Chapter Text
There were three things Shuichi Minamino had learned about wealthy families.
They never forgot a debt.
They never surrendered without a fight.
And they never asked their children for permission.
Unfortunately, he was about to learn a fourth.
Sometimes, the most expensive thing a family could inherit was a marriage.
Shuichi Minamino learned this several hours before anyone actually told him he was getting married.
At the time, he was sitting at the far end of a mahogany conference table, listening to three executives argue over a merger worth more money than most people would see in ten lifetimes.
He wasn’t bored.
Boredom implied that he wasn’t paying attention.
He was simply wondering how three grown men could spend forty minutes arguing over numbers that had already been settled twenty minutes ago.
“Mr. Minamino?”
Shuichi lifted his eyes from the documents in front of him.
The CFO was watching him carefully.
“Your thoughts?”
Shuichi glanced down at the proposal again.
“The acquisition price is too high.”
Silence.
He turned a page.
“You’re overvaluing their projected growth by twelve percent. Their second-quarter numbers are already showing the correction, and you’re assuming their overseas expansion will stabilize within eighteen months.”
He looked up.
“It won’t.”
The CFO hesitated.
“And what do you suggest?”
“Forty-three percent below their asking price.”
One of the directors nearly choked.
“That’s insulting.”
Shuichi smiled politely.
“Then they’ll be insulted.”
A few people exchanged glances.
Shuichi leaned back in his chair.
“If they walk away, we lose nothing. If they stay, we acquire a profitable company without paying for projections that haven’t happened yet.”
He closed the folder.
“Either way, we win.”
There it was.
That word again.
Win.
It followed him everywhere.
At twenty-six, Shuichi had already become accustomed to hearing it.
Win the negotiation.
Win the market.
Win the contract.
Win the shareholders.
Win.
Win.
Win.
He had inherited his father’s intelligence, according to the people who knew his family.
His mother’s discipline.
His father’s ambition.
And, unfortunately, everyone else’s expectations.
“Mr. Minamino?”
Shuichi looked toward the secretary standing beside the conference room door.
“Your mother is waiting for you.”
His expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“My mother?”
“Yes, sir. She asked that you meet her at the residence immediately after the meeting.”
There was something in the woman’s tone that made him pause.
Not urgency.
Not concern.
Something worse.
Finality.
Shuichi glanced at the clock.
The meeting had already run long.
“Understood.”
He gathered his documents.
The executives stood as he left.
Outside the conference room, the glass walls reflected the young man walking through the corridor in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
Dark red hair.
Sharp green eyes.
A calm expression that revealed very little.
To the employees who passed him, he was already the heir.
To the board, he was the future president.
To the shareholders, he was the continuation of the Minamino legacy.
But to four wealthy people waiting for him downstairs, he was simply Kurama.
“Finally!”
Jin’s voice echoed across the lobby.
Shuichi barely had time to turn before a tall figure threw an arm around his shoulders.
“You took forever.”
“I was in a meeting.”
“You are always in a meeting.”
“Because I work.”
“So do I.”
Shuichi glanced at him.
“You’ve been unemployed for six months.”
Jin grinned.
“Exactly. I’m very committed to my work.”
A snort came from beside them.
Touya adjusted his coat.
“Ignore him.”
“I’ve been trying for years.”
Shishiwakamaru was sitting on one of the leather couches, scrolling through his phone.
Suzuki was standing beside him, inspecting his reflection in the glass.
“You look exhausted,” Suzuki said.
“I’m fine.”
“You look like someone just told you you’re going to spend the rest of your life listening to shareholders.”
Shuichi smiled.
“That would be horrifying.”
“See?” Jin said. “He still has a sense of humor.”
Shuichi shook his head.
These were the people who knew him before the title became heavier than his name.
Before every conversation became a negotiation.
Before every decision carried a number beside it.
They knew when he was annoyed.
They knew when he was lying.
They knew exactly how much sugar he took in his coffee and exactly how irritating they could be before he stopped being polite.
They were, in every meaningful sense, his family.
Or at least, the family he had chosen.
“Are you coming tonight?” Touya asked.
“Coming where?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t.”
“You absolutely have.”
Shuichi looked at him.
Touya sighed.
“The dinner.”
Ah.
That.
Shuichi remembered.
“Mother’s dinner.”
“Yes.”
“And Kazuya will be there,” Suzuki added.
Shuichi’s mouth curved slightly.
“So that’s why you’re all suddenly interested.”
“Obviously.”
Jin clapped him on the shoulder.
“Your mother is getting married. We’re allowed to be curious.”
“You’re allowed to be nosy.”
“That too.”
Shuichi checked his phone.
There were already three missed calls from Shiori.
His smile disappeared.
“She’s been calling me.”
The four exchanged looks.
Touya’s expression became serious.
“Then you should go.”
Shuichi nodded.
He had a feeling tonight wasn’t going to be an ordinary dinner.
