The moment the door swung open, Takshi stood frozen, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of Naea—limp, bruised, and broken in Ryu's arms—was a sight he hadn't prepared for. He didn't waste a single second on questions; his medical instincts took over instantly. With a sharp, urgent gesture, he ushered them inside, guiding Ryu to a quiet, well-kept guest room.
"Lay her here, gently," Takshi commanded, his voice a mix of professional authority and suppressed rage at whoever had done this. He watched as Ryu placed her on the bed, her pale face contrasting sharply with the dark bruises forming on her cheeks.
Takshi immediately began his preliminary check-up, his hands steady despite the storm of emotions inside him. He checked her pulse and the dilation of her pupils, his heart sinking as he realized the extent of her physical exhaustion. Turning to his phone, he placed a rapid-fire call to his private clinic, summoning a trusted nurse to bring over the necessities—IV fluids, glucose drips, and a full medical kit for a detailed examination.
As he looked down at Naea, who lay there like a shattered porcelain doll, he knew one thing for certain: she was finally away from the Takahashi monsters, but the road to recovery would be long and silent.
As the nurse arrived to set up the IV drip and stabilize Naea's plummeting glucose levels, a heavy, suffocating silence filled the guest room. Takshi finally pulled away from the bedside, his white coat stained with the traces of Naea's struggle. He turned his sharp, clinical gaze toward Yumi, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
"Who did this, Yumi? Tell me exactly who laid their hands on her like this."
Yumi's composure, which had been held together by sheer adrenaline, finally snapped. She looked at Takshi, her eyes red-rimmed and swimming in fresh tears. "Who else could it be, Doctor?" she choked out, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and despair. "Mrs. Takahashi... she crossed every imaginable limit tonight. She turned into a monster right before my eyes."
Yumi wiped a stray tear, but they continued to fall, hot and relentless. "I don't understand, Doctor... I just don't understand what this poor girl's crime was. She doesn't even know why she was being punished. When I saw her—when I saw her being dragged and beaten like an animal—the state I was in... I can't even find the words to describe the horror of it."
She collapsed into a chair, her shoulders shaking as she wept openly. "She was just... standing there, taking it. No defense, no strength left. If we hadn't arrived when we did, I don't think she would have survived the night."
Outside the guest room, the silence of the hallway was deafening. Ryu sat slumped in a chair in Takshi's main hall, his head buried in his hands. The clinical scent of the house felt like a suffocating reminder of his failure. A crushing wave of regret washed over him; a single question echoed in his mind like a relentless drumbeat: Why did I open my mouth? Why did I feel the need to tell Mrs. Takahashi?
He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Naea's battered face. Since the day she had entered the Takahashi Mansion, Naea had been the only soul who treated the staff with genuine humanity. Whether it was the cooks, the cleaners, or the drivers—she saw them. She hadn't just been a "Mistress" to Ryu; she had treated him with the quiet, steady respect of a brother. She had looked out for him in a house that usually saw men like him as mere shadows.
Ryu's chest tightened with a sudden, sharp pain. He had known the Takahashi family was cold, but he had never imagined they were capable of such primitive, unchecked brutality. He had handed Mrs. Takahashi the weapon, thinking it was just information, never realizing she would use it to try and extinguish the very light that made the mansion bearable. As he sat there in the dim light of Takshi's hall, the realization hit him: his loyalty to a "Master" had led him to betray the only person who had ever truly treated him like a human being.
As the silence of Takshi's hall pressed in on him, a single, sharp memory pierced through Ryu's despair. He could almost hear Naea's soft, steady voice from a quiet afternoon months ago at the mansion. She had looked at him—not as a subordinate, not as a shadow in a suit—but with genuine warmth.
"I never had a real brother, Ryu," she had said, her voice small but certain. "But the way you look out for me... I've always felt like I finally found one in you."
The memory hit him like a physical blow. The moisture in his eyes finally spilled over as he sat there, his shoulders shaking with silent, jagged breaths. Naea had placed her complete trust in him; she had given him a place in her heart that she hadn't even given to the Takahashi bloodline. She had treated him with the dignity of a sibling, and in return, he had handed her over to a monster.
He stared at his hands in the dim light, the very hands that had carried her broken body into this house. He hadn't just failed his "Master's" wife; he had failed the only person who had ever called him a brother. The realization was a bitter poison, and as he sat in Takshi's hall, Ryu knew that no amount of service or loyalty to the Takahashi name could ever wash away the stain of what he had done to the only family he truly had.
Yumi finally stepped out of the guest room, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. Her eyes were swollen and rimmed with a deep, aching red—the physical toll of the tears she had shed for Naea. She looked at Ryu, who sat slumped in the hall like a man waiting for a death sentence. Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile and exhausted.
"Ryu," she called out softly, her tone devoid of its usual fire. "It's time. Let's go home."
Ryu looked up, his face a mask of raw agony. He didn't stand immediately. Instead, he looked at Yumi with a desperate, pleading gaze that broke her heart all over again. "Miss Yumi," he began, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. "May I... please, may I see Miss Naea? Just once before we leave?"
The sight of the hardened bodyguard trembling with such sincere grief moved Yumi. She remembered how Naea had always spoken of him—not as a servant, but as the brother she never had. With a slow, solemn nod, she granted him her silent permission, her own eyes welling up as she stepped aside.
