Chapter 50: Yamamichi Estate.
The Yamamichi estate stretched like a quiet empire.
Black-tiled roofs curved into the mist, gardens arranged with surgical precision, lanterns glowing faintly in the early morning light. Ren walked between his parents, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound.
Ryo walked with a straightened posture not out of pride, but familiarity. She had lived in this world before. Ryuga, by contrast, looked like a man who'd been dragged into a board meeting in kitchen slippers. Ren trailed behind them, hands in pockets, expression placid.
Inside, a butler led them through polished halls lined with scrolls and portraits. At the end of the corridor sat a single man at a low table, posture perfect. Harate Yamashiro, the Sentinel's Gaze.
White beard trimmed neatly, robe immaculate, eyes sharp not hostile, but heavy, as though they weighed every step a person took before they took it.
"Father," Ryo said, bowing deeply. Ryuga followed, a beat slower. Ren matched their movements with perfect mimicry.
Harate's eyes fell on Ren.
"So this is the boy," he said. His voice was calm, resonant. "You've grown."
Ren bowed again. "It's an honor to meet you formally, sir."
"Formalities," Harate muttered, but there was no disdain, only evaluation. "Sit."
Ren and his parents did. Tea was poured silently.
Harate's gaze stayed on Ren.
"Your posture has improved. Your eyes do not dart. Your breathing is controlled. Not bad."
Not bad? That's practically a full standing ovation coming from a man like this, Ren thought.
Aloud, he smiled faintly. "I had good parents."
Ryo's eyes softened; Ryuga smirked.
"Good parents, yes. But discipline is not inherited. It is forged. You are calmer than the reports suggested," Harate said. "And... smarter."
Ren inclined his head. "I do my best."
Inside, he added: Though, technically, this discipline came from dying once. You'd be surprised what clarity reincarnation gives a person.
Harate leaned back.
"Do you understand where you stand, Ren?"
Ren didn't hesitate. "At the doorstep of the Gathering, under the weight of the yamamichi name."
A pause. Harate's gaze sharpened.
"Good. No naive words about 'honor' or 'destiny'. Just reality. You will represent us in that nest of snakes. You must not falter."
Ryo glanced at her father, a flicker of concern. Ryuga simply crossed his arms.
Ren met Harate's gaze. "I understand. I won't."
Harate poured another cup.
"The Gathering is not a festival. It is where the families reveal their teeth behind fans. The Sakayanagi, the Amanika as well as the foreign families... all with agendas. Even Mr. Sakayanagi himself will be there. His daughter-"
Ren cut in softly. "She's in the default class too."
"You've met?" Harate asked.
Ren nodded. "She's sharp. Too sharp. She hides her ambitions behind courtesy, but she slips sometimes. Her father raised her well."
"Hmm." Harate's eyes glimmered. "She'll see you as a rival. Everyone will. All nine students in that class come from families with monstrous backing. Every one of them. Except…"
Ren answered for him. "Me and Akeshi."
Harate smirked faintly.
"Yes. You and the cockroach."
Ryuga blinked. "The who now?"
"Akeshi Tarazune," Harate said, almost amused. "Low-born. Yet he wriggled into the default class using nothing but intelligence. The boy is clever. A cockroach that slipped into the lions' den."
Ren's lips curved. "He's not one to underestimate. If I turn my back, he'll outpace me."
Inside, he thought: 'And I'd probably enjoy that match.'
Harate's tone hardened.
"Ren Yamamichi. From this day forward, that is your name. Officially. You will receive the full backing of this family. Do not waste it. Do not stain it. Do not let them think we sent a fool."
The room went silent. Ryo lowered her eyes. Ryuga exhaled through his nose.
Ren bowed his head deeply. "I won't."
'And if I do... it'll be because I chose to, not because I was cornered.'
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The formalities concluded. Servants led Ren to a quiet room overlooking the back garden. A koi pond rippled faintly outside the open shōji doors.
Ren sat on the tatami, tea untouched, watching the wind toy with a stray leaf.
'Family praise. Concern. Expectations.'
He pressed his fingertips together.
'The boy whose body I inhabit... he never got this. He was praised for his scores, not for himself. The world just told him what he had to do.'
