Volume #3 - EPISODE 11 - The Father Confronted / When Truth Shatters (Part 1)

VOLUME #3 - EPISODE 11 [FINALE PART ONE OF TWO]

[NARRATOR: Some warnings arrive disguised as goodbyes. Ten days ago, Hiroaki Shiko—Riyura's uncle, the person everyone believed was the mastermind—said farewell and vanished. He left the country with a confession, an apology, and an envelope addressed to Riyura's mother. Riyura believed that was the end of it. Closure. A final chapter closed at the door. But just before Riyura left, Hiroaki spoke again. Words Riyura was too shaken to fully grasp at the time. "Your father—Riyazo—is not the victim in this story. He's the architect. Not me. I just played a part in it nephew." Hiroaki confessed that years ago, when he uncovered what Riyazo had truly built, Riyazo tried to kill him—and promised to do the same to his sons if he dared make any moves. Hiroaki survived by playing the role Riyazo needed him to play. He became the villain everyone hunted so Riyazo could remain hidden. Everything—the crimes, the corruption, the monster he pretended to be—was survival. A shield meant to protect Riyura and Yakamira. He carried the blame so they wouldn't have to. Now, Hiroaki was leaving because Riyura was finally old enough to stand on his own. Strong enough to face the truth. Strong enough to survive without him. He asked only one thing: protect your mother. Protect Yakamira. And then came the warning. Riyazo's imprisonment wasn't a mistake. It was deliberate. He had orchestrated his own arrest to draw out anyone who knew the truth. And when he moved—when he finally acted—he wouldn't hesitate. Not even for his own sons. Those words haunt Riyura now. Ten days later, police raids fail. Ten days later, Riyazo is mysteriously released. Ten days later, everything Hiroaki warned about begins to unfold. Today, the real monster reveals himself. Today, Riyura learns that survival isn't enough—you have to understand what you're surviving. This is where truth shatters. This is where darkness awakens. This is the beginning of the end.]

PART ONE: THE MORNING EVERYTHING COLLAPSED

Wednesday, 6 AM. Ten days after Uncle Hiroaki disappeared.

Riyura stood outside Jeremy High with Yakamira, Jimiko, and Sotsuko, watching police vehicles mobilize for coordinated raids on the corruption network. Officers in tactical gear. Prosecutors with warrants. Media vans circling.

Principal Jeremy stood beside them, his expression grim with anticipation. "Seventeen locations. Simultaneous raids. Everyone connected to the network. By noon, it's over."

Riyura should have felt relief. Vindication. This was what they'd worked for—exposing corruption, achieving justice for Takeshi Yamamoto, for all the victims.

But Uncle Hiroaki's final warning echoed in his mind: "He orchestrated his own arrest to draw out everyone who knows the truth."

[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Something's wrong. The timing. Dad's release yesterday on "technicalities." The raids happening exactly when Uncle predicted they would. This feels orchestrated. Like we're not hunting the network—we're being positioned exactly where someone wants us.]

His phone buzzed. Text from his mother:

"Riyura, I'm scared. Your uncle's envelope—I finally opened it. It says your father isn't what we thought. That he's been manipulating everything. That he's dangerous. And now he's here. At the house. Says he wants to 'talk to his family.' Please don't come home. Please stay safe. I love you. And he also told me he's sorry. Just know, I did accept his apology as well. So I hope your fine with doing so to. Which I know considering him you won't, But that's fine that's your choice son. So stay safe."

Riyura's blood turned to ice. Police radios crackled: "Target locations empty. All suspects evacuated. Evidence removed. Locations cleaned." Another radio: "Vice Principal Tanaka's residence—empty. Looks abandoned for days."

Another: "All corruption network members—gone. Someone warned them." Principal Jeremy's face went pale. "They knew. Someone told them exactly when we were coming."

"Not someone," Riyura whispered, terrible understanding crystallizing. "My father. He told them. He's been coordinating this entire time. Made everyone think Uncle Hiroaki was the mastermind while he controlled everything from shadows."

His phone rang. Unknown number. Against every screaming instinct, he answered.

His father's voice—smooth, cold, familiar: "Hello, son. Enjoying the show? All that investigation. All that evidence. All that heroic crusading. And what did it accomplish? My brother fled the country. The network is safely relocated. And you've painted a target on everyone who helped you."

"Where's Mom?" Riyura demanded.

"Safe. For now. Come home, Riyura. Bring Yakamira. We're overdue for a family conversation. A real conversation. About the organization you thought you were fighting. About what it really is. About why you exist. And about—" His voice dropped to something terrible. "—about why you were always meant to die by my hand. You have one hour. Don't bring police. Don't bring friends. Just you and your brother. Or your mother pays the price for your investigation."

The call ended. Yakamira grabbed Riyura's arm. "Brother, this is a trap. We call the police. We—"

"He'll kill her," Riyura said flatly. "You know he will. He's killed without hesitation before. He destroyed Uncle Hiroaki's life the moment the truth came out—without a shred of regret. Everyone who gets in his way ends up erased. You heard what I told you about his obsession with dreams and control."

