She knelt at Seiji Fujiwara's feet. Then she made a gesture that sent every official present feeling their hearts lurch.
She actually extended her pristine white sleeve and gently wiped the mud from his shoes.
The motion was so natural, so focused, so… entirely a matter of course.
Sasaki and the other officials, watching this scene, felt no impropriety at all. On the contrary, a flicker of "so that's how it is" passed through their eyes.
But standing in a corner of the crowd, silently observing everything, Fuyumi Irisu felt her heart twist as if a knife had been driven into it.
In the very instant Eru Chitanda knelt, wiping his shoes with her head slightly bowed.
Eru, kneeling on the ground, seemed to sense something too.
She looked up instinctively, and her gaze met Fuyumi's in the air.
In that moment, time seemed to stop.
Fuyumi's eyes were unfathomably complex.
There was shock, there was pity, there was sorrow, but more than anything, there was a numb self-mockery.
Eru's eyes shifted even more violently.
From an initial blankness, to a flash of shame and indignation the moment she realized where her senpai's gaze was focused, and then to a vast humiliation and grief.
The two of them flinched apart as if scalded, looking away in disarray after barely half a second of eye contact, both lowering their heads deeply.
No words.
No exchange.
But a sad, absurd understanding had silently taken shape between them.
…
…
Hundreds of kilometers away, in Tokyo.
At the top of Shuchiin Academy's ivory tower, the scene was utterly different, full of laughter and cheerful voices.
Inside the activity room of the student council's subsidiary Tabletop Games Club.
"Haha! I won again! Quick, quick, accept the punishment game, meow three times like a kitten!"
Chika Fujiwara, the pink-haired student council secretary, was waving her little fists and cheering happily.
A look of innocent delight on her face.
On the wall behind her hung a television, currently broadcasting the midday news.
"…Regarding the recent 'miraculous resurrection of the land' incident in the Kamiyama Region, our reporters have conducted an in-depth investigation."
"It is reported that the man behind this incident is the founder of the Fujiwara conglomerate, Mr. Seiji Fujiwara."
"With his almost supernatural biotechnology, he restored a stretch of dead land contaminated by chemical poisons to vitality in mere minutes, creating yet another miracle following the 'Virus Crisis'…"
"Wow! That's amazing!" exclaimed one club member who had been on his phone. "This Seiji Fujiwara has the same surname as you, Secretary Fujiwara!"
"But…" another member, eating potato chips, pursed his lips. "I heard from my dad that even though this guy is incredibly capable, his personality is extremely cold and ruthless, and… his private life is supposedly a total mess."
Chika, mid-cheer, heard those words.
She stopped, puffing out her cute cheeks like an angry pufferfish.
"Even if he did a good thing, using his power to do bad things and toy with girls' feelings… I hate that kind of person the most!"
Hands on her hips, she turned to the chip-eating member and declared earnestly:
"Hmph! I, Chika Fujiwara, hate that kind of person!"
…
…
New York time, nine o'clock in the morning.
Wall Street, the heart of global finance.
Amid the deafening din, a silent war had reached its climax.
On every massive electronic screen, a terrifying red waterfall was devouring the Japanese Irisu Conglomerate's ticker, "IRUSU.JP." That waterfall was nearly vertical.
-20%.
-35%.
-50%… the exchange forced a trading halt.
"God! What's happening? The Irisu Conglomerate is under attack!"
"This isn't an attack, this is an execution! Their cash flow is completely locked down. Every sell order is instantly devoured by buy orders many times its size, then they hammer the price down again!"
"Who's doing this?! At this scale, with this precision, it's like a demon!"
The news media's live feeds descended into chaos at this unprecedented spectacle.
The anchors cried out incoherently.
Phrases like "unidentified capital," "precision strike," and "devastating blow" tumbled from their mouths.
Richard Anderson never appeared on a single camera.
But his will, channeled through the cold, ruthless instructions of several offshore funds, had transformed into a financial storm sweeping the globe.
At this moment, he was sitting in his penthouse office in Manhattan, leisurely swirling the whiskey in his glass, savoring the carnage on the screen as if it were a melodious opera.
…
At the same time, in Tokyo.
Fujiwara conglomerate headquarters, top-floor office.
Here it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, a stark contrast to the clamor outside.
On the wall, an ultra-high-definition screen took up almost the entire surface. It was synchronously displaying the brutal battle on the New York Stock Exchange.
On the left side of the screen was the cliff-edge red line everyone could see.
On the right side of the screen was a chart of capital flows that ordinary people would never be permitted to see.
