Chapter 5: Balancing Acts
Kagome sat opposite her father, her posture straight, a tablet in hand displaying the latest financial reports from one of the company's subsidiary branches. Naraku leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning her notes with meticulous attention.
"The Osaka division's quarterly performance is down by 12%," Kagome began, her voice steady but tinged with concern. "If we don't address the inefficiencies in supply chain management, we could see a larger drop next fiscal year."
Naraku's lips curled slightly in approval. "Good. You've identified the problem. Now, how do you propose we fix it?"
Kagome tapped her tablet, bringing up a detailed chart. "We need to streamline the shipping process. Switching to more reliable logistics partners would increase upfront costs, but the long-term savings and customer satisfaction improvements would outweigh them."
Naraku nodded, his expression unreadable. "A sound strategy. I'll approve this—if you're willing to oversee its implementation. You've proven capable so far."
A flicker of pride crossed Kagome's face, but she quickly masked it with professionalism. "Thank you. I'll make sure it's handled efficiently."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet rustle of papers as Naraku flipped through another report. Then, he set it down and looked at his daughter, his piercing gaze softening ever so slightly.
"Kagome," he began, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, "you've more than earned your place here. You're my daughter, and it's within my power to ensure you don't have to struggle unnecessarily. Your medical school debt? It's a trivial matter. I can have it cleared with a single phone call."
Kagome blinked, caught off guard by the rare display of paternal warmth. She placed her tablet down and met his gaze, her voice calm but firm. "I appreciate the offer, Father, truly. But I want to do this on my own. Paying off that debt would feel like taking a shortcut, and I need to prove—to myself, more than anyone—that I'm capable of standing on my own two feet."
Naraku's eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger, but with calculation. He studied her for a long moment before leaning forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "And your salary here? Is it enough, or are you simply enduring out of pride?"
Kagome smiled faintly. "It's more than enough. You've been generous, and it's not about the money. It's about earning my place—not just in the company, but in life."
A slow smile spread across Naraku's face, one that few had ever seen. It wasn't cold or calculating, but proud. "You're stubborn. Just like your mother."
Kagome laughed softly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is," Naraku replied, his voice returning to its usual measured tone. "But remember, Kagome, you don't have to carry everything alone. You're part of this family, and family supports each other."
"I know, Father," Kagome said, her voice soft but resolute. "And I'm grateful. But this is something I need to do for myself."
Naraku leaned back again, the faint smile still lingering. "Very well. But should you ever need it, you know where to find me."
Kagome stood, collecting her tablet and notes. "Thank you, Father. I'll keep that in mind."
As she left the study, Naraku watched her go, a rare warmth in his usually impassive expression.
The afternoon sun bathed the park in a golden glow as Kagome and Shippo arrived, their steps crunching on the gravel path. Kagome had decided she needed a break from studying and brought Shippo along for some fresh air.
The park was bustling with activity—families having picnics, joggers making their rounds, and children laughing on the playground. Shippo immediately spotted the jungle gym and tugged on Kagome's sleeve.
"Kagome, can I go play?" he asked, bouncing on his toes.
"Sure," Kagome said with a smile, settling onto a bench nearby. "But don't go too far, okay?"
Shippo dashed off, climbing and tumbling with the kind of energy only a child could muster. Kagome pulled out her phone, scrolling absentmindedly as she kept one eye on her brother.
It wasn't long before Shippo found a new mission: a squirrel chattering on a low-hanging branch. He crouched low in the grass, creeping forward like a ninja. Kagome stifled a laugh as he launched himself toward the tree, only for the squirrel to dart up the trunk in a blur of fur and tail.
"Nice try," Kagome called, grinning.
Shippo shrugged dramatically, brushing his hands off like he hadn't just failed his "mission." "The squirrel was too scared of my ninja skills."
Their attention was soon caught by the sweet smell of cotton candy wafting from a nearby vendor. "Can we get some?" Shippo begged, his wide eyes practically sparkling.
Kagome relented and bought one for him, watching as he gleefully tore into the fluffy pink treat. Moments later, disaster struck. Spotting a group of ducks waddling by the pond, Shippo decided they deserved to share in his sugary bounty.
"Shippo, don't you dare—!" Kagome started, but it was too late. He tossed a chunk of cotton candy toward the ducks.
What followed was a chaotic scene of flapping wings and loud quacks as the ducks swarmed toward Shippo. He yelped, running in circles to escape the feathery mob. Kagome laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bench.
