Chapter 36: The Roof of Rot
The sun was already high when Takumi slammed the heavy car door and stormed up the marble steps of the Sakamoto estate. The polished front doors swung open without him even knocking—the housekeeper must have seen him from the window—but he brushed past without a word.
Inside, the house was too pristine, too cold. The silence was thick, broken only by the distant clink of china against fine porcelain.
In the lounge, his mother sat with her ankles crossed elegantly, stirring a cup of tea. His father, arms folded behind his back, stared out through the tall windows overlooking the manicured gardens. Neither smiled.
"Takumi," Mrs. Sakamoto drawled, lifting her gaze lazily. "What a... surprise. You look awful."
Takumi's throat burned, but he forced out, "I need to talk to you. Both of you. Please. It's serious."
Mr. Sakamoto turned slowly, his expression like stone. "Everything with you is serious when it's too late. What now?"
Takumi's fingers twitched at his sides. His perfect tie felt like it was choking him.
"I'm in trouble," he said, the words falling out too fast. "Someone's targeting me. They have... they have evidence. Videos. Files. They're threatening to go public unless I—unless I confess."
His mother arched a sculpted eyebrow. "Confess?" she repeated, as if the word tasted sour.
Takumi swallowed. "They know about Rina. About everything. They've backed me into a corner."
For a long moment, neither parent moved.
Then Mr. Sakamoto's mouth curled into a sneer. "So," he said coldly. "You can't even handle a woman."
Takumi stiffened. "It's not that simple. I don't even know who they are. They've erased their tracks, but they have everything. Surveillance footage. Medical files. Even statements I never thought could be traced."
Mr. Sakamoto's eyes narrowed. "You let nobodies outsmart you? People without names, without power?"
"I tried to get ahead of it, I really did," Takumi said quickly. "But everything I touched—they anticipated. It's like they're always one step ahead."
Mrs. Sakamoto raised her teacup again, but didn't sip. "Then why did you even bother calling us?"
"Because I need help," he said, voice rising with desperation. "I need you to fix this. Like before."
His father's nostrils flared. "Like high school, you mean? When you were caught altering exam scores and I had to threaten the entire board to keep you enrolled? Or college, when you were caught with that intern?"
Takumi's lips parted but no words came.
"From the moment you could walk, we've had to clean up after you," Mr. Sakamoto said with disgust. "You think we owe you another miracle?"
Mrs. Sakamoto placed her cup down with finality. "You're a grown man, Takumi. We handed you a throne, and you've managed to burn the palace to the ground."
"You were supposed to be smarter than this," his father repeated, voice like a whip. "Stronger. And now here you are, crawling home over a... housewife."
Takumi clenched his fists. "She—she betrayed me!"
"Betrayed you?" Mrs. Sakamoto echoed. "No, Takumi. You just got sloppy."
Mr. Sakamoto stepped forward, each word a blow. "We raised you to be invincible. And now you're begging us to save you from your own incompetence."
Takumi's face flushed, shame and rage warring inside him.
"You have to help me," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I can fix this if you just—"
"You can fix nothing," his mother snapped. "You've already soiled our name enough."
Mr. Sakamoto's eyes sharpened, then narrowed into cold calculation. "Still... we can't afford to have our name dragged through courtrooms and tabloids. If this goes public, it won't just be your reputation that burns. It'll be ours."
Mrs. Sakamoto nodded, brushing nonexistent dust off her sleeve. "We'll do this our way. Quietly. Once. If you fail again... you're no longer our problem."
Takumi's breath caught. "You mean it? You'll help me? We don't have time—less than twenty-four hours. They gave me a deadline."
Mr. Sakamoto looked away for a moment, exhaling tightly. "Then we'll act tonight. I'll contact someone. We'll put pressure on our enforcement connections. Get them to start pulling background checks on whoever these people are. Maybe shake them."
"You'll need to disappear for a few days," Mrs. Sakamoto added coolly. "We'll handle your official appearances. Say you've gone abroad for a corporate summit."
"What if that's not enough?" Takumi asked, voice thinner now. "What if they come after me again?"