⸻
The Minamino residence had never felt like a home to Shuichi.
Not because it wasn’t beautiful.
It was.
The house sat behind iron gates and manicured gardens, surrounded by enough land to make privacy a luxury rather than a necessity.
But homes were supposed to feel lived in.
This place felt inherited.
Every room carried history.
Every painting belonged to someone who had died.
Every piece of furniture had a story.
And every story eventually led back to his father.
Shuichi entered the dining room to find Shiori already seated.
She looked elegant as always.
His mother had always possessed a quiet kind of beauty—nothing flashy, nothing that demanded attention. She simply had a presence that made people listen when she spoke.
Beside her sat Kazuya Hatanaka.
Shuichi smiled.
“Kazuya.”
“Shuichi.”
They shook hands.
Then Kazuya pulled him into a brief embrace.
It was still strange sometimes.
Not unpleasant.
Just strange.
Kazuya had entered their lives years after Shuichi’s biological father had died.
He had never attempted to replace him.
Shuichi respected him for that.
“Sit,” Shiori said.
Shuichi obeyed.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
He looked from his mother to Kazuya.
Then back again.
“What’s going on?”
Shiori smiled.
“I’m getting married.”
Shuichi blinked.
He stared at her.
Then at Kazuya.
Then back at her.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“You’ve been seeing each other for years.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
Shuichi leaned back.
“So you’re making it official.”
“Yes.”
There was genuine warmth in his expression now.
“Congratulations.”
Shiori’s smile softened.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Kazuya raised his glass.
“To new beginnings.”
Shuichi lifted his own.
“To new beginnings.”
They drank.
For a brief moment, everything felt normal.
Until Shiori placed her glass down.
“There is something else.”
Shuichi’s instincts immediately sharpened.
Of course there was.
His mother had never been good at hiding the fact that she was about to deliver bad news.
“What is it?”
Shiori folded her hands on the table.
“I’m retiring.”
Shuichi stared at her.
“When?”
“Within the year.”
The words landed more heavily than he expected.
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
Shuichi looked down at the table.
His mother’s company.
The Minamino holdings.
The investments.
The properties.
The international partnerships.
The employees.
The board.
The legacy his father had left behind.
All of it.
“You want me to take over.”
Shiori nodded.
“I think you’re ready.”
Ready.
The word sounded strangely inadequate.
He had spent years preparing for this.
He had known this day would come.
He had simply never expected it to arrive so soon.
“Mother—”
“You’ve been doing this for years already.”
“Not all of it.”
“You don’t have to do it alone.”
Kazuya spoke quietly.
“We’ll help you.”
Shuichi looked at him.
Kazuya smiled.
“Your mother isn’t abandoning the family. She’s choosing a life for herself.”
That silenced him.
Shiori had spent most of her life working.
After his father’s death, she had rebuilt everything.
She had protected the company.
Protected Shuichi.
Protected their name.
Perhaps she had earned the right to finally stop.
Shuichi exhaled.
“Okay.”
Shiori looked relieved.
“Okay?”
“You deserve it.”
Her eyes softened.
“I’m proud of you.”
Shuichi smiled.
“Don’t make me regret agreeing.”
She laughed.
For the first time that evening, the tension disappeared.
Then Shiori said:
“There is one more matter.”
Shuichi’s smile faded.
Of course there was.
He should have known.
“What matter?”
Shiori looked at him.
And for the first time in his life, Shuichi Minamino saw something in his mother’s expression that made him genuinely uneasy.
“The Jaganshi family.”
His fingers stopped moving.
The name wasn’t unfamiliar.
It couldn’t be.
The Jaganshi family had been intertwined with the Minamino legacy for decades.
His father’s oldest business partners.
His mother’s closest friends.
Mukuro Jaganshi.
Hina Jaganshi the matriarch.
Their businesses.
Their influence.
Their history.
And one person in particular.
Hiei.
Shuichi leaned back.
“What about them?”
Shiori exchanged a glance with Kazuya.
Then she said it.
“The families have agreed to formalize the alliance.”
Shuichi frowned.
“How?”
Shiori held his gaze.
“Through marriage.”
The room became very quiet.
Shuichi stared at her.
Then slowly placed his glass on the table.
“Whose marriage?”
Shiori’s expression remained perfectly calm.
“Yours.”
He laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because surely there had been some misunderstanding.
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
Shiori didn’t hesitate.
“Hiei.”
The laughter disappeared.
Shuichi’s face went completely blank.
Then, very quietly:
“Absolutely not.”
Shiori sighed.
“I knew you’d say that.”
“You knew?”
“Of course.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I didn’t.”
She smiled.
“I told you.”
And somewhere in the back of Shuichi’s mind, a familiar phrase surfaced.
The victor takes the spoils.
He had always assumed it was a metaphor.
He was beginning to suspect his family had never intended it that way.