completely disappeared—curled silently beneath the bed like a prisoner avoiding his warden.
"Where are you, Ryoma?!" Saeko growled, storming out of the room, high heels echoing through the hallway.
Ryoma let out a long sigh of relief beneath the bed.
"Huff... I have to meet Ayaka," he muttered, brushing dust off his hair as he finally crawled out.
The coast was clear—for now.
After a while, outside the imposing gates of the Murakami mansion, three figures crouched behind a line of neatly trimmed bushes.
Chisato poked her head slightly out of the foliage, her eyes focused on the mansion entrance.
"Why do we have to hide like this?" Takina asked flatly, one brow raised as she brushed a leaf from her shoulder.
"I just don't want us to bump into Ryoma's parents too early," Fluff explained, tail twitching behind him. "Trust me. They're intense."
After a few minutes of crouching in silence, Fluff suddenly perked up. "Okay! Let's go."
He leapt out dramatically and stood in front of the main gate like a little heroic statue.
Chisato stepped out with a light chuckle. "Alright, here we go," she said, brushing off her skirt as Takina followed her.
A security guard stationed by the gate looked up at the sudden appearance of the group.
"Oh? Ms. Chisato and Takina? Is there anything I can help you with?" the guard asked politely.
Chisato offered her signature bright smile. "Hello! We're here to see Ryoma."
She kept her voice upbeat, hoping to glide through this with charm alone.
Takina added with calm politeness, "Is it alright if we come in?"
The guard scratched the back of his neck, looking hesitant. "Ah... I'm sorry. Ryoma's parents are inside today. The atmosphere is... very tense."
"Oh-ho?" Chisato tilted her head playfully.
"What a coincidence! We just so happen to specialize in un-tense-ifying atmospheres!"
The guard blinked, unsure whether to laugh or take her seriously.
Takina gave a simple nod beside Chisato, her expression as calm as ever.
The guard, however, looked increasingly confused—and suspicious.
"I'm sorry, but—" he started, but his words were cut short as his body suddenly stiffened.
His eyes widened, and in an instant, he collapsed to the ground with a faint thud.
Standing behind him was Fluff, his tail faintly sparking with leftover static.
"Sorry," Fluff muttered casually.
Chisato blinked in disbelief. "Wait... did you just—?"
"No worries," Fluff interrupted as he turned to glance up at the CCTV camera on the nearby wall. "I've already deactivated the security feed."
With a practiced motion, Fluff padded over to the control panel, tapped a few buttons with his paw, and unlocked the gate with a faint click. It slowly swung open.
Chisato opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say a word, Takina cut in coolly.
"Let's just focus on getting inside first."
They slipped through the gate and hurried across the courtyard.
Just as they rounded a corner, they stopped in their tracks—facing a tall woman standing gracefully in the hallway.
Her black hair was sleek and perfectly styled, and her piercing red eyes scanned them with quiet sharpness.
"Who are you?" the woman asked, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.
Chisato froze, caught off guard. "Oh, um..."
Before Chisato could fumble for a reply, Takina stepped forward without hesitation.
"We're here to see Ryoma."
The woman tilted her head slightly. "Oh? And who might you be to Ryoma? He didn't mention any visitors today."
Chisato quickly recovered and flashed her brightest smile. "We're his friends! Just dropping by to say hello, that's all."
The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly not entirely convinced.
Fluff had vanished again, nowhere to be seen.
"That damn cat... he's no help at a time like this," Chisato muttered under her breath, glancing around in frustration.
The woman before them-imposing and unyielding—crossed her arms.
"Your unimportant business will only burden Ryoma," she said coldly. "You should leave now before I call security."
"Wait, don't—" Chisato stepped forward, trying to reason with her, but the woman cut her off with a sharp glare.
Before the tension could rise any further, Takina calmly stepped in front of Chisato.
Her tone was clear and assertive. "Let us speak with him for just a moment."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "My name is Saeko Murakami. I am his mother."
Both girls stiffened in surprise.
"As the Lady of the House of the Murakami family, I order you to leave this instant."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Chisato forced a polite smile and spoke as respectfully as she could.
"We understand your concern, Mrs. Murakami... but we really just want to talk to Ryoma for a bit."