He clenched his jaw. "And somehow the police decided to delay his arrest. They're chasing other leads. Gathering more evidence. Letting him walk free for now—because dealing with those leads is easier than dealing with him. All because he's to much of a bother due to his smart mind."

Riyura looked up, eyes hard. "To him, Mom isn't family. She's just another obstacle." "Then we go together," Yakamira insisted. "Face him together. Like we've faced everything else."

Sotsuko stepped forward. "Take this." He pressed a small recording device into Riyura's hand. "Whatever he confesses—we'll have evidence. Even if—" He couldn't finish.

Jimiko's expression was anguished. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Riyura said firmly. "You've done enough. All of you. This is—this is family business. The kind that ends with someone not walking away. And I can't—I won't—risk anyone else."

"You're not just risking yourself," Jimiko said quietly. "You're risking the truth. If you die, everything your father built stays hidden. Everything your uncle sacrificed to expose stays buried."

"That's why Yakamira comes," Riyura replied. "Two witnesses. Two chances for truth to survive." They left before anyone could stop them. Before Principal Jeremy could call backup. Before their friends could insist on joining.

Just two brothers. Walking toward their father's house. Toward their mother held hostage. Toward the confrontation that had been building since Riyura's childhood.

The winter morning cut like glass. Every breath visible. Every step echoing with finality.

PART TWO: BACKSTORY—WHEN DREAMS WERE BORN AND POISONED (JEREMY HIGH, 1995-2018)

[NARRATOR: To understand how salvation became damnation, we must go back. Back to Jeremy High in 1995, when technology was reshaping the world basically overall, when two seventeen-year-old teens met and dreamed of fixing the world. This is their story. This is where the poison began. This is the origin of everything.]

The Meeting (September 1995) [Jeremy High School - Chemistry Lab]

Riyazo Shiko sat alone at the back lab station, hands trembling as he measured chemicals. Not from incompetence—from the bruises hidden under long sleeves. His father had been drunk again. His mother had been silent again.

"You're doing that wrong," a voice said. Riyazo looked up. Another student—slightly taller, kind eyes, smile that suggested he hadn't been broken yet. "Hiroaki Shiko. We share a last name—probably distant cousins. And you're adding too much sodium hydroxide. It'll explode."

"Maybe I want it to explode," Riyazo said quietly. Hiroaki's smile faded. He sat down uninvited. "Bad family?" "The worst."

"Same." Hiroaki showed his wrists—scars, deliberate, recent. "My parents think care means pain in general. Think love means control to. Think people are property to be molded or destroyed."

Something in Riyazo's heart loosened. Someone understood. Someone actually understood. "I'm planning to run away after graduation," Riyazo admitted. First time he'd said it aloud. "Just disappear."

"Or," Hiroaki said thoughtfully, "we could fix it. The whole broken system that lets people destroy others. We're smart, Riyazo. Top of our class despite everything. What if we built something? An organization that helps people escape bad families? Provides resources, legal support, safe houses? Something real?"

It was insane. Impossible. Exactly the kind of idealistic nonsense people like those two believed before the world crushed them. "I'm in," Riyazo said.

They shook hands. Two broken kids making a promise in a chemistry lab, surrounded by elements that could create or destroy depending on combination.

They had no idea they were both.

The Organization's Creation (October 1995 - June 1997)

They called it "The Sanctuary Network." Started small—helping classmates they knew were suffering. A teenager escaping a bad stepfather got connected with relatives. A kid facing parents who ignored him his whole life through pain, got sent to his families house for the rest of his life for his own good. So that child could live on with parents who actually cared for him.

Word spread carefully. Students who needed help found them. And Riyazo and Hiroaki delivered.

They were brilliant together. Riyazo had the strategic mind—planning operations, anticipating problems, thinking three steps ahead. Hiroaki had emotional intelligence—reading people, earning trust, knowing exactly what someone needed.

"We're going to change the world," Hiroaki said one night on Jeremy High's rooftop. "Not just save a few people. Actually change many support systems."

"That's ambitious," Riyazo replied, actually smiling. First time in years he had hope.

"We make a promise," Hiroaki continued. "After graduation, we keep this going. Expand it. Make it legitimate. And eventually—we pass it down to the most unique people in future generations. The ones who understand what we're trying to do. Who can carry it forward even after we're gone."

"A legacy," Riyazo said. "A dream that doesn't die with us."

They wrote it down, signed it, buried it in a time capsule under Jeremy High's cherry massive blossom tree. Someday they'd dig it up. Show future generations. Prove broken people could build something beautiful.

They graduated in 1997. Riyazo studied law. Hiroaki studied social work. The Sanctuary Network continued, expanding. They helped dozens. Then hundreds. Built connections with sympathetic lawyers, social workers, police who believed in their mission.

It was working. They were changing lives. And then Riyazo's two sons would change the fate of the world they were trying to make. A world through the dreams they were achieving for others needs for support.

"We'll help them together," Hiroaki promised. "Your two sons. We'll teach them the dream. Give them the choice to carry it forward." Everything was perfect, but Yakamira changed everything.