His father leveled a cold gaze at him. "Then for once in your life, you'll have to hold the line. We're giving you cover, not saving you. Don't embarrass us again."
Takumi nodded slowly, heart thudding. It wasn't love. It was leverage. But it was all he had left.
Later that afternoon, the safehouse was calm. Sunlight spilled through dusty blinds, catching steam rising from mugs of tea. The team had just returned from their confrontation and were quietly unpacking bags, exchanging tired looks.
Damian dropped onto the couch with a dramatic groan. "I swear, if we don't get at least eight hours of sleep after this, I'm starting a coup."
Hana smirked. "You say that every time. And then you volunteer for surveillance duty anyway."
"I'm unpredictable. That's part of my charm."
In the kitchen, Audrey gently stirred a small pot of soup. Beside her, Rina was cutting vegetables—her movements tentative but focused. It was her idea to cook lunch for everyone.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Audrey asked gently.
Rina nodded, eyes fixed on the chopping board. "I needed to do something. I wanted to say thank you."
Kenzo peeked in from the hallway. "I smell miso. If I walk in and see instant noodles, I'm walking back out."
Rina actually smiled, small but genuine. Audrey caught the moment and mirrored it, softer.
As they worked together, Rina paused, hesitating with the ladle hovering over the pot. "Have you... heard anything? About him?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Audrey met her eyes softly, then placed a gentle hand over Rina's. "Everything's going according to plan. You're safe now. That's what matters."
Hana, passing by, added casually, "We'd tell you if anything changed. And don't worry—we're very hard to shake."
Damian leaned in from the couch. "Basically, you've got four half-dead superheroes in your corner. That's a pretty solid insurance policy."
Rina let out a small, shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you… all of you. I never thought I'd feel safe again."
They gathered around the table. Nothing fancy—just miso soup, rice, and grilled fish. But it felt like peace. A small, warm fragment of something human.
Rina served the bowls with practiced care. Audrey offered to pour the tea.
"To quiet days," Audrey said, raising her cup.
"To people who don't give up," Rina added, her voice a little steadier now.
Damian grinned and clinked mugs with Hana. "And to food that isn't reheated gas station curry. Honestly, Rina, you're already ranking higher than Kenzo's meal planning."
"Hey," Kenzo said, deadpan. "I'll have you know my instant ramen has a fan base."
"Yeah," Hana smirked. "You and your laptop."
Rina giggled, one hand covering her mouth. The warmth from the group was contagious.
She looked around and then, with a bit of hesitance, asked softly, "What do you think he's doing right now? Planning something?"
There was a pause. Kenzo's eyes flicked up from his bowl.
"Maybe," he said. "But whatever he's planning, we're two steps ahead."
Audrey reached across and gently squeezed Rina's hand. "We've seen men like him. They try to control, to scare. But he's not in control anymore. You are."
Hana leaned back, sipping her tea. "And if he thinks he can twist his way back into your life, he'll find out just how wrong he is."
Damian tossed a chopstick into his mouth like a toothpick. "Honestly? Let him try. The guy wouldn't know what hit him."
Rina blinked, overwhelmed by the certainty in their voices. Her hands trembled slightly, but the fear didn't feel so suffocating. It was still there—but she wasn't carrying it alone anymore.
Rina looked down at her food, tears threatening to rise again—but this time not from fear. Her throat tightened, and her voice came out barely above a whisper. "You guys are... weird. But kind. I don't remember the last time someone just let me be... without expecting something back."
Audrey smiled, setting her tea down. "That's what friends do. Even if we're the weird, half-dead kind."
Damian nudged her lightly. "Speak for yourself. I'm at least seventy percent alive."
Kenzo gave a quiet shrug. "Weirdly kind's not a bad way to describe us. Could be worse. We could've made you sign a non-disclosure agreement."
Rina gave a watery laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deeper than humor. Her shoulders relaxed a little. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel broken—just healing.
Kenzo nodded. "Could be worse. We could've made you sign a non-disclosure agreement."
That drew a bigger laugh from Rina. Her shoulders relaxed a little. She picked up her chopsticks, glanced at the team, and for the first time in what felt like forever, felt something close to hope.
