Putting the lid on the pot of stewed meat, I turned off the stove. At that very moment, the phone made a sound. Rinsing my hands and grabbing a towel, I went to answer it.
— Hi, boss. Didn't I catch you at a bad time? — a voice came from the mobile.
— What a stupid way to phrase the question, Taro-san. Yes, you did.
— Your pedantry knows no bounds, boss.
— I'll fire you, you know. Go on, what do you want?
Nemoto Taro works in the public relations department at Shidōtemoru. Unofficially, he handles those legal matters I prefer not to be personally involved in.
— It's about Somatsu. He finished the draft of the first chapter of your new manga and is asking for a meeting. Something about the title.
— Do you know anything more specific?
— Seems he doesn't like "Naruto," wants to suggest something of his own.
Yeah, yeah, go ahead, judge me, call me out — I'm a plagiarist, what can I say. And now I'll have to meet the guy who's drawing not the first of "my" mangas and explain to him why things are the way they are.
For the record, I leave all the authorial fame to Somatsu. Though I keep the rights to the manga. Well, I am a thief, no one's forgotten that, right? So I steal ideas from my world.
— Ugh, — I sighed. — All right, tell him I'll drop by… hmm… Friday, around six.
— As you say, boss.
— That's everything, I hope?
— Yes, thank the gods. It's just that this weirdo… — and he really is a bit off, to be fair. — He's been driving me crazy with his calls. At first I kept referring him to you, like, "the boss said, you did it," but he just… wore me down, basically. — Yeah, he's still too young to go up against a seasoned mangaka.
Overall, the guy is quite competent, and his drive is very solid. But his twenty years sometimes show. And he looks about two years younger than that, which doesn't help either. In that regard, oddly enough, things are easier for me. At business meetings, people know that this kid is the one in charge. And in Japan, even toward a boss who isn't yours, the attitude is special. A person invested with authority is allowed certain minor flaws — like age. The attitude toward them still won't be the same as toward an adult, but neither is there the outright disregard you'd see in other countries. And let's not forget I'm in another world, where in this Japan it's not customary to pay much attention to age once you're around fourteen. Though, annoyingly enough, legal adulthood still comes at eighteen. Apparently, this situation developed due to the overwhelming dominance of one aristocracy or another — and, most importantly, the children of that aristocracy. So in the end, it's no surprise that Taro has never once shown me any disrespect, even with a four-year age gap between us.
— We'll sort it out. Tell him about the meeting, but say it was my initiative. Otherwise he'll end up walking all over you.
— As you say, boss. Thanks.
— That's it, bye. Call me if anything comes up.
— See you, boss.
Ending the call, I headed to the living room. No urgent matters, dinner's ready, so I might as well go visit my neighbors—I've got something to discuss with them. And I need to clear a few things up, otherwise my head's going to explode from all these thoughts. Seriously… living side by side with them for so many years and not realizing that my neighbors Koyama and the Koyama clan are one and the same. That's what it means—not noticing the log in your own eye. God, I'm ashamed of myself. Namesakes, yeah right—one of the oldest and most powerful clans in Japan. And the crests they have hanging everywhere? No, I don't know what the Koyama clan's crest looks like—I never cared—but what else could it be? How could I think that a family bearing a crest could just be namesakes of another such family? This is aristocracy—there are no different houses with the same surname here; they simply wouldn't be granted a crest. This isn't my world. Here, one's name and blood are taken very seriously. Do you know why aristocrats almost never curse in public, except maybe within their own family? Because, God forbid, you say something wrong in the heat of the moment—like "son of a bitch." Just that. I, not quite your average citizen, know of two wars that started over those words. In one case, two clans fought; in the other, two noble houses. I don't believe the insult was accidental, but the fact remains: if you want to curse, curse—but don't drag someone's lineage into it. A personal insult is answered personally, without bringing trouble upon the entire family.
Of course, I could come up with excuses: like, how could aristocrats end up living in a neighborhood like this? Or where are the servants that big shots always have? I could even find psychological reasons—after all, I simply couldn't imagine that the family I've known all my life, albeit wealthy but very modest, would turn out to be among the top houses of the empire. And now—so many questions…
To hell with it, all of it. No point running the same thoughts in circles. I need to go and find out.
