The room was dark.
A man lay on the floor beside the bed, his body curled in on itself. Silent groans escaped his clenched teeth as pain tore through him. A crimson tattoo bloomed across his face and down his arm, its jagged patterns pulsing faintly beneath his skin. Sweat drenched him, soaking through his clothes and pooling against the cold floor.
As the pain intensified, the markings glowed brighter, as though something beneath his flesh was awakening.
It had only been half an hour since it began.
And this was merely the beginning.
He bit down hard on his lower lip, stifling the scream clawing at his throat. The agony surged again, flooding his senses, threatening to drown his consciousness entirely. His vision blurred. His thoughts scattered.
He clung to a single hope—that he would survive the night.
The sharp hiss of oil filled the kitchen.
Meika flipped the egg in the pan. Once the edges turned a golden brown, she lifted it carefully and placed it onto a plate. Another egg slid into the oil, crackling softly.
“Are you not done yet, Mama?” a girl asked as she arranged plates and glasses on the dining table.
“Just a little longer, my dear Suzuha,” Meika replied, her attention still on the pan.
Footsteps echoed from the staircase.
“Finally, the head of the household and his twin sons are showing their faces,” Suzuha exclaimed in a teasing tone as she spotted them descending together.
“Sorry,” Shoma, the elder of the twins, said apologetically. “We stayed up late finishing the presentation slides for today.”
“And I had an important call just now,” Rikuto added, offering his daughter an apologetic smile. Usually, the family gathered much earlier to prepare breakfast together.
“I know,” Suzuha replied with a grin. “I’m just kidding.”
“Breakfast is ready,” Meika announced as she carried the remaining eggs to the table.
Everyone took their seats.
“Where is he?” Rikuto asked, noticing the empty chair.
“He messaged me last night,” Meika replied as she spread strawberry jam onto a slice of bread. “He said he would be skipping breakfast today.”
“He’s been too busy lately,” Naoji remarked. “Papa, you should rearrange his workload.”
“I’ll try,” Rikuto said. “But someone as capable as your brother is often given more responsibilities.”
After breakfast, four members of the family left the house. Rikuto, Shoma, and Naoji climbed into the silver Lexus LS, bound for their family company—Sakura Group. Suzuha grabbed her car keys and slipped into her white Mini Cooper. It was her third week at university, and she had no intention of being late for her favourite class.
Only Meika remained at the doorway.
It was her day off, so she stayed behind. After tidying the dining table and cleaning the kitchen, she retrieved chicken and vegetables from the freezer, planning to prepare lunch early and get dinner ready ahead of time.
As she worked, footsteps sounded from upstairs.
A figure descended the stairs, dressed in a black suit, a grey backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Good morning, Mama.”
Meika turned, her expression softening instantly.
“Good morning, my sweet cupcake.”
“Cupcake?” Rion laughed. “I’m a cupcake today?”
“Sorry,” she corrected herself fondly. “My sweet Rion.”
“Are you heading to work already?” she asked.
“Yes. There’s still a lot I need to take care of.”
Meika was about to let him pass when something made her pause.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him—front to back, head to toe.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Rion asked.
“There’s something off about you today.”
His heart began to race.
“There’s nothing wrong,” he said quickly, forcing a wide smile. “You must be mistaken.”
There was nothing more frightening than a mother’s instinct.
“No. Stop. Don’t move.”
Meika circled him slowly, her gaze sharp.
“You’re…” She hesitated, then frowned. “Pale. Your face is white as paper. Are you feeling unwell?”
“It’s just exhaustion catching up to me,” Rion replied calmly. “Once this project is over, I’ll be able to rest properly.”
Meika clicked her tongue in displeasure.
“I’ll have a word with your father later,” she muttered, loud enough for him to hear. “He shouldn’t overwork my son.”
“Mama, I’m already late,” Rion said gently. “I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.”
Reluctantly, she gave in. Meika picked up the car keys from the cabinet and handed them to him.
Rion hugged her, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and left.
The firmament-blue Audi A8 sped along the road.
Five minutes later, Rion pulled over.
His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. Pain surged violently through his right arm, spreading like wildfire. His hands trembled as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
Crimson markings crawled across his collarbone and down his arm, glowing ominously beneath his skin.
The pain was no longer sharp—it was crushing, relentless, as though his bones were being twisted from the inside, his nerves set alight. Each pulse sent waves of agony rippling through his body, stealing his breath and blurring his vision.
For now, he just needed a moment.
A brief pause before heading to work—before the pain consumed him again.
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