THE PASSING WIND
-TheSilentReader-
{PROLOGUE}
Perhaps Touma Sachiko had grown numb. Perhaps she got tired of thinking ahead that she allowed that portrait to be hung in replacement for Yumi's lost painting. She just wanted to get a reaction from Yumi—anything, that would make them talk to each other. It was to remember the beautiful times they shared. But it backfired on her. When she saw Yumi's eyes grown wide and shed tears as she looked at the portrait, Sachiko thought that they still shared the same sentiments about the portrait's significance, but she was wrong. Instead, it revealed the pain of Sachiko's abandonment, like a coffin that resurfaced after it was long buried deep under a lake.
What she thought wrongly was that Yumi still has her past self—her sympathy and compassion to hear Sachiko out, without taunting each other. Without the bitter sarcasm and degrading insults. Yumi was irreversible. It was gone—that assurance. She tried to extract Yumi's old self, by being persistent— talking to her, seeing her in Kyoto, calling her. But it did not work. She was unable to find a way to tell her that what she had done was inexplicable.
She shivered.
Perhaps she was becoming her grandfather, who was thrilled with his power games. She had viewed her life the way her grandfather would have seen it. To defeat him, she had to think like him, to act like him, to move like him. She just realized it now . . . that the game started even before her little acts of rebellion during high school, even before Yumi, and even afterwards.
She realized that she had been playing her own set of chess pieces against his ever since she was able to enough to speak. All the while, she was playing his game in his own chessboard, the same goddamned rules, the same goddamned pieces.
That realization came too late. She had been too involved. She had played every single piece. She had identified every pawn in her hands, used every rook, bishop, knight, her queen against his. She had been too engrossed to the game that she did not even realize that at some point in her life, she forgot about it. She forgot that she was moving according to a set of their rules. She forgot that she was the King of her own chess pieces.
Every motivation—love, lust, desire, revenge, acceptance, ambition, repentance—was played according to Kyouichii's rules. Trust and betrayal were brought into a very sensitive scale. To gain is to lose, and to lose is to gain.
And when she was too engrossed with the rules, too forgetful that she was in it, was the time that Yumi came into her life.
And she realized that the game was still ongoing when she realized that the Ryu had been getting distant, further and further away from her grasp.
Her whole life, Ogasawara Sachiko had been playing against Ogasawara Kyouichii.
She shivered.
She could not recognize herself anymore. She felt empty. She felt as if she was undeserving of anything. Unfit to love because she brought it to a scale. Unfit for atonement, for she brought it to a scale. She had been the King who became too engrossed with sacrificing everything and everyone just to win against her opponent. A King disregarding friendships, championing deceit, plotting betrayals.
Hollow.
When two red lines appeared before her, she knew.
She had nothing worthy to give.
CHAPTER 17
Present day
Storming to the gallery's parking lot, Fukuzawa Yuuki played with his a lighter, opening and closing its metallic lid, feeling coldness and then warmth after flicking to induce the flint to spark. In deep frustration, he rested his back on the side of his car and debated to take the crumpled box of cigarettes in his pocket. It was getting cold and the darkness already enveloped the sky.
He just could not calm down after seeing Yumi once more after a long time. He could not believe her temper and cynicysm would get the best of him and lose his control. He knew their little reunion would not turn out well, especially because of the bad news—it should not have surprised him. Damn it, he was supposed to be the one to calm her down. Yet, he stormed out, completely defeated and tired of this. He knew he tried his best. He did everything to have it, yet all he dug up were just nuisance . . . things that are only related to the people surrounding Yumi, not her painting herself. The names Kinomoto, Touma and Ogasawara did not matter to the investigation . . . yet, why did he pursue it anyway?
Thus he found a scrunched up stick; he latched the filter by his lips . . .
"That is no good, Fukuzawa-san," a man said. "Cheap, even."
He prucured a box of Parliaments and offered Yuuki, but the latter just sighed defeatedly, "Thanks, that is cheap too." He removed the battered stick from his mouth.