Shutting down the computer and putting away my future dinner—and breakfast, for that matter—I got ready to go visit them. But I didn't make it. The old man beat me to it, ringing the doorbell just as I was putting on my shoes.
— Good evening, Kenta-san, please come in. Tea? Coffee?
— Hello to you too, Shinji. Coffee, if it's not too much trouble.
As if he'd ask for tea. The old man actually likes it, but I make it so terribly that his choice was obvious. And the fact that he accepted the offer of a drink at all meant the upcoming conversation was serious. Interesting. For example, Akeno—Shina's father—always agrees to have something to drink or eat. But old Kenta only does so when there's something to discuss—and he has never once broken that habit. Which makes me really curious about why he came.
I led him—dressed as always in a traditional men's kimono, this time black and gray—into the living room and, offering him the only armchair there, went to the kitchen. I'm no expert at making coffee—I don't understand all those rituals involved in brewing it, just like with tea—so I quickly put something together in the coffee maker and returned to the living room.
— How was your first day at school? Made any friends? And what do you think of Dakisyuro overall? — the old man asked after taking his first sip.
— Great school—you can immediately feel the elitism. You don't make friends in a single day, but I did make an acquaintance, that's something. And overall… so-so day. Could've been much better.
— Friends, acquaintances… what a bore you are, — I heard him mutter. — From what I've heard, something unpleasant happened to you at school today?
No way… does he actually know about Shina's speech? Was he watching me? If not, that's even worse. That means the rumors about how his granddaughter smashed my reputation into the asphalt have already reached even the director. Wonderful. I became notoriously famous across the whole school in a single day. I knew it would happen fairly quickly, but not this fast. Now it's clear why he came—probably to apologize.
— Don't worry, Kenta-san, I'll handle it.
— Well, if anyone should be worried, it's you.
Huh? What?
— Excuse me?.. — I could literally feel my eyebrows shooting up, but I couldn't help it.
— I don't understand your surprise. Do you seriously expect to deal with the head of the Ishikawa clan? And how, if I may ask? — the guest snorted. The old man's sarcasm was practically overflowing.
Shifting in his wicker chair, he looked at me with curiosity, clearly showing that he was very interested in my answer. I, meanwhile, glanced around the living room in a bit of a daze.
— I think I'm completely lost, Kenta-san. What are you talking about? — now it was my turn to look surprised.
— Ishikawa Kisho, forty-four years old. Head of the Ishikawa clan. Married, father of four. Two sons, two daughters. — What a sly old weasel, really building the tension. — And it just so happens that today you insulted one of those daughters. The eldest. His favorite, I might add.
Damn… what a bitch, really! No, it's honestly impressive—she nearly made me swear. For the second time today! And that's without even being present! I just—ugh… calm down, Max, stay calm.
— If I didn't know you, I wouldn't have intervened. If I knew you a little less, I would've insisted on a public apology. — Easy, Max, stay calm. — But I know you well enough to come here and ask what exactly happened between you.
— In short, she insulted me three times and then made it clear she considers us not even servants, but something like… nothing.
— Harsh. And just like that, without a reason?
— The reason was that we were supposedly standing in the middle of the road and blocking her path. Even though she was the one who bumped into me while we were standing at the edge of it. We'd even moved over to the curb on purpose.
— You keep saying "we." Care to clarify? — Kenta asked slowly, thoughtfully.
— Ohayashi Raidon. — The old man raised an eyebrow slightly. — Yes, that one. The clan head's son.
— Well, well. The girl is in trouble. — Yeah… the old man really knows how to switch his tone. — I take it your… acquaintance will confirm everything you've said? Though I don't see any reason for him to lie. Even if those two clans were allies—which they are not. Well then, you don't need to worry about that problem. There's another one, however… — he fixed me with a steady gaze.
— And what now? — I asked after a short pause. No point in playing staring contests forever.
— That's what I'd like to hear from you. You didn't even mention the incident with the girl, yet your day still wasn't great. I'd like to know why.
— Forgive my bluntness, but what does it matter to me? If you want to know—find out yourself.
The key here was not to overdo it. The words might be rough, but what matters is how you deliver them. I had every intention of telling him about his granddaughter setting me up, but it had to be presented not as a complaint. So I spoke with a hint of uncertainty, as if his stern gaze had affected me—like a teenager trying to assert his independence.