"I'll call security—"
Suddenly, from seemingly out of nowhere, Fluff leapt from above and delivered a sharp little kick right to Saeko's head.
"What the—?!"
Before she could recover, Fluff's tail sparked to life, and with a jolt of electricity, Saeko collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
"Follow me, Chisato, Takina!" Fluff shouted, already bounding down the hallway.
The two girls stared at Saeko's unconscious body in stunned silence.
"Did... did he just assault Ryoma's mother?" Chisato whispered, still processing what had just happened.
Takina gave a resigned sigh. "It's too late to back out now."
Chisato shook her head, steeling herself. "It's pretty rough... but let's go."
Without another word, the two of them ran after Fluff as he darted deeper into the mansion's halls.
From behind, Saeko stirred, groaning as consciousness returned to her.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, brushing the dust from her clothes.
Her sharp eyes locked onto the entrance where Chisato and Takina had just slipped inside the mansion.
"Those brats..." she muttered under her breath, retrieving a sleek phone from her coat pocket.
With a tap, she spoke coldly, "We've got two intruders. Pursue them. Now."
Meanwhile, Chisato and Takina sprinted through the lavish corridors, the polished floors echoing their hurried footsteps.
Several servants turned, startled by the sudden intrusion.
"Good afternoon, everyone!" Chisato waved with a bright grin, not missing a step. "Sorry for the trouble—we're in a bit of a hurry!"
"Where exactly are you taking us, Fluff?" Takina asked, her voice low and urgent.
"To where Ryoma is," the tiny creature replied confidently.
The trio came to a sudden stop in front of an abstract painting hanging in an otherwise plain hallway.
Chisato blinked. "An abstract painting? Really?"
Takina stepped closer, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized the brushstrokes and odd patterns.
"Quiet!" Fluff snapped, hopping energetically. Then, with a nimble leap, it pressed a hidden switch embedded in the frame.
A soft mechanical whir echoed through the hall as the painting slid aside, revealing a hidden passage behind it.
"Hurry! Inside!" Fluff urged, already vanishing into the darkness beyond.
They descended the stairs, stepping into a room cluttered with tools, gadgets, and scattered blueprints.
The faint hum of machinery filled the air, blending with the soft glow of work lamps.
Fluff leapt lightly onto one of the tables, drawing Chisato and Takina's attention to a lone figure seated in a chair nearby.
"Ryoma...?" Chisato's voice wavered slightly as her eyes locked onto the silhouette.
"Welcome, Chisato and Takina."
The voice wasn't Fluff's. Slowly, the chair swiveled around to reveal a young man with tousled brown hair and striking blue eyes.
Ryoma.
"It's not easy to get here, is it?" he said, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Though Ryoma's lips moved, Fluff's tiny form echoed his words perfectly, as if they shared a single voice.
"Ryoma," Takina asked cautiously, "are you... actually Fluff?"
He chuckled, the sound warm and playful. "Yeah. MTCR01 stands for Murakami Tech Cat Robot Zero One."
"But you guys call me Fluff," he added with a grin.
Chisato's jaw dropped in shock as she stared at the scene before her.
"Wait, what? You're telling me you're both the same person?" she exclaimed.
"And why is your hair brown now?! You look just like Ayaka!" she shouted, disbelief clear in her voice.
Ryoma nodded calmly. "Exactly. And about my hair—I was forced to keep it in its original color."
He sighed and added, "Anyway, I'm asking for your help. I can't do this alone."
He glanced toward someone behind them. "Right now, I can't rely on anyone in this mansion."
"Forgive me, young master, but Lord Murakami's position is far above yours," a soft voice spoke from the shadows.
Ayaka stepped forward. "I can't go against him. If I do, I'll lose everything."
Ryoma gave a rueful smile. "Well, I don't blame you. His influence is just too strong."
Chisato was still stunned that Ryoma had been Fluff all along—but now it made sense.
"But... that deep voice?" she asked. "Yours and Fluff's voices sound so different."
Ryoma grinned. "I'm a man, you know. But I use a voice changer."
Takina, calm and steady, cut in, "So you sent us here—but what exactly are you planning?"
Ryoma pushed back his chair on its wheels and stood up. "Come closer."