The man gave a stick and shoved the box in his breast pocket. Yuuki lighted the cigarette stuck in his mouth. Taking a deep pull, Yuuki appreciated the quality of the stick that he never experienced in cheap ones. He puffed smoke to the air. "Ah, I forgot I quitted."
The man lighted his own, too. "So, it is true. The case was relieved from the investigation." He said.
Yuuki took a small drag. "Yes, it is."
"Is it really going nowhere?" He laughed at his own question.
Yuuki crumpled his own cheap box of cigarettes with his quick fist. "It's not like Yumi has been selling her stuff. Many would have wanted her works, but her stand was firm. She doesn't want to part with it. Other art enthusiasts think otherwise. Like you. You want her paintings, don't you?"
The man smirked. "Who doesn't?"
"Nihonga is a very small world, I hear this a lot. Who would have thought that she could make a name in this bleak industry in a span of four years? Two major exhibitions and endless commissions weren't enough for an art school graduate to jump too high from the bottom of the ladder. But she did. Because she reminds everyone of somebody. Of Kinomoto Hinata. Of Junko."
"Surprise." He said, listlessly.
"Junko's struggle to free herself in the society she lived in. Hinata's post-war paintings. Desolated future, unsure hope—a reminder of how war had cut off hopes like pig's limbs in slaughterhouses. Nothing but bunch of meat. She showed death and sorrow in meticulously prepared canvas of colors—something that nobody had done at that time, when everyone thought that war proved that everything you possessed meant nothing. War makes everyone's vision hazy and unfocused, you know." Yuuki irked on how he managed to explain that, sounding so trite.
"And?" he said, enjoying Yuuki's analysis.
"Yumi showed a different facet of contentment in the midst of grief-stricken, shrewd and pretentious society we have. Unlike how we see happiness or contentment. That one can live and thrive on the sorrow one inflicts to herself, and prove it magnanimous to others around her. Like hers. It's almost comical that you commissioned Yumi to restore works that conveys similar passion as Kinomotos."
The man smirked.
Yuuki continued. "That's why you are so attracted to her paintings. She was like the Kinomoto women and their saturated talent to blow the minds of men like us. Your obsession gave you away, sempai. That's why we have this meeting, because you want your part in the search. Correct?"
"You may say that."
"No. You are as curious as the rest of the world. And so far, she took a liking for you. You entertain her, it seems. Someone who is near, but distant."
"Are you praising me?"
"Did I sound like that? No. I don't trust you. I don't trust you ever since you came in as a witness for those Southeast Asian suspects."
"And tell me, how are they doing? I thought the investigation already stopped."
"Again, I don't trust you, Kashiwagi. You act as if you happen to passed by in every situation, making your involvement always considered accidental. You being witness, then being Yumi's employer. Later, I'd find out that you are Kinomoto Setsuna's son. And you just happened to be a friend of Ogasawara Sachiko's husband. Then, I'm hearing things like you being interested in the Ogasawara business. What are you, really?"
Kashiwagi's face showed pure enjoyment in hearing what Yuuki knew. He took a drag in his cigarette and explained. "But I trust you. Even though you have been skimming into my past. Was that even related to your investigation?"
Yuuki took the last pull from the cigarette, then crushed the butt with his shoe. "You have an inexplicable history."
"But not related to her missing painting." Kashiwagi did the same.
"You seemed to drag Yumi in such a way that I can't identify or comprehend."
Five parked cars away, a black sedan roared softly into life and pulled back from its space. Kashiwagi arranged his cuffs and straightened his necktie. He crooned, "And yet, like her, you took an interest for me. You sure are siblings."
"Tsk." Yuuki guessed that it was Kashiwagi's ride. How long has he been waiting here? It was almost an ambush. Even after all this time, he still could not predict Kashiwagi. "Why are you so happy with that idea? It seems so foreign to me that you're interested in my sister, without any glaring, suspicious intentions. Stay away from her."
He opened the passenger's seat by himself, his face somber as he crowed at Yuuki. "For your chagrin: no, I won't."
