Meanwhile, in a different part of the mansion—at the same spot where Yuki currently lay dreaming of power and privilege—Satoru sat on the edge of his bed.

Where Yuki saw opportunity glittering like gold in sunlight, Satoru saw nothing but bars. And behind those bars, within the cage of his own chest, he was holding in rage that felt like it was on the brink of explosion.

The room's architectural design was identical to Yuki's, a perfect mirror image down to the smallest detail. The same sparkling white walls, the same mahogany furniture, the same floor-to-ceiling windows and so on.

A knock at the door finally shattered the silence that had stretched for almost too long in Satoru's room, the sound reverberating through the space almost too loudly.

It was funny, really, how a simple knock could carry so much weight. However, Satoru wasn't laughing—don't get it wrong, yo!

"Young Master, it's time for lunch."

The servant's voice sounded through the heavy door. The voice was muffled but polite and professional despite the speaker not being in view.

He stood from the bed with movements that seemed almost lazy, unhurried.

When he opened the door, a smile spread across his face, reaching his eyes with an authenticity that would have fooled anyone who didn't know to look deeper. However, it was none of the servant's business.

"Thanks for informing me," Satoru said, sweeping a glance across the man from his head to his feet.

His name tag read "Kenji," though Satoru doubted anyone in this godforsaken mansion ever bothered to read it, but he did.

Then, with casualness, Satoru added, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, young master," Kenji responded, his voice maintaining his professionalism. "I cannot eat when I am still on duty."

"Drop the formalities," Satoru said, waving his hand dismissively in a gesture that somehow managed to be both childish and friendly. "I'm still a kid."

He tilted his head, studying Kenji with those sharp, observant eyes. "I bet you have a kid that is older than me, don't you?"

"By the way, would you like to play a game?" Satoru asked.

"I'm sorry, Master Satoru," Kenji began, and oh, you could hear the regret in his voice, perfectly acted. "But I am on duty, so I cannot play a game now."

"Come on!" Satoru stressed, taking a step closer, erasing more of the distance between them with the confidence of someone who knew that he was going to get his way eventually.

"You have to, or else I will not be leaving this room," Satoru declared, and the words were delivered with a finality that left no room for negotiation.

Before Kenji could formulate a response, Satoru added his coup de grâce with a little bit of spice... Juicy.

"And besides, there is a reward for the game." He extended this last statement with persuasion, his small finger wagging playfully as well.

The cheeky smile that spread across his face was so infectious even Kenji was being moved slightly by it.

'I should say no. My job requires I say no. But he's just a child asking to play. How can I really refuse this... I need to think.'

"But young Master, I'm on duty a—" Kenji tried one more time, making one last possible attempt to maintain the boundaries that his job required him to maintain, but even he could hear the weakness in his protest now.

"No objection, please!" Satoru cut him off with another dismissive wave, as if he were a young prince addressing his subject rather than a ten-year-old pestering a servant.

"If you do so and waste more time, I'll assume you have won and I'll give you the reward instantly, so don't object."

Damned if you do, damned if you don't—checkmate either direction.

"There are more than enough guards to take your place on your duty with no problem."

Kenji gulped audibly—the cartoon kind that he always thought was exaggerated until today.

"What game would you like to play, young master?" The words emerged from Kenji like surrender, because that's exactly what they were.

A smile extended across Satoru's face—the smile of someone who'd just won a game they'd been playing while their opponent didn't even realize they were competing.

His eyes darted left, then right, with exaggerated cartoon-spy caution, checking to confirm if there was anyone around watching them, and luckily, the corridor was empty.

Satisfied no one was watching—or at least satisfied enough to proceed—Satoru reached out with both hands and grabbed Kenji's sleeve. Then, before Kenji could react or resist or even fully process what was happening, Satoru pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut.

It wasn't a hostile action; however, it was just Satoru being the child that he is. The surprising strength and reflex that was nothing like some ordinary child should have was something not so surprising to Kenji, who knew how much the Nakamura children must have gone through, but still he was impressed.

Deep down though, he hoped Satoru would want them to spar, or else he'd be so damned.

"We are going to play a game," Satoru announced with a creepy smile, "that requires you to keep a straight face and restrain from laughing."

He held up one finger, making his first condition like some professional teacher acting cool.

"If you laugh," Satoru continued, his voice taking on a formal tone, "you lose, and you'll share my food with me."

A second finger joined the first, creating a V that could stand for victory or for very bad decisions, depending on Kenji's interpretation.

"But if you don't laugh, then you win, and you can have all my food."

Kenji gulped heavily again. The sound was becoming regular now. This was bad.

As if playing a game wasn't enough, now he needs to eat the child's food.

If he got caught eating the food of one of the Nakamura children, he would be in for trouble. The Nakamura household didn't operate on reasonable punishment according to offense committed; they rather focused on the kind of punishment that should fit the crime.

Whether one spoon or half plate or full plate didn't matter in the slightest. Quantity was irrelevant. It was the principle of crossing a boundary that mattered.

