What Remains

(Kenji's PoV)

Same Wednesday

—

The car pulled up to the main gates of my house at 6:47 P.M.

The drive home was still the same. Boring, monotonous, looking at the world from a perspective that only a few could see.

As the car stopped, the driver opened the door. 

“There’s no need to be this formal with me, you know.” I sighed, stepping out of the car.

“This is only my job, young master.” He said politely, bowing his head.

I didn’t even reply.

I hate this house.

I've hated it since I was old enough to understand what the silence between its walls actually meant. 

But my hatred was a luxury that required privacy, and I couldn’t have it until my bedroom door was locked.

I stepped inside the house.

The foyer was warm and smelled like expensive wood polish. 

Staff moved in the background with the trained invisibility this household requires. 

My shoes clicked against the marble, and before I'd made it past the staircase, I heard him.

"There he is!" 

My father's voice came booming from the living room doorway, warm and enormous, and entirely conditional.

Shinjiro Yamada does not speak at normal volume when it comes to me. He must speak loud enough so that everybody could look at his trophy.

He appeared in the doorway a second later.

Tall, broad, perfectly groomed, wearing a cashmere sweater that cost more than most people's rent and a smile that showed every single one of his teeth.

"Look at you!" He crossed the foyer in three strides and put both hands on my shoulders, gripping them with the specific possessive pride of a man admiring his own reflection in a younger body. "How handsome you are, my boy! Just like your father! I heard that you outshone everyone at the soccer training today!"

I didn't reply.

I let him grip my shoulders, and I kept looking at his face and seeing what I always saw: a man who believes that he has built something worth admiring. 

He had no idea that I've spent the last year building a perfect plan to destroy him.

"So?" He let go of my shoulders and fell into step beside me, steering us toward the dining room. "How are things going with the Tsugikawa girl? Any progress? When is the wedding?”

My eyes moved sideways, and I felt the hatred twitch behind my face like something alive.

"It's over," I said. "I ended it. She was too immature and childish to be with someone important like me. She would've ruined our family’s reputation.”

My father stopped walking.

For a second, his expression turned into something I couldn't read. Confusion? Disappointment? I didn't know. But I could tell that he wasn't happy about what I said.

"Oh? Why? You could have easily kept her happy until the wedding. The Tsugikawa family is very well connected. Merging our families through marriage would have been a significant strategic advantage." He crossed his arms, thoughtful, as if we were discussing a failed business deal rather than a teenage girl. "You should have thought about the long game, Kenji."

"I didn't think about it," I said. My fists closed inside my pockets where he couldn't see them.

"Well." He shrugged. One of those shrugs that dismisses an entire person. ”It's okay. You'll find a better one. There are so many women in this world." He then put his hand on my shoulder again, squeezing once. "This year is your graduation. I've already secured a place for you at the most prestigious university in Tokyo. I spoke personally with the dean. And a manager from a top-tier soccer club in the J-League has expressed interest in meeting you. Your choice, son. Whichever path you want, I'll make it happen. Everything for my only son.”

He said it the way he says everything. Like the world is a room he owns and the people in it are furniture he rearranges when the mood strikes him.

"I'll think about it," I said. 

"Good boy." Another squeeze. Another smile. "Now, let's eat. I'm starving."

He walked ahead of me into the dining room, and I stood in the hallway for three seconds with my hands in my pockets and my nails cutting into my palms.

His disgusting cologne was still on my shoulder, and the urge to immediately go take a shower was high.

‘Soon. I'll make you pay.’  I thought.

Then, I followed him to dinner.

The meal was what it always is. Expensive, perfectly prepared, and served by staff who make no sound. 

My father talked about a deal he'd closed that afternoon, about a golf trip he was planning, and even about a politician he'd had lunch with whose opinions he'd found "refreshingly flexible." 

He spoke with his mouth full and laughed at his own jokes while pouring himself wine without offering any to me, because in this house generosity flows in one direction.

I ate, nodded at the right moments, and I even said "interesting" twice and "congratulations" once. 