"They're attacking me!" Shippo cried dramatically, finally scrambling up onto the jungle gym to escape. The ducks, now uninterested, waddled back to the pond, leaving Shippo covered in sticky cotton candy residue and pride slightly bruised.
"Are you done being a duck whisperer?" Kagome teased, offering him a napkin as he climbed down.
Shippo pouted, cleaning his hands. "I was just trying to share…"
"Next time, maybe share with humans," Kagome said, shaking her head.
They sat down on a nearby bench, the energy of the day catching up to both of them. For a moment, the world felt quiet. Shippo glanced up at Kagome, his expression suddenly serious.
"Kagome," he said softly, "do you ever get tired of being the one responsible, of me and everything else?"
Kagome blinked, surprised. "Where's this coming from?"
"I don't know," Shippo mumbled, kicking at the ground. "I just… I see you working so hard all the time. And I mess up a lot. I don't want to make things harder for you."
Her heart ached at his words. She put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "Shippo, you don't make things harder for me. You make them better. You're my little brother, and I'll always take care of you. That's what family does."
He looked up at her, his eyes watery but determined. "I'm gonna help you someday, Kagome. I promise."
Kagome smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "You already help me, Shippo. You remind me why I'm doing all of this. You're my partner in crime, remember?"
His face lit up with a small grin. "Yeah, I guess we do make a good team."
"Even if our missions sometimes involve angry ducks?" Kagome teased.
"Hey, that was part of the plan!" he insisted, laughing now.
As they made their way home, hand in hand, Kagome felt lighter.
The pair of cousins set out on a hiking trail, the sun beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape. The air was crisp and fresh, the perfect escape from their usual high-pressure lives. Miroku, ever the conversationalist, was happily chatting as they navigated the rocky path, while Sesshoumaru remained silent, his focused gaze fixed on the trail ahead.
"Come on, Sesshoumaru," Miroku said with a grin, adjusting his backpack. "You've been so serious all day. You can at least pretend to enjoy the view."
Sesshoumaru barely glanced at the scenery, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain as though every step was a challenge to conquer. "I find peace in efficiency," he replied coolly.
Miroku chuckled. "That's one way to put it, I guess. Me, I prefer to take in the whole experience. Breathe the air, listen to the wind... Feel the world around you." He waved a hand dramatically, drawing attention to the trees and mountains that surrounded them.
Their conversation came to an abrupt pause when they heard footsteps behind them. A woman, clearly in her late twenties, jogged up to them, her expression friendly and eager. She gave Miroku a quick smile but directed her attention immediately to Sesshoumaru, taking in his calm demeanor and striking features.
"Hey there," she said with a flirtatious smile, clearly undeterred by Sesshoumaru's seemingly distant air. "Looks like we're on the same trail. Mind if I join you guys for a bit?"
Miroku raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You might have trouble keeping up," he teased, but the woman didn't seem to mind, turning her focus entirely to Sesshoumaru.
She leaned in slightly, trying to strike up a conversation with him. "You know, I've always thought this trail was so beautiful, but I'm just not used to it. I'd love a guide... if you're willing to show me around." Her voice was soft and inviting, her body language open.
Sesshoumaru, however, wasn't fazed. He stopped in his tracks, his piercing gaze locking onto hers with a coldness that could freeze even the sunniest of days. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable intensity in his eyes, a kind of silent command that brooked no argument.
"I'm afraid you'll find the company you're seeking elsewhere," Sesshoumaru said, his voice as smooth and unyielding as the stone beneath their feet. His tone left little room for interpretation.
The woman hesitated, her smile faltering at the chill in his words. She looked between Miroku and Sesshoumaru, her initial boldness evaporating. Without another word, she took a step back and turned, quickly walking away down the trail, visibly flustered.
Miroku, trying to stifle a laugh, shot Sesshoumaru an incredulous look. "Well, that was... something."
Sesshoumaru, unfazed, adjusted his pack. "She was wasting her time," he said simply, resuming his pace.
Miroku chuckled under his breath. "You know, you could at least try being a little nicer. You've got to admit, that was pretty harsh."
Sesshoumaru merely raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to look back. "Hn."
Miroku shook his head, grinning. "You have no idea how much fun it is to watch you do that, Sesshoumaru. You may not care about flirting, but man, you certainly know how to send people packing."