The First Crack

Riyazo looked at his son that morning in the hospital, after he'd been rushed in with serious injuries. He studied the kids eyes—eyes that, even at such a young age, seemed to assess everything around them with unsettling intelligence.

"He's going to be special when he grows up," the doctor said. "This one's brilliant. He patched up his own injury with barely any knowledge at his age." Riyazo should have felt proud for his son as a parent.

Instead: nothing. Just cold calculation. His son would be useful. Smart. Capable. The perfect heir. But not lovable. Not warm. "Something wrong?" his wife asked, after arriving after hearing the urgent news.

"No," Riyazo lied. "He's fine." But the seed had already been planted. In that moment, Riyazo decided that Yakamira would be the one to reshape their so-called dream—bend it toward what he believed were greater ideals. Ideals he would later justify through cruelty and pain, using control for purpose, and ambition for righteousness as well.

Hiroaki visited. Took a close look at Yakamira's so-called, big injury. Smiled with genuine warmth. "He's incredible, Riyazo. Your son. The future of everything we've built. He's so damn smart. I can tell just by looking, that he did this on his own. At such a young age as well. That's so great. I'm proud of your son."

"He's cold," Riyazo said quietly. "Even at such a young age. He doesn't need us to care for him much. Just observes." "He's intelligent," Hiroaki corrected. "That's different from cold."

But as Yakamira grew—brilliant, reserved, guarded—the distance only widened. Riyazo couldn't connect. Started seeing his son as a project instead of a person.

The Source of Hatred

Riyura was unique. Not normal—something louder, more alive than any sound than Yakamira could do. Purple hair. Star-shaped pupils. Very unexplainable. Aggressively unique.

And Riyazo felt something he'd never felt before: hatred. Pure, immediate, irrational hatred for this screaming, purple-haired, star-eyed child who represented everything he wasn't.

"He's perfect," his wife said one evening, hugging Riyura with love she'd never quite managed for Yakamira. Riyazo looked. And saw an abomination. A child who'd be loved for being different instead of useful. Who'd charm people instead of earning respect through competence. Who'd be the heir Hiroaki wanted—unique, caring, special—instead of the heir Riyazo had made within Yakamira's heart in general.

"I need air," Riyazo said, leaving before he did something unforgivable. Outside, he called Hiroaki.

"Something strange just happened with Riyura," he said. "He's always been… different. But today—watching him react to something as simple as a joke for the first time—it was like something bloomed inside him. I've never seen it before."

Riyazo paused, searching for the words. "There was something in his eyes. Not like Yakamira's. Riyura connects to the world's oddness in a way that's entirely his own. And it's—"

He exhaled sharply. "I don't know how to say it. It unsettles me."

"Congratulations!" Hiroaki sounded genuinely thrilled. "When can I visit?" "Whenever," Riyazo replied. "It's not like you never could. I just never said it outright. I didn't want you skipping work—work that matters to our dream."

His voice hollowed. "He's… unique. Purple hair. Star-shaped pupils. The kind of features that make people stare." Riyazo hesitated. "And I—honestly, I don't know what to make of him."

"That's wonderful," Hiroaki said. "The organization needs someone unique. Someone who can connect with people—" "I don't want him in the organization," Riyazo interrupted.

Silence. "What?" "Yakamira is my heir. He's brilliant, strategic, everything we need—Riyura—he's just a distraction. A moron." "Riyazo..." Hiroaki's voice held warning. "That's not how we planned this. We said the most unique heir was—"

"Plans change," Riyazo said flatly. "Yakamira is my choice. Final." He hung up. That was the first crack. The first moment when the dream started dying.

The Poison Spreads (2009-2015)

Riyazo tried ignoring Riyura. Treating him as just another son needing to be taken care of, but nothing more. A son he could ignore and not bother with.

But his wife loved the kid. Loved him so much. Encouraged his uniqueness, his comedy, his aggressive optimism that survived despite growing up with a father who clearly hated him.

"Why don't you play with Riyura?" his wife asked one evening, watching their younger son perform an elaborate puppet show. "I see him," Riyazo said coldly. "I see exactly what he is. A distraction from what matters."

His wife started pulling away. Started protecting Riyura from Riyazo's indifference. Started treating Yakamira as the overlooked child. And Yakamira—brilliant, observant Yakamira—noticed everything. Started building walls. Started becoming cold like his father because cold meant safe.

Hiroaki noticed too. Tried to intervene.

"You're destroying both your sons," Hiroaki said during one of their increasingly rare meetings. "Yakamira because you're using him as a project. Riyura because you're rejecting him for being unique."

"Don't lecture me," Riyazo snapped. "You don't have to deal with one brilliant heir of a son, and another son who dosen't shut up because he's a complete moron. You don't understand."

"Then let me help," Hiroaki pleaded. "Let me be an uncle to both kids. Especially Riyura—he has exactly the personality we always wanted. Caring, unique, someone who could inspire people."

"No." "Riyazo—" "I SAID NO!" Riyazo stood abruptly. "Yakamira is my heir. Riyura is irrelevant. If you can't accept that, then maybe our partnership ends here."