— Shinji-kun, — oh, here come the suffixes, — you've enrolled in a school with a very specific kind of crowd, and a single careless word could come back to haunt you. It would probably be better if you told me everything.
And those words annoyed me a little. What the hell did he expect when he shoved me into Dakisyuro? Did he think I was lacking excitement in life? Or that I'd just bend over for everyone? Grooming a servant for his granddaughter, maybe? Should I start writing him daily reports too?
I understood perfectly well that all this was nonsense and "the truth lies somewhere else," but the surge of irritation and indignation was too strong. I had to get up and go for cigarettes, calming myself down along the way. No point being rude—he is an old man, after all… But lighting up in front of him? That's just perfect.
Back in the day, the entire Koyama family put quite a bit of effort into breaking me of that bad habit. It nearly escalated into open hostilities. Though with Shina it practically did—I had to fend her off. In the end, they surrendered, and we reached an unspoken agreement: I wouldn't smoke in the presence of the esteemed family. The exception was my house—or accidents. Later, the war entered a cold phase of hints and disapproving looks, so I tried not to smoke around them even at home, just to avoid escalating things again.
And since then, that's how it's been—whenever one of them gets on my nerves and I feel like snapping, or I'm irritated but can't show it, I just light up. It bothers them, and I couldn't care less.
Coming back with a lit cigarette, I set an ashtray on the glass table and dropped onto the couch.
All in all, I'd have to adjust my behavior a bit. Fortunately, old man Kenta knows me as a fairly mature person—I've been living alone since I was ten. Though at first it took some effort; pretending to be a kid isn't that easy. So with him, I don't have to act like a sixteen-year-old brat. And the occasional hormonal outbursts confirm what his eyes already see.
That adventurer Akemi, on the other hand, still gives me strange looks from time to time. Then again, with her, it's always been a guy from another world doing the talking.
— I'm not going to ask why you sent me to Dakisyuro in the first place. What's done is done—time will tell whether you were right or not. As for the trouble, I'll try to deal with it myself. I don't think things are quite as bad as you're making them out to be. And in the future, I'll try to watch my step more carefully. Maybe I'll manage to avoid any real problems, — I finished, leaning my head back and exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. I was deliberately escalating things—let him feel a little uncomfortable. Honestly, what a habit he has, trying to scare young people like that.
— Eh, Shinji… you clearly misunderstood me. There's no talk of any danger. I meant ordinary school problems.
Oh, now he's singing a different tune.
— So the head of the Ishikawa clan filing a complaint—that's just a school problem? — I snorted.
— Shinji, Ishikawa Kisho brought his complaint to me, not to you. I'd like you to keep that in mind. Kisho is a respectable man—and not only because he didn't handle the matter himself. So don't hold a grudge against him. Someone else might have simply beaten you up for insulting his beloved daughter without even looking into it—or sent someone to do it. That's entirely possible.
— That's debatable, Kenta-san. My position is far too… ambiguous, — I said, seeing his eyebrows rise in question. — Oh, don't give me that look. You all understand perfectly well. I'm nobody—and at the same time, I'm the neighbor of the head of the Koyama clan, who also happened to get me into an elite school. — The old man froze. Just for a fraction of a second, but he did. — So on one hand, I'm nothing; on the other, I'm Koyama Kenta's protégé. And here's another question: if words are taken so seriously at school, how exactly was Shina supposed to help me? — I added with a smirk, easing the tension a bit. — She can't follow me around all day, can she?
— You think too little of yourself. I believe you have enough sense not to pick unnecessary fights, — the old man replied with a smile. — And Shina is a smart girl—she'll manage somehow.
— Oh, suuuure, — I drawled. — Why don't you ask her what kind of day it was at school today, and then we'll discuss just how smart your granddaughter really is.
I was certain the old man would squeeze the truth out of her. Even if Shina only mentioned the incident at the stand at first, he'd still make her recount the entire day minute by minute—just in case. A small bit of revenge, but still.
— Well, well, now that's something! Fine, we'll come back to that later. But for now, would you show some respect to an old man and put out that creation of dark forces already? — he asked, waving the smoke away.
After stubbing out the cigarette, I fell into thought. The old man didn't interrupt me—apparently, he had something to think about as well.