I tried to partecipate at the conversations, but my mind was focused on the camera footage, the financial records, and a woman's signed testimony locked in a drawer above our heads.

After dinner, I excused myself.

"Going to study?" my father asked, already reaching for the remote.

"Yes. There's a very important test tomorrow." I said, my voice remaining flat.

"Good boy. Work hard, Kenji. The world belongs to those who prepare, not to those who run away."

I turned my head to him.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, you're the joy of this family, Kenji. You always worked hard and never dared to ask anything from me. Not like that disgusting parasite who left this house. You're my only son. The Yamada’s only heir. I’m proud of you.”

I clenched my fists and my gaze automatically changed into something sharp.

“Are you talking about Akane, father?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Uh, yeah. That useless little parasite. I wonder how she's doing now,” he yawned. “Not that I care… that girl was my only mistake. I just hope she won't come to ask for a part of our inheritance when I'll die one day.” He spoke with a very casual tone, like he was talking about soccer. 

He spoke of Akane, his own blood and flesh, like she was trash.

My fists clenched even tighter. The urge to beat the shit out of him was unbearable.

“Don't worry, father. She won't. I'm sure about that.” I said, my voice deadly cold, but he didn't notice.

“I hope so…” he sighed.

“Good night,” I said.

“Good night, Kenji,” he replied.

And then, I directly walked toward my room.

The hallway upstairs was dim. The staff had already turned the lights down for the evening, and the house settled into its usual nighttime quiet that sounds expensive and empty at the same time.

I was three steps from my door when I saw her.

Kairi was standing at the far end of the corridor, near the window that overlooks the garden. 

She was wearing her house clothes, simple and dark, and her hair was down. 

She was holding a cup of tea in both hands as if it were the only warm thing in the building.

I could tell from the smell that it was a Lapsang Souchong.

She looked up when she heard my footsteps.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

This is how it always is between us. 

I was the bastard son. The one she pretended to love for all these years just to be accepted by that disgusting man.

Whenever he wasn't here in this house, she and I would never speak like a mother and a son. We only talked about professional things and basic needs. Just like strangers, because that's what we are.

I saw her watching her daughter’s photos almost every day through all these years and how she always said “if only I was stronger…”. I knew everything.

And right now, we exist in this house like two people who share a secret language but are only allowed to use it in glances. 

She knew what I was building, and neither of us says a word about it inside the house.

"Kenji," she said quietly.

"Kairi-san." 

I never call her mother when we're alone. She's never asked me to.

Her eyes moved across my face, and I saw them pause on my left cheek. 

It had been two days since I've met Akane, and the mark was gone, but she looked at the spot where it had been as if she could still see it.

"Did you see her?" she asked. So quietly that the hallway almost swallowed it.

"Yes."

A pause. Her fingers tightened on the cup.

"How was she?" Kairi asked. 

She had already met her, but she probably wanted to know what had happened with me.

I thought about Akane standing three meters away from me, and about the slap, clean and sharp, with the words that came after it. 

"She's fine," I said. ”She still hates me, so she's pretty okay."

Kairi's mouth trembled. She pressed it together and nodded once, and then she turned back toward the window and the dark garden beyond it.

In that moment, I understood that the conversation was over.

I went to my room, closed the door and then locked it. 

I stood there for a moment in the dark before reaching for the light, taking a deep breath.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

I pulled it out and sat on the edge of my bed and opened the message.

TSUBAME YAMAMOTO: “Report time!! ✨ So: Shin passed. Again. With FULL VOTES. He didn't react to anything, and I mean ANYTHING! He completely ignored all my moves on him! Damn, I don't know if I should feel bothered or not. Well, he's completely devoted to that scary girl. You can relax, darling~.”

I read it twice.

TSUBAME: “Also I have to be honest about something. He played the piano with us today at the rehearsal. He sat down at the keyboard and played my song and it was SO good that I actually cried. Like, real tears. In front of my whole band. It was both embarrassing and beautiful and I'm still not over it.”

