"The silence after a battle is louder than the battle itself. It is filled with the sound of every choice you have just made."
– A Kaishi military adage
WATANABE & SONS - FRIDAY AFTERNOON
The moment the bell over the door jingled Arakawa's exit, the silence he left behind rushed in to fill the void.
Riku remained standing by the meeting table. His mind was racing.
He had survived.
But it felt suspiciously like being maneuvered into a checkmate.
He slowly turned to face the main desk. Sato-san had not moved. She was looking at him. Her expression was a mask of professional neutrality.
Her eyes were sharp, analytical, and missed nothing. The post-mortem was about to begin.
"Hayashi-san," she began, her voice calm and even. "Please explain."
It was not an accusation. It was a demand for data. Riku took a breath.
"My apologies for the disruption, Sato-san," he said. He returned to his desk, a deliberate act to regain some semblance of normalcy. "I sent the project brief to Arakawa-san. It seems he prefers a more… hands-on approach. He said he was in the neighborhood."
Sato-san's fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm on her desk. "He is a senior designer at one of the top advertising firms in the city. Our budget for this project is, to be frank, insulting for a man of his caliber. Why is he interested?"
This was the critical question. Riku had his answer ready.
"I believe he is bored," he said simply. "His corporate work lacks creative freedom. I positioned our project as a small, independent commission where he would be the sole creative voice. I think the idea of working on something 'authentic,' as he put it, appeals to his artistic side."
He had skillfully woven Arakawa's own lie into his explanation. Sato-san's expression didn't change.
"And this meeting on a Saturday? At his office?" she asked. "He is dictating the terms. That does not put this company in a strong position."
"You are right," Riku conceded, deferring to her experience. "However, to secure a designer of his talent for our budget, some concessions are necessary. Meeting on his terms is a small price to pay for the quality of work he will provide."
A long silence followed. Riku had given her a complete, logical narrative. It was a lie, but it was a well-constructed one.
Finally, she gave a single, sharp nod. "Very well. Secure a favorable contract. Do not let his reputation intimidate you into accepting poor terms."
She turned back to her work. The conversation was officially over.
........
Riku let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
He had passed the test.
But he knew, with chilling certainty, that he was now under a new level of scrutiny.
Sato-san's trust, if he'd ever truly had it, was replaced by a watchful, professional suspicion.
He spent the rest of the day in a haze. He mechanically cross-referenced tariff codes.
When he finally left the office, he walked home. The city lights glistened on the damp pavement.
........
RIKU'S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT
He had done it.
He had survived his awakening in this strange new world. He had secured a home, a job, and now, a fragile, dangerous connection to the one man who could lead him to the ghost of Takeda Masaru.
He had stepped out of the shadows, and the world had moved back.
He stood for a long time in his small, dark apartment. He looked out the window at the endless web of city lights.
He had no illusions. He had not won. He had merely survived the opening round.
He had lost control of the game. He was now being drawn deeper into a mystery he didn't understand, led by a man he couldn't trust.
The path ahead was treacherous and unknown.
But as he stared out at the city, he felt no fear. Only a cold, grim resolve.
The first thread had been found.
Now, the real weaving would begin.