As for me, what interested me most at that moment was whether the Koyamas knew anything about my parents. It's one thing if they were just an ordinary family, even a wealthy one—and quite another if we're talking about the ruling house of an international clan, and certainly one of the top ones in Japan. For the head of the Koyama clan to find out where my parents went, what they were up to, and why they abandoned their son—it would be child's play. A snap of his fingers, and that massive machine called an international clan would start working the case. A day or two, and a thick file would be sitting on his desk.
And what I really wanted to know… was just how curious the old man actually was.
By the way, for those unfamiliar with it, I should clarify the difference between an ordinary clan and an international one. I think I already mentioned the relationship between a clan and the head of state, but I'll remind you anyway. Roughly speaking, they are equal partners. Clans live on the sovereign's land, pay slightly higher taxes, and obey the laws of the state, yet at the same time they are sovereign entities. I won't go into all the advantages clans receive—I don't know them all myself—but even what's on the surface is quite significant. The rights of clan members are somewhat similar to diplomatic immunity: you can't just throw them into a cell and hold them there for a few days. Some laws don't apply to them at all. If an ordinary person commits murder, they'll be tried no matter what—but clan members often get away with it. For example, if the victim is a member of another clan. Or take weapons ownership: a clan and its members can own, store, and carry virtually any kind of weapon—from some six-millimeter toy to a battleship with full armament. Though, to be fair, I've never heard of any clan owning more than six destroyers—ships and their maintenance are expensive even for people that wealthy.
Combat robots, on the other hand—not to mention powered armor—are a different story. Any self-respecting clan has as much heavy equipment as it can afford to maintain. On average, somewhere between ten and thirty units. Though heavy machinery is banned within city limits. And yes, I almost forgot: clans can be certain that no one will fabricate a case against them, that no faceless individuals will drag them off into some dungeon to rot without trial. Any clan member knows that if charges are brought against them, the trial will be as fair as it can possibly be. Though there's a flip side: if someone does come for such a person, there's an eighty percent chance they're actually guilty.
In return, clans swear loyalty to the head of state and provide full support. And given their economic and military power, that's no small thing. Note, however, that it's support. No one can order clans around—they're a state within a state. The emperor can only request, and if the request doesn't concern his personal safety or the safety of the country as a whole, clans can politely decline. I suspect—though I don't know for sure—that this isn't the whole picture, and that there are many additional conditions and nuances in the "emperor–clans" relationship.
Incidentally, Japanese history contains a centuries-long paradox regarding these very relations. Everyone knows that from 1192 onward, the emperor's authority in the country was nominal, while real power belonged to the shogun and his government—the bakufu. The emperor retained the right to authorize the creation of clans, a few other privileges—my knowledge of Japanese history isn't that deep—and ceremonial functions. And here lies the essence of the mystery. Historians still can't understand why the imperial family, which concluded agreements with the clans both before and after the establishment of the shogunate, never called upon them. Why, until the Meiji era, the rulers remained in a secondary role, content with such an unenviable position. The solution seemed obvious: ask for help, and an army no weaker than the shogun's would have rallied under imperial banners. And with the right timing, there might not even have been a civil war.
Apparently, the imperial family suffered from the same issue I did—they simply failed to see what was right in front of them. After all, what was the situation? Clans pledged support to the head of state—who, in practice, was the shogun—but they received permission to exist and swore their oath specifically to the emperor. That's exactly what the clever Meiji eventually exploited in the nineteenth century, restoring full imperial power. It's actually a fascinating story, especially when compared to the history of my own world. But that's not what we're talking about right now.
So, returning to the present. Clans receive a lot of bonuses and rights, and in exchange have essentially two or three obligations. It's no surprise that the main privilege—the right to found a clan—is considered a great honor and an immense gift, and obtaining it is extremely, extremely difficult. At the same time, clans are like money: if there are too many of them, they lose their value. Even if we discard the cynicism of my world and assume that clan members wouldn't break their word or try to dictate terms to the ruler—let alone start a revolution—still… no ruler would like having a crowd of heavily armed people gathering on his land, outnumbering his own army, and constantly brawling among themselves. So no matter how you look at it, it's not in any ruler's interest to have too many clans.
Most likely, two hundred years ago things were simpler, and founding a clan, while difficult, was still possible. Now, it's hard to even imagine what one would have to do for the emperor to grant permission. Probably offer something eternal. Like… a perpetual motion machine. Or eternal life. The last time something like that happened in Japan was two hundred years ago, at the beginning of the nineteenth century. And the newly formed Kurumu clan rose quite high during the Meiji Restoration.
