Chapter 4: Unexpected Words

The atmosphere at the long dining table remained painfully heavy.

​Nobody spoke. The only sounds came from the faint, rhythmic clinking of silver against porcelain, and the soft, ghostly rustle of servants moving behind the chairs. Even then—the silence somehow felt louder, a physical weight pressing down on the grand hall.

​He sat stiffly in his seat, a tiny, frozen smile plastered onto his face as he tried his absolute best to look normal. Which was proving to be mathematically impossible. Over fifteen high-society elites were secretly cutting their eyes at him every few seconds like he was a live bomb waiting to detonate.

​A maid silently glided forward, placing a crystal plate in front of him.

​Eggs. Rice. Perfect, delicately grilled fish. Fresh, imported fruit. Everything looked absurdly expensive. Even the eggs looked like they had a higher net worth than his entire previous life combined.

​He stared down at the layout for a moment. Then, he slowly reached out and picked up a small silver spoon. Across the table, three elders subtly adjusted their postures, tracking that single, tiny movement with microscopic, hyper-focused intensity.

​Suddenly, his fingers paused.

​For a fraction of a second, his dark eyes sharpened into something profoundly cold and analytical, a mechanical calculation engine kicking in—

​Then—he realized he was holding a soup spoon meant for pudding.

​…Huh?

​He stared blankly at the round piece of silver for two seconds before quietly, awkwardly setting it back down onto the cloth. The strange sharpness vanished from his face instantly. Now he just looked deeply, profoundly confused by silverware.

​One of the younger girls sitting a few seats down blinked twice, rubbing her eyes, wondering if she had just hallucinated that terrifying gaze for a split second.

​Meanwhile, inside his head, absolute panic was sprinting laps at supersonic speed.

​Calm down! Stay calm! Don't let them know you don't know which spoon goes to what! he thought, his chest tightening. If I use the wrong fork, does this rich family execute me on the spot?!

​At the far end of the table, one of the older men finally cleared his throat nervously, breaking the suffocating tension.

​"Young Master Reiji…" His aged voice trembled slightly, testing the waters. "…You are speaking today?"

​No response.

​He didn't even hear him. His attention remained completely trapped by a piece of grilled fish while his inner thoughts spiraled into a black hole of social anxiety.

​The elder hesitated, looking around the table for support from the other family members, before speaking a bit louder.

​"Young Master Reiji…?"

​Still nothing. Several uncomfortable, panicked glances spread across the faces around the table. Finally, the elder let out a heavy, defeated sigh, lowering his head in submission.

​"So… you choose again not to acknowledge us? Forgive my intrusion."

​That final voice finally broke through his internal screaming. He blinked once, snapping out of his trance, and lifted his head toward the old man with wide, clueless eyes.

​"Sorry," he answered automatically, completely forgetting where he was. "I didn't hear you. Can you repeat that?"

​CLINK.

​A silver spoon slipped entirely from someone's hand, clattering loudly against a porcelain plate.

​Another elder froze mid-bite, his jaw dropping open. A servant pouring tea tilted the pot too far, nearly spilling boiling water over an expensive imported tablecloth before catching themselves in absolute horror.

​The entire dining hall went dead silent.

​Not a polite silence. A jaw-dropping, reality-shattering shock.

​The elegant woman near the center of the table stared at him, her eyes widening so fast they began to glisten with sudden, raw emotion. The young man sitting beside her looked like his soul had temporarily been ejected from his body. Even the terrifying middle-aged man at the head of the table slowly, deliberately stopped cutting his steak, the silver knife freezing over the meat.

​Every single pair of eyes in the room locked onto him like lasers.

​Because for the first time in over a year—the silent, untouchable "Reiji" had just spoken a perfectly casual, polite sentence at the breakfast table.

​His stomach quietly dropped straight into his shoes. Looking at their horrified faces, he suddenly became very aware of how badly he had just messed up.

​The original owner of this body clearly wasn't just a quiet kid. He was an absolute menace who hadn't spoken a single word out of sheer, unyielding spite or trauma. And whatever dark history he had with this family—it was definitely running deep.

​The elegant woman leaned forward, her voice trembling, fragile as glass. "Reiji… you're… you're actually talking to us?"

​He hesitated. Only for a second.

​But during that single second, his gaze subtly flicked across the entire room, tracking every door, window exit, and guard positioning in a mechanical flash of tactical instinct.

​Then—the heavy moment completely evaporated.

​Because immediately afterward, he tried to casually scoop a piece of rice, missed entirely, and almost dropped the spoon onto his lap.

​"—Mm!"

​He caught it at the last possible second with both hands, fumbling it like a clumsy toddler.

​Several people at the table blinked, completely derailed by the sudden loss of tension.

​Meanwhile, he internally wanted to dissolve into a puddle and disappear from existence. Desperate to fix his mistake and act like the edgy, quiet kid they expected, he quickly lowered his voice, forcing it as cold and distant as possible.

​"You imagined it."

​Another silence fell over the table. But this one felt different. It was heavier, laced with profound, scratching confusion.

​The elegant woman's shoulders slumped, the bright hope in her eyes dimming back into sorrow. The young man frowned deeply, trying to read his micro-expressions. The family members exchanged completely baffled glances. Even the servants looked conflicted.

​Columns of sunlight cut through the large windows, but they did nothing to warm the room. He sat there trying to maintain a blank, stoic anime face while mentally screaming for his life.

​The father at the head of the table quietly watched him for several long, suffocating seconds. Sharp, unreadable eyes searched his face, trying to see right through his soul to the core of his identity. The sheer pressure of that dominant gaze almost made him break into a cold sweat.

​But somehow—through pure, unadulterated survival instinct—he managed to keep his expression steady. Barely.

​One careless sentence. After a full year of absolute silence.

​The youngest son of the Kanzaki family had finally broken his vow. But the soul sitting at the table… was nothing like the monster they remembered.

​Beneath the tablecloth, out of sight, his fingers tightened around the spoon until his knuckles turned white, forcing that awkward smile to stay hidden.

​…This is going to be WAY harder than I thought.

​End of Chapter 4

To Be Continued...