And if he decided not to play the game? Well, that path led to equally disastrous outcomes, just through different routes. Satoru would refuse to eat. The young master would miss lunch.

That simple fact alone could—no, would—put him and probably all other servants in worse situations than if he'd just shared the damn food.

"Now, how are we going to play the game, young master?" Kenji asked, resignation in his voice seeming to carry proof of that which Satoru either didn't notice or simply chose to ignore.

His shoulders had slumped fully now, all pretense of rigid composure abandoned.

"Raise both arms upward," Satoru instructed with military authority—but not too loudly, his voice carrying a command that left no room for negotiation or hesitation or questions about why this particular position was necessary.

Kenji obeyed. What else could he do at this point? He'd already surrendered.

He lifted his arms above his head like a criminal surrendering to overwhelming force—he didn't understand it, but he suspected its outcome wouldn't be particularly pleasant.

For a moment, he stood there looking utterly comical—a grown man in his mid-twenties standing in a child's bedroom with arms raised above his head, about to participate in whatever scheme this pint-sized mastermind had planned.

His armpits were now fully exposed.

He probably thought Satoru was going to do something like toss a ball or have him hold something above his head or something along the lines of innocent games ten-year-olds played.

He was wrong.

Then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, Satoru struck.

His tiny hands shot forward, fingers extended, and poked simultaneously into both of Kenji's exposed armpits. The effect was instantaneous and spectacular.

Kenji's eyes went wide as dinner plates. His entire body went rigid for a fraction of a second. Then, as the ticklish sensation began to register in his brain, he started to... squirm.

And when I say squirm, I mean he moved like a fish out of water, like someone who'd suddenly discovered the floor was made of hot coals and the air was made of bees.

His professional composure, already gone, depreciated even more.

He tried—oh, he tried so hard—to hold in his laughter. You could see the effort in every line of his face, in the way his lips pressed together so tightly they practically disappeared.

However, it was a futile effort. It really was. He deserved some kind of medal for the attempt, even though it wasn't successful.

But it was also utterly futile.

The laughter burst out hysterically. It wasn't a polite chuckle or a restrained giggle. It was a full-throated, body-shaking, completely undignified explosion of unbearable laughter that echoed off the walls and probably could be heard three rooms away.

Tears sprang to his eyes—not from sadness but from the sheer physical exertion of laughing this hard.

And then, because laughter is perhaps the most contagious thing in the universe Satoru had ever seen, he started laughing too.

"Look how bright you look while laughing," Satoru managed to utter between gasps amidst his laughter. "I was getting bored of seeing your stoic face."

Satoru retracted his small fingers with satisfaction, and the laughter finally subsided.

"But now you've laughed and you lose the game," Satoru spoke with mock severity, rubbing his palms against each other, his little ten-year-old face extending into a smile again, this one softer than before and more genuine. "We'll have to share our lunch."

"Before that, I'd like to know about you. Tell me about..." Satoru paused, thinking about a conversation to start.

"Tell me about your family?" The question was delivered cheerfully, with genuine interest rather than demanding it like he did with the game. "You have one, don't you?"

Unfortunately, Kenji's reaction suggested this particular assumption had missed its mark by a massive gap.

"Not really..." Kenji scratched his head nervously, a gesture so casual, so utterly at odds with the rigid composure he had displayed just minutes ago, that it made him look like a completely different person.

His face had gone red with a hundred shades.

"But I have big plans though."

The words came out defensively, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Satoru.

"Ohhhhhh, big plans," Satoru drew out the words, stretching them while raising his eyebrows and lowering them in an exaggerated manner that managed to be both mocking and comical.

That kinda look that says—Please, do go on, this should be entertaining.

"Heyyy!" Kenji protested, his voice taking on a quality that was distinctly whiny, almost childish. "Why are you giving me that look? Stop it, it's embarrassing!"

He quickly placed both palms on his face, which had somehow managed to go even redder. His fingers spread across his cheeks in a futile attempt to hide his embarrassment from Satoru and failed spectacularly.

The sight was too much.

Satoru fell backward onto his bed, landing with a bounce on the soft mattress and immediately began laughing again. His small body rolled back and forth, and his legs kicked slightly as if he were trying to run in the air.

For that moment—just that brief, perfect moment—he forgot everything else. The anger that had been bubbling in his chest cooled. The rage that had been constant in him since arriving at this cursed mansion faded into nothing.

***

Meanwhile, just outside his room, someone was standing with his back against the wall, listening to the conversation coldly.

The figure remained perfectly still, every muscle tensed with barely contained anger. His hands were clenched into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms, drawing tiny droplets of blood that he didn't even notice.

The laughter filtering through the door—his brother's laughter, felt like salt being poured directly onto an open wound.

How dare that servant. How dare some worthless nobody who'd been plucked from the gutter make his brother laugh like that.

He only stayed for as long as he could hold his anger at hearing some less privileged human having a conversation with his brother before walking away.

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