He closed the door and the car sped away.
Sachiko walked out of the museum slowly as any proper lady could refrain from haste.
She still felt sore at the palm of her right hand, ashamed of what she had done. She should have not slapped Yumi, no matter how hurtful she was. It was not because a lady should not be bemused and rash of her actions; it was because Yumi was telling the truth, that a slap would not even make up for it. She failed in the past. She failed today.
Yet she learned just how her grandfather had been too involved in this. She did not know yet how to protect herself and others against his grandfather's eyes. He should not have done that. Could he not see that he already won before? He secured that she obeyed him years ago. He already won. Why could he not leave Yumi alone?
She watched her steps, wary of the high-heeled stilletos. She reminded herself that she needed to extract once more those low-heeled shoes from her well-stocked closet. She has to take care of herself more.
While descending upon the steps, she unconsciously put her palms on her lower torso, rubbing it slowly, feeling warmth.
The chauffeur immediately noticed her and quickly parked the black sedan and opened a door for the Ogasawara heiress. When Sachiko was situated comfortably by the backseat, he closed the door gently, and returned to the driver's seat. "Where to, Touma-sama?"
"To the Hasekura dojo, please."
As he drove away to the city roads, he noticed that her mistress looked more enervated than before and was frequently massaging her temples. Sachiko extracted a handkerchief and covered her mouth. The middle-aged chauffeur, who had served the Ogasawara princess ever since she became a part of the Touma household, decreased the speed of the car, minding his mistress' carsickness. Not satisfied with his efforts, he adjusted the AC.
His employer relaxed her shoulders and closed her eyes gently.
Sachiko's hand was still on her belly.
Family.
There was nothing foreign with the word that everyone around her seemed to know very well. At first, one would think first of childhood whenever such word was mentioned, usually at school, where the teacher would ask her students, what is your family like? Memories of pre-school activities would cascade: please draw a picture of your family; please draw what your parents do; please write what you and your family had done during the winter or summer break. Even though the student's talents talent for drawing differed—from the usage of crayons to the number of subjects drawn in the picture—one thing is the same.
Everyone was wearing happy faces.
Perhaps adults would not know the truth behind those drawn family portraits, or perhaps they won't, unless those children speak up. When those little students paste their work upon the corkboard-covered walls, what exactly were they trying to show? The real picture of their family, or their idealized perception of what should a family be?
Were children really telling the truth? Or were they telling the truth that they wanted?
Most students would draw their mom, dad and siblings (add a pet, if available) in their typical trope—holding hands, an apron for the mother, a neatly pressed shirt and tie for the father, and the like—against the background of a house. Some would even include a sea of green pasture and flowerbeds for the garden, and the number of cars they have.
Sachiko's picture was vivid. Just like her classmates, she incorporated everything that she considered family, things that she ought to do, to have, to be.
It was in a bedroom. A four-poster bed, a large piano, a desk. On the bed was Sachiko and Sayako; the latter was lying down upon the mother's lap. Upon the desk, Ogasawara Kyouichii was seated and Tooru was standing behind his father. No one was playing the piano. It was just there, yet seemed as important as the bed and the desk.
Was the picture Sachiko's ideal perception of a family or was it the truth?
The car stopped gently as Sachiko woke up from her dream.
It was cold when she was already at the doorstep of the Hasekura house. Seconds after ringing the doorbell, she heard hurried footsteps and Rei appeared before her. Sachiko gave a broader smile—a smile that only few had seen—saying that Rei should not worry. The taller woman knew that something happened, and quickly closed the door to let Sachiko into the house. When she hugged Sachiko, she shivered from the cold that enveloped the heiress' skin.
"I want to live for him now." She finally said, after she told what happened at the gallery.
Sachiko's smile was perhaps the loneliest Rei had seen so far, yet she contained her immediate impulse to gather her hands with hers as any friend or mother would. Sachiko came to her for a reason; there was no one she could turn to confront her feelings, or even to take advice. At some point, she wondered why Sachiko would forget her onee-sama, Mizuno Youko. Had Sachiko even been talking to her, Rei often wondered.
