Chapter 27: The Heir’s Test
Scene 1 – “Two Sons Stand Before Me”
It was second period when the school descended into total silence.
Not regular “class is starting” silence.
I mean suffocating silence.
The kind that rolls through the halls like a pressure wave before something explodes.
Because that’s when Genzo Sakamoto stepped onto campus.
No warning.
No entourage.
Just presence.
Every teacher froze mid-lecture.
Every student with a phone instinctively stopped recording and lowered their head.
Even the janitor—who once power-washed a gang fight without flinching—bowed.
I didn’t know he was coming.
Neither did Ryuji.
But the second we heard his voice echo through the quad, we knew.
He wasn’t here to talk.
He was here to choose.
The front doors creaked open.
We stood in the courtyard, still mid-class, but no one was stopping us.
Because everyone wanted to see how this would go.
Kenji Sakamoto, accidental empire-builder.
Ryuji Sakamoto, heir by blood.
And Genzo?
Looking at us like we were two chess pieces made of glass and he was deciding which one to shatter.
“Two sons,” he said, his voice calm and terrifying, “stand before me.”
Ryuji tilted his head slightly.
I tried not to pass out.
“One was raised in my world,” Genzo continued. “Molded in silence. Forged by intention.”
He turned slightly toward Ryuji.
Ryuji didn’t move.
“And one,” Genzo said, his gaze shifting to me, “built a kingdom by mistake.”
I froze.
Everyone else did too.
You could hear the breeze. The hum of distant traffic. The nervous heartbeat of an entire student body.
Genzo stepped forward.
“I’ve watched enough. Heard the rumors. Read the files.”
Pause.
“Now… it’s time to test them.”
My heart dropped into my socks.
Genzo raised his voice, not angry, just deliberate.
“Two boys. One name. The test begins now.”
Takashi appeared beside Ryuji like he’d teleported there.
He handed Genzo a black envelope.
Genzo held it up.
“This contains the terms of the trial. One week. No mercy. No second chances.”
Then, without waiting for a reaction, he placed the envelope on the stone bench between us.
And walked away.
Just like that.
As if he hadn’t just announced a civil war.
Ryuji looked at the envelope.
Then at me.
Then smiled.
Not smug.
Not cruel.
Just calm.
Like he already knew how it would end.
I, meanwhile, was screaming inside.
“I DON’T EVEN WANT THE TITLE.”
Out loud, I just muttered, “Cool. Great. Can’t wait.”
Scene 2 – Erased Lines
Reina wasn’t the type to sit still.
Not when chaos was erupting.
Not when two versions of the same boy were tearing the school in half.
And definitely not when the Sakamoto patriarch declared a trial by fire with all the subtlety of a live grenade.
So instead of lunch, Reina was in the school archives.
Digging.
She’d used her class president clearance to get in. Told the librarian she was “reviewing club fund discrepancies.”
A lie, sure.
But at this point?
Everyone was lying about something.
She flipped through file after file, searching student records, attendance logs, enrollment entries from years ago.
Nothing about Kenji.
Not really.
Just a last name: Kenji... ???
Then she found the sealed folder.
Faded stamp. Tamper seal. Labelled:
“Sakamoto, Ryuji – Official Entry”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
And beneath it:
“Sakamoto, Kenji – [REDACTED]”
Her breath caught.
She tried to open it.
Locked.
Of course.
She jimmied the edge, slid a pencil under the seal, cracked the fold just enough to peek.
Inside: a partial form.
Ryuji’s name. Date of birth. Medical history. Emergency contacts.
And then—Kenji’s name.
Or… what was left of it.
The space for “Last Name” had been blacked out.
Erased.
As if someone wanted to scrub him out of existence—but not completely.
A trace remained.
Just enough to leave questions.
She heard a voice behind her.
“Dig too deep, and you find things that don’t like being found.”
She spun.
Takashi Hanekawa.
Leaning against the file cabinet like he’d been there the whole time.
Arms crossed. Tie loose. Smile casual.
Eyes cold.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “Was gonna ask you the same thing.”
She stepped in front of the file. “These records don’t make sense.”
“Yeah. A lot of things don’t.”
“Kenji’s name was erased. Why?”
Takashi smiled faintly. “Some things are better left buried, Kisaragi.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That supposed to scare me?”
“No,” he said, straightening. “Just supposed to stop you.”
He turned to leave.
Paused at the door.