Kagome juggled her coffee cup, phone, and an overstuffed folder as she rushed down the busy Tokyo sidewalk. Her father had texted her last-minute changes to a proposal she was supposed to deliver in less than an hour, and she was barely holding it together. She bit her lip in frustration, mumbling under her breath, "Honestly, couldn't he have sent this sooner?"
Her mind so preoccupied, she didn't notice the tall figure approaching from the opposite direction until it was too late.
They collided.
Hot coffee splashed onto her wrist, and her papers went flying, scattering across the pavement like confetti.
"Ugh, seriously?" Kagome groaned, clutching her scalded wrist.
The man she'd bumped into didn't stagger, his form as solid and unyielding as a statue. He looked down at her, his expression surprisingly neutral—no annoyance or irritation in his gaze, just a quiet, almost amused calm. His silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, and the tailored charcoal suit he wore spoke of wealth, power, and control. Yet, something in his eyes held a deeper, almost softer glint as he regarded her, a hidden warmth that seemed at odds with his serious demeanor.
"Are you always this reckless, or is today an exception?" he asked, his voice smooth and even.
Kagome straightened up, irritation bubbling up. "Well, maybe if you weren't taking up the whole sidewalk like some sort of human skyscraper, this wouldn't have happened!"
His lips twitched, a flicker of something like a smile threatening to break through the mask of indifference. But before he could respond, something tugged at her wrist. Kagome glanced down, realizing her bracelet—a delicate chain with tiny silver charms—had somehow gotten caught on his shirt cuff.
"Oh, come on," she muttered, tugging at it in frustration.
The man's expression softened slightly as he sighed, his tone still calm but tinged with an unspoken amusement. "You're making it worse."
"Really? You don't say," she shot back, yanking harder. The tug pulled her a step closer to him, and for a brief moment, their faces were uncomfortably close.
"Stop moving," he commanded gently, his voice firm but not unkind.
"Stop telling me what to do," Kagome snapped, though her body obeyed, halting her movements.
With a resigned sigh, he reached down, his fingers brushing against her wrist as he untangled the bracelet with careful precision. His touch was warm, unexpected, and it sent a flutter of something through her chest. Kagome blinked, surprised by the feeling. When their eyes briefly met, she quickly looked away.
"You? From the café?! Well...thanks, I suppose," she muttered, trying to push the strange sensation aside.
"You're welcome," Sesshoumaru replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to the scattered papers around them. "Though your disorganized approach to life could use some work."
Kagome let out a short laugh as she crouched down to gather her papers. "Wow, is that your way of apologizing? Because it needs some work too."
He crouched down as well, picking up a stray folder and handing it to her. His fingers brushed hers in the process, and Kagome couldn't ignore the slight warmth that lingered. "I don't apologize for other people's carelessness," he replied, his tone steady.
"Carelessness? You—" Kagome paused mid-sentence as her phone rang, a sharp reminder of the time slipping away. She glanced at the screen—her father's name flashing in bold letters.
"Oh no," she muttered under her breath, quickly answering the call. "Father, I'm on my way! I know, I'm late—yes, I'll be there soon!"
She hurriedly shoved her papers into her arms, trying to keep the phone pressed to her ear. "I know, I know! Just a few more minutes! I'll be there—don't worry!"
Before Sesshoumaru could speak again, Kagome nodded quickly, still balancing everything in her hands. "Sorry—sorry—yes, I'll be right there!"
Without sparing another glance at him, she dashed off, weaving through the crowd as she rushed to make up for lost time.
Sesshoumaru stood there for a moment longer, his eyes scanning the spot where she had vanished into the crowd. A wave of realization hit him, and he let out a quiet curse under his breath. He had forgotten to introduce himself.
His mind replayed the brief interaction—how she had recognized him from the café, her sharp, witty remarks, and the way she had hurried off without a second glance. He hadn't even said his name. He could feel the faintest trace of irritation bubbling up, though it wasn't directed at her. It was more at himself.
He was used to being in control, to managing interactions with ease, but with her—her quick wit, her presence—he had somehow let his usual composure slip.
"How typical," he murmured to himself, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he continued walking. He couldn't help but wonder if he would see her again. And next time... next time, he would make sure she knew who he was.
Inuyasha sat quietly in the corner of the living room, his legs stretched out in front of him as he stared at the television screen. The sports channel was on, a highlight reel playing in front of him, showing incredible goals, triumphant moments, and passionate celebrations. He leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the sides of the couch, lost in the rush of adrenaline the game sparked in him.
