The Perfect Portrait

Ryōma had finally let Ren go, thinking he had finally broken him. And at first, it seemed that way. Ren followed his father's orders without hesitation. He ate when he was told to, signed documents without reading them, and walked around with a blank stare.

The performance reached its cruelest point one afternoon when Ryōma ordered him to get rid of Ren's childish distractions. Without hesitation, he went to his room, took out his favorite guitar, and in front of his father and Akira, smashed it on the floor. Ren showed no emotion as he stepped on the remains of the instrument. Ryōma smiled, satisfied. But Akira, standing in the doorway, covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a sob. She cried silently, watching as her Prince had finally fallen, losing the only spark of soul he had left.

Days had passed. Days in which Ren seemed like a robot.

One day, Ryōma summoned him to his private office. “Sit down, son,” said Ryōma, unusually kind. They talked a little about the company's stock and the future merger with the Takashima family. Ren just nodded at everything his father said.

Then his father stood up and walked over to a wall covered with velvet fabric. “ I want to show you something. ” He pulled on a refined cord and the curtains opened, revealing a painting.

It was a generational portrait. In the center was Grandfather Shinomiya. To his right, Ryōma, imposing. And to his left, freshly painted on the canvas, was Ren. But it wasn't the Ren they knew. It was the Ren idealized by his father: cold, perfect, without a trace of rebellion. “ I'm proud of what you've become. ” said Ryōma, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. “ You are finally worthy... You are finally the pride of this family.” 

Ren looked at the painting. He looked at the empty eyes of his painted version. “ Thank you, Father ” he said, his monotone voice hiding a deep disgust.

After that conversation, they both left the office and headed for the hallway. Ryōma suddenly stopped, patting his pockets. “ Darn it!, I left my handkerchief on the desk. Ren, go get it for me. ”

Ren nodded and turned around. He quietly reentered the office. He walked over to the desk and found the handkerchief. But as he turned around, his elbow knocked over a small object: a small UV flashlight, used by his father to detect counterfeit bills in company transactions. The device fell to the floor, and Ren quickly bent down to pick it up before anyone came in.

But in the movement, a folded piece of paper he kept in his inside pocket slipped out and fell as well. It was one of the pages he had torn from the diary he found in that basement. He had kept it instinctively, feeling that something was missing from it.

The sheet fell face up on the carpet. Ren turned on the UV light to look for it under the desk. And at that moment, it happened.

When the violet light hit the old paper, the blank space was no longer empty. Letters, written in some kind of barely visible invisible ink, glowed with a ghostly blue hue.

Ren stared at it in intrigue. His heart began to beat faster. He brought the light closer and read the words. What it said hit him like a physical blow. The handwriting was shaky, hurried, written by a terrified child:

“I THINK DAD TRIED TO KILL ME!”

As he read that, his mind began to cloud over.

He felt a headache coming on, as if a drill were piercing his skull. It was so intense that he had to drop the flashlight and put both hands on his head, closing his eyes tightly. He began to have some brief, violent flashbacks.

Ren opened his eyes, gasping, and looked at the sheet again. The UV light was still shining from the floor. Other words glowed:

“DO NOT TRUST YOUR FAMILY.”

“THE GIRL WITH PINK HAIR IS WAITING FOR YOU.” 

All those words bombarded Ren's memories.

Thanks to that, his childhood memories came flooding back.

He remembered the park and Mio, the girl who had promised to marry him under the tree. He even remembered Mio's parents, a humble couple who were happy. They were a very different family from his own. They were happy. And he wanted to be part of that.

Also, in a fleeting flash, he remembered a helpless red-haired girl at a party, crying in a corner. But his mind quickly shifted to a darker memory.

 He was at the top of the stairs in this very house. He was small. He was carrying a backpack. He was going to run away. Ryōma appeared. A senseless fight for Ren, but vital for his father. “I want to go with her!” little Ren shouted. “I love her!” His father's rage was so great that his face contorted. “You're defective!” Ryōma shouted. “If your brain doesn't work right, I'll have to fix it, even if it costs you your life!” Ren saw his father's hand reach out.

Not to stop him, but to push him. He felt the emptiness. The steps approaching quickly. The impact. And finally... Darkness.

It was obvious. It wasn't a bicycle accident like they had led him to believe. Ryōma, his own father, had pushed him down the stairs with the intention of killing him or fixing him, causing his amnesia and lack of emotional development for years.

Ren was sweating profusely. He felt his world spinning from all the emotions and the truth he had just received before his eyes. His father was a monster. A psychopath who had failed.

Ren took a deep breath. Once, twice, even three times. He forced his body to stop shaking. He got up and picked up the flashlight and the diary page, carefully putting them in his pocket. His face returned to normal, but his eyes were no longer empty.

He took his father's handkerchief and left the room without saying a single word about the situation.

Without saying a word, he left the room to hand the handkerchief to his executioner, ready to play the final role of his life before destroying the stage.