Lucas stood in the dim shadow of the bar, his gaze as cold as ice fixed on the three frozen figures in front of him. A subtle, unreadable smile curled at the corners of his lips—not mockery, but more like that of a judge behind the curtain of a stage, quietly observing the opening of a clumsy pantomime.
He raised his glass and took a sip. The amber whiskey swirled between the ice cubes, letting out a crisp clink, as if applauding the farce before him.
"The three of you… look like a badly rehearsed mime show." His voice was light, but each word sharp as glass. "There should really be subtitles. At least then, the audience would understand the plot."
Emily's fingers clutched her notepad tightly. Her freshly painted coral nail polish left crescent-shaped marks on the cream-colored pages. Lucas noticed the pearl earrings she wore today—an heirloom from their mother, meant for Ryan. Now, they trembled lightly with each anxious breath, glinting under the light like tears about to fall.
Kai forced a sarcastic smile, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the silver cufflinks on his sleeve. Lucas recognized them immediately—they were a birthday gift he had personally given to Ryan last year. Seeing them on this man now stung like acid to his eyes.
"We're just… catching up," Kai said, his tone feigning ease. But the moment his eyes met Lucas's, his voice died mid-sentence, like a bird strangled mid-song.
"Catching up? With your hands on my brother?" Lucas took a slow step forward. The sound of his Italian leather shoes echoed coldly on the marble floor. Each step felt like a verdict, each word like an icicle piercing bone. "Or is it that you're using Tan Holdings' check to relive your former glory?"
Ryan's Adam's apple bobbed violently, and pale veins stood out against his neck. He lowered his eyes, unable to meet Lucas's gaze. Shame, long buried, surged up like a tidal wave—he thought he had stopped caring about his brother's judgment. But now, faced with it, the pressure was inescapable.
The notepad fell to the floor with a sharp "smack," like an untimely rest note. Emily bent down to retrieve it, her hair falling forward to cover her expression. Lucas noticed a small sunburn on the back of her neck—likely from standing in line at Tsukiji Market earlier today. That detail suddenly stirred memories of his mother's rose garden: stubborn blossoms reaching for the sun, singed by summer yet blooming still.
He remembered something their mother once said: "Things of real worth don't fear the scorching sun or the harsh wind." He hadn't understood it as a boy, but now, he could see that phrase etched in Emily's silhouette.
"Enough," Ryan said hoarsely, as if from a great distance. He reached out, as if to grasp something, but ended up clutching only air. He looked like he wanted to explain, or apologize, but under Lucas's unrelenting gaze, every word stuck in his throat.
Lucas gently swirled the whiskey in his glass. The clinking ice cubes sounded like bones cracking. He took another sip, letting silence settle over them like frost. His mind flashed back to the car crash over a decade ago—his mother sobbing at the wheel, his father silent as stone. That night, he'd been out at a friend's gathering. When he rushed to the hospital, all he found was Ryan collapsed outside the operating room, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe.
"You know what Mother's last words to me were?" Lucas's voice had lost its edge, replaced with something heavier. "She said—'Watch Ryan. Don't let him stray from the path.'"
The words landed like stones.
Kai averted his gaze, unease flickering across his face.
Emily looked up at Lucas, lips trembling, but said nothing.
Ryan opened his mouth, then lowered his head. "I… I didn't mean to let you down."
Lucas looked at his brother—the boy who had lost both parents at nine, the boy he had held as he trembled and sobbed in his arms. He had thought he could always be the rational one, always the family's shield, handling every PR crisis, every negotiation. But now, he wasn't so sure. What had brought them to this point?
Was it the weight of responsibility, the family's unrelenting expectations, the words left unsaid—or perhaps, a kind of love so misunderstood it had turned into hurt?
"Ding." The elevator chimed nearby, like fate quietly ticking forward.
Lucas downed the rest of his drink. The whiskey burned down his throat, searing open an old wound in his chest. He set the empty glass firmly on the bar, the sound landing like a judge's gavel.
"Nine o'clock tomorrow morning." As he adjusted his cufflinks, the platinum caught the light with a cold gleam. "Figure out the roles you're playing."
His gaze lingered on the sunburn at the back of Emily's neck—red, raw, and oddly arresting.
"Or decide whether this farce… is worth continuing."
The room froze. No one spoke. Lucas turned and walked away, his shadow stretching long behind him under the lights—like a line of judgment dividing trust from betrayal, truth from deceit, salvation from surrender.
That night, there was no moon over Tokyo. Only the soundless tide of hearts crashing against the walls they'd built, breaking into silent rupture.