An international clan is, simply put, a clan recognized by two or more rulers. There are only fourteen of them in the entire world. Twelve clans have convinced two rulers, and two clans have managed to persuade three. In this world, the words "honor" and "reputation" mean everything. Take Spain, for example—it has been suffering for four hundred years because of a long-dead king who once broke his word. A once powerful state fell to a third-rate country within a few years, and only after the Second World War—yes, it happened in this world too—did it begin to climb back to a secondary position. Which, by the way, is quite an achievement.
In short, you can be sure that no ruler of a reasonably developed country would tarnish themselves by making a deal with just any clan. The clan must be old, respected, strong, wealthy… in other words, the best of the best. And, of course, you still have to present a gift to the ruler—no one will even listen to you otherwise. Though Shina's father once mentioned that choosing the second gift is easier. After all, recognizing a super-clan is not the same as granting permission to found a new, young clan that offers little to the state. Another log in my own eye, by the way. And while such a clan would gain more problems—two countries can't remain allies forever—it would still gain far more benefits. And its reputation would skyrocket…
So now, I think it's clear to everyone just how difficult it is to become an international clan, and how prestigious and advantageous it is. And most importantly—how powerful the old man sitting across from me really is. And he's also a Virtuoso! Funny, when you think about it—here I am, treating him to cheap coffee.
I needed to start asking questions. If the old man has nothing pressing to do, he can sit like this for hours, and my curiosity was about to boil over. And just as I was about to take a breath to speak, the doorbell hit my nerves. A long one.
Then again. And again. And a couple more times. After that, the unexpected visitor rang out some simple melody. And then—another long ring.
— Who… is that?
Looks like the old man's nerves weren't built for something like this. But that's nothing—I'll tell him who it is right now.
— Shina, Kenta-san. She's quite the character.
Opening the door, I was met with an angry glare. Shina stopped ringing the bell the moment she heard the lock click open, and now stood there with her left hand on her hip and her school bag in her right.
— You've got some nerve, freeloader. Am I supposed to wait for you all evening?
What? What does that even mean? "Freeloader"? Whose freeloader? And what the hell is with her throwing words around like that? It'd be one thing if she said it jokingly, but her tone left no doubt—it was a plain, undisguised insult.
And without even asking, she shoved past me and walked into my house. That wasn't just arrogance—that was outright rudeness. At first, I didn't even process what was happening. She'd always been a bit pushy, but now she'd crossed every line. By the time I snapped out of it, she was already in the living room, and picking a fight with her in front of her grandfather didn't seem like a great idea. So I shoved my rising anger somewhere deep, put on a blank expression, and followed her inside—closing the door behind me.
I found Shina standing in the middle of the living room, fidgeting awkwardly.
— Hi, Grandpa. What are you doing here?
Great question.
The old man looked at her, then over her shoulder at me.
— Oh, just wasting time. Unlike you, judging by what my ears just heard.
— Well, I… uh… Oh! And you're drinking this idiot's coffee again. You really don't care about your health, do you? Let me make you some tea instead.
Quickly grabbing the cup and saucer, she headed for the kitchen, but as she passed me, she muttered:
— Otherwise this excuse for a man will put you in an early grave.
I followed her with my eyes, then sat back down on the couch.
Yeah… it was probably time to cut ties with her altogether. This was way beyond acceptable. Things I might've ignored in private sounded completely different in front of others. And that "excuse for a man"… no comment. If she were a guy, I'd have broken her arms and legs already. I wouldn't have cared about her grandfather being present or her combat rank. Especially since I'd nearly regained my full abilities over the past year. Nearly… though it would've been enough for her.
After calming down a bit, I glanced at the old man. What could I say? She was definitely going to get it at home. His face right now was a perfect demonstration of what biting into a lemon does to a person.
— I apologize for my granddaughter's words… and actions.
He clearly didn't like how Shina behaved in someone else's house. I was used to it—but for him, this was the first time seeing it. Strange, actually. In all these years of being neighbors, this was the first time he'd run into her here. As if the house belonged to her and I was just a guest.
— She should be the one apologizing, not you.
