The day of the event.
Evening draped itself over Tokyo in soft gold and deepening violet.
At the heart of the city, a towering five-star hotel stood tall—its top floor reserved tonight for something far more exclusive than a simple dinner.
The Fujiwara Exclusive Corporate Dinner.
Only the most powerful people had a seat here.
Guests began arriving one by one—luxury sedans pulling into the discreet valet entrance.
Some came with polished spouses on their arms.
Some with young models, or hired escorts dressed like old-money wives.
Others arrived alone—but no one here was small.
Inside the private lobby, everything gleamed.
Muted jazz played in the background.
A well-dressed staff member bowed politely.
"This way, sir," he said, guiding another guest toward the private elevator.
Only one lift went to the top floor tonight.
Only those who belonged could ride it.
And above, behind thick glass and tall curtains, the rooftop ballroom awaited.
Warm light spilled across the polished floor.
Tables lined with crystal glasses and gold-trimmed name cards.
Waiters passed through with champagne flutes.
And at the far end, near the expansive view of the skyline, was Fujiwara himself.
The ballroom gradually filled with movement—heels tapping on marble, low voices weaving through light jazz, and the soft clink of champagne flutes meeting polished glasses.
Near the wide panoramic window, Mister Fujiwara stood with practiced ease.
Suit tailored to perfection.
Eyes sharp behind his thin glasses.
A faint smile on his face.
The heads of smaller and mid-tier companies approached him one by one, bowing respectfully.
"Thank you for the invitation, Mister Fujiwara."
"It’s an honor to be here tonight."
"Your hospitality is always unmatched."
Fujiwara gave each of them a firm handshake, a polite nod, and just enough attention to make them feel seen—but never equal.
To them, his favor was everything.
A nod from Fujiwara meant contracts.
Approval meant credibility.
A drink with him? Future influence.
He listened. Smiled thinly. Asked nothing personal.
The small companies, all dressed to impress, knew better than to waste his time.
They greeted him like nobles at court.
Still, as the line slowly cleared and glasses began to refill, Fujiwara’s eyes glanced briefly toward the elevator.
The ones he was really waiting for...
Suddenly, a low, distant sound stirred in the background.
Soft at first—barely noticeable over the music and murmured conversations.
But then it grew closer.
The glass walls of the rooftop ballroom gently vibrated.
Conversations paused.
Some guests turned their heads.
Others exchanged looks—surprised, curious, uncertain.
The arrival hadn’t been scheduled.
Just the quiet thrum of spinning blades descending onto the hidden helipad above.
Fujiwara didn’t move.
He stood still, glass in hand, gaze steady.
But inside—he felt it.
That unspoken shift in the room’s balance.
And he knew without needing to check.
It wasn’t a small company.
Only one kind of presence made a hotel allow rooftop access—
His lips remained composed, calm.
But deep beneath that stillness... a quiet envy coiled tight.
So they sent someone after all.
The helicopter’s blades slowed as the aircraft settled firmly onto the rooftop helipad.
The door opened smoothly.
From within, a tall, impeccably dressed man stepped out—Sakaenji Kazuma.
Beside him, his personal assistant followed silently, carrying a sleek black document case.
Neither of them said a word.
Waiting near the rooftop entrance, a pair of elite hotel staff bowed deeply.
"Welcome, sir," one said with perfect politeness.
"This way, sir," the lead staff continued, guiding them swiftly through the private rooftop corridor—one reserved only for dignitaries and high-tier corporate figures.
No need for check-in.
No need to announce his name.
They already knew who he was.
Kazuma moved without rush.
His presence was quiet, but undeniable.
Not a single gesture wasted.
Not a single step out of line.
And while the ballroom below continued its soft music and murmuring chatter...
The true weight of the evening had just stepped into the building.
The ballroom doors opened.
And Kazuma stepped in.
The air shifted instantly.
Tall, sharp-eyed, dressed in a simple yet flawlessly tailored suit—he carried himself with a calm that demanded respect.
Just a personal assistant at his side, a step behind, carrying nothing more than a slim case.
But everyone in the room knew what that meant.
Takahashi Group had arrived.
Whispers moved like a quiet wind across the ballroom.
"Kazuma-san from Takahashi..."
"The one married to the daughter..."
"He speaks directly for Kitayama-sama."
In an instant, several small and mid-tier company leaders broke from their drinks and moved toward him—rushing with eager politeness to greet him first.
"Kazuma-san, a pleasure—"
"Welcome, thank you for joining us—"
"If there’s anything your group needs tonight—"
Seeing the shift in the room’s gravity, Fujiwara placed his glass gently on the nearby tray and began making his way forward.
He adjusted his cufflinks as he walked—slow, dignified steps—masking his internal tension behind a polished smile.
As he reached the center of the murmuring crowd, he extended a hand politely.
"Ah... Mister Kazuma," Fujiwara said with practiced warmth. "Thank you for coming tonight. It’s an honor."
Kazuma paused for a moment.
Then accepted the handshake with a nod—firm, brief.
"Thank you, Mister Fujiwara," he replied evenly. "But I must offer my apologies. I won’t be able to stay long."
Fujiwara’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile remained unchanged.
He already knew Kazuma wasn’t the type to linger where there was nothing worth his time.
And even as merely a son-in-law, the mysterious Takahashi patriarch entrusted him with everything.
"I understand," Fujiwara said smoothly. "Still... your presence, even for a short while, carries great weight."
Kazuma didn’t respond to the flattery. He simply gave a faint nod, gaze already moving past him.
Inside, Kazuma’s mind remained focused.
His instructions had been clear.
From the mouth of Takahashi Kitayama himself—
The man no one in this room had ever seen, yet every company feared.
"You stay there, mingle. If your sister-in-law isn’t at the event, you’re free to leave."
And Kazuma remembered it word for word.
No need to draw attention.
He was only here to observe.
To make sure she was safe.
A faint smirk touched his lips at the old man’s final words before he left.
"Oh, by the way—if Haruki-kun is there, feel free to enjoy yourself. Chat with him. That boy’s good company. Yamashita said so himself. I believe it."
Kazuma’s eyes scanned the room slowly.
He hadn’t seen Haruki yet.
But if he was coming...
Well, that might make the night less boring.