Yoichi Tanigawa stared at the droplets racing down the tinted window of the luxury sedan, each one leaving a tiny, winding path like tears on glass. His storm-gray eyes stared back at him.
The rain.
I fucking hate the rain.
The sterile white walls of the hospital room flashed through his mind. The cloying scent of wilting flowers mixing with antiseptic. The weak, rhythmic beep of machines counting down his mother's final moments. Her shallow cough.
Rain had pounded the windows that day too, as if the sky itself mourned what he was about to lose.
Now it marked the day everything was taken from him again.
A vibration against his thigh pulled him from the memory. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, an older model with a screen spiderwebbed with cracks radiating from the top right corner.
PRIVATE NUMBER.
Debt collector?
His thumb swiped across the fractured glass.
"Moshi, moshi."
"Ah. It seems my hypothesis that my number was blocked was correct."
Yoichi's thumb stabbed the red end-call icon.
In the rearview mirror, he caught the chauffeur's eyes watching him. A man in his 50s, impeccable in his uniform and white gloves, face a perfect mask of professional neutrality.
Another one of his chess pieces. Paid to drive, paid to watch, paid to keep his mouth shut. Every single person in his father's orbit existed in a transactional relationship.
2,555 days without a single phone call. Not one goddamn birthday card. The statistical probability of him resurfacing the moment she was gone was, apparently, one hundred percent. All to play daddy and rearrange my life like furniture he'd forgotten he owned.
The fucking nerve.
A soft, polite chime emanated from the car's console. The chauffeur answered the integrated car phone with practiced smoothness.
"Yes, sir... Understood, sir."
The call ended with a gentle click. The chauffeur glanced in the rearview mirror, his voice remaining perfectly level.
"My apologies, Tanigawa-san. Director Nakano wishes to speak with you."
Yoichi snatched the handset.
"Yoichi. Hanging up is an illogical and unproductive response to communication."
Yoichi said nothing. Let the bastard talk.
A sigh filtered through the connection. "Very well. Let's be efficient. Your transfer to Kosei Academy has been approved. Your classes begin on Monday, May 25th."
"...Fun."
Maruo ignored the tone completely. "You will receive a monthly allowance of 500,000 yen for personal expenses. This is contingent on two conditions. First, you are to maintain a grade average of 'B' or higher. Second, you are to assist the sisters with their academic deficiencies."
The sisters. He doesn't even call them his daughters. And of course there are conditions.
"And where will you be while I'm playing tutor? Polishing your latest award?" Yoichi ran his finger along the edge of the armrest, feeling the perfect stitching of the leather.
"I am overseeing the launch of our new cardiac wing in Hokkaido. I will be occupied for the foreseeable future."
Story of his life. Always building something new somewhere else.
There was a slight shift in Maruo's tone. "Yoichi. One more thing. Regarding your mother... I—"
"Director, your press conference starts in five minutes." A faint, professional female voice interrupted from Maruo's end.
His father's tone instantly snapped back to being clinical and decisive.
"I have to go. The penthouse is prepared for you. I expect great things from you, Yoichi."
The line went dead.
Yoichi slowly placed the handset back in its cradle. The silence in the car pressed against his eardrums, heavier than before.
The rain continued to fall.
The sedan glided to a stop before a stunningly modern high-rise building that seemed to pierce the gray, rainy sky. Floor after floor of glass and steel rose into the clouds, each window reflecting the storm around them.
The chauffeur exited the vehicle and opened Yoichi's door with a small bow. The sounds of the city rushed in—damp, loud, and alive.
"We have arrived, Tanigawa-san."
Yoichi stepped out onto the wet pavement. He didn't reach for his single duffel bag in the trunk. He just stood there, tilting his head back, looking up... and up... and up... to the top floors.
The highest point of his new cage.
===
The private elevator ascended with hardly a whisper, displaying the floor numbers in elegant gold numerals on a digital screen. Thirty floors up. The chauffeur stood at perfect attention, hands clasped before him, eyes fixed forward.
Yoichi leaned against the polished wood panel, duffel bag at his feet. He looked like a stain on an otherwise pristine canvas in his worn hoodie and cargo pants.
"How long have you worked for him?" Yoichi asked abruptly.
The chauffeur's eyes flicked to him, then back to the numbers. "Fifteen years, Tanigawa-san."
"Hmm. Long time to spend following orders."
A polite smile. "It has been my privilege to serve the Nakano family."
"Right." Yoichi picked up his bag as the elevator slowed. "Your privilege."
The doors whispered open to reveal a short hallway with only a single door at the end. No neighbors. No escape.
The chauffeur stepped forward with a keycard, but Yoichi's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. Not roughly, but firmly. The man froze.
"I got it from here."
For a brief moment, something like pity crossed the chauffeur's face. He handed over the keycard with a bow.
"As you wish, Tanigawa-san. Director Nakano has instructed that you may contact the building concierge for anything you require. The number is programmed into the home phone system."
Yoichi took the card. "Bet you're glad to be rid of me."
The chauffeur's perfect mask slipped, just for a second.
"Your mother was a kind woman." He stepped back into the elevator, eyes forward once more. "I wish you well, Tanigawa-san."
The doors closed before Yoichi could respond.
He stood alone in the hallway for a long moment, the chauffeur's words hanging in the air like the lingering notes of a song. He approached the door, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Alright, Father. Let's see the opening move.