— First and foremost, it's me. — Yeah, Japan… that's how things work here. — I'm her grandfather, and her upbringing…
— Forgive me for interrupting, Kenta-san, but there's not much that depends on you here. Shina's not a child anymore, and everything that could be instilled in her already has been. If someone is destined to become a maniac killer, no matter how you raise them—that's what they'll become. And if a woman is born a bitch, nothing's going to change that.
— That's quite a debatable statement.
— Not "quite," Kenta-san—just debatable, and I understand that. But that's my opinion. When two identical families with the same income, parents with similar personalities, the same social standing—even similar circles—raise completely different children, that says something.
— Have you personally seen something like that?
— Yes.
Both in my old world and this one.
— Well, let's not argue. Everyone has their own opinion. Still, I consider it my duty to apologize to you.
I just waved it off in response. What was I supposed to say—that everything was fine?
— Once we're home, I'll make sure to have a talk with her.
— Better tell everything to Kagami-san—she'll really set her straight.
— What?
— It's a Russian expression.
— I see. Perhaps you're right—who better than a mother to explain how a girl should behave.
Soon Shina returned, carrying a tray with two cups. She placed one in front of her grandfather and kept the other for herself. I reached for my cigarettes.
— Hmm, I think something's wrong with my eyesight, — Kenta said thoughtfully, not even touching his tea. — I can't seem to find a third cup.
— That's because there isn't one, Grandpa.
— And why is there no third cup?
— Because the brat can make his own tea if he wants.
Yeah… that was a mistake. She should've played dumb or at least tried to smooth things over.
— Shina, disgrace of the family, go home.
The old man's polite tone didn't match the meaning of his words at all.
— What?
Judging by her squeak, she heard far more in his voice than I did. Which wasn't surprising.
— Go home. And don't you dare step outside until I return! — he said quietly, but firmly.
Jumping up, Shina rushed toward the door. Not quite running, but very fast. A moment later she came back, grabbed her school bag, and disappeared just as quickly.
Yeah… what a situation. It's like if you went to visit your best friend, and your daughter—or sister, or wife—showed up there and started insulting and humiliating that same friend. And on top of that, he'd have to sit through your family drama. So yeah, Shina really put the old man in a tough spot.
— Sorry, Shinji.
I just nodded. No point saying "it's fine."
— I'll make sure she… repents.
Well, damn.
Still… serves her right.
"Alright, let's change the subject." Putting out my cigarette, I turned to the old man.
— Kenta-san, I have a question for you—actually several—but I just can't seem to bring myself to ask them.
— I'm listening, Shinji.
— Tell me, how did it happen that the head of the Koyama clan and his family settled… here? I'm sure that if you wanted, you could build yourselves a castle, yet you live in a house that, while large, clearly doesn't match your status. And the location itself—why not in the center, but on the outskirts of Tokyo?
— Hmm, an interesting question. You see, Shinji, you're mistaken about status. Among the aristocracy there are certain unwritten rules—something like etiquette, but more flexible and changing over time. Take houses, for example. Up until about the 16th century, a castle, aside from its main functions, was considered a sign of power and prosperity. From the 16th to the 19th century, castles gave way to palaces. Later, aristocratic residences began to shrink. Today, our house is the standard of good taste—for a single family. The more people in the family, the larger the house, naturally.
— Again, I apologize for interrupting, Kenta-san, but your house seems a bit too large for five people.
— It's not that the house is large, Shinji—the family is small. The house is designed for seven or eight people, plus servants. So that's about the size. Now, let's talk about why we live here. What do you know about ancestral lands?
— Judging by the name, land that belongs to a particular family.
— Correct. I'll add that granted land is the highest form of reward—aside from, of course, permission to establish a clan. Because in Japan, as in most other countries, all land belongs to the head of state. Only he can grant a portion of it. The aristocracy gets only pitiful scraps, while the vast territories they administer on behalf of the emperor do not actually belong to them. By the way, during the shogunate many forgot this—and paid for it during the Meiji era. Land granted by the sovereign ceases to be his property, and it can be sold, bought, gifted, or even taken away. Of course, taking land is not as easy now as it used to be—there are more laws—but harder doesn't mean impossible, and it does happen. Emperors also sometimes bought back ancestral lands, and occasionally even confiscated them—though not from clans, but it did happen. Such is the cycle of land in nature. Altogether, ancestral territories make up about ten percent of our country's total area. Not little, but not much either.