Despite the excitement of the plays unfolding on the screen, a heavy weight sat in Inuyasha's chest. It wasn't the first time he had felt this way, but today, it seemed particularly intense. His father, Toga, had always assumed Inuyasha would follow in his footsteps—take on a leadership role in the family business, learn the ropes, and eventually take over. It was a legacy that Inuyasha was supposed to inherit, and from an outsider's perspective, there was nothing to question about it.
But for Inuyasha, it didn't feel right. He didn't want to follow that path. He didn't care about business meetings or stock portfolios. What he cared about was the rush of running down a soccer field, feeling the wind against his face as the ball hit the back of the net. He longed for the simple joy of competition, the satisfaction of knowing that his skills had taken him as far as his passion could carry him.
It wasn't that Inuyasha hated his father or the family business. Toga was an amazing businessman, but his expectations felt suffocating. Every time they had a conversation about the future, Inuyasha felt like he was failing before he even started.
"Why can't you just support me, old man?" Inuyasha muttered to himself, more to the empty room than to anyone in particular. His father didn't understand. He couldn't—he had never been interested in sports the way Inuyasha was. Every time Inuyasha tried to bring up his desire to go professional in soccer, Toga would brush it off with a comment about how sports weren't a stable career, or how fleeting fame could be in such a competitive world.
He hated that feeling. The feeling of not being good enough in his father's eyes, not living up to the expectations that seemed so much more important than his own dreams.
His phone buzzed beside him, and he glanced at the screen, seeing a text from Koga: "Wanna hit the field later?" It was a welcome distraction, but also a reminder of how much he longed to play, to show the world what he could do if given the chance.
Inuyasha hesitated for a moment before typing back: "Yeah, I'm in."
But as he hit send, the familiar knot of doubt twisted in his stomach. What was he doing? How much longer could he keep pretending to his father that this wasn't something he cared about?
He needed someone to talk to, someone who might understand. And as he thought about it, Sesshoumaru came to mind. His older brother had always been the composed one, the one who seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He had followed his own path, earning respect in his field without hesitation.
But Inuyasha wasn't sure if he could ask Sesshoumaru for advice. He didn't want to come off as weak or unable to figure things out on his own.
"Just focus on the game," he muttered to himself, standing up. The only thing he could control was his love for soccer. And for now, that was enough. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be for long. Something had to change.
Kagome sat at the small desk in the back of the busy hospital ward, papers and patient files scattered in front of her. She had just finished a long round of clinical duties, checking on various patients and noting progress for her mentors. Her mind, however, wasn't fully focused on the medical notes in front of her. Instead, it kept drifting back to him.
Him.
The tall man in the perfectly tailored suit. She'd barely noticed him the first time—just an accidental collision in the café that had quickly dissolved into an exchange of sharp words. But now, every time she replayed their second encounter, she couldn't help but wonder how much of it had been accidental.
It was on that busy Tokyo sidewalk, where her coffee had spilled, her papers had flown, and their brief confrontation had somehow left a lasting mark on her. His calm, almost detached composure had only irked her at first. Yet, when he'd helped untangle her bracelet, his touch had been unexpectedly gentle, and she'd felt an odd warmth that she couldn't ignore. Even the brief exchange of words had stuck with her more than she cared to admit.
Why couldn't she stop thinking about him?
His eyes, golden and piercing, had seemed to see right through her—calm, composed, and utterly unaffected by her disarray. Kagome had never been someone to fluster easily, but something about that encounter made her feel out of her element. His unspoken confidence—almost like a challenge—had left her with a strange feeling, one that lingered long after they parted ways.
She glanced up, taking a deep breath, as she shifted her focus back to the patient charts she'd been reviewing. There were several cases she still needed to follow up on, and her mentors were waiting for her reports. This wasn't the time for distractions.
Still, as she began to write the next note, a small, rebellious part of her wondered if their paths would cross again. After all, he seemed to be a man who operated in her world—whether he was aware of it or not.
Focus, Kagome, she told herself, tapping her pen on the desk.
Kagura stood by the large window of her home, her gaze focused on the serene landscape outside. The wind stirred the trees gently, but it couldn't calm the storm swirling in her chest.
Her thoughts were occupied by her two children—Kagome, her eldest, who was always so driven, so focused on her goals that Kagura sometimes wondered if her daughter was pushing herself too hard. And Shippo, her younger son, who still had so much growing to do, his energy and enthusiasm both a blessing and a concern. She'd watched them both grow up, each so different, yet both equally precious to her. But lately, there was a sense of unease that had been creeping up on her.