Ryu moved with the silence of a ghost, his footsteps heavy with a shame he couldn't escape. As he stepped into the room, the world seemed to go cold. There lay Naea, looking tragically small against the vastness of the white bedsheets. Her skin was a ghostly pale, bruised and battered, while the rhythmic, clinical drip of the glucose IV provided the only sound in the room.
Dr. Takshi stood at the bedside, his back to the door as he murmured low, urgent instructions to the nurse. He was checking the monitors, his brow furrowed in deep professional concern. Ryu froze at the threshold, his breath hitching in his throat. Seeing the woman who had called him "brother" hooked up to machines and fighting for consciousness—all because of the words he had spoken—was a torture worse than death. He stood there, a silent sentinel of regret, watching the life flicker back into the sister he had inadvertently betrayed.
Unable to bear the sight of Naea's broken form for another second, Ryu turned away, his heart heavy with a shame that felt like lead. He retreated from the guest room, his eyes fixed on the floor, and followed Yumi back to the car. The drive back to the Takahashi Mansion was a silent, suffocating affair—the grand estate no longer felt like a home, but a cold monument to the family's cruelty.
Back at Takshi's residence, the room was quiet, save for the rhythmic, clinical drip of the IV. The nurse remained by Naea's side, a silent sentinel monitoring every shallow breath and the slow, steady flow of glucose into her weakened veins.
Meanwhile, in his own private quarters back at the mansion, Takshi finally retreated to his bed. The day had been a whirlwind of blood, surgery, and betrayal, and in the chaos, he realized he hadn't spoken a single word to Macau. With a trembling hand, he reached for his phone, the screen illuminating his pale, haunted face. He dialed her number, desperate for a voice that didn't sound like his mother's accusations.
Miles away, in the ancient, tranquil city of Kyoto, the atmosphere was starkly different. Macau and Akira were seated together at a low dinner table in a secluded house. The soft clink of chopsticks was the only sound as they ate in a tense, shared silence. They were a world away from the violence in Tokyo, completely unaware that the phone in Macau's pocket was about to vibrate with a call that could shatter their temporary peace.
The soft clink of porcelain in the Kyoto dining room was suddenly interrupted by the persistent vibration of a phone. Macau glanced at the screen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Takshi's name. She stood up abruptly, offering a tight, forced smile to Akira.
"Excuse me, Akira. It's the hospital. I need to take this," Macau murmured, stepping into the shadowed hallway.
"Take your time," Akira replied calmly, though her sharp eyes lingered on Macau's retreating back for a second too long.
Once out of earshot, Macau pressed the phone to her ear, her voice a hushed whisper. "Takshi? What is it? Is everything alright?"
"Macau," Takshi's voice came through, sounding hollow and aged. "I'm calling with the morning update. It's... it's not good. Kenji is in a deep coma. The trauma was too much. And the infection... we had no choice. We had to amputate his hand."
Macau closed her eyes, forcing a gasp of "shock" that sounded realistic enough for anyone listening. "Oh, God... his hand? A coma? This is... this is terrible, Takshi. My heart goes out to the family." Inside, she felt a cold shiver; she knew exactly whose 'justice' had landed Kenji in that bed.
"That's not why I'm calling, Macau," Takshi's voice cracked, turning into something much darker. "It's Naea. Ryu just brought her to my house. She's... she's broken, Macau. Mrs. Takahashi snapped. She dragged her, beat her... Naea is covered in bruises, her lip is split, she's unconscious on a glucose drip in my guest room right now. She was treated like an animal in that mansion."
The phone nearly slipped from Macau's trembling fingers. Her breath hitched, a genuine, paralyzing horror seizing her chest. Through the doorway, she could see Akira peacefully finishing her dinner.A terrifying realization settled in her gut: Kenji only struck Naea once, and for that, he is now in a coma with a severed hand. If Akira finds out what Mrs. Takahashi did—how she truly broke Naea—she won't just seek justice. She will annihilate the entire Takahashi bloodline. Mrs. Takahashi won't just face a quick death; she will face a living hell.Macau's hand trembled as she gripped the phone. She made a silent, desperate vow: I cannot let Akira know. Not a single word. She needs to remain here, free and untainted by this new darkness. Yet, despite her tactical silence, a deep, agonizing ache filled her heart for Naea. The girl had done nothing to deserve such barbarity, and the weight of keeping Naea's suffering a secret from the one person who would avenge her was almost too much for Macau to bear."Macau? Are you there?" Takshi's voice pulled her back.
"I... I'm here," Macau whispered, her eyes fixed on Akira's silhouette. "Listen to me, Takshi. Do not—under any circumstances—let anyone else know the extent of Naea's injuries. Keep her safe. Keep her hidden. And Takshi... thank you for calling."
She ended the call, her hand shaking so violently she had to grip the wall for support. She took a deep, shuddering breath, smoothing her hair and adjusting her expression. She had to be a perfect actress. She had to protect the secret, because the alternative was a bloodbath that even Kyoto couldn't hide from.
She stepped back into the dining room, her heart aching for the girl on the glucose drip, while her mind raced to build a wall of lies around the woman sitting across from her.