Meanwhile, in a different part of the mansion—at the same spot where Yuki currently lay dreaming of power and privilege—Satoru sat on the edge of his bed.
Where Yuki saw opportunity glittering like gold in sunlight, Satoru saw nothing but bars. And behind those bars, within the cage of his own chest, he was holding in rage that felt like it was on the brink of explosion.
The room's architectural design was identical to Yuki's, a perfect mirror image down to the smallest detail. The same sparkling white walls, the same mahogany furniture, the same floor-to-ceiling windows and so on.
A knock at the door finally shattered the silence that had stretched for almost too long in Satoru's room, the sound reverberating through the space almost too loudly.
It was funny, really, how a simple knock could carry so much weight. However, Satoru wasn't laughing—don't get it wrong, yo!
"Young Master, it's time for lunch."