He exhaled heavily. "You can still visit Riyura. I'll allow that much. If it keeps him quiet, fine."

His voice sharpened. "Maybe having an uncle with my last name will make him listen to you. Not that you'd ever manipulate him—you're too kind for that. So just play the role you claim to want. Be the uncle. Keep him occupied."

Riyazo turned away. "That's all I'm offering."

Hiroaki stared at his best friend and saw someone he didn't recognize. Someone who'd become exactly what they'd sworn to fight. "You're right," Hiroaki said quietly. "Maybe it does."

He left. They didn't speak for months.

The organization continued—both maintaining it separately, coordinating through intermediaries, preserving what they'd built even as their friendship died.

Then came 2015. The year everything became irreversible.

The Piece of Poison / The Child's Death (April 2015)

Riyazo had been on his phone. Important call about the organization. Distracted. Driving too fast. Not paying attention. The impact. The sound. Five-year-old Takeshi Yamamoto's body hitting pavement.

His mother screaming. And Riyazo—standing there, staring at what he'd done, feeling something inside him shatter completely. He called lawyers. The ones the organization used for legitimate cases. Explained it was an accident. Unavoidable. Tragic.

They arrived. Made calls. Greased palms. Case dismissed. Settlement paid. NDA signed. Justice denied. Seven-year-old Riyura had been in the car. Witnessed everything. Saw his father kill a person and buy innocence.

Something broke inside Riyura that day. He learned the world could be cruel, that powerful people often faced no consequences, that his own father could smile at the dinner table while carrying blood on his hands.

It was also the moment Riyazo began ruling his household through silence. Questions were no longer tolerated. Truth became dangerous. And soon, he didn't even need to enforce it—the fear did the work for him. The truth of the case would never be leaked out. Until the future arrived. But that's another story.

Yakamira was left alone more often, deemed "responsible enough" because of his intelligence. He learned to take care of himself, to keep things running, to stay useful. Meanwhile, their mother—already worn down and fractured by her husband—began to change as more. Whether by fear, bitterness, or survival, she started widening the space between her sons.

That distance would one day become a chasm. One that would allow them to stand on opposite sides of the truth. But that comes later. This is where it began.

Hiroaki found out through organization contacts. Called immediately. "What did you do?" Hiroaki's voice shook with rage and horror. "An accident," Riyazo said mechanically. "Just unfortunate."

"You KILLED A PERSON and you're calling it UNFORTUNATE?!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Riyazo shouted back. "Turn myself in? Destroy everything we've built? The organization needs me. One child's death doesn't outweigh—"

"STOP!" Hiroaki was crying. "Stop talking. You've become exactly what we swore to destroy. A powerful person using wealth to avoid consequences for hurting the innocent."

Silence. "I can't be part of this anymore," Hiroaki said. "Can't watch you destroy everything we built." "Then leave," Riyazo said coldly. "The organization doesn't need you. I'll run it alone. Better. Without your weakness."

"Fine," Hiroaki replied. "But I'm taking what I can save. The people. The resources. The dream we actually believed in." "You can't split the organization," Riyazo said dangerously.

"Watch me." The call ended.

What followed was war. Cold, calculated war fought in shadows and spreadsheets. Hiroaki tried to take the organization's heart—the helping part. Riyazo fought to keep the structure, the connections, the power.

They both won and lost. The organization split.

Because after killing a human being and facing no consequences, Riyazo realized something terrible: power wasn't about helping people. It was about control. About avoiding accountability.

And if wealthy criminals needed help avoiding consequences—if they'd pay—then why not provide it? The Sanctuary Network became the Corruption Network. Helping criminals instead of victims. Protecting monsters instead of saving the broken.

Hiroaki fought it. Tried to expose it. Tried to stop his former best friend from poisoning everything. Then Riyazo did something even more unforgivable.

The Attempted Murder That Failed (October 2018)

Hiroaki had gathered evidence. Documentation of Riyazo's corruption. Proof the network was facilitating crime. He was planning to go public. To expose everything. To destroy what Riyazo had become even if it meant destroying himself.

Riyazo found out through network contacts. Realized Hiroaki was an existential threat. So he made a choice. They met one final time. Jeremy High's rooftop—where they'd made their original promise, where they'd dreamed of changing the world.

"You're really going to do this?" Riyazo asked quietly. "Expose me? Destroy everything?" "You destroyed it yourself," Hiroaki replied, holding a folder thick with evidence.

"I'm what we always were," Riyazo said. "Survivors. Using the system that tried to break us." "Using the system to help others is different from using it to help criminals," Hiroaki shot back.

They stared at each other—best friends turned enemies. "I'm going to the police tomorrow," Hiroaki said. "I'm telling them everything." "I can't let you do that," Riyazo said.

"You can't stop me." "Can't I?" Riyazo moved. Fast. Hiroaki tried to dodge. They grappled near the rooftop edge. But Hiroaki was prepared. He'd anticipated this. Had learned to defend himself.

He broke free. Pushed back. Riyazo stumbled but didn't fall. "You tried to kill me," Hiroaki said, breathing hard. "You actually tried." "And I'll try again," Riyazo replied. "Every time you threaten what I've built. Until one of us is dead."

