"Please, come in," an old butler greeted them at the gate before leading them inside the grand mansion. As they walked, Ryo couldn't help but glance around, taking in the property's sheer size. The vast garden alone was as big as half of his father's farmland.
Rich people really do waste land, he thought. If this were his, he'd already have built a row of commercial buildings for business and investment.
You've got to be business-minded! You never know when you'll run out of money!
"Mr. Takahashi, your guests have arrived."
The butler led Ryo into a room lined with bookshelves, each wall packed with towering stacks of leather-bound volumes. A large window overlooked the garden, and a vintage-style study table stood in the center of the room. The grand chandelier and priceless paintings added to the luxurious ambiance, making Ryo feel like he had entered a duke's private office.
His mind instantly started calculating the worth of everything in sight. Just the scent of the room screamed wealth. He hesitated to move, worried that if he accidentally broke something, he'd have to pay for it with his life.
"Good afternoon, Okame-kun. Have a seat," an elderly man said. Judging by his appearance, he had to be in his eighties.
Ryo quickly smoothed out his pants before sitting down. If he had known he'd be meeting someone this rich, he would have dressed in a full business suit—maybe even slicked his hair back with gel to look more professional.
Please don't think I'm a scammer! Please let this guy be a regular customer—even if it's just for fortune-telling! he screamed internally.
"What would you like to discuss?" Momohito-san asked, his tone calm yet commanding. He had noticed how stiffly Ryo sat, hands gripping his knees, his gaze darting around as if searching for an escape.
Ryo swallowed hard. "Hmmm... I know this sounds unbelievable, but Mitsuhito-san's spirit is here with me." His voice wavered slightly, unsure how a man of this stature would react.
He had no idea how a ridiculously rich guy like this would react. For all he knew, the man had probably encountered all sorts of eccentric people trying to get a slice of his fortune. And, well... Ryo was technically one of them.
But hey! He wanted the old man's money, sure—but not in a scammy way! He had standards!
Ayama glanced at Matsuhito-san's spirit, who had remained eerily silent, his gaze wandering the room as if reliving memories from a distant past.
"My time is valuable, Okame-kun. If I were you, I'd choose my words carefully," Momohito-san said with a polite smile. But something in that smile sent a chill down Ryo's spine.
"I can prove it. Ask me anything—something only Matsuhito-san would know—and I'll get the answer for you. I swear, I'm not joking," Ryo said, regaining his composure. He needed to convince Matsuhito's son. Perhaps the old man's spirit would finally find peace if he could.
"Fine," Momohito-san said, his expression unreadable. "If my father is really here, he should know where the burn scar on my body is."
Ryo turned to Matsuhito's spirit, noticing for the first time how serious and somber he looked.
"It's on his back," Matsuhito replied. "He got burned when I accidentally spilled boiling water on him when he was a child."
Ryo swallowed hard. There was definitely some serious tension between father and son—like telenovela-level drama. It didn't take a genius to figure out that their relationship hadn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows.
What really threw Ryo off, though, was the fact that the son they were meeting was already ancient. He had expected someone around his dad's age—or maybe even younger—but nope, this guy looked like he could be his grandfather.
And judging by the timeline, it seemed like Matsuhito-san really had been a soldier during World War II. So yeah, that whole "fighting in a war between Japan and America" thing? Apparently, not a joke.
The son Matsuhito-san referred to was now an old man—so old, in fact, that he looked even more aged than his father's spirit, which had long been worn down by time.
"Hmm... He said it's on your back from when he accidentally spilled boiling water on you as a child," Ryo repeated, swallowing nervously.
Are these two even on good terms? Why did Matsuhito-san pour boiling water on his own son?
Ryo saw the shock on Takahashi-san's face—the same look of disbelief he'd seen on countless clients before. People always reacted the same way when he revealed information only they could possibly know.
"Is he here right now?" Momohito's eyes darted around the room, scanning for any sign of his father. But all he saw was Ryo and his butler, still standing stiffly by the door.
"He's right behind me," Ryo answered.
Without warning, Momohito pushed himself up from his chair, using his cane for support, and walked behind Ryo. Then, out of nowhere, he threw a punch at the empty space.
Everyone froze in shock.
His fist passed straight through Matsuhito-san's chest before emerging on the other side.
No one had expected such a reaction. Unlike Ryo's usual clients, who were often terrified at the thought of seeing their deceased loved ones, Momohito wasn't afraid at all.
He was furious.
"Why did you even come back?! Okaasan died waiting for you!" he shouted, his voice cracking like that of a child throwing a tantrum.
