### **Arc 4: The Sins of the Father**
#### **Chapter 17: The Weight of Ghosts**
The revelation fell into the room and shattered the silence. It was a soundless explosion, and the three siblings were the shrapnel.
Renji was the first to move. He didn't speak. He simply stood up, his movements stiff, mechanical. Midnight, sensing the shift, leaped from his lap. Renji walked to the conservatory's large window, placing a hand on the cold glass. He stared out at the placid Swiss landscape, but he wasn't seeing it. He was seeing the foundation of his entire existence crack. His 'V' stood for Vengeance—vengeance against a weak, corrupt system that had failed his family. But what if that system hadn't failed them? What if his parents had been its architects? The quiet fury that was his constant companion now had no target. It turned inward, a venomous, confusing burn.
Kuro did what he always did under pressure: he retreated into data. His fingers began to move across a holographic interface projected from his watch, his eyes scanning lines of code that only he could see. He was running simulations, cross-referencing timelines, searching for an anomaly, a logical inconsistency—anything to disprove Hikari's statement. *Variable: Parental Involvement. Hypothesis: Coercion. Probability: Unknown. Variable: Voluntary Participation. Hypothesis: Malignant Intent. Probability: Insufficient Data.* The problem was emotional, human, and messy. It was a dataset he couldn't quantify, and his inability to process it manifested as a low, frustrated hum.
Hikari watched them both, her role as the emotional anchor never more crucial. She was the one who had lived as a direct consequence of their parents' work. The Glass Cage was her childhood memory. Yet, in her amber eyes, there was no anger. Only a profound, ancient sadness. She had been raised to read people, to understand the secret motivations behind their actions. She could hate W.A.O. for what they did, but she couldn't bring herself to hate the ghosts of the people who gave her life without knowing the full story.
Mochi, the little calico agent, padded silently over to Kuro and rubbed against his leg. After a moment's hesitation, Kuro's frantic typing paused. He reached down and stroked the cat's back, the simple, tactile sensation a grounding force against the storm in his mind.
Finally, Renji spoke, his voice rough, his reflection a masked specter in the glass. "We find the truth," he said, not turning around. "All of it."
It wasn't a question. It was the Syndicate's new mission directive.