Chapter 49: Shadows And Strings.
The metallic clang of hammers and the thrum of heavy machinery usually filled Ryuga's mornings, but today the construction site was still.
His boots crunched against gravel as he carried a box toward the laundry shop. The air smelled faintly of soap and warm cotton. Inside, steam rose in gentle curls, and the hum of dryers formed a soft background.
Ryo was folding shirts at the counter, her hair tied back, strands sticking to her forehead from the heat. She looked up, a smile touching her lips.
"You're early," she said.
"Site's off today," he replied, setting the box down.
"Figured I'd help you here before you bury yourself under laundry."
She snorted. "Bury myself? It's two baskets, Ryuga."
"That's how it starts," he teased.
The bell above the shop door jingled. An old man stepped inside thin frame, silver hair, moving slowly but with a certain intent. His eyes locked on Ryo almost immediately.
"Ryo-chan," the man greeted, his voice warm but faint.
Ryo froze for just a moment before straightening and walking over. Ryuga stayed where he was, stacking folded sheets, but his gaze followed them.
The two spoke quietly. Ryuga couldn't make out the words, but he could read the subtle shifts in Ryo's face the way her lips pressed together, the faint pull of her brow. Concern.
When the old man left, Ryuga stepped forward.
"What was that about?"
Ryo exhaled, the sound almost a sigh. "My father. His health is... declining. He wants to see his grandson."
Ryuga raised a brow. "And if Ren was a girl? Would he want to see his granddaughter?"
She didn't answer.
He touched her shoulder. "Don't worry about it."
They stepped outside together, the air cooler now. The streets were quiet except for the distant sound of someone sweeping leaves.
As they walked, Ryo spoke again, her tone soft. "You know... I was born into the Yamamichi family. My father's name is Yamamichi Harate. My mother died giving birth to me. Since I was a girl... they didn't want me involved in the inheritance or the property. I was... cast aside."
Ryuga glanced at her, but she continued.
"By some strange luck, I met you. Back in high school. That rainy day..." She smiled faintly. "You were trying to light a cigarette in the rain."
Ryuga smirked. "Dramatic effect."
"It was stupid."
"Still worked, didn't it?"
Her laugh was light, like the rain from that memory. They walked on, side by side a picture of a healthy, loving couple.
Yet, only one of them noticed the shadow of eyes following them.
•••••
Yuuta's voice carried through the quiet classroom, weaving something about dark matter and cosmic expansion. Her chalk moved fast across the board, symbols sprawling into incomprehensible constellations.
I speared a piece of melon bread with my fork and chewed slowly. Not because I didn't understand but because her lecture was the sort of thing you could follow only if you chose to. And right now, my thoughts were elsewhere.
The Default Class-eleven of us, handpicked for reasons that had nothing to do with academics. On paper, we were students. In reality? We were the sort of people whose family trees twisted into boardrooms, police precincts, ministerial offices. People who could make a call and watch a problem dissolve. Nine of them were like that. I wasn't. At least... not yet.
Yuuta kept talking. Someone asked about neutrinos. Laughter. Pens scratching. None of them knew I was mentally drafting the first words I'd say to Yamamichi Harate my grandfather.
If I go to him directly, the other pigs and vultures in the family will assume I'm there for inheritance. They'd be right. That assumption, however, makes them predictable. Predictable people are easy to steer. Manipulation isn't ugly if the outcome justifies it.
...That's what I tell myself, anyway.
"Ren." Yuuta's voice snapped in my direction.
I swallowed the bread. "Hm?"
"You're spacing out again."
"Thinking about the stars," I lied.
Her smile was quick, amused, and she went back to the board.
By lunch break, the classroom had thinned. I stayed put, leaning back in my chair, watching dust motes drift through a shaft of light. The Gathering crossed my mind again.
A political carnival dressed as a formal conference people from every region arriving to trade influence like playing cards. You don't go for the speeches. You go to be seen. Akeshi's been at the top of the student council for years because he understood that. With no family power, he built his own network here, connection by connection, until his name weighed more than his parents ever could.
Now, I have Harate. Which means I have a ticket. Which means... I can make sure I'm not the one left behind.
"Thinking too hard."
Shimo's voice broke my train of thought. She slid into the desk beside me, cracking open a bottle of tea.
"Maybe," I said.
"You're staring at nothing."
Sometimes nothing is just an easier mask to wear than intent.
She sipped her drink. "You hear about the Gathering yet? Bet everyone's already making plans."
I glanced at her. "Mm. Maybe I'll go."
Her eyebrow lifted. "You? That's new."
It's not new. It's just newly possible.
"What's the play, then?" she asked.
I shrugged, letting the silence stretch.
The truth was, my "play" had already been drafted in my head: find the old man, frame myself as the dutiful grandson, use his name to slip into circles I'd never reach alone. If my cousins thought I was just another opportunist, so much the better people defend against obvious threats. They forget to guard against the one sitting across the table, smiling.
I reached for another bite of bread.
Shimo tapped the desk with a finger. "Don't fall behind, Ren. You're too sharp for that."
Too sharp to fall behind. Too sharp to admit I've already decided whose strings to pull.