— About the size of Italy.
Before World War II, Japan's territory was roughly the same as in my world, but here the Japanese managed not only to occupy the Malay Archipelago, which then belonged to the Netherlands, but also to keep it. So now the empire ranks eighth in the world by territory. Needless to say, in this world there is no such country as Indonesia.
— Uh, well, I haven't really calculated it. So, there's a suspicion that ten percent is the limit the emperor allocates for ancestral lands—and he doesn't intend to increase it. And before giving land to someone, he'll take it from someone else—because of debts, or simply buy it, or by other means. So the issue of private property is very acute, both here and in other countries. The prices of granted lands are astronomical, and their owners gain considerable status and reputation. It's also worth noting that the closer ancestral lands are to populated areas, the more valuable they are—and the type of settlement matters too. For example, the land your house stands on—without the yard, but in central Tokyo—would be worth more than a square kilometer near some small town. Something like that.
— Heh, it's scary to think how much your house costs, Kenta-san. No wonder you live here—even if not in the center, still within Tokyo. As I understand it, this is quite beneficial for status and authority?
— Exactly. In short, our house is ideal from the perspective of unwritten etiquette, and it stands on ancestral land within the capital.
— And what, nothing closer to the center was available? — That sounded a bit rude. — Sorry.
— It's fine, it's fine. The clan does have plots in the center, but no matter how you look at it, they're small—about the size of our house without the surrounding territory.
— But in theory, that's cooler.
— Shinji… though it's my own fault. You see, Shinji, the Koyama clan owns not only the land our house stands on—but the entire квартал (block).
Well, that's something!
— So the land I live on, and all our neighbors…
— Yes, exactly.
— But why… I mean… why would you populate your lands with outsiders?
— This is the territory of the Koyama clan, and aside from you, only clan members and people of the clan live here.
A freeloader. I really am a freeloader. Wait, I need to get my thoughts together. All the time I've lived here, I've honestly paid rent, and I suspect I was paying the clan. And the fact that they could have kicked me out at any moment doesn't concern me. And by the way, why didn't they? No, that's not the point. Why am I even living here? How did my parents end up settling here? And what about security? Even if they can protect themselves perfectly—with a Virtuoso, a Master, and a Teacher in the family, not counting Kagami-san (I don't even know if she has a rank or what it is)—they should still have guards by status alone. And considering an entire district of clan members lives here, there should be a lot of security. But in six years, I haven't noticed anything like that. Which means either it's not there, or I'm an idiot. And most likely the latter.
— Damn, after what you've said, I have so many questions I don't even know where to start.
— Ha-ha, go on, throw them out there, and we'll sort them out.
— Well, first of all, what about servants? You mentioned the house is рассчитан (designed) for them, but there aren't any. I'm also curious about security—you should have it by status, and even without that it wouldn't hurt. Also, how did my parents end up settling here? They're not part of your clan, so they have no business being in a Koyama district. And what rank does Kagami-san have, if any?
— Veteran. As for servants—that's all questions for Kagami. For some reason she got it into her head that the better the wife, the less help is needed. Though from time to time we still have to hire servants—the house isn't small. As for security, it's simple: sensors, cameras—both obvious and hidden. The dojo—you know, the one next to us. And of course, satellite monitoring. And you shouldn't underestimate the ordinary residents of the district either—they're skilled fighters as well. Not all of them, of course, but many.
Now I understand how I managed not to notice anything. The entire district is packed with electronics. If there had been human guards, I would have felt their attention—but like this… And then there's the satellite. Though a satellite isn't that big of a problem. Tracking a single person in a city like Tokyo? Ha. Still, I wonder what kind of satellite that is and who allowed them to station it over the capital. The rest of the tech is interesting too. I knew about it before—I saw it every day. A lot of it is hidden, of course—thank God—but still… I just thought it was ordinary expensive security. I always knew I lived among wealthy people. But the fact that it's all connected into one system… And of course, the dojo—or, in Russian, a gym, though the Japanese mean much more by that word. I went there once myself out of curiosity, and a couple of times they tried to drag me in. So I always avoided it. And now look at that—it turns out it's the base for the clan's fighters. Yeah… Now I just need to find out whether they were watching me during my night outings. That they know about them is a fact.
By the way, the old man seems to be thinking about something—he's in no hurry to talk about my parents.