"Then I guess I better make sure I expose you before you get another chance." Hiroaki ran. Left the rooftop. Left the evidence folder scattered in wind. As he accidently did so.

And Riyazo stood there, staring at papers blowing away, realizing his former best friend was now his greatest enemy. He couldn't kill Hiroaki—not without making the death obviously suspicious. Not when Hiroaki had already distributed evidence to backup contacts.

So Riyazo made a different choice. He let Hiroaki think he'd won. Let him believe he'd escaped. Let him gather evidence, build his case, prepare to expose everything again.

Then Riyazo activated his network. Made Hiroaki's life impossible. Destroyed his social work career through false accusations. Isolated him from support systems. Made him into the villain—the mastermind who'd twisted the organization. And he had no choice but to accept it in order to live and take care of his nephews when Riyazo couldn't.

And slowly, methodically, Riyazo took over everything. Absorbed Hiroaki's remaining contacts. Made the corruption network so powerful, so deeply embedded in society, that exposing it seemed impossible.

Hiroaki fought back where he could. Helped people in secret. Tried to undermine the network from shadows. But Riyazo was always three steps ahead. Always watching. Always waiting for the perfect moment to eliminate his former best friend permanently.

That moment never came. Hiroaki was too careful. Too strategic. Until ten days ago, when Riyazo orchestrated his own arrest. Drew everyone out. Made them think the network was collapsing.

And Hiroaki—brilliant, paranoid Hiroaki—realized it was all a trap. Realized Riyazo was planning something final. So he confessed everything to Riyura. Gave him the envelope for his mother. And fled the country before Riyazo could make his move.

But he left his nephew behind. Left Riyura and Yakamira in danger. Left them to face the real monster. Because he knew they were old enough now to face the final boss. And so he went away, seen as the true mastermind in many eyes. But Riyura would soon prove to the world that the real mastermind was his father the whole time. And that truth would come out in the worst way possible for Riyura.

[End of Backstory - Return to Present] - PART THREE: THE CONFRONTATION BEGINS

Riyura and Yakamira stood outside their father's house—the place where their mother waited, where their father had built and destroyed dreams, where everything would finally end.

The house looked normal. Suburban. Respectable. But the family inside was poison. They walked to the door. It opened before they could knock.

Their father stood there. And for the first time, Riyura saw him clearly. Not as the distant parent. Not as the murderer who killed people. But as the broken teenager who'd built something beautiful and destroyed it through his own hatred and fear.

"Come in, sons," Riyazo said. "Your mother is in the living room. Safe. For now. Let's talk."

They entered. The living room was exactly as Riyura remembered—family photos on walls (none including their father), comfortable furniture, the illusion of normalcy maintained through desperate performance.

Their mother sat on the couch, hands folded, eyes red from crying. "Riyura. Yakamira. I'm so sorry. He made me call you. Said he'd hurt you worse if I didn't."

"It's okay, Mom," Riyura said gently. "We're here." "No," Riyazo said, closing the door with a soft click that sounded like finality. "It's really not okay." He walked to the center of the room, and suddenly the temperature felt colder. Shadows deeper.

"I'm going to tell you a story," Riyazo began. "About two teenagers who met at Jeremy High. Who built an organization to help people. Who promised to change the world. And about how one of them poisoned everything through hatred he couldn't control."

"We know," Riyura interrupted. "Uncle Hiroaki told us before he left. About the organization. About how you forced him to twisted it into—"

"Hiroaki didn't help twist anything," Riyazo interrupted. "I did. All of it. The corruption. The murders. The systematic destruction of everything we built. That was all me in the end."

The room went silent.

"Uncle Hiroaki tried to stop me," Riyazo continued. "Tried to preserve the dream. So I tried to kill him. Failed. Then I made his life hell until he had no choice but to flee the country and let me win. All because he wanted to live, funny how humans tend to flee after realising how much they want to live."

He pulled out a knife—not threatening yet, just holding it. "And now you're wondering: why? Why destroy everything? Why hate Riyura so much? Why build salvation just to burn it down?"

"Because you're broken," Yakamira said coldly. "Because you're a monster."

"Yes," Riyazo agreed. "But I'm a monster who was created. By my parents. By the system. By every moment of pain I endured before meeting Hiroaki. And when I finally had a chance to break the cycle—even though I have sons I could love properly—I failed. With both of you."

He looked at Yakamira. "I made you into a project. Something to perfect. Something to use. I never saw you as a person. Just as the heir I needed."

Then at Riyura. "And you—I hated you since your childhood. Because you were everything I wasn't. Everything Hiroaki wanted. Everything good that could have been. You represented the dream I'd already killed. And I couldn't stand looking at you."

"So you're going to kill us?" Riyura asked quietly. "That's your solution? Murder your own sons?" "Not both," Riyazo said. "Yakamira was always meant to survive. To inherit what I've built. To carry the corrupted organization forward."

He pointed the knife at Riyura. "But you. You were always meant to die. From the moment you, with your purple hair and star eyes, and that unique, caring personality were a threat to me. You were a threat to everything. A reminder of what I destroyed. And now—now you've investigated me. Exposed me. Forced my hand."