The warmth of his grandfather's words lingered, but so did the pressure. It was like standing in sunlight with iron chains coiled around his ankles.
Ren chuckled quietly to himself. "Political groundwork... huh. Guess I'm really doing this."
His reflection in the tea trembled as the wind shifted..
'Gratitude and melancholy. Peace and calculation. It's a strange cocktail.'
Outside, a koi broke the surface with a gentle splash. Ren looked up. The estate loomed, solid and old. The stage was being set.
And he would walk onto it not as a pawn, but as a player.
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.
The dining hall of the Yamashiro estate was bathed in a warm morning glow. Sunlight spilled through wooden lattices, catching the steam rising from rice bowls and miso soup. The table stretched long-too long for a single family, but perfect for a clan that thrived on appearances.
Ren sat neatly, posture perfect, dressed in the estate's morning yukata. His parents were notably absent.
"Ryo and Ryuga left early, " a maid explained softly as she set down his tea. "They said they had work."
Ren nodded. "Yeah. Sounds like them."
A few seats away, a woman with thin lips and an abundance of jewelry leaned toward another auntie.
"Work?" she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "On a morning like this?"
Her cousin, a man with the permanent expression of someone who'd memorized his own superiority - snorted.
"Typical. They always were... different."
"Different?" the auntie echoed. "You mean common. Imagine leaving the estate to sell food or run around like workers. Hah!"
Laughter rippled through that side of the table. A few cousins glanced at Ren, expecting discomfort.
Ren simply sipped his tea.
'Empty glass rings the most,' he thought, watching the auntie gesture with her chopsticks like a queen holding court.
Then, Harate's voice cut through the room like a sword drawn from its scabbard.
"At least they are working," he said calmly. "Unlike certain others at this table, who have yet to produce anything of value."
Silence. Chopsticks paused midair. One cousin coughed, looking down. The aunties exchanged awkward glances.
Ren had to fight the urge to grin.
The silence didn't last long. One of the more daring aunties, draped in bright purple silk, cleared her throat.
"Since we're on the subject of value, " she began, eyes sliding toward Ren, "I have to ask... why is a street person being sent to the Gathering? There are better candidates in this family. Better trained. Better bred."
Ren's chopsticks froze for just a heartbeat. He didn't speak.
Harate's gaze swept over the table slowly, like a lighthouse beam catching every ship in the fog.
"Better?" he said softly. "Then perhaps these better ones should try surviving the Default Class for half a year. Do that, and I'll gladly send them in his place."
No one spoke.
Ren almost burst out laughing. Half a year? These guys wouldn't last half an hour.
He lowered his gaze, hiding the small grin curling at the corner of his lips as he reached for more rice.
Breakfast continued, but the air had changed. Harate's single sentence had flipped the hierarchy not permanently, but enough to remind everyone where real authority rested.
After the meal, as servants cleared the table, Harate rose.
"Ren. Walk with me."
Ren stood, bowing slightly, and followed. Luther white hair streaked with gold, smile like he always knew more than he said, joined them, hands tucked behind his back.
They stepped into the cool morning air, the estate's gardens alive with cicadas and rustling leaves.
"Where are we going?" Ren asked.
"To see an old friend," Harate replied, his tone neutral.
Ren glanced sideways at him. 'This old man actually had friends?'
His thoughts were a little sluggish, like trudging through molasses. He'd caught a minor fever overnight - nothing serious, but enough to make his brain feel like an old man's inner monologue.
Harate's gaze flicked toward him, sharp as ever.
"Why is Luther calling me an old man," he said suddenly, "when Luther himself is far older?"
Ren blinked. "...Huh?"
Luther chuckled, a soft, almost mischievous sound.
"That's exactly why I called you old, Master. Old recognizes old."
Harate gave him a deadpan look. "Hm."
Ren snorted quietly, covering it with a cough.
The three of them continued down the stone path, their silhouettes cutting across the sunlight. The Yamashiro estate loomed behind them like a silent witness. Ahead - a meeting with someone from Harate's past, and perhaps, Ren thought, a new thread in the political web he was slowly weaving.