Chisato and Takina exchanged a quick glance, both silently curious about what Ryoma had in mind.
Without hesitation, they stepped closer, ready to hear his plan.
Spread out on the table before them lay sheets of paper filled with Ryoma's detailed schematics and notes.
Yet, something else caught their attention—dark smudges stained the surface, and Ryoma's hands were wrapped tightly in white bandages.
Chisato's brow furrowed with concern. "Ryoma, what happened to your hands?" she asked gently.
Ryoma let out an irritated sigh, his fingers twitching under the wraps.
Moments ago, frustration had gotten the better of him—he'd slammed his fists repeatedly against the table and tossed aside the gadgets scattered about in a fit of anger.
Ayaka quietly observed from the corner, waiting patiently until Ryoma's outburst had passed before beginning to clean up the mess without a word.
"It's nothing," Ryoma replied curtly, avoiding their gazes.
But Chisato wasn't convinced. "Nothing? These bandages... and the bloodstains tell a very different story."
Ryoma's voice was flat, almost dismissive. "Bandages and bloodstains can't talk. They don't say anything."
Chisato blinked, taken aback by his nonchalant response. "Well, duh—"
Before she could finish, Takina hushed everyone sharply. "Shh," she whispered, spinning around abruptly to peer toward the staircase.
A voice echoed from the shadows above—low and familiar, sending a chill down their spines.
"So... this is your secret room, Ryoma?"
"Amazing," the blue-eyed man with tousled brown hair said with a smirk.
"You managed to keep this room hidden from me for less than a day." The three of them turned to face him.
"And who are these women?" came the deep, authoritative voice of Masaru—Ryoma's father.
Takina instinctively raised her gun, but was immediately restrained by Chisato's steady hand.
"Hey! No shooting without a warning!" Chisato scolded, hastily trying to calm the tense atmosphere.
"Hello, Mr. Murakami," she said with a polite, measured tone, hoping to make a good impression.
"Father..." Ryoma stammered, surprised that his father had uncovered his secret so quickly.
"I was sure I turned off the CCTV," Ryoma muttered under his breath.
Masaru's voice was calm but firm. "You turned off one, yes. But as soon as I sensed something was off, I reactivated it immediately."
An unmistakable aura of authority radiated from him, making the room feel heavier.
Ryoma let out a resigned sigh. "Of course you did."
"So, you're not going to introduce them?" Masaru asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We—" Takina started, but Ryoma cut her off sharply.
"They're both my girlfriends," he declared confidently, stepping forward to face his father.
Chisato's eyes went wide in shock, her breath caught in disbelief at Ryoma's blunt announcement.
Takina, meanwhile, was just as surprised and confused—though she managed to keep her expression carefully neutral.
"The two of them?" Masaru's voice carried a note of disbelief as he turned toward Ryoma.
"I couldn't choose," Ryoma replied coolly, his blue eyes narrowing like blades of ice. "So I dated both."
Masaru's gaze flicked toward the girls behind him, searching for some kind of confirmation.
"Uh... well—" Chisato began, flustered, but before she could say more—
"Ryoma, dating two people at once shows you can't make a decision," Masaru said coolly, voice laced with judgment.
"A person like that—"
"—Isn't fit to lead the Murakami family someday," Ryoma finished for him, his tone flat, tired. He had already heard this all before.
And he was sick of it.
Sick of the expectations.
Sick of the name.
Sick of being Ryoma Murakami.
"I never asked to be part of this family," he muttered, voice low, as if the words had been buried deep inside for too long.
Masaru snapped back instantly, "Ryoma, you should feel grateful—"
"Grateful?!" Ryoma snapped. His voice, usually calm and disinterested, now cracked with fury.
"Grateful for what? For being raised in a cage gilded with expectations?"
"For living a life that was decided before I could even speak?!"
His fist clenched.
"I never wanted to be your son," he spat, now glaring directly at the man who called himself a father.
"Not for a single damn second."
"If I could choose, I'd rather be born into the Sato family like any of the 1.9 million nobodies in this country!"
His voice cracked—not from weakness, but from the fury clawing its way out of his chest.
"I want a father who's just some tired salaryman who takes the morning train, reads the paper, and comes home late—but still manages to smile and say, 'I'm home.'"