“One week,” he said over his shoulder. “You’d be smart to pick a side before then.”
Then he was gone.
And Reina was left alone in the archive room, staring at the shredded record of a boy who maybe—just maybe—wasn’t supposed to exist.
Scene 3 – Just Some Guy
I spent the rest of the day spiraling.
Quietly.
Internally.
Professionally.
On the outside, I was sitting at my desk in 2-B, nodding at the teacher and pretending to take notes.
On the inside?
Absolute chaos.
“I DON’T EVEN WANT THE TITLE.”
“WHY IS THIS A TOURNAMENT ARC?!”
“IS THAT A CAMPAIGN POSTER WITH MY FACE ON IT?!”
(Yes. Yes, it was. Someone printed flyers that said "Vote Kenji – Our Accidentally Fearless Leader.”)
I had become a meme in real time.
And Ryuji?
Still calm.
Still collected.
Still terrifyingly himself.
He didn’t gloat.
Didn’t posture.
Just existed, like a quiet thundercloud in human form.
I couldn’t read him.
And that made it worse.
After school, I didn’t make it five steps out of the classroom before the ambush hit.
Akari.
Sakura.
Reina.
Three vastly different expressions.
One deeply uncomfortable corridor.
Akari crossed her arms. “So… you really are just some guy?”
I blinked. “I—what?”
“Like, not a secret heir. Not a trained assassin. Just… a dude. A dude with slightly chaotic eyebrows and anxiety problems.”
“I—yeah? I mean, technically—”
She cut me off. “Do you have any idea how many times I imagined you fighting off enemies with a katana while shielding me with your body?!”
“…Zero would be my guess?”
She groaned and walked away, muttering something about “romantic fraud.”
Then came Sakura.
Less angry.
More… confused.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I fell in love with the version of Ryuji you pretended to be.”
“Wow,” I said flatly. “That’s not emotionally devastating at all.”
She held up a finger. “But! But… I also liked who you were. Kind of. I think. Maybe.”
“You realize that’s not helpful.”
“I’m confused, okay?! You’re like… emotionally complex tofu. You absorb vibes. I don’t know what flavor you actually are.”
Then she left too.
I sighed.
Braced for Reina.
She stood there, arms folded.
Expression unreadable.
Then—quietly—she said:
“I think I’m relieved.”
That stunned me.
“…Relieved?”
She nodded. “I thought I was protecting a dangerous heir to a criminal empire. Turns out I was just babysitting a chaos magnet with a hero complex.”
“That’s… weirdly accurate.”
She tilted her head. “But also… kind of sad.”
“Why?”
“Because you were trying so hard to become someone you thought mattered. And maybe, deep down, you never thought you were enough.”
That one hit a little too close.
I looked down.
Didn’t speak.
She turned to go—then paused.
“I still think you’re in over your head,” she said. “But I’m not walking away.”
And then?
She was gone.
And I was left alone.
Just some guy.
In the middle of a war.
.
Scene 4 – Smoke Before the Fire
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Shocker, I know.
Between the identity crisis, the spontaneous heir trial, and the emotional wreckage left by three extremely different girls, my brain had officially declared bankruptcy.
So I did what I always do when things feel too big—
I wandered.
I found myself on the roof of my apartment building. Concrete floor. Rusted railing. The city glowing like a dying constellation below.
It was quiet up there.
Too quiet.
Which, in hindsight, should’ve been my first clue.
I wasn’t alone.
I felt it before I saw it—a cold pulse in the air. A wrongness.
And then—
Footsteps behind me.
Slow. Deliberate. Expensive shoes.
I turned fast.
Two men.
Black suits. Clean ties. No school logos. No neighborhood recognition.
Which meant?
Not ours.
One of them stepped forward. He looked about thirty, but his eyes were too sharp—like they’d seen people disappear and hadn’t blinked.
“You’re Sakamoto’s kid,” he said flatly.
“Define ‘kid,’” I replied, because sarcasm is my final line of defense.
He didn’t smile.
Didn’t even flinch.
“We’re not here for violence,” the other one said. “Just… observing.”
“Because breaking into a teenager’s apartment building and standing silently behind him on the roof is super casual,” I said.
Again—no response.
Just stillness.
“You should tell your father,” the first man said, “that not everyone’s convinced his little test will keep the peace.”
My mouth went dry.
“You think this is about peace?”