They ate slowly, talking between bites. No planning. No code names. Just small stories, jokes about Hana's horrible drawing of a mission map, and Damian insisting he once outran a guard dog—"barefoot, in the rain, while carrying Hana's entire tech rig."
Hana rolled her eyes. "He tripped over a bike rack. I have the footage."
Rina laughed again, and for a few moments, the safehouse didn't feel like a hideout. It felt like a home. Even if only for now.
They laughed. And for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like pretending. Rina wasn't just surviving—she was beginning to live again. Every warm chuckle from Damian, every sarcastic jab from Hana, every subtle smile from Kenzo, and every quiet, knowing glance from Audrey stitched a little piece of her spirit back together. She felt the comfort of something unspoken yet fiercely protective surrounding her. And in that quiet table, surrounded by mismatched souls, wounded pasts, and gently blooming trust, it felt—truly, finally—a little like home.
Meanwhile, back at the Sakamoto estate, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful.
In a dark-paneled study lined with lacquered bookshelves, Takumi sat stiffly before his parents. His mother was on the phone, a crystal glass of whisky in her other hand, her voice low and precise. His father leaned over a desk, tapping a contact list on a locked tablet.
"Yamamoto's firm will represent him," Mr. Sakamoto muttered. "We'll position it as harassment—emotional blackmail. Turn the narrative."
"The commissioner's already agreed to assign a few trusted officers," his mother added, eyes never leaving her screen. "They'll quietly begin tracking whoever's been interfering. If they're foreigners, even better. We can label it foreign provocation."
Takumi sat motionless. He should've felt grateful. But there was a hollowness under his ribs. Their help came not from care—but preservation.
"The media will comply," Mrs. Sakamoto continued. "Yoshida at The Herald owes us two favors. He'll suppress any rumors. We'll plant a fluff piece on your new project to dilute the timeline."
Mr. Sakamoto looked up sharply. "This is the last time, Takumi. You are a liability. If it weren't for our name—"
"I know," Takumi murmured. "I know."
His mother's voice was icy. "Then act like it. Clean clothes, clean face. When you walk outside, you're the perfect heir again. No weakness. No trace."
Takumi opened his mouth, as if to respond—but paused. "Do you even care what they have on me? What I did?"
Mrs. Sakamoto's eyes flickered coldly. "We care that you didn't clean it up. That's the problem."
His father snapped, "Do you know who's targeting you?"
Takumi shook his head. "No. They erased everything. CCTV, employee logs, even Rina's leave request at her office—it's all gone. They outmaneuvered everything."
Mr. Sakamoto's expression darkened. "Then find out. Fast. If someone has this kind of access, they're dangerous. We can't have a scandal, not with the merger next month."
Takumi's throat tightened. "Even with your help, they gave me a deadline—less than twenty-four hours."
"Then we move fast," his father said. "We'll cover your tracks, silence the noise. But if this explodes, we are not going down with you."
His fists clenched in his lap.
Someone out there had cracked his life wide open—and for the first time, no amount of wealth made him feel safe. But he wasn't done. Not yet. He looked down at his phone, the seconds ticking louder in his ears. His jaw tightened. "She thinks she's free? That this is over?" he hissed, voice low and venomous.
He stormed to the liquor cabinet, yanked it open, and poured himself another drink—hands shaking, not from fear, but from fury. His mind raced.
"Why didn't the cameras pick anything up? Why were the files gone?" he growled. "Someone's behind this. Someone's helping her. Wiping everything."
He staggered back and slumped into the leather chair, his fists clenching. The walls felt like they were closing in.
"I gave her everything," he spat. "And she disappeared on me like I was nothing. And now they want me to kneel? Turn myself in? They think they've won."
His eyes burned, jaw twitching as he stared at the ticking time on his phone.
"I'll find her," he muttered, his voice now razor sharp. "I'll take back what's mine. I'll make them all pay. One by one. They don't know who they're messing with."
He stood suddenly, knocking the glass off the side table. It shattered, but he didn't flinch. His breathing was ragged. And somewhere, far in the pit of his chest, fear had started to twist—but his rage swallowed it whole.