"I want a mother who's a part-time housewife, packing my damn bento with too much rice and not enough meat, then works as a cashier a few days a week."
His breath hitched, his words pouring out like a storm.
"I want to go to a normal school. Have stupid teenage friends. Sneak out at night. Laugh about nothing—live a goddamn teenage life"
"I want to have a crush on someone. Someone who's not tangled up in politics and legacy and power!"
His voice finally broke—into a roar of anguish.
"WHY CAN'T I JUST HAVE A NORMAL LIFE?!"
Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. No one dared breathe.
And then, after a long, painful moment—Chisato stepped forward gently.
"Ryoma, please... calm down."
But without warning—
A blur of motion. A woman lunged from behind Masaru, a taser glinting in her hand like a fang ready to strike.
But Masaru wasn't one to be caught off guard. In a flash, he spun around and caught her wrist mid-swing.
"You're quick," he said, eyes meeting hers. "Ayaka."
Her expression twisted into one of fear-she had failed.
And then, without a shred of hesitation—Bang!
A gunshot rang out.
Chisato gasped. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw the source—Ryoma, standing firm, gun still raised... pointed at his own father.
"RYOMA—!" Her scream echoed in the narrow chamber, disbelief tearing through her voice.
But then—she saw it.
The bullet hadn't pierced flesh. It bounced harmlessly off Masaru's chest with a dull thud. A rubber bullet.
That single moment of shock was all Ayaka needed. She jammed the taser against Masaru's side and pulled the trigger.
Electricity danced across his body, and he collapsed to the floor with a thud.
"We're leaving. Now!" Ryoma barked, already turning toward the exit.
Chisato and Takina stood frozen, still reeling from the chaos.
Then, as if reading each other's thoughts, they nodded—and ran.
They sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, the sound of boots echoing behind them.
From the corner of her eye, Chisato caught a glimpse—security guards were closing in.
"They're catching up!" she warned, her voice urgent.
"Garage—there!" Ryoma barked, leading the way.
The door slid open, and the trio burst into the underground garage.
Without hesitation, they piled into a sleek black car.
Ryoma tapped the digital console on the dashboard, and the seat belts fastened automatically with a mechanical click.
No more than a second later, the car surged forward.
As they approached the main gate, Ryoma's high-tech glasses flickered to life.
With a blink and a voice command, the gates began to open.
Just in time.
The vehicle shot past the threshold, leaving the mansion—and chaos—behind them.
"Ayaka, status report," Ryoma said, eyes still on the road.
Ayaka, seated in the passenger seat beside him, scanned the rear camera feed. "We're clear, young master. No pursuit."
At last, Chisato let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Her shoulders relaxed, and her grip on the seat eased.
She glanced around the car-smooth leather, pristine surfaces, subtle blue lights glowing from the console.
Then her eyes settled on Ryoma, focused as ever on the road.
"A lot happened in less than an hour," she murmured with a weary sigh.
Beside her, Takina leaned forward slightly. "Ryoma... why are your parents so controlling? Why do they treat you like that?"
Chisato nudged her. "Takina." A quiet warning.
But Ryoma simply shook his head. "It's fine, Chisato."
His tone was calm, but there was something distant in his voice—as if he'd answered this question a hundred times before.
"I'm their only child. That alone is enough to make them obsessed with control." He paused, then added with a strange smile, "Besides... my mother never wanted to have children again."
"Said the pain wasn't worth it. Honestly? I kind of get her point."
Silence filled the car for a moment.
Then Ryoma glanced at Chisato in the rearview mirror.
"Oh—and Chisato, I borrowed your idea about rubber bullets. Hope you don't mind."
Chisato let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest finally easing.
"Of course I don't. I'm glad it helped."
Suddenly, Chisato's phone buzzed.
A name lit up on the screen: Kusunoki.
"Answer it, Chisato," Takina said plainly.
Chisato raised an eyebrow, smirking as she looked over.
"You're being bossy again, partner?" she teased, her thumb hovering dramatically over the answer icon like she was defusing a bomb.
Still, with a playful sigh, she tapped the screen.
Beep.
Her voice flipped into customer service mode like someone flipping a switch.
"Chisato speaking~!" she sang sweetly.