He nodded. “No one’s stupid enough to make a move while Genzo Sakamoto is watching. But the second he chooses a side?”
He leaned forward.
“War.”
And just like that, they turned and left.
No threats.
No names.
No business cards.
Just a warning.
And the quiet certainty that the second this trial ends…
Something worse begins.
Scene 5 – Whisper Network
Takashi Hanekawa didn’t sleep much.
He didn’t need to.
When the world was full of chaos, sleep was for people who weren’t in charge of keeping it balanced.
He stood in the back office of a nondescript karaoke bar just outside the city center. Neon lights flickered against the frosted glass window, casting hazy shadows on the wall.
In his hand? A burner phone.
Untraceable. Unlogged.
He scrolled to a contact saved only as:
[REDACTED]
One tap.
The line clicked after exactly three rings.
He didn’t wait for a greeting.
“It’s time,” Takashi said calmly.
A pause on the other end.
Then a distorted voice: “You’re sure?”
“Genzo’s playing his game,” Takashi replied. “But we both know this isn’t about who wins. It’s about who’s left standing.”
Silence.
Then: “You want me to move?”
“Not yet. But start circling. Watch the edges. Look for cracks.”
Another pause. “And the boy?”
Takashi glanced at a wall of photos pinned to the corkboard across the room—Kenji, Ryuji, Reina, even Sakura and Akari.
Maps. Timelines. Strings.
The whole messy empire.
“Kenji’s starting to flinch,” he said. “But he’s stubborn. Ryuji’s colder, sharper—but that doesn’t make him loyal.”
A beat.
“So neither is ready?”
“No,” Takashi said. “But they’re close.”
The voice on the other end let out a slow breath.
Then, quietly: “And the girl? Kisaragi?”
Takashi’s eyes flicked toward a printed record labeled:
REINA KISARAGI – SCHOOL PRESIDENT / CLASS OBSERVER / LIABILITY?
He tapped the edge of the file.
“She’s too smart. Knows just enough to be dangerous. But not enough to stop.”
“What’s the play?”
Takashi didn’t answer for a long moment.
Then finally:
“We watch. We wait.”
A pause.
“Then we decide who gets to rewrite history.”
The call ended.
Takashi stared at the corkboard.
One hand reached out and peeled away a photo.
Not Kenji.
Not Ryuji.
A photo of a woman.
Older.
Familiar.
Her face scratched out—except for the eyes.
Still sharp. Still dangerous.
He whispered to no one:
“A mother’s word can break or build an empire.”
And pinned the photo back in place.
Scene 6 – A Mother’s Word
Reina sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, files spread out around her like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved.
Some of it had come from the school.
Some… from other places.
Places class presidents weren’t supposed to know how to access.
Her laptop screen glowed with a black-market archive login.
Authorized for 12 minutes.
She typed quickly.
Search: Sakamoto, Kenji
One result.
File locked. Red-marked.
“Erased Entry.”
She opened it.
Inside: a blurry birth certificate, the name “Kenji” intact—but the last name?
Smeared.
Erased.
And below it: Mother – [REDACTED]
Father: GENZO SAKAMOTO — confirmed.
She scrolled down.
There was a matching file for Ryuji.
Pristine.
Perfect.
Approved.
Official Entry.
And right there—in clean, unbroken font:
Mother – Haruka Sakamoto.
Reina’s pulse thudded in her ears.
Two sons.
One mother.
But only one was listed.
And the other?
Erased.
She didn’t know why.
Didn’t know who had the power to do it.
But she knew where to ask.
The next morning, she waited outside the Sakamoto compound.
Security didn’t stop her.
They didn’t even look surprised.
They just opened the gate like she was expected.
Genzo was sitting in the garden.
Tea set.
Traditional robes.
No tie today.
Just timing.
“You’ve been busy,” he said without looking at her.
She sat across from him.
Dropped the files on the table.
He didn’t flinch.
“You erased Kenji,” she said.
Still, no reaction.
“You left him out. You let him grow up alone. You chose Ryuji.”
Finally, he looked at her.
Not angry.
Not amused.
Just… thoughtful.
Then he said:
“A mother’s word can break or build an empire.”
Reina’s breath caught.
“What does that mean?”
Genzo took a slow sip of tea.
Then:
“Ask yourself why she took one son and not the other.”
Reina stared at him.
But Genzo said nothing more.
And somewhere behind her, a door closed softly.