That chart, threaded with countless golden lines, was rendered in three dimensions. It clearly traced every move, every strike of that invisible giant hand, and the very next position it was about to take.
Every data point pointed toward one final, devastating outcome.
Seiji Fujiwara sat behind his desk, watching the screen with a calm expression.
Beside him.
Fuyumi Irisu, in an immaculate black business skirt-suit, still stood tall and poised. But those eyes, normally brimming with intelligence and calculation, were locked on the screen.
On that screen was the collapse of her family's empire.
Her tightly pressed lips were drained of color.
Seiji's voice broke the deathly silence, calm and even.
"He didn't come to negotiate. He came to devour."
Seiji extended a finger and tapped lightly on the smooth desktop, producing a crisp sound.
Once, then again.
As if beating time for this slaughter.
"Your family, your pride, the so-called 'kingdom' you built at Kamiyama High School. In his eyes, it's just an insignificant appetizer."
Fuyumi's body trembled almost imperceptibly.
She could feel the man's gaze settling on her. There was no sympathy in it, no pity, only the amused appreciation of one who watches prey struggle.
Seiji's eyes finally left the screen and fell on the tense profile of the young woman.
From her perfect jawline to the lashes trembling slightly with anger.
"Now,"
Seiji slowly rose to his feet and walked over to stand before her. They were close enough to feel each other's breath.
He looked down at her from above. "You have only one choice left."
He didn't say what the choice was.
But both of them knew perfectly well.
He intended to watch this young woman offer up everything she had. To complete the transformation from "secretary" to "woman."
"No."
Fuyumi forced a single word out through clenched teeth.
Her voice was hoarse. She raised her head, looking Seiji straight in the eye for the first time with open hostility.
"As long as the final moment hasn't arrived, the game can still be played."
Her fingernails were already digging deep into her palms, but she felt nothing of the pain.
Seiji looked at the stubbornness in her eyes. He didn't grow angry. He gave a soft laugh instead.
"Is that so?" He reached out and brushed the back of his finger lightly along her cheek. The touch made her whole body stiffen. "Then let me see how much your 'possibility' is worth."
With that, Seiji turned and returned to his seat.
He turned his eyes back to the screen, as if the exchange had been nothing more than a tedious interlude.
This dismissive attitude was more provocative than any words.
Fuyumi spun around and strode quickly to her own workstation.
She was not a canary Seiji kept in a cage.
She was his most capable secretary, with the authority to command a portion of his resources. And now she would use that authority to wage a war of national defense for her family.
"Get me the managers of overseas funds one, three, and seven on the line."
"Pour every drop of liquid capital into the 'Ark' hedging pool. Activate the tier-three defense protocol."
"Immediately launch reciprocal short positions against every Asian-listed subsidiary under the 'Monsanto-Kirin Alliance'!"
Fuyumi put on her headset. Her eyes regained their old coldness and sharpness.
A string of precise, ruthless orders poured from her mouth one after another.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and countless data streams began scrolling wildly across her screen.
This was a war she had to win, with the hundred years of glory and shame of the Irisu Family, and her own pride, all on the table.
Watching her enter combat mode from behind, the corner of Seiji's mouth lifted in a faint, almost invisible smile.
Struggle, then.
The harder you struggle, the more beautiful your posture will be when you fall.
…
…
Forty-eight hours.
Forty-eight hours without sleep or rest.
The once tidy and luxurious top-floor office was now in shambles.
Empty coffee cups, mountains of energy drink cans, and financial reports scattered all over the floor formed the true picture of a war command post.
Fuyumi's eyes were sunken and bloodshot.
Her once-glossy hair was disheveled from being raked over and over by her fingers. Caffeine had completely lost its effect on her.
What kept her standing was a stubborn refusal to admit defeat.
Her office had become a true war room.
Dozens of top-tier traders and analysts had been urgently dispatched from the Fujiwara conglomerate.
Under Fuyumi's unified command, they engaged in a desperate struggle against the colossal capital pouring in from Wall Street.
But by now, every face was deathly pale, every expression strained.
A hopeless aura of imminent defeat permeated the entire space.
Fuyumi had used every means at her disposal.
Complex financial derivatives, hidden offshore funds, layered hedging models nested within one another… She was like a top-class chess player trying to find that single thread of survival in what looked like an unwinnable game.
And yet, the dam was crumbling inch by inch.
No matter how she plugged the gaps, that flood-like capital always found a new, more cunning breach.
It crashed through her defensive lines with multiples of her own scale.
The opposing operator was like a ghost who could see the future, always appearing one step ahead at her weakest point.
For these forty-eight hours, Seiji had done nothing.