"I'm very pleased to inform you that your favorite café employee is currently busy... cruising around in a ridiculously expensive car."
There was a beat of silence before Kusunoki's voice responded on the other end—calm, but urgent.
"Chisato, there's been chatter about an imminent terrorist attack on a civilian bus near your current location. You're the closest unit."
In an instant, Chisato's expression hardened. The warmth in her voice vanished, replaced by cold focus.
"Terrorists. A bus full of civilians... That's serious."
Her eyes darted to the front seat. "Ryoma, we've got a situation."
Ryoma glanced back through the rearview mirror.
His eyes sharpened slightly, but the smirk never left his lips. Chisato ended the call after receiving the coordinates.
"A bus, huh?" Ryoma echoed, cracking his knuckles against the wheel. "They really must be bored out of their minds."
A smug grin tugged at his lips. "If they wanted a bus so badly, I could've just bought one for them."
"Young master, don't waste your money on people like them," Ayaka said firmly, her tone laced with disapproval as she folded her arms.
Chisato leaned in from the back seat, grinning like a cat who just spotted a bowl of cream.
"Ayaka's right, young master~ You'd be better off giving the money to me," she teased, nudging Ryoma with her elbow.
Ryoma raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what exactly would you do with it?"
Before Chisato could answer, Takina cut in, giving her partner a side glance.
"Yeah. What would you use the money for?" she asked, suspicious.
Chisato's eyes gleamed with over-the-top determination as she suddenly threw her hands in the air like she was unveiling a grand architectural plan.
"Café LycoReco Expansion Project, obviously!" she declared.
She traced shapes in the air dramatically. "First, we expand the patio—give Takina a nice sunny spot for afternoon sunbathing."
"Then, we install a custom espresso machine... one that can do 360—degree spins! You know, for style points."
Takina stared at her, utterly deadpan.
"You're asking for too much."
Chisato pouted, then immediately brightened again."Too much? I haven't even mentioned the latte art robot with AI facial recognition!"
Takina didn't even blink. "See? Too much."
Suddenly, the unexpected happened—laughter echoed through the quiet air.
Everyone turned toward the source, stunned. It was Ryoma.
His shoulders shook slightly as he let out a quiet but genuine laugh.
The sound was so rare, so out of place, that for a moment, the others simply stared in disbelief.
Ayaka's eyes widened. He's... laughing?
It had been so long since she'd heard such a sound from her young master that she'd almost forgotten what it was like.
For a brief second, it warmed her heart.
Chisato blinked, caught completely off guard. Then, a grin spread across her face like the morning sun.
"Ah! You laughed!" she exclaimed, beaming with delight. "This might be one of my greatest achievements!"
She puffed up her chest in pride, clearly pleased with herself.
Takina, ever composed, gave a slow nod. Though her expression remained neutral, her eyes shimmered with a hint of surprise.
It wasn't every day that Ryoma Murakami laughed, after all.
Their brief moment of levity didn't last long. Soon, they arrived at the location Kusunoki had sent them.
The tension returned like a curtain being drawn.
From a distance, they could see shadows shifting—figures hiding, watching.
Ryoma narrowed his eyes.
"Ayaka, stay here and keep the engine running," he ordered, his tone calm but firm.
"Yes, Young Master," she replied without hesitation.
Reaching into the back seat, Ryoma retrieved something wrapped in cloth.
Unveiling it revealed a haunting Hannya mask—one he always kept nearby for situations like this.
Without a word, he slipped it on, concealing his identity.
The man known as Ryoma Murakami ceased to exist in that moment.
What remained was a phantom—faceless, unreadable, dangerous.
Chisato and Takina stepped out beside him, their eyes sharp and alert.
Ayaka stayed behind, hands on the wheel, eyes scanning her surroundings.
The three of them immediately approached the terrorist who was hiding, they were surprised and tried to attack.
But Takina immediately shot them, one of them tried to fight back but was immediately shot by Chisato.
People who tried to escape were immediately shot by Ryoma, until there were none left.
That's what they thought, but there was one person who managed to escape.
"Let me do it" Ryoma ran after the man.
"Eh? Wait! Ryoma!" Chisato was about to run after Ryoma, but Takina stopped her.
"Let him handle this one, Chisato," Takina said.
