𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝑪𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 |니키˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

0.9🦢

Japan ; Okayama; 10-5-2026

The next few days passed in a blur. I kept myself busy by pouring over my notes, replaying the conversation I had with Kenji and mentally preparing for my next encounter with Riki. It was becoming clear that the Nishimura family was built on more than just power—there were fractures within, and I was beginning to understand just how deep those ran. The tension between Riki and Kenji wasn't just a sibling rivalry; it was a battle of ideals.

But what weighed on my mind more was the upcoming dinner. Another invitation had arrived, this time for a family gathering at the Nishimura mansion, with both Riki and Kenji present. Something about it felt different—formal, even ominous. I had to tread carefully.

As I arrived at the estate, the atmosphere was heavy, almost oppressive. The staff moved about with hushed urgency, their usual smiles replaced by somber expressions. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but I pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand. The mansion's grand entrance loomed before me, the towering doors opening to reveal an interior that felt more like a battleground than a home.

I was greeted by Kenji, who offered a small, strained smile. "I'm glad you came, Moran."

I nodded, sensing the tension beneath his polite words. "Thank you for inviting me again."

As we walked towards the dining room, the air grew even heavier. The staff moved quietly, almost as if they were avoiding drawing attention to themselves. When we entered the room, I immediately noticed the absence that had been gnawing at me since I arrived: Kento Nishimura, the family's patriarch, was nowhere to be seen. His place at the head of the table remained empty, but only for a brief moment.

My eyes darted to the other end of the room as Riki entered, his expression unreadable, his presence commanding. He moved with deliberate grace, the weight of authority evident in his every step. Without a word, he walked to the head of the table—his father's seat—and sat down.

Kenji's face tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor as Riki settled into the chair. I quickly understood what was happening. Riki had taken Kento's place—permanently.

Kenji didn't meet my eyes, but I could feel the turmoil radiating off him. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to remain composed as I took my seat. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity before Riki finally spoke, his voice cold and clipped.

"Father won't be joining us."

His words sent a chill down my spine. There was no remorse in his tone, only an unsettling finality. I glanced between him and Kenji, my mind racing to piece together the implications of Riki's statement.

Kenji cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. "Let's eat," he said quietly, though his voice wavered.

As the staff began to serve, I couldn't shake the weight of Riki's presence. His demeanor had always been intense, but tonight there was something different—something darker. I knew I had to stay focused, but the air was thick with something unspoken. My instincts screamed at me to proceed cautiously.

I took a deep breath, keeping my gaze fixed on my plate, but the memory of Riki's earlier aggression played in my mind. I remembered the day he had pinned me against the wall in one of the mansion's rooms, driving the Katana of the Rising Sun through the wall just inches from my head. His voice had been cold then too, taunting as he mused about how sharp the blade was, how easily it could cut through anything—or anyone.