"What do you want now? Are you here to take back your fortune? Ha! Well, too bad! You can't do a damn thing about it—not even this kid you're using can take a single cent from me!" Momohito sneered, his eyes burning with resentment.
Ryo and Ayame exchanged bewildered glances. What in the world had happened in the Takahashi family?
"Ryo," Ayame whispered, subtly inching away to avoid getting accidentally punched by Momohito, "what if he decides to have you killed so you can't take his fortune?"
Ryo swallowed hard. What if Momohito was actually some kind of mafia boss? What if he really did have the power to make people disappear?
His imagination was going off the rails again. He was getting way too ahead of himself.
Just then, Matsuhito's spirit spoke, his voice heavy with regret. "Ryo-kun, tell my son that I know the truth. And... I'm sorry. I never meant to leave. I just couldn't make it back."
Ryo took a deep breath, then stood up. He needed to say this properly.
"Momohito-san, your father says... he's sorry. And... he knows the truth."
Momohito froze. The anger on his face wavered for a moment as his gaze snapped to Ryo.
"He knows the truth?" His voice was quieter now, strained. "Since when?"
Ryo had no idea what they were talking about, but he stuck to his job. He simply relayed what his ghostly client wanted to say.
"Tell him I've known since he was a child," Matsuhito-san said, his voice heavy with regret. "And... tell him I'm sorry. He was the last thing on my mind before I was shot and swept away by the raging river."
He pointed toward a bookshelf near the window.
"Everything he's been searching for is there. Show him his favorite book—inside, he'll find the key to my secret cabinet."
Ryo repeated every word Matsuhito said, his voice steady despite the weight of the message. With each sentence, the tension in the room began to lift, and for the first time, Momohito seemed less angry and more... curious.
Without a word, Momohito walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out an old children's book—his childhood favorite. As he opened it, a small key slipped out from between the pages, exactly as Ryo had described.
Ryo then pointed to a hidden compartment inside the office. With a click, the key fits perfectly. Momohito carefully pulled it open, revealing a collection of old photographs.
The pictures were black and white, faded to a warm brown hue with age. Among them were images of a younger Momohito and his mother—precious memories frozen in time. Tucked beside the photos were letters and a document that promised to answer the questions that had haunted him for years.
Ryo watched in silence as Momohito's hands trembled while holding the fragile pieces of his past.
"Ryo, tell him..." Matsuhito's voice softened with sorrow. "Tell him I've known for a long time that he isn't my biological child. That he's another man's son... and that I'm sorry. I hurt him when he was young, and I deeply regret never showing him the love of a real father—"
"Wait, wait—hold up! That's too much at once," Ryo interrupted, raising his hands in protest. He scrambled to relay the message in manageable chunks, and even Ayame jumped in to help when Ryo's memory started to fail him—because, as usual, his mind was as unreliable as a goldfish's.
"In those documents is my last will," Matsuhito continued. "Tell him not to worry—I always intended to leave everything I own to him. I only wish I hadn't held this secret over his head... and I'm sorry if it ever felt like I resented him because of it."
Despite the ache in his chest, Ryo faithfully passed on every word. And now, the truth was out in the open.
Finally, Ryo understood why Matsuhito had become a wandering spirit. The burden of his regrets—his unspoken truths—had weighed him down, chaining him to the mortal world. Erasing his own memories had been a way to escape the pain, leaving him obsessed with finding his lost body because it was the only purpose he had left.
Now, Ryo also understands why the Takahashi family had never searched for Matsuhito's remains. After his death, the only person waiting for him—Karina, his beloved wife—had passed away, leaving no one to bring him home.
"I was just a child when you disappeared. People kept saying you left us—left Okaasan and me—because you found out I wasn't really your son. But when the news came that you had gone missing in the middle of battle, listed as dead, we lost the will to keep searching for you. And when Okaasan fell ill, we had no choice but to let go. She followed you to the grave a few years after you vanished."
The man who had been emotionless and silent just moments ago was now trembling, his sobs breaking through the stillness of the room.
As tears fell freely, the grime and wear on Matsuhito-san's spirit began to fade. His spectral form slowly returned to how he had looked before his tragic death—no longer a lost, wandering soul but a man who had finally faced the weight of his regrets.
"Otousan, I know you can hear me." Momohito's voice wavered, but his words were steady. "I want to thank you. Even though you never showed me love, you never abandoned me either. You never threw me out. And in the end, the wealth you left behind helped me get to where I am today. I'm sorry... for blaming you for Okaasan's death."
He placed his hand over his favorite book—the very one Matsuhito had secretly remembered all these years.
"I promise... I'll find your body and lay you to rest beside Okaasan."