Chisato hesitated for a moment but nodded in agreement. They watched as Ryoma ran after the man.
Ryoma gave chase. The terrorist darted into a high-rise building and vanished into the elevator.
"Tch." Ryoma clicked his tongue in frustration.
"MTD09, come to me," he commanded, sprinting toward the security office. Without hesitation, he forced the door open.
"Huh?! Who the hell are you?!" one of the security guards shouted in shock.
Ryoma didn't answer. Instead, he hurled a wad of cash straight into their faces. "Shut up."
He immediately turned to the security monitors, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"There's a someone loose in this building," he growled, overriding the system to grant himself access to the surveillance feed.
A few seconds later, the image stabilized—room after room appeared on the screen, reflected in the eerie eyes of his Hannya mask.
"Who are you?!" the guard stammered again, eyes wide.
"Nameless," Ryoma replied coldly—and then he bolted out the door.
With full access to the CCTV network, he could track the terrorist's every move.
Ryoma was already exhausted—but the mission wasn't over. He hadn't caught the terrorist yet.
He spotted him on the eighth floor, hiding. His drone had been tailing from behind, quietly scanning every movement.
By the time Ryoma reached the eighth floor, his breathing was heavy, his steps slower.
Bang!
A shot rang out behind him. But Ryoma dodged just in time—he already knew exactly where the terrorist was hiding.
He fired back. The rubber bullet hit its mark-non-lethal, but enough to slow him down.
The terrorist staggered but didn't stop. In one swift motion, he lunged at Ryoma, grabbing his wrist and forcing his hand onto the terrorist's clothing-skin contact. Fingerprints.
Then, without hesitation, he bolted toward the window.
Crash! Glass shattered into a rain of shards.
He leapt.
A suicide dive—from that height, it was fatal. But worse, with Ryoma's fingerprints now on him, it would look like murder.
"This guy's completely lost it," Ryoma muttered, but deep down... he had expected this.
The drone that had been following him swooped in, dropping a parachute. Ryoma strapped it on in one motion—and jumped after him.
In midair, the terrorist's eyes widened in shock. "You've lost your mind?!" he shouted, panic slicing through his voice.
Without hesitation, Ryoma drew another pistol—this one unlike any other.
From its barrel, a long chain shot out, tipped with a deadly claw that latched onto the terrorist like a predator snapping its prey.
The claw yanked him mercilessly toward Ryoma.
Before the terrorist could react, Ryoma caught him firmly in his arms. With a swift motion, he tore open the parachute.
Together, they began a slow, controlled descent—suspended between life and death.
Neither of them would fall. Neither would break.
Both survived.
As their feet touched the ground, silence fell over the street.
The terrorists—disarmed and defeated—were frozen in place, still too shocked to react.
The civilians nearby stared wide-eyed, some with mouths agape, unsure if what they had witnessed was real or part of some elaborate performance.
Ryoma turned to the crowd with a composed smile.
"That was our show! Thank you for watching!"
He gave a slight, theatrical bow, as if they had just concluded a street performance rather than a high-stakes takedown.
The ridiculous contrast made a few people chuckle nervously, still unsure of what to make of him.
Chisato and Takina wasted no time. Without a word, they dragged the unconscious terrorist away by the arms, moving swiftly toward the nearest alley.
Ryoma followed behind them at a more relaxed pace, his steps unhurried.
In the narrow shadows of the alleyway, Chisato crouched down and began tying the unconscious terrorist to another captured one with a length of wire. Her work was oddly cheerful.
"Wow... you really did something crazy out there, Ryoma," she said, giving him a playful glance over her shoulder.
"I was seriously panicking for a second," she added with a sheepish laugh.
Takina gave a small nod beside her, brushing dust off her sleeves. "You're... pretty good, huh?"
Ryoma reached up and removed the Hannya mask from his face, letting the air hit his skin. He sighed, long and tired.
"You two praise me too much. I'm running on fumes over here."
Just then, a new voice echoed from the alley entrance.
"So... this is what you've been studying while I was away, Ryoma?"
It was calm, deep, and laced with something familiar—something dangerous.
Ryoma's eyes narrowed the moment he heard that voice. Slowly, he turned around.
Chisato and Takina instinctively followed his gaze, alert and tense.
