Chapter 53: Politics And Song.
The fragrance of fresh tea curled through the air, soft as silk and old as patience. Junhyeok's careful hand poured each cup with ritual precision, while outside, autumn's breath swept through the villa's rear garden.
Under the wisteria shade, Harate and IL-sun sat across from one another, their conversation quiet yet heavy –the kind of talk that didn't need to be loud to command the room.
"Times are changing," Harate murmured, stirring his tea, "and with them, the importance of connections."
IL-sun nodded, a mild smile forming beneath his mustache. "You're thinking of your grandchildren again, aren't you?"
"Of course. If they are to hold any ground in this country, they must be raised around the right people." He leaned back. "The second daughter of the Sakayanagi family, perhaps. Or maybe the Yamashiro heiress is as sharp as her father, they say."
IL-sun chuckled. "Or the reporter's son –Wakaba's boy, that one's been making waves in the press. Or the Aomori twins
"-Adopted," Harate corrected softly, with that faint aristocratic air that turned correction into condescension.
Before IL-sun could respond, the sliding door opened with the lightest creak.
His wife stepped in Miran, dressed in understated grace, her smile the sort that made words unnecessary.
"Still talking politics?" she teased, setting down a tray of biscuits. "If it's about the children, why not ask the principal of Roward to arrange something formal? Perhaps a gathering with the default class students."
Harate hummed in thought, tapping his chin. IL-sun nodded slowly.
"That might be wise. Ren could use that meeting them would strengthen his ties. A man is only as powerful as those who remember his name in a crowded room."
Before Miran could add more, Ji-eun's voice drifted in from the veranda.
"Then... would we be meeting Tarazune too?"
The room turned quiet.
Harate raised an eyebrow. "Tarazune? And why, pray tell, would you want to meet him?"
Ji-eun hesitated but didn't shrink. "Ren talked about him once. Not much, but... the way he said it, that person sounded different. Like someone... above them all."
Harate's laugh was soft, dismissive. "Impossible. The Yamashiro daughter has been molded by years of the best education and the sharpest mentors. You don't rise in Roward without bloodline and breeding."
Ren, who had been quietly listening near the table's edge, finally spoke. His tone wasn't sharp –just deliberate.
"It's not just where he stands that matters," he said, lifting his cup. "If I said that Akeshi Tarazune controls the entire student population, the majority of teachers and even the low-wage workers –I wouldn't be exaggerating."
The silence that followed was thick enough to taste.
IL-sun turned toward him, his expression part disbelief, part awe.
"Are you saying that boy has influence over the academy itself?"
Ren nodded slowly. "Yes. And from what I know, his family isn't anything remarkable. No noble blood. No inherited fortune. He's there because he worked harder than anyone else."
Miran exchanged a glance with Il-sun. Her smile had vanished.
"That kind of ambition," she said softly, "is dangerous –and admirable."
IL-sun took a long sip of his tea, the porcelain clinking faintly against the saucer. Then he exhaled.
"Junhyeok," he called out.
Junhyeok, who had been quietly pouring tea into the smaller cups, straightened immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
"Find someone to collect information on this Tarazune Akeshi. Discreetly."
"As you wish."
As Junhyeok stepped away, Ji-eun's gaze drifted to Ren. There was something in her expression: a flicker of understanding, of curiosity, maybe even respect.
Ren only looked down at his cup. The tea had gone cold.
.
.
.
.
Ren sat alone in the dimly lit room, the screen of his phone glowing faintly in the dark.
He had searched for ATE –the musician Ji-eun had been talking about and the first song that appeared had a simple title: "Hear Me."
He tapped play.
A low hum filled the silence a sound that felt almost human, like a sigh carried through wind.
Then came the melody: soft, slow, every note flowing into the next with a precision that didn't feel calculated, but felt.
To him, it was exactly as Ji-eun had described music with a pulse.
Every word seemed to whisper something to him directly, something that reached through the distance between one life and another.
> "We were born with eyes to see, yet we blind ourselves to what begs beneath."
Ren leaned back, closing his eyes.
The voice wasn't just singing, it was reminding.
To notice the smallest things.
To listen when someone asks for help.
To pay attention, not out of obligation, but because that's what it means to live.
He wasn't sure when it started the warmth behind his eyelids, the heavy drift of consciousness.
The song kept playing, but the room around him began to dissolve.
And then he saw it.
A street. Cracked. Gray.
Rain pooling into shallow reflections that rippled when footsteps crossed them.
He was there younger, smaller maybe on the ground, his palms scraped against gravel.
And in front of him stood a figure, offering a hand.
Ren looked up.
The person's hand was speckled with color –streaks of blue, red, gold, smudged like wet paint.
Their other arm shimmered faintly, patches of pigment trailing into their sleeves.
And behind them shadows. Dozens of humanoid shapes, each with a mirror in place of a face.
Ren didn't know why, but looking at that painted back... he felt safe.
Like this person could hold off everything ugly and endless in the world.
Like he had seen that back before.
A flash
and he was awake.
The music had ended. The room was dark again, silent except for the faint buzz of his phone.
He sat there for a long while, breathing slowly, his heart still racing from the image.
He rubbed his face.
"No," he whispered to himself, half in disbelief. "That wasn't me slipping into my old life."
He'd never been bullied. Never fallen like that. Never needed someone to pull him up.
And yet, the warmth of that painted hand the way it felt real–lingered,
He was aware that that wasn't an illusion.
He looked down at his phone again.
The next song on ATE's list was titled "Canvas of Hands."
Ren hesitated.
Then he hit play.