— Sigh. I'd rather not say it, but it was inevitable. You see, Shinji—he looked me straight in the eyes—your parents were part of the clan. They even had their own crest. But six years ago they committed a crime—they tried to rob the clan, to steal a very important item. For that, they were stripped of their crest and exiled.
Amazing. My unfortunate parents, on top of everything else, were also thieves.
— I still don't understand—why didn't they take me with them?
— Apparently, that was their way of trying to leave you in the clan. They knew we wouldn't throw you out and would look after you, and possibly even accept you back. Kagami, for example, strongly insisted on that, but you're still underage.
— Why "apparently"? Are there other reasons?
— One can come up with many reasons, but most of them are paranoid and unlikely.
— But they exist?
— Of course. As I said, one can imagine anything. If they had formally renounced their rights to you from the start—sorry for putting it that way—then everything would be simple and clear. But as it is, we can only speculate.
God, how stupid all of this is! One single decision—and so many uncertainties in the future. Why didn't I, as my parents wrote in their farewell letter, just go to the neighbors? They would have quickly arranged guardianship, and I'd be a member of the clan now. A very powerful clan. Though now that I've almost restored my abilities to the level of an Absolute, I don't really want to join a clan. The career prospects are rather depressing.
I don't even know whether to tell the old man about my parents. No one's going to drag me into the clan by force, of course, but knowing that I've been living all this time without any support… Just think about it—a ten-year-old kid, whom everyone supposedly knows inside out, somehow manages to get money not only for food, but also for rent, clothes, school supplies, and so on. Oh-ho-ho… I should find out whether the old man knows about my "shadow" life. And now I almost want him to know—then I'd be sure his attitude toward me won't change. On the other hand, a man with as much power and money as Koyama Kenta surely has his hands dirty anyway. And he's smart—he'll understand I had no other choice. How do I steer the conversation there? Or maybe just ask directly?
— Answer me one more question, Kenta-san. Did you monitor me during my… nightly absences?
— No, Shinji. We simply knew about them, — the old man smirked. But most importantly, he didn't lie. I may not be an empath or even a Shadow, but at my level of perception I can tell truth from lies. Especially with such a clear answer. — Though Kagami is still worried even now, not to mention earlier times.
— Really? And she didn't order anyone to check where I was sneaking off to at night?
— I forbade it. But the storm I had to endure—you'd be better off not knowing.
Judging by the grimace on his face, I really would be.
— Hmm. Why?
— It's not something you can explain in a few words, — he said thoughtfully. — You see, Shinji, if you were a member of the family, there wouldn't even be a question—you'd have been reporting where you go a long time ago. If you were just some barely acquainted neighbor's kid, I might have stirred myself only out of curiosity. But you're neither. Everyone in our family cares deeply about you—Kagami practically considers you a son—but in reality, you're not even part of the clan. So when I was informed about your nightly walks, I faced a dilemma. On the one hand, we were all worried about you—the girls, by the way, know nothing about this. On the other hand, by ordering surveillance, I would be intruding into the affairs of someone dear to me. If you were older—but as it was… In the end, after waiting a bit, Akano and I decided not to interfere. You looked confident enough, you didn't seem troubled, no unexpected bruises or injuries appeared, and your school grades were only improving, — the old man finished with a smile.
— What if I were some kind of spy? — I couldn't help asking; his words sounded too naïve to me.
— You? A spy? Your actions are far too illogical for that. I'd sooner think you got involved with the wrong crowd and now, how do you put it… run errands for some bandits.
Better keep quiet.
Looking sadly at the empty cup I was rolling between my palms, the old man spoke again:
— You know, Shinji, I think I should be going. I still need to restore order at home. And I have other matters as well.
— Maybe some tea for the road…
— No, no, thank you. I really do have a lot to do. — He sighed. — No time for tea now. First day of school, after all.
Getting up together with the old man, I walked him to the door.
— Goodbye, Kenta-san.
— Goodbye, Shinji. If you have any questions, come to me. I'll help however I can.
— Thank you, Kenta-san, I will.
Closer to midnight, as I was getting ready to go out and clear my head, I suddenly remembered that I hadn't asked Kenta about school clubs. And I had such a perfect chance to use it as an excuse… Though what am I thinking—he'll come to apologize for his granddaughter, and then we'll talk.