From behind a weathered brick wall, a tall man stepped into view.
His presence was commanding—sharp eyes that could cut glass, brown hair neatly slicked back, and an unreadable expression that hinted at both judgment and control.
Beside him stood a graceful woman with flowing black hair and piercing green eyes.
Her expression was softer, but her silence was almost more intimidating.
Takina's jaw dropped slightly. "Since when were they—?!"
Chisato forced a nervous smile, her posture straightening as if facing down a superior officer.
"O-Oh! Hello again, sir, ma'am. N-nice to see you... again."
Ryoma didn't say a word. His face remained calm, but his eyes betrayed it—just a flicker of frustration... or maybe dread.
His mother sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked at the group with mild irritation.
"Honestly, Ryoma... what are you doing? Eloping, are we?"
Chisato's face turned beet red in an instant. "E-Elope?!" she squeaked, stepping back in embarrassment.
Takina, ever literal, tilted her head. "That's a strange conclusion."
Ryoma rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. "Of all the times..."
His father took a step forward, his eyes on Ryoma. "There's something I need to ask you—"
"Hold it." Chisato stepped forward, cutting him off.
All eyes turned to her. She took a deep breath, her gaze serious and unwavering.
"Before you ask your son anything... there's something I want to say to you."
Chisato stepped forward and stood beside Ryoma, her presence as casual as ever.
"Chisato?" Ryoma blinked, clearly not expecting her to get involved.
Hands on her hips and a mischievous grin on her face, she leaned slightly toward him.
"What? Don't give me that 'Chisato?' look—I'm totally allowed to step in here!"
She gave his shoulder a light flick, playful as always, before turning to face his parents with mock solemnity.
"Aaanyway," she began, drawing out the syllable, "it's not like I want to barge into other people's family drama—"
She paused for effect, hands gesturing theatrically.
"—but I do want to correct a few things... as someone who actually knows how it feels to be treated with love."
Her eyes softened, a sincerity slipping into her tone.
"I've got someone I call my dad. Not by blood, but he raised me, believed in me, and supported me no matter what."
She clasped her hands in front of her chest.
"He never locked me up like some fragile songbird, and he never tried to control me with rules and fear."
Chisato smiled—warm, genuine, and unshakably confident.
"That trust... meant the world to me. And it made me stronger."
Masaru raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by how articulate—and passionate—this bubbly girl could be.
"Oh?" he murmured, almost impressed.
Saeko, however, wasn't so easily swayed.
"You know nothing about our family, random woman," she snapped coldly.
Chisato gasped, clutching her chest in exaggerated offense.
"Aiyaiya~!" she cried, in a mock-horrified accent. "Random woman? That stings!"
Then, in a split-second shift to sweetness laced with sharp sarcasm, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and beamed.
"My sincerest apologies for existing outside the strict definition of your noble household," she said with a wink.
"But just so you know—your son here?" She jabbed a thumb at Ryoma with a playful smirk.
"He's a regular at our café. And we treat him like family."
"Oh? A mere café worker like you is looking for Ryoma?" Saeko crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her tone biting.
"You really are quite shameless, aren't you?" The insult hung in the air like a slap.
To be fair, the whole "dating" thing had just been one of Ryoma's ridiculous throwaway lines. Nothing serious.
But before Chisato could respond, Takina calmly stepped forward, standing beside Ryoma with her usual stoic presence.
"No, we're not his girlfriends," she stated plainly. "We were just buying time. That's all."
Ryoma gave a dry chuckle. "Heh… not sure he believed that, though."
Masaru watched them silently for a moment, his eyes sharp as ever. Then, with a hint of suspicion in his voice, he spoke.
"You two… really are defending him, aren't you?"
Chisato's posture straightened instantly, her usual playfulness replaced with a sudden seriousness that caught even Ryoma off guard.
"Of course we are," she said, her voice unwavering.
Takina nodded beside her. "That's what friends do."
Masaru's brows furrowed. "Friends? So they're your friends, Ryoma?"
He looked at his son with an edge of disbelief. "I thought you weren't the type to have any."
Ryoma stared back at his father, calm and steady.
"…Well," he said quietly, his voice carrying a subtle sting, "I'm not you."
