The conference room fell into a hush—
A silence that clung to the walls like a shadow.
Then—
Step.
Step.
Each footfall was crisp, steady, and full of weight.
The doors creaked open as an old woman entered—
Pink twin ponytails, iron-gray eyes, and a back straight like a sword.
She wasn't dressed extravagantly, but her sheer presence made everyone feel like they were in the room with a lioness dressed as a maid.
The temperature dropped.
Even those who didn't know her personally… felt it in their bones.
Zi Po Nian had arrived.
In unison, as if puppets moved by invisible strings, everyone stood.
Even the injured Wutong—teeth gritted—forced himself upright, pressing against the table for support.
He chuckled bitterly.
"Why are you here…?"
Zi Po Nian didn't smile. Didn't blink.
The air distorted around her like it couldn't bear her existence. Her voice was calm—
but there was the pressure of a guillotine in her words.
"If I didn't come now, I fear I wouldn't get to see you again, Wutong."
Even her sarcasm felt like a blade across the throat.
She waved her hand slightly.
"Sit."
No one moved until she herself sat, dragging a chair across from Kanalia with a slow, deliberate screech.
Her steps echoed like judgments in a courtroom.
Kanalia, sitting beside her, was stiff as a statue.
She wanted to breathe—but forgot how.
She glanced from the corner of her eye.
This woman… was rumored to be Silva Zoldyck's personal blade. A "butler" in title only.
In spirit, a warhammer in disguise.
But then—Zi Po Nian spoke again.
And this time, the words hit like a bomb.
"From this moment onward… anyone who sees Master Roy must treat him as the Patriarch. Seeing him… is seeing the head of the family."
The room stopped breathing.
Kanalia blinked—slowly—trying to make sense of the syllables in her mind.
Roy?
The blind, quiet second son?
The one who walked through the garden carrying grocery bags… who had smiled at her gently not long ago?
That Roy?
"He injured Butler Wutong?"
"No way…"
"He's such a soft-spoken person…"
The thought refused to root itself in her mind.
Kanalia suddenly remembered the afternoon light, dappled through the trees.
Roy's cane tapping rhythmically against stone.
His voice—calm, perceptive, even a little warm.
How… how could that man leave a veteran like Wutong bandaged like a mummy?
Wutong didn't need to confirm it.
He simply sat up straighter, wincing as his ribs protested.
And nodded.
"The Patriarch has made his decision," Zi Po Nian added, glancing across the table.
"And if anyone has an issue with it… feel free to take it up with him. Personally."
No one dared speak.
Even Jie Bujie, who was usually sarcastic and half-drunk, had his mouth shut tight.
Then, softly, Zi Po Nian turned toward Wutong.
Her voice lowered, but grew heavier.
"Now. Tell them."
Wutong breathed in.
Then began recounting everything—his battle with Roy, the pressure, the power, the terror of facing someone who didn't even need to stand to dominate the entire room.
He described how he didn't even make a move before he was crushed.
His bones groaned just thinking about it.
He gestured to the bandages on his body.
"This… is the result of Master Roy being merciful."
"If he hadn't held back… I wouldn't be sitting here at all."
The words dropped like stones.
You could hear the sound of jaws tightening.
Of hearts racing.
Of realization slamming into minds like thunder behind the eyes.
No one dared speak.
The conference room—usually filled with voices, opinions, egos—was now a tomb of silence.
Everyone turned inward, digesting this unthinkable truth.
A young master, previously dismissed as weak, blind, distant… was now untouchable.
Feared.
Recognized.
Even the air around his name changed.
Zi Po Nian didn't smirk.
She simply waited for the gravity of the statement to crush the resistance out of the room.
And just as silence threatened to suffocate, Jie Bujie finally exhaled:
"If the words didn't come from Wutong himself, I'd call it senile rambling…"
He poured himself a glass of wine with trembling fingers.
"But now? It seems the Zoldyck family has… finally found a successor."