The Binding Vow of Lazarus

Chapter 2

Satoru made his way through the corridors of the Gojo estate, the soft rustle of his yukata the only sound accompanying his steps. The halls were grand, filled with the echoes of tradition and power, but to him, they felt as empty as a beautiful but hollow shell. He knew where he was going-his family always gathered for breakfast at this time-but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of what lay ahead.

As he approached the dining room, the familiar scent of a lavish meal reached his nose. It triggered a memory of countless mornings spent in this exact routine, but today everything felt different. He was different this time. He was a grown man who had been overworked until he died, and now he was no more than a child once again.

When he entered the room, his parents and grandfather were already seated, their postures as rigid and formal as ever. His father, tall and stern with sharp features and white hair that mirrored Satoru's own, sat at the head of the table with his expression as unreadable as always. His mother, with her delicate frame and cold grace, was seated beside him with her hands neatly folded in her lap. Across from them was his grandfather, the true patriarch of the Gojo clan. He regarded Satoru with an inscrutable gaze, his blue eyes reflecting the weight of decades of leadership.

The atmosphere was as stifling as it always had been. They weren't a family in the traditional sense-not loving or warm, but bound by duty and expectation. They treated each other with a distant politeness as though they were strangers meeting for the first time with every interaction layered with formality and decorum.

"Good morning, Satoru," his father greeted him with a nod.

His mother offered a faint smile. "I trust you slept well," she asked, her voice delicate and fine like silk.

Satoru inclined his head in response, his voice equally polite. "Good morning. Yes, thank you," he said, keeping his frustration in check for now.

His grandfather remained silent, simply watching him with those piercing eyes and Satoru felt a familiar shiver of unease run down his spine. The old man had always been an imposing figure in his life, more of a symbol of the clan's power rather than a doting relative. As a child Satoru had idolized him, but now with the burden of everything he knew he saw the distance between them more clearly than ever.

He moved to take his seat at the table where a lavish breakfast had been laid out before him. The attendants worked swiftly and silently, placing dish after dish in front of him: steamed rice, miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and more. The spread was extravagant, a clear show of the Gojo clan's wealth and status, but as Satoru looked at the feast before him his stomach turned.

It was too much. It always had been. Even as a child, the sheer excess of these meals had seemed odd. He never ate anything near that amount in one sitting, but also he'd never considered a life any different. This had been completely normal for him back then, but now, after everything he had been through-after living through a life on his own and meeting others who'd never experienced abundance-the sight of such wasteful opulence made him grimace.

He couldn't help but reflect on how disconnected his family had always been from the realities of the world outside their estate. They lived in luxury, isolated from the struggles and pain that ordinary people faced. And though they weren't cruel, they were also never loving. They provided for him and ensured he had the best of everything, but they had never truly connected with him. His childhood had been one of privilege, but also one of profound loneliness.

As the attendants set down the last dish, Satoru forced himself to pick up his chopsticks. He glanced at his parents and grandfather, noting how they barely acknowledged the food in front of them, their focus instead on maintaining the image of the perfect family. This was their way of showing care. Through material excess, through rigid formality, but it had never been enough to make him feel whole.