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The morning sun poured through the ornate stained-glass windows of the family estate, casting intricate patterns of light on the polished marble floors. Kenshiro stood in the grand entryway, leaning against the doorframe, as the sounds of hurried footsteps and rustling bags echoed through the spacious hall. His parents, ever the picture of composure and responsibility, were preparing for their trip to the capital.
His mother, draped in an elegantly tailored navy dress, paused to adjust the scarf around her neck. She looked radiant, her sharp features softened by the affectionate smile she reserved for him. Bending down slightly, she placed a delicate kiss on Kenshiro's forehead.
"We'll be back in a couple of days," She said, her voice a soothing melody. The light scent of jasmine and rose lingered as she straightened, her eyes locking with his. "Misaki-san will be here, so don't hesitate to ask her for anything."
"I know, Mother," Kenshiro replied, his tone calm but warm.
His father, on the other hand, exuded an entirely different aura. Clad in a dark suit that seemed to mirror his personality, he stood by the doorway, checking his watch. A man of few words, he rarely let emotions dictate his actions.
But today, perhaps softened by the sight of his wife's affection, he allowed himself a rare smile.
"Behave while we're gone," He said simply, placing a firm hand on Kenshiro's shoulder. "The estate is in your hands for now. Don't let me hear any complaints when I return."
Kenshiro smirked faintly, nodding. "I'll keep everything in order. You just focus on the meeting."
The exchange was brief but laced with unspoken trust. As his parents stepped into the waiting car, Kenshiro followed them to the gate. He stood there, waving as the vehicle slowly rolled down the driveway. His mother waved back through the tinted window, her figure outlined against the golden morning light.
The car disappeared around a bend, leaving a quiet stillness in its wake.
Kenshiro lingered for a moment, his hand dropping to his side. A sudden chill brushed against him, though the morning air was warm and inviting.
Something felt... off.
It was subtle at first, like the faint hum of an untuned instrument. A discomfort settled in his chest, a tension he couldn't shake. He frowned, trying to dismiss it as nothing more than the odd emptiness that came with their absence.
Yet, deep within him, a primal whisper stirredāan instinct honed in his past life, where survival often depended on sensing danger before it struck.
----
The day passed uneventfully, but the unease never left him. Kenshiro busied himself with small tasks, distracting his mind with the mundane. He helped organize household schedules, spent an hour training in the dojo, and even attempted to read a novel that had been gathering dust on his shelf.
By evening, however, the tension had evolved into a gnawing anxiety. The estate, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, felt unnaturally silent. The shadows cast by the setting sun seemed darker than usual, their shapes more menacing.
Seated on his bed, Kenshiro stared at his phone. The clock on the screen read 6:47 PM. He frowned.
They should have called by now.
The meeting his parents were attending had been scheduled for the early afternoon, and his father was meticulous about keeping him updated. A quick call, a brief messageāanything to let him know they were fine. But tonight, there was nothing.
Kenshiro tapped his father's contact and pressed the call button. The phone rang once, twice, then continued, each tone echoing ominously in the quiet room.
Finally, the call cut off, replaced by a flat, automated voice:
"The number you have dialed is out of reach. Please try again later.
He lowered the phone, staring at the screen. His thumb hovered over his mother's contact before he pressed it, trying her number next.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
The same result.
"The number you have dialed is out of reach. Please try again later.
A wave of unease surged through him, tightening his chest. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
This doesn't mean anything,Ā He thought, trying to reason with himself. Their phones could have run out of battery. Or they might be in an area with poor reception.
But even as he told himself that, the edges of his mind rebelled, conjuring images of every possible scenario: an accident on the road, a car veering off into a ravine, faceless men lying in wait for unsuspecting victims.
Kenshiro's instincts, sharp and unyielding from years of his past life, clawed at him like a cornered beast. The air in his room felt heavier, charged with an energy he couldn't explain. He paced the floor, the rhythmic creaking of the wood only heightening the oppressive quiet.
The estate's vastness, once a source of security, now felt isolating. The shadows cast by the dim moonlight seemed to stretch and writhe with every step he took. Outside his window, the gardens, usually serene, appeared foreboding. The faint rustling of the wind through the trees sent a shiver down his spine.
He glanced at the clock again. 8:12 PM.
Time was dragging, each passing second echoing in his mind like a drumbeat. The feeling of something amiss grew louder, more insistent.
Kenshiro picked up his phone again, scrolling through his contacts, wondering who else he could call. But every name felt irrelevantāwhat could anyone do with so little information? He ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration mounting.
He turned abruptly, his eyes falling on the family crest displayed on the wall of his room. It was an ornate symbol, a testament to their lineage and power. Yet tonight, it seemed distant, hollow. His parents were the pillars of their family, and their absence left an abyss he couldn't fill.
The room grew colder. Or perhaps it was just his imagination. Kenshiro's fingers hovered over the call button again, but he stopped himself.
Calling them repeatedly won't change anything!
He walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer into the darkness beyond. The estate grounds were eerily quiet, the usual hum of life replaced by an almost suffocating stillness. His eyes scanned the tree line, half-expecting to see somethingāor someoneālurking in the shadows.
Nothing.
Yet the silence felt like a presence of its own, pressing down on him, urging him to act.
Kenshiro turned away, his mind racing. Memories of his past life surged unbidden, fragments of battles fought and lives lost. That world had been merciless, filled with betrayal and treachery at every turn. He had learned to trust his instincts above all else, and now, those same instincts screamed at him.
But what could he do?
Minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow. Each one brought with it a new wave of unease, a new flicker of doubt.
The clock read 9:03 PM when Kenshiro sat back down on his bed, his phone clutched tightly in his hand.
The house was still. The world outside was silent. And yet, inside him, a storm raged, a primal fear he couldn't explain.
His parents were out there somewhere. He was certain of it. But the question gnawed at him, relentless and cruel: Were they safe?
--- ā¦ ā¦ ā¦ ---
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