Game Without Limits

The feast unfolded in a warm, seemingly sincere atmosphere. Laughter, soft as though afraid to disturb the refined tranquility of the room, flowed like delicate streams of sake in porcelain cups. The Fujiwara family, for the first time in a long while, was able to exhale. Even Takatsu, usually tense and on edge, started to let go of his heavy thoughts.

Sigeru, sitting at the head of the table, skillfully kept the conversation going. He joked, shared amusing stories from his youth, deftly avoiding any hints of his present or past. His voice was so soft and captivating that it seemed he could calm even a storm with a few words.

But behind this effortless ease, there was something more. Sigeru was trying hard: every word, every gesture was carefully thought out, as if he were consciously distancing himself from the image of the mysterious killer or cold-blooded manipulator that had firmly lodged itself in his guests' minds.

Suddenly, a confident knock came at the door. For a moment, silence fell over the room, broken only by the quiet clink of chopsticks as Ayana placed them on her plate.

"Come in," Sigeru said calmly, lowering his sake cup.

The door slid open, and a tall man entered. His figure seemed carved from granite, shoulders broad, posture that of a warrior accustomed to bearing the weight of battles. His features were sharp, devoid of softness, and even his gaze was heavy, like a scale, weighing everyone who crossed his path. In his hands, he held a simple envelope with a black seal.

"Clan leader, this is for you," he said in a deep voice, bowing slightly as he extended the envelope. Then, without waiting for a response, he silently withdrew.

"'Clan leader?'" The words echoed in Takatsu's mind, as though bouncing off the walls of his consciousness.

He quickly lifted his gaze to Sigeru, who, with an utterly unperturbed face, carefully opened the envelope and pulled out what appeared to be a letter.

"He's also a clan leader? But which one?" Thoughts spun wildly in Takatsu's head. "Is that why he's so rich? Is that his source of power besides his abilities? But he's so young… Almost the same age as Ayana. No, he's definitely younger than Hiroto. How is that possible?"

Takatsu tried to piece together the puzzle, but with every new fact, the picture grew more complicated. Could it be that all along, they had been sitting across from a man who, despite his youth, controlled something so vast and likely dangerous?

"Forgive the intrusion," Sigeru interrupted his thoughts, carefully folding the letter. "Unfortunately, duties require attention even in moments like this."

He looked up at them, and Takatsu once again felt that same magnetic pull hidden behind the serene smile and refined manners.

"Please, don't worry about the small things. Today, you are my guests, and I want you to feel at home."

Sitting at this lavishly set table, Takatsu couldn't shake the nagging, intrusive sensation that behind every word, every gesture of Sigeru, lay a vast, unfathomable layer of reality. This man, capable of turning a meal into a celebration and a conversation into an art form, was far from just a leader or a rich heir. No, beneath his calm tone and almost careless movements, there was a power that could reshape the world.

He stopped bullets. The fact sounded like a fabrication, an illusion, but Takatsu had seen it with his own eyes. What was it? A trick? Technology? Or something altogether different?

He vanished. Simply disappeared into the space, like morning fog under the sun's rays. The moment Takatsu tried to track him with his eyes, he was already behind him, as if he had crossed the boundary of human perception.

He tore through space itself. It was the most inexplicable and terrifying thing. In an instant, cracks appeared in the air before him, as though the very fabric of reality could not withstand his presence. And while Takatsu didn't understand the nature of this power, he could feel it—this force went beyond the possible.

But what struck harder than the abilities was his influence. Even the elders—those who held power as if it were unquestionable—fell silent before him. All it took was a few words from Sigeru, and their anger dissipated as if it had never existed. What did he know to silence them so?

His wealth was also undeniable. And this wasn't just riches—it was influence that overshadowed any financial heights available to most people. The dishes on the table, the room's furnishings, his servants, even the ease with which he commanded—everything spoke of a level of power that ordinary people could only dream of.

"Who is he?" Takatsu kept asking himself, nervously clenching his fingers under the table.

At that moment, Sigeru, noticing his contemplation, smiled slightly.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Fujiwara?" His voice was gentle, but Takatsu couldn't shake the feeling that this question was just a cover for reading his thoughts.

"Who are you?" Takatsu mentally screamed. "Are you human? A demon? Or something else entirely that I can't even begin to comprehend?"

The thought was chilling. The person sitting across from him could, with a single word, tip the fragile balance of power in this world. Abilities so incredible that they defied logic. Influence that even the most powerful figures couldn't claim. All of it made Sigeru a mystery that Takatsu might never be able to unravel.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Keito. I was just thinking," Takatsu finally replied, trying to hide his inner turmoil behind a mask of composure.

"Good," Sigeru nodded. His tone remained unwaveringly soft, but his eyes gleamed with something predatory, as if he could see far more than he needed to. "Then I have some news for you."

The delivery made everyone at the table tense, even Hiroto, who had previously been enjoying the exotic dishes, paused, not taking his eyes off the host.

"While you were here," Sigeru began, his voice as smooth as silk, wrapping the sharp, razor-like words, "my people conducted a search at your company. They uncovered those who worked against you."

"Against?" Takatsu asked, though he could already feel cold beads of sweat running down his spine.

"Traitors," Keito continued calmly, as if discussing the weather. "Those who worked for the figure lurking in the shadows. Or, even worse, were in league with Takehiro."

Naoko, who had been quietly listening, suddenly turned to her husband. Takatsu noticed her concerned look and tried to force a smile to reassure her, but this time, his confidence seemed fake even to himself.

"They… worked for Takehiro?" he repeated, almost as if trying to grasp what he had just heard.

"Exactly," Sigeru confirmed, tilting his head slightly. "But I've taken care of everything. These rats won't be able to weave their plots any longer."

He said it so simply, as if he were announcing a change in the weather. And though his words carried no threat, the cold sweat on Takatsu's forehead became more palpable. Sigeru continued:

"Stay here for a couple more days, Mr. Fujiwara. Be my guest. During this time, I will finalize everything so you can return to your normal life."

"Normal?" Takatsu asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Of course," Keito's voice slipped into a smile, but his eyes remained sharply serious. "My people will ensure your safety. They will accompany you and make sure this never happens again."

The words sounded like reassurance, but there was something else in them—uncompromising control. Takatsu realized that something had changed. Everything that had been his—his power, his freedom, his confidence—was now in the hands of this young man, whose status, abilities, and influence remained a mystery to him.

"Thank you, Mr. Keito," he finally said, feeling his fingers curl into a fist under the table.

"No need for thanks," Sigeru smiled softly. "I'm simply doing my job."

But it was this very smile that made Takatsu realize that Sigeru wasn't just doing his job. He was building something larger—a system where Fujiwara was now just a pawn, though not long ago, he had considered himself a king.

Author's Note
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