It was not as if Youko was not around; she was present in ways that even Rei could not comprehend. She was different from Eriko Onee-san. Perhaps Sachiko did not want to bother her grande soeur? No, Rei witnessed how Youko apprehended Sachiko into saying her problems . . . of reaching out to those who care. Yet, why did Rei get the feeling that Sachiko was utterly alone?
Was the bond of those beautiful memories of youth had gone so quickly that boundaries of youth and adulthood had become too defined? No one could even joke about the past anymore.
"Am I the first one who heard about this?" Rei asked, timidly satisfied with herself.
Sachiko replied after a long pause. "Yes."
She suggested that they should open the paper slide doors, exposing the garden to their eyes. She found the air not cold. "I suppose you never talk to Youko-san about this—about everything."
"I don't want to impose her kindness. I don't want her to worry, to think too much."
Rei looked at her and held her hand. "You couldn't tell her because you don't want to look bad. You kept your feelings quite well, Sachiko, that even Youko couldn't notice them anymore."
Sachiko removed her hand. "I don't know what to say to her. The way I live . . . I can't face her when she taught me much. I don't want her to see that I couldn't follow her anymore."
"That's not true. Not when you want to move forward." Rei smiled at Sachiko, sealing her words genuinely.
"Forward . . . I've tried hard to find that way. I can't find myself burning bridges, not when it comes to my family."
Rei asked, "How about Ryu?"
Secluded yet transparent to the world. The family of the Ogasawara is small in number, unlike four generations ago. In the turn of the twentieth century the family had rose from the ashes of its past, and was rebuilt by a son from a branch family. Then this pioneer had a son who had ambitions soaring higher beyond imaginable and redeemed the family beyond its dreams. It erased lamentable past; it created glorious history.
Sayako knew the Ogasawara history as much as Tooru had known, because the latter had been enthusiastic to tell her the family legacy. Tooru lit up when he talked about his grandfather's struggle to rise into success. Sayako would admire how much he had known and would commit into memory that both should tell those stories to their unborn child, the future heir. During their long walks upon the garden of the Ogasawara estate, she asked Tooru if his father told him those stories.
Tooru had a pained smile. He admitted to Sayako that his father were far more passionate in telling them. Whenever Kyouichii spoke about the first patriarch, his face smeared with hostility. Particularly when he talked about his father's siblings or the former main family. As much as Kyouichii put his father upon an unbelievably tall pedestal was as much as Kyouichii would deeply dig a hole for his father's relatives with a shovel.
For Tooru, his father was beyond perfection. And he could not even match him, although he is his son.
When Sachiko was old enough, and when Tooru was nowhere to be found, Sayako was the one who took the time telling her stories about Kyouichii and his father's legacy. Of how Sachiko's great-grandfather rose from the ashes and soared high. Sayako would later not tell depressing details about the former main family. She did not want Sachiko to keep resentment against those who committed wrongly against Kyouichii's father. It was better if Sachiko would spread her wings without fueling anger in her heart.
Yet, Kyouichii intended to instill them, and Sachiko learned the burden of being an Ogasawara as soon as she started to walk. Sayako's efforts to shield her daughter were almost futile, but she taught her a lesson that she hoped Sachiko would never forget. Seeing without looking; hearing without listening; grieving without crying.
It is required for Sachiko to live her life fully even though the people—her flesh and blood—who surrounded her were beyond disappointment. Her family only concerned about maintaining its uplifted heritage. Sachiko was taught to endure, and to love amidst their shortcomings. That was Sayako's legacy. That was her way to show devotion to the family she belonged.
But she was never taught to fight back.
"I will tell him. I have been wasting my time not telling him." Sachiko replied serenely, gazing at the stretched hand cupping her lower stomach. She smiled as she rubbed it, but frowned at the third stroke.
Rei lifted her hand and touched her friend's head, ruffling black hair. Rei could not keep her pained smile as she noticed the frown on Sachiko's lips, for she knew the reasons for it. But she kept her mouth shut. She would not dare open such the issue under any circumstance, for it made her afraid for Sachiko.