The shadows in the room deepened. And suddenly, Riyura felt something awakening inside him as he got more mad. Something he'd never noticed before. Dark blue energy swirled around his fingers like living smoke. Stars began orbiting him—yellow stars turning black with glowing blue outlines.

"What—" Riyura looked down at his hands. "I see," Riyazo said, satisfaction threading his voice. "It's awakening."

He continued calmly, almost clinically. "The ability. The thing that makes certain people different. Only those who learn to hide immense despair behind immense joy can reach it. And it's unique to our bloodline."

He waved a hand dismissively. "I don't care to dwell on the history. Just know it was first recorded in Edo-period Japan and later dismissed as a foolish legend—one tied exclusively to our family."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "And if you're wondering why I speak of it so easily, it's because I never treated it like a myth. While the rest of the family chose to ignore it, I paid attention."

He held up his own hand. Red energy spiraled around it, violent and controlled. Red stars orbited him—faster, more aggressive.

"Hiroaki had it too," Riyazo explained. "Blue, like yours—though less unique. We first noticed it during our darkest days at Jeremy High. Times when the pressure was unbearable, when everything hurt, yet we forced ourselves to smile anyway."

He paused. "That contradiction—performing happiness while drowning internally—creates something unusual. Something I found… fascinating." Riyazo's voice lowered. "I looked into it. Traced it back. It isn't random. It's part of my family's bloodline. And Hiroaki's as well. Our histories are linked."

He continued, almost reverently, "Our ancestors fought a legendary war together. They shared this same anomaly—this power unique to both bloodlines. They survived. They won. And they passed that legacy down."

His gaze sharpened. "So it isn't unique to you. You simply inherited it."

He scoffed. "Annoying ability, really. Most people need someone else to trigger it for them—some external push, some carefully engineered condition. But you?" His eyes narrowed as he studied him. "Yours activates at will of pure anger. You don't even realize it, but I can tell that's how yours works just by staring at your ugly face. I am smart after all."

He tilted his head. "Now you know. And knowing means you finally have a use in that otherwise pointless life of yours." His expression hardened. "That doesn't make you any less useless. It just makes you… functional for once in your stupid life Riyura Shiko."

Riyazo exhaled slowly. "What's irritating is that you've already started mastering it—while still being confused about what you're doing. Instinct without understanding." A thin smile crept in. "If you weren't such an idiot, that might actually be impressive."

A mask began forming on Riyura's face the angrier he got listening to him—comedy mask, smirking sinisterly, covering half his face. His yellow star pupils turned completely black with dark blue glowing outlines.

"Not magic," Riyazo continued. "Not supernatural. Just psychic pressure. Emotional energy manifesting as visible effects. Speed bursts that leave shadow trails. Illusions created by despair. Stars that reflect the light we hide behind."

His own mask formed—full face coverage, red, accepting darkness completely. Energy surrounded him like living rage.

"Hiroaki and I discovered this together. Used it to help people initially—the speed helped us intervene in crises faster, the illusions helped calm traumatized victims. But after I killed that child—after I embraced corruption—my ability changed. Became red. Became violent. Became a weapon instead of a tool. And after that Hirokai knew I would use the ability to stop him. So he never activated his ability ever again."

"Why are you telling us this?" Yakamira demanded.

"Because," Riyazo said, "I want Riyura to understand what he is before he dies. Want him to know that his uniqueness isn't special. It's just another manifestation of trauma. Just another way broken people cope with pain they can't process. He's usless and stupid. Even if his seems unique."

He raised the knife.

"And now, Riyura Shiko—my unique, caring, comedy-masked son who survived despite my hatred—now you die. And the organization's legacy continues without you. Just as it was always meant to."

He moved. Fast. Faster than possible. Red energy propelling him forward like a bullet. Riyura tried to dodge. His own blue energy responded instinctively, making him faster than normal but not fast enough.

The knife slashed across his arm. Pain exploded. Blood sprayed. "RIYURA!" Yakamira lunged forward knowing Riyura would die because Riyazo seemed super quick for Riyura's own sake. And Riyazo's knife found his stomach instead. The blade entered with surgical precision. Aimed for the heart. Delivered with the skill of someone who knew exactly how to make death quick.

Yakamira gasped. Stumbled. Blood bloomed across his shirt like red flowers.. "YAKAMIRA!" Riyura screamed, catching his brother as he fell. "I'm sorry," Yakamira whispered, blood on his lips. "I couldn't protect you. Couldn't be the brother you needed. Couldn't—"

"Don't apologize," Riyura sobbed. "You were perfect. You ARE perfect. You saved me. You became my real brother—" "I love you," Yakamira said, his pale gray eyes already dimming. "Brother. Tell Mom—tell her I tried. Tell her—"

He stopped breathing. Just stopped. Life leaving those analytical eyes that had understood everything, tried so hard to be useful because being loved seemed impossible.

Riyura held his brother's corpse and felt something inside himself shatter completely. All the cheerfulness. All the performance. All the desperate joy he'd used as armor.

