Soft notes hung in the air, occasionally interrupted by the faint rustle of paper, the youngest Department Head of the Clarkeston Conservatory of Performing Arts sits on a leather chair, surrounded by a halo of light, presenting a rare display of her eyes as she watched the bin she reserves solely for paperwork needing shredding. Above the stack of paper already in a neat pile, a single, white, crisp envelope rests atop the colourful paper.

Her lips curl into a grimace.

The Totsuki emblem is stamped on it, clear and golden. The letter is unopened, but the scent on it was clear: a clean, masculine scent that bled leather and hair gel, and on the seal rested a peculiar sign.

The Headmaster's insignia.

As if that would have any means of helping him to enforce her opinion.

What did Azami Nakamura hope to achieve by threatening her?

Does he even begin to imagine the whiplash on his beloved culinary world and his abstract Nakiri name if he dared harm her — whether or not as the estranged and shunned heir of the Tetsuya Empire?

He wouldn't dare.

Oh, but he did. The letter made it very clear: there were still people from her inner circle he could harm.

Indeed, Dojima Gin and Shinomiya Kojirou were safe. But for how long? It was only a question of when, not if, he would get to them.

Mahiru leans a pale cheek against her palm and exhales softly before abruptly sliding back on her chair and getting up, startling her assistant Shimizu Kohinata.

"Miss?..." Shimizu intones timidly.

"I'm going to Aokurou-O'. Arrange for my private chauffeur, I'm not going by the company car."

"But Mahiru-sama, the flight from the United States to..."

A cold gaze from eyes coloured by molten gold of her employer stops her.

"Hai, I understand." 

%%%

As the company car pulls out of the airport and into the midst of a rainy Osaka, Mahiru allows herself a sigh as she turns back to the laptop perched on her lap. The driver remained ignorant of the tiny sliver of irritation in the infamously docile Mahiru, eyes flicking wildly at the traffic and the screeching tires.

Mahiru was tired.

The internet connection on the flight was horrendous. The most it afforded to do was allow her to tidy up her schedule and catch up on paperwork. Honestly, Business Class flights she went on when she was still at Totsuki had arguably better wifi than the self-claimed First Class.

Her phone rings. Scowling, she glances down at the buzzing device, screen alight.

She turns back to her laptop, continuing to type up the specifics of a new chain shop. A sudden thunder sounds, she glances at the windows, and she sees a flash—

The phone keeps ringing, the rain keeps falling, the crowd keeps pushing, the car continues down a blurry road. The world goes on. And Mahiru feels it again; the ache in her bones and the heavy eyelids, the desire to just stop. To step out of this game of snakes and dragons.

Like last time. Eight months ago, the angry tears streaming down her cheeks.

Like always. The shatter of delicate china, the violin bow in her hand.

"Mahiru-sama, we have arrived."

The restaurant they arrive at has no shinning banners welcoming customers in. Only hard, rain worn wood and delicately stacked tiles as roofing.

Akurouou-O'. 

House of the Blue Tailed.

The car door opens, and she steps out. A black umbrella over her head and a leather jacket on her shoulders, feet clad with heeled boots.

The attendant at the door nearly drops his binder as she saunters in. With a squeak, he pulled out a half crumpled letter and asked her to follow him.

Akurouou-O' was one of the many restaurants she had set up away from her father's prying eyes. These restaurants came in all shapes and form, each suited especially for which styles Mahiru believed to be the best setting to discuss business with her individual clients.

However, through the years, this restaurant remained strangely solitude to the public. Hardly anyone was ever invited. Thus, in a similar fashion of how Mahiru stepped out of the prying eyes of the public, Akurouou-O' also became a mystery within a mystery. But why? Why was something so delicate and old and precious just abandoned like this?

Her mother had died here.

After that, little of customers nor friends were ever invited to step in again.

Except him. He was an exception.

The door slides open to reveal a garden; a small wooden bridge rested over a pond, beside it nestled a pine tree that barely reached the height of the opened titled roof in the centre. On the other side of the pond rested tatami mats and a small table as well as two cushions. One is already occupied.

Golden eyes narrow.

Oh, how the mighty has fallen.

"You know," the man in front of her says, perhaps he heard her, perhaps he didn't, "I've lived a long life. I've seen things come to life and I've also seen them burn. But the type of people I find the most disgusting are the people who have the ability to make a difference, to change this world for the better, but do not."

Mahiru almost flinches. But then she remembers. This is the man that has held an iron fist over the Nakiri Empire at its peak.

But the summer of treasures must come to an end some day. The bright, beautiful things must all fade eventually.

She inclines her head. Silky hair swishing. "Senzaemon-san. You're hardly in a position to say so yourself, no?"

The old man laughs harshly, "Mahiru-kun. I need a favour."

"And on what basis shall I provide it by? My mother?"

"No. As an equal exchange. I want you to accept Azami Nakamura's invitation."

"That, Senzaemon-san, I'm afraid, is a little too much to ask. Even in the memory of my mother."

"I want you to act as the middle ground between the rebels and the Central Administration."

"And in return? What will I receive?"

"A share in all of the Nakiri stocks that I have managed to salvage, and more, if you can take back Totsuki."

Mahiru blinks. Almost disbelieving like the old man was willing to risk so much to take back Totsuki.

But well, he was saving the world, too. In a way.

Her smile turns feral.

"Deal."

%%%

 Nekonerd_207, i know that i had said the update would be yesterday night, but unfortunately there was a power outage when i was writing this. it was back on later, and i managed to salvage most of the chapters i had written.

dedicated to  (i think i spelled your un wrong, but im on my phone rn, so i'll complete the dedication later.

this version in writing will focus more on the plot rather than humor. i will try to update more often, as this has now become one of the many official projects.

feedback is welcomed!

{BLANCHÉ}