"But actually," Masaru spoke at last, his voice low and calm, "I didn't come here to lock him up… or do anything like that."
Chisato and Takina exchanged glances, brows furrowed in confusion.
"Wait… then why are you here?" Chisato asked, tilting her head slightly, her tone a mix of wariness and curiosity.
Masaru turned his gaze toward his son.
"I saw what you did, Ryoma. You jumped from the top of a building just to save someone," he said, his eyes narrowing not in anger—but something closer to understanding.
"That alone tells me... you're no longer the frightened boy you used to be."
"I was never a frightened boy," Ryoma shot back quietly, his tone half-defensive, half-tired.
Masaru gave a faint smirk. "Maybe. But now I believe you're ready."
He took a step forward.
"You're no longer someone who needs to be kept behind walls. That's why—" he paused, then said gently, "I'm opening your cage. You're free to fly, Ryoma."
"Masaru?!" Saeko's voice rang out in disbelief, eyes wide in shock.
Chisato and Takina gasped almost in unison. Of all the outcomes they had imagined… this wasn't one of them.
Even Ryoma's expression faltered—his eyes widening as he processed the words.
"Wait—" Chisato blurted, before breaking into a wide, radiant smile.
She clapped her hands together with glee. "This calls for a celebration! Let's go get drinks and food—on me!"
"I'm still curious how they got here in the first place," Takina muttered, arms crossed.
"Oh, that?" Saeko replied with a sigh. "He forgot to remove the tracking device from his car."
"Eh? You, Ryoma?" Chisato smirked. "Didn't think you of all people would slip up like that."
Ryoma rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm still human, you know."
"Aha~! So even the great Ryoma makes mistakes," Chisato teased, giving his shoulder a gentle poke.
"Should've guessed—your car's security system is like Fort Knox."
Her laughter rang bright and carefree.
Ryoma couldn't help but grin, a lightness returning to his expression.
The tension that once weighed heavily over them seemed to dissolve—like clouds giving way to sunlight.
For the first time in a long while, the air between them felt free.
Inside the quiet car, Ayaka sat with her hands neatly folded on her lap, the corners of her lips curling into a faint, knowing smile.
"…Everything went exactly according to your plan, young master."
She murmured the words to herself, watching from a distance as Ryoma laughed lightly outside with Chisato and Takina, the mood seemingly carefree. But Ayaka knew better.
"You asked Chisato and Takina for help—no, you ensured you got involved with them," she continued softly.
"You integrated yourself into their mission, wove yourself into their daily lives."
"And you… you even left the tracking device in the car on purpose," she said, her smile widening just a little.
"So that your parents could witness it all. The heroics. The bravery."
A well-staged performance… with the perfect audience.
"You gambled everything on one card. Either earn their trust—or give them reason to lock you away for good."
She leaned back against the seat, eyes closing briefly.
"Sixty-forty odds," she whispered. "And still, you moved without hesitation."
There was no malice in her tone—only admiration. The kind reserved for someone who could see ten steps ahead while pretending to stumble.
"You truly are extraordinary… young master Ryoma."
Ayaka opened her eyes again, letting her gaze rest on the boy who now stood freely in the sunlight—surrounded by laughter, no longer shackled by walls or expectations.
She remembered clearly when he had told her, in that calm, calculated voice of his:
"I'll show them I'm more than what they built. I'll earn my freedom—my way."
And now, here he was.
Free.
Elsewhere—far from the laughter and the light—a dimly lit room was veiled in silence, broken only by the faint hiss of burning tobacco.
A man with vivid red hair leaned back in his chair, the glow of his cigarette casting a dull crimson against the scar that ran across his eye.
Smoke coiled upward like a serpent, fading into the stale air.
A subordinate approached, hesitant but determined.
"Boss… word is the head of the Murakami family has arrived in town."
The man didn't flinch. His gaze remained distant, as if peering through the smoke at something only he could see.
"I know," he said at last, his voice low and gravelly.
He exhaled a slow breath, the smoke spilling out like a silent omen.
"It's time."
The subordinate's eyes widened. "You mean—?"
The red-haired man stood, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot. His presence alone seemed to weigh down the room.
"Our plan begins now."
A pause.
"Murakami Tech…" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
"…will burn."