Gone. Replaced with pure, screaming rage and grief so deep it had nowhere to go except outward.

The blue energy exploded. Stars multiplied, orbiting faster. The half-mask became full, sinister, glowing with power born from despair so profound it created its own reality.

Shadows coiled around Riyura's legs like living things. His movements left afterimages—not from speed, but from the psychic pressure distorting perception around him.

"You KILLED him!" Riyura screamed, his voice carrying harmonics that shouldn't exist. "Your own son! The one you CHOSE! The heir you WANTED!"

"He was in the way," Riyazo said with horrible calm. "And besides—he wasn't the one I really wanted dead. You are. You've always been. Seeing this now, I finally see you are now worthy of being heir. You've embraced darkness instead of the light. And now you worthy." Their energies clashed as they moved—blue and red spiraling together, creating light and shadow simultaneously.

"This is it, Riyura," Riyazo said as they circled each other. "Father and son. The person who hated you since your childhood and the person who survived despite that hatred. We're going to see who's stronger—the broken father who embraced his darkness, or the unique son who tried to hide his."

"I'm not hiding anymore," Riyura said, and his voice had changed. Become colder. Darker. More certain. The battle began.

PART FOUR: THE BATTLE OF BROKEN FAMILY

They collided in the middle of the living room—blue versus red, grief versus hatred, son versus father.

Riyura moved with desperate fury powered by fresh grief. His blue energy made him faster, stronger, more aggressive than he'd ever been. Shadows trailed from his movements, making him seem to teleport short distances.

Riyazo countered with cold precision, his red energy refined through decades of hatred into the perfect weapon. His movements were calculated, brutal, designed to kill.

They crashed through furniture. Shattered windows. Their mother screamed but couldn't move, paralyzed by horror. "Why?" Riyura shouted between blows. "Why hate me this much? What did I do except EXIST?"

"You existed UNIQUELY!" Riyazo roared back. "You existed in a way that made people love you without trying! You existed as proof that being caring was stronger than being strategic! You existed as the nephew Hiroaki wanted instead of the son I wanted!"

His fist connected with Riyura's jaw, sending him crashing through a coffee table.

"You existed as everything I could have been if I hadn't chosen corruption! Every time I looked at you—every time I saw you smile despite my hatred—it reminded me that I failed! That I destroyed the dream! That I poisoned everything!"

Riyura pushed himself up, spitting blood. "You're insane. You murdered your best friend because he saw potential in your son?"

"YES!" Riyazo screamed. "Yes, I'm insane! I've been insane since I killed that child! Since I realized power meant never facing consequences! Since I tried to murder Hiroaki and drove him away instead! I've now just realised today that hatred is the true path to fixing this damned system."

He attacked again, faster, more violent. Riyura barely blocked.

"I'm insane and broken and a monster!" Riyazo continued. "And the only way to fix it—the only way to make the pain stop—is to kill you! To eliminate the person who represents everything I destroyed! And realize that now—that I just had to kill you the entire time!"

Their energies clashed violently. The psychic pressure was enormous—reality bending around their combined despair and rage, windows cracking from force that shouldn't exist, walls showing stress fractures.

"I won't let you win," Riyura said through tears. "Won't let Yakamira's death be meaningless. Won't let you destroy me like you destroyed everything else."

He thought of his friends. Subarashī, Miyaka, Sotsuko, Shoehead, Socksiku—broken people who'd found each other, who'd survived by choosing connection.

He thought of Jimiko, the shadow friend who'd been invisible but helped anyway. He thought of Uncle Hiroaki, who'd built a dream and tried to preserve it even when his best friend became a monster.

He thought of his mother, traumatized but still trying to protect her sons. And he thought of Yakamira—his brother, who'd gone from enemy to ally to the person who died protecting him from their father's knife.

The blue energy intensified. The stars orbited so fast they blurred into rings of black and blue light. And Riyura felt something shift inside him. Not becoming stronger. Becoming resolved.

He wasn't fighting for revenge. He was fighting for survival. For the right to exist uniquely despite his father's hatred. For the dream that had been destroyed but could maybe—maybe—be rebuilt.

"This ends now," Riyura said, his voice steady despite crying. He moved with purpose instead of rage. His blue energy focused, concentrated, becoming surgical instead of explosive.

Their final clash was catastrophic. Blue and red energies colliding with force that shattered the remaining windows, cracked walls, created actual wind from psychic pressure alone.

When the light faded, Riyazo was on the ground. His red mask cracked and fading. His energy flickering like dying fire. And Riyura stood over him, trembling with exhaustion and grief, his own mask dissolving, blue energy fading to nothing.

Blood trickled from Riyazo's mouth—internal injuries from psychic feedback, from his own hatred turned back on himself. "I'm dying," Riyazo said quietly. "I can feel it. Organs failing. Minutes left."

"Good," Riyura said, then immediately felt horrible for meaning it. "Before I go—" Riyazo coughed, blood staining his breath. "Know this. I hated you."

He forced a breath, voice rough. "But in some twisted way… I also saw what you could have been. What the organization could have been if I hadn't poisoned it. You're what Hiroaki and I once dreamed of—before I destroyed everything."

