Haruto's POV
The afternoon sunlight stretched lazily across the tatami mats, painting golden rectangles that shifted whenever the wind rattled the wooden frames of the mansion. I sat quietly, notebook closed on the desk in front of me, fingers resting on the leather cover as if it might vanish if I let go.
Twelve days. Twelve days of silence, ink, and memory. My heart no longer beat in chaos the way it once had. The storm had settled into something colder, sharper.
But even blades need to be sheathed eventually.
"Haruto," my grandmother's voice broke through the silence. It was gentle, yet firm, as if she already knew what I was thinking.
I turned. She stood in the doorway, her hair pinned neatly, her kimono patterned with pale cranes. Her gaze was steady, kind, but beneath it there was always that unshakable steel I had grown to respect.
"Yes, Grandma?"
She stepped into the room, her sandals making soft clicks against the wood. For a long moment, she simply studied me, as though she were memorizing the shape of my face. Then she spoke.
"You'll be leaving in three days, won't you?"
Her words weren't a question. They were an acknowledgment. Still, I nodded. "Yes. School starts again soon. I should go back."
A shadow flickered across her expression, gone too quickly to catch. She moved closer, lowering herself onto the tatami beside me with the ease of someone who carried age with grace.
"You've grown quieter since you came here," she said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Not the same boy who first arrived."
I glanced down at my notebook, then away. "I had to change."
"Mm." She hummed softly, as though she understood more than I wanted her to. "Change isn't always a curse. Sometimes it is a sign of growth."
Her words lingered in the air. I wanted to ask her if betrayal was growth. If pain and rage were lessons worth learning. But the words never left my mouth.
Instead, she surprised me. "Come with me tomorrow. There is something I wish to show you."
The following morning was brisk, the kind of air that wakes you fully the moment it hits your lungs. My grandmother's car was waiting at the gate, sleek black and polished until it mirrored the sky.
I slid into the back seat beside her, unsure of where we were going, my notebook left behind in my room for the first time since I'd arrived.
The city unfolded around us quickly, glass buildings glinting under the sun, streets buzzing with energy. It felt jarring after the quiet rhythm of the mansion, like stepping into a world I hadn't belonged to in weeks.
We stopped in front of a tall office building imposing, modern, its mirrored windows reflecting the clouds. My grandmother's company headquarters.
"Come," she said, stepping out with practiced poise.
Inside, the lobby gleamed, all marble floors and precise lines, filled with the hurried footsteps of employees in crisp suits. Heads turned the moment we entered. They bowed deeply to her, their voices chorusing greetings with respect that bordered on reverence.
And then their eyes fell on me.
"Who is he?" someone whispered before being silenced by a glance.
I felt their stares like weight pressing against my back as my grandmother led me through the polished halls, past rows of desks, into the elevator that rose smoothly toward the top floor.
Her office was spacious, lined with bookshelves and wide windows overlooking the city. She gestured for me to sit, and when I did, she regarded me for a long time, as though weighing a decision.
Then she spoke words that made my breath falter.
"In ten years, Haruto, these people will call you their boss."
I stared at her, unsure if I'd heard correctly. "What?"
Her eyes softened, though her voice carried no hesitation. "This company is mine, but I will not live forever. Someone must inherit it. Someone strong, disciplined, reliable. I have watched you these twelve days. You are not like other boys your age."
I swallowed, the weight of her words pressing hard against my chest. "But… why me? Why not Father?"
Her gaze sharpened at the mention of him, the faintest shadow crossing her face. "Your father lacks what you carry. He has talent, yes. But he chases indulgence. He does not shoulder responsibility; he avoids it. That is not what I need."
I clenched my hands on my knees. "And you think I can?"
"I know you can." Her tone was final, unquestionable. "I see the way you observe. The way you endure silence. The way you hold pain without letting it consume you."
Her words cut deeper than I expected. She didn't know the details the notebook, the betrayals, the anger simmering inside me but somehow, she had seen through me all the same.
Still, I shook my head. "I'm just… I'm just a student. I don't even understand business."
She smiled faintly, almost amused. "You will learn. Not today. Not tomorrow. But step by step, year by year. Responsibility is not about knowing everything it is about being willing to bear the weight when others cannot."
Her words echoed, louder than they should have, as if they touched something raw inside me.
Responsibility. Bearing weight.
Wasn't that what I had already begun to do? Gathering truth. Holding evidence. Shouldering the betrayal alone, with no one else to lean on.
I exhaled slowly. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because," she said, rising from her seat with deliberate grace, "I want you to see the people whose lives depend on the strength of the one who leads them."
She gestured for me to follow.
The rest of the day unfolded like a series of revelations. She introduced me to department heads, to managers who spoke with nervous precision in her presence, to workers who bowed respectfully as we passed.
"This is my grandson, Haruto," she announced each time, her voice firm. "Remember his face. In ten years, he will guide you."
Shock flickered across their features each time, quickly replaced by forced smiles and hurried bows. I could see the questions in their eyes, the doubt, but none dared voice it.
And I
I felt like I was wearing clothes too big for me, trying on a role that wasn't mine. And yet, part of me… part of me stood taller with every introduction.
That evening, back at the mansion, I found myself unable to sleep. I sat by the shoji, staring at the moonlight spilling across the garden, my grandmother's words circling endlessly in my mind.
Reliable. Mature. Capable of carrying weight.
It wasn't how Miyuki saw me. Not how Souta saw me. Not even how my own mother had treated me. To them, I was fragile, naive, someone to deceive or protect or use.
But to my grandmother
I was something more.
For the first time in weeks, the rage inside me quieted, replaced by something steadier. A sense of… direction.
I didn't know if I could be the man she saw. I didn't know if the path of vengeance I was carving aligned with the path of leadership she placed before me.
But I knew one thing.
I would not waste the faith she had given me.
And when I left this place in three days, I would carry both blades with me the truth sharpened in silence, and the weight of tomorrow she had entrusted to me.