Mei Rin's voice still echoed in my mind, her words as soft as the breeze rustling through the courtyard trees. "Don't forget to eat."
I had paused for a moment after the call ended, eyes lingering on the silent holo-tab. There was comfort in her concern—simple, grounding. But there was also a reminder hidden behind it. I wasn't the same person anymore. There were too many pieces in motion now. A studio to build. A family to uplift. A future to rewrite.
By the time I stepped back into the central hall, the scent of freshly cooked lunch filled the air. The dining table had already been laid out by the maids. My father, grandfather, and uncles were gathered, waiting.
Aika waved me over, smiling. "You're late, brother."
I nodded with a faint smirk and joined them. For a while, the meal passed with the usual warmth—light chatter, the occasional tease from my third uncle, and grandfather humming softly between bites. But beneath the casual atmosphere, everyone knew more serious matters still needed attention.
Once lunch concluded, we regrouped in the inner study—just us five: Grandfather, Father, Second Uncle, Third Uncle, and me. The air shifted immediately. It was time to resume the work that would determine the Ren family's future.
"I'll start tomorrow," Third Uncle said, adjusting his sleeves. "We'll begin contacting orphanages across the district and post recruitment notices quietly through trusted agencies. Not just boys—girls as well, like we discussed. If they pass the tests, we'll bring them into training."
Father gave a firm nod. "We'll prepare a revised schedule for the Martial Arts Academy. No need to delay. Once selected, they'll begin basic physical training immediately."
"And what of the cultivation techniques?" Second Uncle asked. "Have the scrolls been sorted?"
Grandfather tapped a weathered finger on the table, eyes gleaming. "Just finished reviewing another batch before lunch. Among them was something... unusual."
He stood and walked to the long lacquered cabinet lining the wall, retrieving a thick scroll sealed with faint spiritual runes. "This is what I found." He placed it gently on the center table. "It's a special restriction technique—a mind-sealing art."
I leaned in. The surface glowed faintly, inscriptions moving like whispering veins under light.
"It's called the Silent Soul Binding Seal," Grandfather continued. "Once practiced, it forms a spiritual lock around the core knowledge of the technique itself. The cultivator cannot explain or demonstrate it to others, even unintentionally. No writing. No gestures. No speech. No projection. The knowledge becomes untranslatable, even under torture or illusion techniques."
I narrowed my gaze. "And it prevents leaking of cultivation paths?"
"Yes," he confirmed. "Perfect for controlling technique spread. This is likely how top sects kept their manuals safe for centuries."
My father exhaled slowly. "That level of security... it means even if someone steals a scroll, they won't be able to pass it on."
"Exactly," Grandfather said. "Furthermore, each manual is ranked. Only those at the corresponding cultivation level can receive the version appropriate to them. A Rank 2 cultivator, for example, can only study the Rank 2 portion of the art. Once they advance, they can be granted the next part."
"That means we can give out techniques without fear," Third Uncle said. "Even outsiders won't be able to spread it."
"It must be used selectively," I said. "We don't want to attract too much attention either. For now, apply it only to the most important techniques—and only to those who earn our trust."
There was a thoughtful silence before Grandfather chuckled. "Oh, and I found something else."
He reached into a smaller side pouch and unrolled a thin cloth—revealing a strange black-metal ingot, faintly patterned with wave-like textures.
"This metal," he said, "is not of common origin. I tested it myself. It resisted even Rank 2 peak-level spiritual flames."
Father leaned in. "It looks... familiar."
"It should," Grandfather replied. "It's Soul-Severing Orc Steel—used in the ancient era to forge weapons that bypass spiritual armor. Each strike severs spiritual veins, not just flesh."
I frowned slightly. "There's not much left in that piece."
"No, but it confirms one thing," Grandfather said. "The ruins are richer than we thought. If this much is left behind... who knows what else we missed?"
I sat back, mind churning with thoughts. After a long pause, I looked at him. "Grandfather. From now on... I'd like you to take over the entire archive. All excavation materials. Manuals. Relics. Their protection. Their organization."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "You're putting this on me now?"
"You're the only one who understands these techniques inside and out," I said. "More than any of us. And we need someone to guard the foundation of our family."
He snorted with mock annoyance, but a flicker of pride passed through his eyes. "Alright then. I'll put my old bones back to work."
Laughter eased the room, if only for a second.
After a beat, my father turned toward me. "Now... about the logistics company. It's waiting. Are you ready to begin managing it?"
I met his gaze squarely. "No."
His eyes didn't narrow—he just waited.
"I'll fulfill my duties as the family head," I said. "But I can't take over the company. Not yet. Not for a while."
Second Uncle looked puzzled. "Why not?"
"I have another path to walk," I said calmly. "The studio. You already know about it. I told you before—I plan to make it the best. But in the beginning, it needs me. Fully. I can't divide myself across two full-time responsibilities."
Father's expression didn't shift, but I saw the quiet understanding behind his gaze. "Then what do you suggest?"
"You continue managing the company," I said. "You've run it well all this time. No disruptions. I'll help from the sidelines if needed—but I won't be its face, not right now."
A long silence passed.
Then Grandfather spoke. "I agree. Let him focus on what only he can do."
Father gave a slight smile. "I had a feeling you'd say this. But I'm proud you thought it through."
And just like that, the matter was settled.
For now, the Ren family had new pillars: a guarded archive, a training plan, a loyal recruitment system, and a leader with both vision and limitations.
As we stepped out of the study, the light of the afternoon sun filtered in through the open hallway. I caught a glimpse of the courtyard—young cousins training, servants walking with discipline, Aika talking animatedly to the cooks.
The Ren family was growing.
But growth needed roots.
And this time, I would ensure those roots reached deeper than ever before.
After the family discussion ended, Kaito returned to his room. The afternoon sun filtered gently through the curtains, but his thoughts were already racing ahead. Sitting at his desk, he opened his terminal and began preparing the next phase of his plan — the expansion of his studio's core infrastructure.
He leaned back and closed his eyes briefly, allowing the memories from his previous life to surface. Silvercrest City had ten elite gaming studios... studios that once dominated Glory's competitive landscape. He had studied their strategies, memorized their lineups, and competed against several of their aces. All of it was etched into his memory like old battle scars.
One by one, he began listing them on a digital note — Phantom Rain, Skystar Vanguard, Crimson Roots, Delta Nine Guild, Obsidian Core, Moonveil Division, Iron Echo, Aurora Hive, White Forge, and Grimlight Company. These weren't just casual guilds or start-ups. In the years to come, they would evolve into deadly contenders, some bought out, others destroyed. But for now, they were still small enough for him to approach.
He didn't need the AI to remember these names. He had carved them into memory through obsession and survival. But what he needed now was information — physical addresses, corporate registrations, contact links — and for that, the AI was invaluable.
After linking the module to his terminal, Kaito manually typed each name into the interface. The AI didn't question his choices. It quietly bypassed the public databases, pulling out the exact contact details and current statuses of the ten studios. Kaito reviewed each one carefully, comparing their current scale to what he remembered. Some were still operating out of cramped apartments, others out of co-working spaces. A few hadn't even officially registered yet.
With calm focus, Kaito began drafting initial acquisitionoffers — not overly aggressive, but tempting enough to catch their attention.To them, he would appear as a young investor from a wealthy family showinginterest in a new gaming industry, ahead of the curve. No one could suspectthat he already knew exactly how the next decade would unfold.