Sachiko ignored the mess, and kept on relinquishing onto fixing it. Rei's hand was warm and reassuring. "Mother would be very proud of me," she said. "She always said that Father had his most beautiful smile when he saw us on the bed after she gave birth to me. Those months were very difficult for her. He said that he was thankful that both of us were there."
Sachiko looked away, "If Father had said it, then I would not believe it. But Mother did."
When tea was already consumed and she was staying more than she should, Sachiko bid goodbye to her friend with renewed smile. "Please take care of yourself." Rei said desperately, holding Sachiko's hand with both her own.
Burning bridges.
Sachiko was seeking Yumi's forgiveness because she wanted to start her life without the burden of leaving behind (what she thought) the person she considered to love the most. Until she throws it, she couldn't love him with all her heart.
There was no reason to approach Yumi back then. Sachiko had no valid reason to seek her; she was the one who walked away. She was numbed that she thought she could never love anyone as much as she loved Yumi—but Ryu somehow have done that. Sachiko wanted to love Ryu, but she could not forget what she had done to Yumi.
Fearing that she'll do the same to him.
But she was turning him away, ever since then.
She did not want to, not anymore. He must have suffered more in this relationship than did. She knew it, yet she continued.
Fearing that he would misunderstand.
Yet, she never tried. She never tried to beat that fear. She did not know the extent of destruction she had done to Yumi, the reason she was failing to understand her. She wanted to make things right but her current efforts were not enough.
She can wait. No . . . no . . .
Yet the truth was that she cannot. The moment she realized it she already learned to love Ryu. Then she began to fear being deserted. Just like how she was with Yumi. Therefore, when her grandfather pushed her to the corner, she took away her chances and tore herself away from Yumi. She ran away from her fear of abandonment by abandoning Yumi.
She was not thoroughly honest, afraid that her fear would be known.
She should have changed that. Yet, how would Yumi see that? No. No.
Yumi took those memories as hostage, she would hold onto it, and meant not willing to resolve anything. She thought wrong of Yumi; she thought wrong of herself. Just like everyone, her extent to forgive others is as finite as the rest. Because Yumi is normal too. She can hate whatever she wants.
Just like Sachiko could hate whomever she wanted—even her own family.
Family . . . she could have found one with Yumi, but she took it for granted. No, she made a choice. When she married Ryu, she never considered it a family—because back then, not even Ryu's kindness could even match how she pictured her life with Yumi. That he was just an extension of Kyouichii's manipulation. And of hers too. Yet, even with that picture-perfect life she had envisioned for Yumi and her, it was not enough to leave the family. Her hatred did not even help.
What is in this godforsaken family that made me choose this?!
She asked herself a very long time ago.
Mother . . . Mother always asked the difference . . . Seeing from looking, listening from hearing, grieving from crying. . . .
Mother.
Mother, I am doing things wrongly, am I not? I am thinking the wrong way, am I not? I am seeing the wrong direction. I am hearing the wrong things. I am crying for the wrong reasons.
Should I apply those words to Ryu? Where and how should I use those words, Mother?
She asked herself the reasons that made her blind, unfeeling. Was it because she saw Yumi never the same as before? Yes, that might be true. That leaving Yumi caused irreversible damage to a girl so cheerful and hopeful. Always, Sachiko would turn away.
But Ryu . . . Ryu did not deserve this. Ryu should not be tangled with her insecurities. But she can still make up for it. She can. His devotion for her, she could see it perfectly, but she chose not to look. She could hear his words but she did not listen. No. She should have both hear and listen, see and look, and even grieve and cry. With him.
She has to try.
Ryu, I have you, all this time. Even though I have been so far away from you. Let me make up for those years that I have left you alone, even though I swore that I would hold your hand. Let me tell you that I will see you, I will hear you. Let me tell you that I will make it up to you. Let me tell you that I am determined to survive with you.
Let me tell you about our child.
From her office, she called the Touma mansion's phone.