TSUBAME: “Another thing: he's a genuinely good person. Like, disgustingly good. You can stop worrying about him. He's not going anywhere, and I'm sure as hell that he's NEVER going to cheat on her. Not even with a beauty like me!”

TSUBAME: “ALSO. I have to admit. He's gotten really attractive. The earrings? Whatever that girl did to him, it's working. So... would you be jealous if I actually tried to fuck him for real? 😏”

I stared at the screen.

KENJI:Do whatever you want. I don't care.

TSUBAME:Cold as always 🥶 You know I'm kidding. Mostly. Maybe. Okay bye!! 💕

I put the phone down and my lips couldn't help but curl into a small smile.

“At least, I can be sure that Akane has finally found someone who will make her happy.” I muttered to myself.

Then I stood up, crossed the room to my desk, and turned on the computer.

The screen lit up, and I logged into the encrypted email I'd set up six months ago through a chain of accounts that couldn't be traced to my name. 

There was one new message.

From the investigator in Yokohama.

I opened it.

The attachment was large, and I had to wait for the download to end. While it did, I sat in the blue light and listened to the house being quiet around me. 

My father's television murmured somewhere below, and the staff was still cleaning.

Then, after a few minutes, the download finished.

I opened the file, and there was everything.

Camera archives going back six years, recovered from a backup server that the security company had been contractually obligated to delete but hadn't, because people are lazy and laziness is the ally of anyone building a case. 

There also were financial records cross-referenced against filings, showing discrepancies that grew larger every year, in a pattern that any prosecutor would recognize immediately. 

There were even witness statements from three former household staff members who had been paid to leave quietly and were now, quietly, willing to talk.

And at the bottom of the file, a separate folder labeled simply: EVIDENCE.

I opened it, and saw that inside it were time-stamped photographs from inside the house.

I couldn't properly describe what was in them. 

I've seen them before, in fragments, recovered one by one over the course of months, but seeing them arranged together, in order, with dates and locations and the systematic patience of a professional who knows exactly what a courtroom needs, was different.

It was complete. The case was complete.

I sat back in my chair and looked at the screen. 

My father was downstairs watching television in a room full of furniture that cost more than most people's lives, and he had no idea that everything he'd built was about to come down on top of him.

I felt nothing. Literally nothing except a microscopic glimpse of anticipation.

That was the strange part. I had expected something like triumph or satisfaction, maybe. 

But there was nothing there. Just a boy in a dark room looking at a screen, trying to figure out what to do next.

After a few minutes, I closed the file and I encrypted it. Then, I backed it up to three separate locations and shut the computer down.

Then I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, and my hand came up to my face, while my fingers found my left cheek.

The skin was smooth with no mark or bruise. Akane's slap had been open-palmed and precise, and it had faded within a day.

But I could still feel it.

I pressed my fingers against the spot where it had landed, and I held them there, closing my eyes.

‘She really hit me.’ I thought. 

That was the first and only real thing she gave me in all these years. A slap, with her whole hand, aimed with the same golden eyes we both inherited from the man downstairs.

It was almost funny.

In all these years under the same bloodline, the closest thing to a family gesture I had ever received from my sister was a blow to the face.

And, somehow, I was glad of it.

I was glad because a slap usually means someone cared enough to stand in front of you instead of walking away, even if the reason they stood there was to hurt you.

I lowered my hand from my cheek.

And sitting there in the dark of my room, I let myself think.

‘Maybe, when this is over. When he's gone and the house is empty and the name means something different. Maybe then, we’ll finally talk like real siblings. Maybe we’ll be a real family.’

I took a deep breath.

‘What I've done to Kurone is unforgivable... But I can't feel any kind of regret… I'll face my consequences.’

I then opened my eyes.

The house was quiet and the thought went back where it came from, into the locked place where I keep the things that don't survive sunlight.

I got up, changed into my pajamas, and turned off the desk lamp.

And before I got into bed, I took a deep breath.

"Soon," I whispered to nobody.

Then I turned off the light, lay down and closed my eyes.

That night, I did not dream at all.