His gaze lingered, sharp even now. "And one more thing." A thin, broken smile formed. "I can see it in your eyes. You don't believe you're special the way I said you were."

He let out a super bloody rough breath. "Good."

His breathing grew very rough. "I'm sorry. For hating you. For killing Yakamira. For destroying the dream. For murdering what could have been beautiful. I'm sorry and it changes nothing but it's true my dear son."

Riyura knelt beside his dying father and—despite everything, despite the hatred and murder and lifetime of trauma—he took his father's hand.

"I forgive you," Riyura whispered. "Not because you deserve it. But because holding hatred will poison me like it poisoned you. I won't let your damage define my entire existance."

Riyazo smiled—genuine for the first time in decades. "You're stronger than me. Than Hiroaki. Than anyone. You survived us all. That's—that's good. The dream isn't completely dead. Not while you live."

His breathing stopped. Eyes went vacant. The monster who'd built salvation and destroyed it died on his living room floor, surrounded by the family he'd broken.

Riyura sat there holding his father's corpse, crying for what could have been, for the dream that died, for his brother who'd never see another day. His mother rushed over, holding him, both sobbing while sirens approached—someone had called police during the fight.

Everything hurt. Everything was broken. And Riyura knew—absolutely knew—that he'd never be the same cheerful person again. The comedy mask was gone. The aggressive optimism shattered. The performance of joy over.

What remained: grief. Depression. Knowledge that he'd killed his own father (even in self-defense), lost his brother, discovered decades of family poison. But also: knowledge that he'd survived. That he'd chosen forgiveness over hatred. That he wouldn't let his father's damage define him forever.

It was the smallest victory. But it was still a victory.

EPILOGUE: THE HOSPITAL AND WHAT COMES NEXT

Hours later. Hospital waiting room.

Riyura sat wrapped in a blanket, staring at nothing. Around him: Subarashī and Miyaka in hospital beds (injured during network retaliation at school when members realized the organization was collapsing), Sotsuko with a bandaged arm, Shoehead and Socksiku bruised but also still alive.

Jimiko sat nearby, quietly present. Police had taken statements. Self-defense was clear. Riyura wasn't being charged. But Yakamira was dead. Riyazo was dead. And Riyura felt like he was drowning in survivor's guilt.

"Riyura," Jimiko said gently. "You need to rest." "Can't," Riyura whispered. "Every time I close my eyes I see him. Yakamira. Dying. And I think—I should have—I could have—"

"You couldn't have saved him," Sotsuko interrupted. "Your father was a trained killer. Prepared. Strategic. This isn't your fault." "It feels like it is," Riyura said. "Everything feels like my fault."

Miyaka spoke from her hospital bed: "You did the right thing. Exposed the corruption. Stopped your father. Saved your mother. You did everything right even though it cost everything."

Riyura looked at his friends—broken people who'd found each other, who understood trauma because they carried it too. "I don't think I can do this anymore," he admitted. "The cheerfulness. The optimism. The performance. I'm too broken now."

"Then don't perform," Subarashī said. "Just exist. Honestly. Let us see you broken. We'll help you heal. Or at least survive until healing becomes possible."

"And then?" Riyura asked.

"Then we figure out how to keep living," Sotsuko replied. "All of us. Together. We'll help you deal with your father's legacy. Help you mourn Yakamira. Help you find whatever comes after grief."

Outside, winter continued. Jeremy High stood waiting. And Riyura Shiko—unique, broken, grieving son who'd survived his father's hatred—prepared for one more episode before the final volume.

Where healing would be hard. Where depression would be real. Where friends would carry him when he couldn't walk. Where truth would hurt but ultimately make him stronger.

It wouldn't be easy. But Riyura had survived this much. And that meant he could survive whatever came next. One day at a time. One breath at a time. One honest moment at a time.

[NARRATOR: And so ends Episode 35—Part One of Volume 3's finale. The truth revealed. The father defeated. The brother dead. Riyura broken but surviving. One more episode remains. Episode 36—"The Weight of Survival." Where Riyura faces the funeral, the blame, the impossible task of existing when everything hurts. Where small plot threads get resolved. Where friends rally even as he pushes them away. Where the bridge to Volume 4 is built from grief and determination and the smallest, hardest choice of all: choosing to keep living when dying seems easier. Stay with us, dear readers. The hardest part—the healing part—is about to begin.]

TO BE CONTINUED...

[NEXT EPISODE: Episode 36 - "The Weight of Survival" - Riyura attends Yakamira's funeral. Processes his father's death. Faces his mother's grief. Returns to school while drowning in depression. His friends rally but he pushes them away, convinced he's poison. Small plot threads resolve: Keiko's emotional journey reaches a turning point. Kaiju and Muzaki's relationship strengthens and is finally resolved. Jimiko finds closure about his parents. Sotsuko begins his redemption. And Riyura—through one devastating intervention staged by people who refuse to let him drown—chooses to survive. The final episode of Volume 3. The bridge to Volume 4. The moment where living becomes both the hardest and most important thing of all.]