Ryu was not yet home as she expected. She began to fret of how she'd tell Ryu—she was scared.
Scared like her mother once was.
The phone rang. She answered it within the second ring, and she found her husband's voice surrounded by faint statics. He was very distant—the way she said her name was ominous that she was stiffened—he never sounded like that before.
/ I have a proposition for you. Do you trust me? /
Sachiko's tone was brittle, "Ryu? Is something wrong?"
He asked her again of the same question. She truthfully affirmed. Whatever that was happening to Ryu at this moment was putting weight in her chest. When she asked when would he be home, he said, "No, I won't be. Not until the meeting of the board is finished. This is also the reason that I called."
"Do you remember the first time you told me that you want to take-over your grandfather before you reach thirty? Back then, when I decided to join the Ogasawara Group? You were very adamant in settling dibs, boasting that you'll be the company's highest ranking officer and not me? . . ."
Sachiko was barraged with questions of a vivid memory. It was the day, she found him in her grandfather's office. "Yes. I remember."
/ I was so astonished of how passionate you were in declaring those things to me. I was fascinated by you. /
Sachiko tried to stop his words but she herself was interrupted.
/ But before you say anything, let me just clear the entire situation. Someone was planning to have his control over the company. We all know that Oji-sama, Kyouichii, was facing problems with his management over the company for years now. We have struggled and survived thus far, but it seemed we cannot move forward when someone was stagnating in the growth of the company. The board was losing its trust to Kyouichii-sama. /
She sighed as she agreed with her husband. "That is old news. The last meeting was about that. The votes that will be garnered in the next meeting will be just the same. Grandfather will surely had anticipated their moves."
But Ryu's voice became worried, a little broken, as if he was hanging on to every word. It was not a good sign, coming from an even-tempered person like him.
/ I-I know, dear. But they are planning to oust him. And replace him with—what they said—with a much suitable substitute. They were decided that the new member of the board, Kashiwagi Suguru, should take the torch. /
Kyouichii never anticipated that day that Kashiwagi Suguru was at his office door, looming over the vastness of the room, while a half-smile was plastered in his face. In his private search for that man's weakness, he never thought that an aloof, stoic man (as was reported to him) would be loitering to his domain with ease on his face. Oh, he knew what the brat was exactly doing.
Kyouichii retained his domineering voice, "You have the nerve to parade yourself in my office uninvited."
Kashiwagi remained at the door. "I have. But you did not even respond to my letter. The green one that I gave to your dog, Murata-san?"
He produced the opened letter by his hand. "The letter you handed me was strange indeed. But you are mistaken if it should be sent to me. You see, if I haven't taken a liking for you, I would destroy that junk into ashes, instead of opening it."
Kyouichii was tempted to throw the letter to the floor, but could he even do that? Could he disgrace the only object that Setsuna had given him?
Kashiwagi seemed not to notice his sudden hesitation. "Shit. Really? I was expecting that you'll burn it on sight. But I was wrong. The brushwork seems familiar, doesn't it?"
Sachiko trembled. She remembered Kashiwagi's piercing look back at the party, when she first saw him. She murmured, "He will not . . . he won't. I—we won't allow that! How—?!"
/ Sachiko, listen. I will take care of it. Everything. That bastard; I should have known he'd be a problem. But I have secured that we will not be overtaken and governed by an outsider—a person not member of this family. This is our lifeline and I will not let anyone take that away from you. But the board wanted to change its leader. And we will give them a far better candidate. I want you to take that place. I want you to steal that torch away from Kyouichii. /
No . . . no . . . I am not ready. It's not my dream anymore. My child—!
But, how did Ryu figured that his former classmate was doing that? Didn't he just tell her one time that Kashiwagi was Ryu's best friend? "No, I cannot do that. I cannot!"
Kyouichii tapped his immaculate fingers against the hardwood of his table. "What do you want?"
Kashiwagi stayed standing at the door. "I'm here to give you a warning. You should probably know my intentions: I came here for war. You will witness your empire be minced into little pieces."
