Lies. All of it, a convenient, perfectly engineered deception. Kyouya's internal monologue flowed, cold and precise, starkly contrasting the solemn facade he presented. My father's "dying wish" is merely a catalyst, a means to an end. While his frail health is undeniable, his true desire is less about lineage and more about control, even from the grave. But his desires are irrelevant to mine.
These women are not here to fulfill his sentimental whims. They are here for me. Each of them represents a unique set of variables, a living, breathing dataset. He thought back to his meticulous "measurements," his detailed observations. Their physiological responses, their psychological profiles, their reactions under duress, their genetic predispositions for various traits – all constitute invaluable data points. This entire elaborate scenario, this artificial environment, was a controlled experiment. He could observe them, test their limits, identify patterns, and ultimately, use them to further his own research into human optimization and control. An heir might be a byproduct, a necessary step to secure his own ultimate freedom from his father's pervasive influence, but the true prize was the vast, unprecedented opportunity for experimentation and research. This was his show, his lab, and they were his unwitting subjects.
es, this was my stage, and they, the unwitting performers. How utterly predictable, the human desire for status, for wealth, for a position of power. My father, in his dying breath, had presented me with a unique opportunity to secure my own liberation from the constraints he'd meticulously constructed throughout my life. He sought an heir; I sought ultimate freedom. And these women, so meticulously curated, were the perfect instruments to achieve it.
Each one a distinct model, a complex algorithm waiting to be deconstructed. Scarlet, the predator, driven by raw ambition and a thirst for dominance. Ayaka, the puritan, bound by rigid logic and a fierce, almost self-destructive sense of propriety. Seira… Seira, the calculating intellect, a mirror reflecting my own cold precision, yet with an unsettling capacity for unexpected variables, for fluster, for perhaps even genuine intrigue. And the others, still largely unclassified, awaiting their turn in the crucible of my observation.
This was not a courtship. This was a comprehensive study in human behavior. Their reactions to stress, to competition, to perceived intimacy, to humiliation, to the promise of power – all of it, quantifiable, analyzable. I would observe how quickly their facades crumbled, how deeply their true motivations lay hidden, how easily they could be manipulated by the correct stimuli. It was a grand, living simulation, far more engaging than any theoretical model. The data I would collect here would be invaluable, a definitive treatise on the predictable flaws and exploitable desires of the human psyche.
And when the experiment concluded, when I had extracted every last byte of useful information, when I had cultivated the optimal environment for my own autonomy, then, and only then, would I consider the ancillary objective: the heir. A final, pragmatic step to secure my own ultimate liberation. They were merely the reagents in my grand design. Their dreams, their ambitions, their very essence, were merely variables to be controlled. The game had truly just begun, and I, Kyouya Saionji, was the sole architect of its terrifying, beautiful conclusion.
Ergo, I shall witness the truth that prevails after such an experimentation, no matter what. Or how.
The thought solidified within Kyouya, a cold, unyielding vow. The variables were assembled, the parameters set. He had orchestrated this grand deception not for the sentimental whims of a dying man, but for the profound data it promised. The human psyche, so complex and yet so predictably flawed, was now laid bare before him.
He surveyed the women, now settled on the rugs, some still whispering, others casting curious glances his way. They were unaware of the true nature of their predicament, oblivious to the meticulous analysis that was already dissecting their every glance, their every nervous fidget, their every calculated smile. He would push them, test their limits, observe their breaking points, and record their desperate strategies. Their desires, their fears, their pride – all would be grist for his mill, fuel for his relentless pursuit of understanding.
The information Seira possessed was merely the first lock to pick, the initial key to unlocking a much larger database. He would extract it, not with force, but with precise, psychological leverage. And he would use it to unravel the deeper mysteries that lay hidden within the confines of his own past, within the very fabric of his father's suffocating control.
This wasn't about love, or even genuine connection. It was about control. Absolute control over his own destiny, over the narrative of his life, over the very people who dared to impose their will upon him. The outcome of this experiment, whatever form it took, would be his alone to define. And the truth, once it revealed itself in the crucible of his carefully crafted chaos, would be his ultimate weapon.