Kagome, with her relentless pursuit of her doctorate, had barely been home lately. Her father, Naraku, had been proud of Kagome's determination, of course, but Kagura couldn't help but worry. There was a fine line between dedication and overwork, and Kagome seemed to be constantly walking it. It wasn't just her studies; Kagome had become increasingly involved in the family business, taking on more responsibility at a young age, which was admirable, but it was starting to take a toll. Kagura had seen the exhaustion behind her daughter's eyes, though Kagome would never admit to it.
She's so much like me, Kagura thought with a sigh. Maybe too much like me.
Shippo, on the other hand, was her light—his carefree nature, his love for life, and the way he lit up every room he walked into. But as much as she loved his carefree spirit, there was a fear in her heart that Shippo might one day feel overshadowed by Kagome's success. Despite Kagome being kind and supportive toward her younger brother, Kagura knew that there were times when Shippo seemed to retreat into his own world, unsure of where he fit in the family's intricate dynamics.
"Mom?"
Kagura turned to see Shippo standing in the doorway, his usual mischievous grin on his face. His bright, inquisitive eyes softened when he saw the troubled expression on her face.
"You okay?" he asked, stepping closer.
Kagura smiled faintly, pushing her worries aside for a moment. "Just thinking, Shippo."
"About Kagome again?" Shippo guessed, sitting down beside her.
Kagura hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I just want what's best for her, you know? She's taking on so much, and I can't help but wonder if it's too much for her to handle."
Shippo raised an eyebrow. "She's fine, Mom. She's strong."
"I know she is," Kagura replied softly. "But sometimes strength isn't enough. She's so busy with her studies and work, and I fear she's losing sight of her happiness. And then there's you..." She looked down at him, a concerned look crossing her face. "I know you want to make your own mark, but don't feel like you have to compete with your sister, okay? You're both amazing in your own ways."
Shippo gave her a mischievous smile. "I'm not worried about it. I've got my own path to follow, remember? I've got time to figure it all out."
Kagura chuckled, ruffling his hair. "You're right. Just promise me you won't let me worry too much."
"I'll try," Shippo teased, his eyes sparkling with that familiar light.
Kagura watched him for a moment, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She just had to trust that they'd find their way.
Kanna sat quietly in her bedroom, the soft light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the room. It was her favorite time of day—peaceful and still. The room was arranged neatly, each toy and book in its place, but tonight, Kanna wasn't focused on tidying up. Instead, her small hands rested in her lap as she stared at the soft stuffed rabbit sitting beside her pillow.
She had been thinking a lot about conversations lately, especially after her talk with Shippo. She wanted to talk more, to say the things that were in her mind, but every time she tried to speak, her voice felt small and distant. She had so many things she wanted to share, but the words never seemed to come out the way she wanted, especially around those who she was not close to.
Taking a deep breath, Kanna picked up the rabbit gently, holding it close to her chest. She tried to imagine what it would be like to talk freely, like Shippo, or even Sesshoumaru, who always spoke with such calm confidence. But when she opened her mouth, her voice barely made a sound.
"Hello, Mr. Rabbit," Kanna murmured softly, the words escaping as a whisper. Her eyes flickered toward the door, half-expecting someone to hear. The house was quiet, but still, she felt unsure.
She waited for a response from the rabbit, but of course, it didn't speak. She was left to imagine it, as she always did. The silence felt comfortable, but also lonely. Maybe one day, she'd speak as easily as Shippo did. But for now, the quietness of her thoughts was all she had.
Kanna held the rabbit closer, thinking of Shippo's excited chatter and the way he seemed so comfortable talking to everyone. "I wonder if I could be like that one day," she whispered, her fingers gently stroking the rabbit's ear. "Maybe I'll practice more."
But even as she thought it, the idea of speaking out loud to someone else made her heart beat a little faster. It was easier, safer, to stay in her room and imagine the words rather than say them. She didn't want to mess up, didn't want to sound too quiet, too unsure.
Still, a small part of her wanted to try, just a little. "Tomorrow," she whispered to the rabbit, "I'll talk to someone. I'll say something."
She wasn't sure what she would say, but the thought of trying made her feel just a little braver. Kanna tucked the rabbit back into its place, pulling the blanket around her as she settled into bed. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
As she closed her eyes, the quiet of her room wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Tomorrow, she would try again. But for now, she could rest in the safety of her thoughts, where the words didn't feel so heavy.
And maybe, just maybe, one day she would find the courage to speak them.