"You have become quite famous around. Luck is in your side while you established yourself in Kyoto and Osaka. Now, in Tokyo. You're just a transient in this formidable place. A nuisance to me. What makes you think you can overpower someone above your station?"
"It's not only me, actually. Many want you gone, Ogasawara, and I am one of them." Kashiwagi said.
"You are still young, son, to display arrogance in front of an experienced senior."
His voice gave no amusement. "Yet young enough to say that you are getting incompetent and senile."
/ I was hoping you would approve. All I wanted is to fulfill your dreams. To get you whatever you want. Now, this is your chance. I have acted beforehand, I know; I kept it from you. /
"No, Ryu, I cannot run the company this time—!"
/ Yes, you can. You are the only one qualified. You are the most deserving; you have been trained to do this. Not even I could surpass you. You can finally defeat your grandfather. Only you can match him. I have arranged for everything. Every move, every situation, I have anticipated all of them. Like my queen, you'll just have to sit on the throne. What can I do for you to say yes? /
Ryu, what are you . . . ? This is not the right method or time to have this. My child . . . the company is no longer my main concern. Our child is the most important!
/ I have The Passing Wind. /
"Show some respect!"
Kashiwagi beamed, a smile enough scare crows. "Finally, a hasty reaction from you. You probably know everything that is to happen in three days time. Let's see if I can match your kung-fu. After all, it would be just power-play. Something that you've mastered. And it will be in your backyard."
"You will regret that you have stepped foot here. Or live until this day." Kyouichii matched his expression. "You will regret using Kinomoto Setsun's memory for your immature ambitions."
The room went cold at the mention of the name. "No. You will regret ever stepping into the life of Kinomoto Setsuna."
"Kashiwagi-kun, you stepped out your line." Emphasizing the honorific as degrading as he could muster.
He walked away from the office. That was enough to know that Kashiwagi abandoned his respect for him completely.
Sachiko stopped all thoughts running through her head when he mentioned it.
She could not even trace a bit of familiarity in his voice; it was too rough:
/ I finally found it. You wanted Fukuzawa Yumi's forgiveness, am I correct? Ever since it was lost, you have been acting strangely. You took great lengths to be near her, to be close to her. Which is very unusual, because you were seours, correct? How could those bonds be so fragile that you have to gain her trust once more? I've noticed it, Sachiko, how in pain you are. Yet I am sad, for you never told me. /
"Ryu, hand over the painting to her." Sachiko said, fearing that it was already a trap. That no matter how patient her husband was, nothing in this world is infinite. "Please."
His voice became agitated:
/ It is one thing that will make you agree with me, isn't it? /
"Ryu listen to me!"
But Ryu carried on:
/ If you are worried over your grandfather—but should you be? He gave you nothing but a leash to tie your neck upon a post. He never gave you what you really needed. But I'll try. The board meeting will be in three days. You will have time to think about it. All is in motion. All you have to do is to take it. Say yes, Sachiko. Afterwards, it will be easy. You have me. /
"Ryu I—"
The line went dead.
". . . don't need those things anymore." She whispered, finishing what she ought to say against the statics.
She walked brusquely towards the elevator, hoping to reach his grandfather's office. She knew that nothing good would come out in this unplanned meeting—but she had to know, in cautious ways, how bad things are going. She was perceptive to things like this before, yet why did she know this now? She knew Kyouichii's allies in the board—all of them—but trust is an unstable virtue. For once, she agreed with her grandfather. She was in the floor of Kyouichii's office when she saw its doors opened.
Her mind was swift; but her body was shocked, she could not move.
She saw Kashiwagi Suguru closed the doors with a smug look on his face. It diminished when he saw Sachiko, and procured a blank face. He walked his way to the elevator, and bowed lightly to her. "Touma-san."
When she turned back, he was already in the compartment; his eyes boring at her. She glared at him with pure contempt.
How dare he—?!
Then, just before the doors of the elevators fully shut, he smiled faintly at her.
Then, it's true.