He calmly watched it all unfold, as if this multi-billion-dollar slaughter were simply a film he was watching for entertainment.
"It's no use… Miss Irisu, the seventeenth defensive line has been breached too! We have no capital left!" a trader shouted in despair.
Finally, after another critical capital pool was precisely detonated by the other side in an unimaginable fashion.
Fuyumi went limp all over and slumped back against the cold backrest of her chair.
She had lost.
Lost catastrophically.
At that very moment, a steady set of footsteps came from behind her.
The sound carried with unusual clarity through the chaotic office, every step seeming to land directly on her heart.
Seiji slowly walked up behind her.
He extended a hand and gently picked up a warm towel, wiping the cold sweat from the corner of her brow.
He lightly stroked her hair, slightly disheveled from the long sleepless hours.
The gesture was tender to the point of cruelty, like soothing a beloved pet that had just been beaten in a fight.
"It's over," Seiji said in a flat tone. "Become mine."
"Your family will be merged into my conglomerate and granted eternal protection."
The words struck like a thunderclap inside Fuyumi's mind.
On one side was her last shred of dignity. As an independent business leader, as the protector of her family.
On the other was the "protection" Seiji offered. Surrender every shred of autonomy, become utterly subordinate.
"I…" She tried to refuse, but her voice was so dry she couldn't form a complete syllable.
She didn't even have the strength to push the man away.
At that moment, the encrypted phone at her hand rang.
It was the executive of the Mitsui conglomerate she had contacted. One of the largest conglomerates in Japan. This was her last hope.
She had hoped to trade portions of the Irisu Family's future interests for their assistance.
Fuyumi forced herself to pick up the phone, her voice carrying a slight tremor. "Mr. Matsushita, regarding the joint defense I proposed earlier…"
From the other end came a suffocating, awkward silence.
Then the man's apologetic voice.
"Miss Irisu… I'm extremely sorry. This is no longer domestic Japanese business competition. We… we have all received 'advice.' From Wall Street and the European Central Bank."
"'Advice'?" Fuyumi's heart sank to the bottom in an instant.
She knew exactly what that word meant at their level.
"Yes. 'Advice' that we should not interfere. Miss Irisu, you must understand. No one dares defy the will of the 'Monsanto-Kirin Alliance.' That is a true world-class power, not something we can stand against. Please… take care of yourself."
The phone was hung up in haste. Listening to the busy tone in her ear, Fuyumi stared blankly ahead.
An assistant came rushing over, his face ashen.
He held out a sheet of paper to her. It had just come off the fax machine, still warm.
It was the latest front page of The Wall Street Journal.
On the front page, a middle-aged man named Richard Anderson was shown raising a flute of champagne in high spirits as he gave an interview.
Beside the photo was the bold headline: "Wall Street's Wolf Finds a New Hunting Ground."
His comments were as dismissive as flicking dust off a designer suit.
"I respect the traditions of the Japanese market. But the necessary cleanup of certain outdated, regional barriers that obstruct the global flow of capital is part of progress."
He hadn't even mentioned the Irisu Family by name.
That total disregard was a heavier humiliation than any insult.
In his eyes, the family she took such pride in was nothing more than an "obstacle" that needed to be "cleaned up."
Fuyumi's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
Her personal phone rang at that moment, with terrible timing. The name "Eru Chitanda" flashed on the screen.
She picked up numbly.
Both ends of the call fell into a long silence.
No greeting, no words, only the suppressed, faint sound of each other's breathing.
Fuyumi could imagine the underclassman on the other end, those purple eyes filled with worry and helplessness.
A long while passed before Chitanda's voice came through, with that singular ethereal quality, soft and careful.
"Senpai…"
After a brief pause, Chitanda continued:
"…Please take care."
That simple, powerless expression of concern was the final straw, completely crushing the taut nerves of Fuyumi Irisu.
Even that innocent, simple-hearted underclassman knew that she had run out of road.
Fuyumi silently hung up the phone and slowly closed her eyes. Two streams of tears finally slid uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes.
Seiji said nothing more. He snapped his fingers at the empty air.
A moment later his personal assistant walked in and respectfully placed a document on the desk in front of Fuyumi.
It was a complete conglomerate merger agreement.
At the top of the document, in bold black type, were the words: "Fujiwara conglomerate."
The terms clearly folded every business of the Irisu Family, in a "zero-yen acquisition," entirely into the Fujiwara conglomerate's structure.
At the end of the terms, a signing pen had even already been laid out for her.
Seiji had prepared everything in advance.
What he had been waiting for, all along, was this very moment, the moment she gave up the fight.
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