Kyouichii laughed sinisterly at Kashiwagi's audacity to bring him into excitement like this. Challenging him head-on—it was the old times, back when he was extremely obsessed with working what his father had started. It has been too long since he was confronted with a gambit.
Surely, someone backs Kashiwagi's bravery. Yes . . . finally someone has been a mole in this whole fiasco—three days was enough to identify allies and reduce foes. Ever since he received that green letter, he knew what Kashiwagi wanted. He wanted Kyouichii to be taunted. How Kashiwagi had acquired that letter was still a mystery to Kyouichii . . . but no matter. What matters is Kashiwagi's downfall.
What he did not notice in the file Murata sent to him a long time ago was the information that Kashiwagi Suguru was adopted. That he was her son.
Kashiwagi pulled out his cellular phone from his pocket as the elevator descended. He pushed several buttons until his phone emitted a buzzing, then a ringing sound. He put it at the side of his face, still waiting for an answer.
/ Kashiwagi-sama. How has it been? /
His head was aching, but he found his balance. "Fine. No—very amused. I am beginning to get used to Kyouichii's revenge faces."
/ So, it has been set. Three days to go, but many things can happen. /
He looked upwards, beginning to like the idea that Kyouichii was watching him secretly—by the security cam somewhere in the compartment. He smirked. "I know. We made our move, and I am confident that I secured everything. Betrayal is slim—but in my case: if someone would not meet their end of agreement, then someone will be just another body in the gutter. Nothing will change."
/ Damn. That is surely violent. /
He heard a distant hearty laugh though the speakers. The person on the line transferred the phone to another. The laughter's volume grew louder.
He said to the new voice, "I'm joking, I forgot myself. I meant no harm. What I mean is that Kyouichii's methods will never win against mine. Even I have high standards. Well, what about at your end?"
/ Still waiting for the final call. We will decide tomorrow. /
"I think Touma Sachiko already has an answer."
/ Oh? /
The elevator doors opened; Kashiwagi strolled away from the compartment and left heads turning to his direction.
(So, the news seemed to spread pretty fast.)
Kashiwagi tried not to mind the attention; he just kept talking until he reached the front doors of the Ogasawara Group. "Just saw her a moment ago, almost stomping the hall in a hurry. She's a little pale though."
/ Is she all right? /
He suddenly expelled words carefully, hoping to be as calm as possible. "I think so. She needs to eat more. I see a clear path ahead for you. But, do you think she'll spill?"
/ No, I don't think so. She has this . . . passionate discord with her grandfather more than anyone does. She wants that position ever since. And that is what the Chairman doesn't like: to give up the position prematurely. He thinks he can live forever. /
"Even so, it doesn't matter."
As Kashiwagi's car approached his direction, he heard that the second voice gave back the phone to the first man he talked to.
/ He said he trust your fearsome schemes. You even took the time for chitchat. / He was referring to the second man.
Kashiwagi greeted, "I'll be seeing you and him, Kobayashi-san. Good luck."
/ Likewise. /
{AFTERMATH}
Yumi forgotten that she had her phone in her back pocket until it began ringing and vibrating against her behind. She stopped listening to what her former schoolmate was saying and excused herself and mouthed against the mouthpiece, "Yep, it's you, Suguru-san."
/ What do you know, you recognize my voice. /
"What's it?" She asked, hiding her irritation.
/ When I told you I'll won't let Ogasawara Kyouichii bother you anymore, did you believe me? /
". . ."
/ Yumi. /
". . . I didn't."
/ He won't. /
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N: Please, please, please tell me what you think!
Forgive me for having no knowledge in certain areas, and if you notice them, I beg you to advice me via PM. And to those who were using Guest to comment, I couldn't reply to you guys and haven't thanked you enough. To those who sent their comments and PM on Chapter 16, I thank you immensely for sharing your thoughts. It had been a month since I updated, and I'd like to make an excuse . . . no, I rather not.
I'll be on my way now, and read other Marimite fanfics written by other awesome authors here in Marimite. This fandom has little fanbase, so keep supporting by reading and reviewing fanfics!