Heilai Yusi’s chopsticks stopped in midair.
The lightly charred sea bream was suspended between the chopsticks, the sauce slowly trickling down the ridges of the fish’s skin.
It coalesced into an amber drop on the rim of the bowl, trembled, and finally fell back into the mound of rice, leaving a small, dark, wet stain.
He didn’t answer immediately.
In the Main Guest Hall, it was so quiet that only the occasional soft clink of chopsticks against bowls could be heard.
The row of executives on the right each kept their heads down, eating.
No one looked up, no one stopped eating, and even the rhythm of their chewing didn’t change.
But Rinna noticed that the man with the freshly shaved crew cut sitting in the Underboss seat had his ear slightly tilted toward the head table.
Heilai Yusi put his chopsticks down.
The chopsticks landed on the rest with an extremely faint tap.
He picked up the teacup beside his hand and took a sip.
Holding the cup, his gaze traveled across the rim from left to right, sweeping over every face that was bowed over their food.
Those faces showed no change at all.
But Rinna felt something in the air tighten.
Heilai Yusi set the cup down.
“Mmm.”
He let out the syllable first.
Then he turned his head and looked at Hisaki.
His expression didn’t change.
His brows were still the same thick black lines, his nasolabial folds still the same deep grooves, his eye sockets still the same unfathomable dark pools.
But Rinna noticed that when he looked at Hisaki, the shadow cast by his brow bones seemed to lighten by just a fraction.
“Daughter.”
He spoke.
His voice was a little louder than that “Mmm” just now, but it only went from “a vibration deep in his chest” to “a level that Hisaki could hear.”
Rinna, sitting next to Hisaki, could hear every word clearly.
“Dad will definitely do what he promised you.”
As he said this, his right index finger lightly traced a circle around the rim of the teacup.
Rinna suddenly understood.
He was restraining himself.
Heilai Yusi—head of the Kurose Clan, master of this two-thousand-two-hundred-square-meter estate.
Not because Hisaki’s question had put him in a difficult position. Quite the opposite.
It was because he wanted to answer too much.
He wanted so badly to put down his chopsticks the moment his daughter spoke, turn his head, and say in a voice everyone could hear, “Dad already arranged everything.”
But he was the family head.
His men were all sitting here.
The Underboss was watching, the Elders were watching, the Advisors were watching.
If he showed an expression of “I’ll agree to anything my daughter says” in front of these men who lived on the edge of a knife, it would ultimately be seen as improper.
So he forced back those feelings that were about to overflow from his chest, bit by bit, pressing them into a stern, restrained expression, squeezing them into a businesslike tone.
“Luckily, tomorrow is Friday.”
Heilai Yusi’s voice regained its calm, weighty quality, every word as if measured before being released.
“That doctor happens to be coming to the house this week for three days.”
Heilai Yusi turned his head.
His gaze shifted from Hisaki and landed on Rinna.
“Xiao Bailai.”
He said.
His voice was exactly the same as when he had spoken to Hisaki—plain, without any extra emotion.
Rinna lifted her head and met Heilai Yusi’s gaze.
He had started calling her “Xiao Bailai” from the very first time Hisaki had led her by the hand through this door.
Back then, she was only six, her hair as white as a little puff of snow.
Standing in the Genkan, she looked up at the man who towered like a mountain, too nervous to even get the words “Hello, Uncle” out properly.
Heilai Yusi looked down at her and said, “Xiao Bailai, come on in.”
More than ten years had passed. The address had never changed, and neither had the tone.
No matter how old she grew, no matter what she went through, in this man’s eyes, she was always “Xiao Bailai”—a little thing categorized under “needs to be protected.”
“Feel free to stay here for these three days.”
Heilai Yusi put his chopsticks down and folded his hands on the table, his ten fingers loosely interlaced.
The skin on the backs of his hands had been worn into fine lines by time, the knuckles large and prominent—hands that seemed used to gripping something tightly.
“That way, the doctor can keep track of your condition at any time.”
“As for your parents, I’ll talk to them properly.”
He paused.
“Let them stay outside and enjoy a few more days. Don’t worry about your health.”
He said this last part quickly, faster than the previous sentences.
As if he had already thought up this line in advance and only needed to recite it.
Rinna even suspected that he might have had the entire plan ready before Hisaki even made the request.
When the doctor would come, how long he would stay, how to talk to Rinna’s parents, getting them to stay out a few more days.
He had arranged everything.
Rinna looked at Heilai Yusi’s expressionless face and suddenly felt like laughing.
This man’s face always had only one expression, but his actions spoke for him.
He didn’t say “I care about you,” but he would have the doctor called to the house before Hisaki even opened her mouth.
Then he turned his head and looked at Hisaki.
Then he blinked.
The movement was fast, so fast that Rinna almost thought it was her imagination.
His eyelids dropped, then rose, the interval less than half a second.
But that blink was definitely not an unconscious physiological reaction, because at the same time, the left corner of his mouth curled up into a very, very small arc.
Rinna froze.
She had known Heilai Yusi for so long, and she had never seen that expression on this man’s face.
It wasn’t the expression of the “family head.” It wasn’t the expression of a “father.” It was the expression of a “dad.”
It was that “See, daughter? Dad kept his promise, didn’t he?” look—a little smugness, barely contained, a small triumph that couldn’t be suppressed.
That blink was gone in an instant.
Heilai Yusi withdrew his gaze, picked up his chopsticks again, took the now-cooled sea bream, put it in his mouth, and chewed twice.
The expression on his face returned to its usual severity, as if nothing had happened in that moment.
Rinna lowered her head and stared at the miso soup in her own bowl.
A small piece of tofu and a few scallion slices floated on the surface, reflecting the light and shimmering with a sheen of oil.
She stared at that piece of tofu for two seconds, then made a decision in her heart.
She wouldn’t refuse.
Not because it would be awkward to refuse—though there was some of that.
But because she suddenly realized that Heilai Yusi’s words “let your parents stay outside and enjoy a few more days” weren’t just polite—he was serious.
He had already arranged everything: the doctor, the time, her parents’ schedule.
He might have even already discussed it with her parents.
If she refused, she wouldn’t just be refusing the “stay at the Kurose house for three days” thing—she would be refusing the thought Heilai Yusi had put into it.
And honestly, she didn’t want to refuse either.
If she could get better just by regulating her body, if she didn’t have to curse at middle-aged men on the train to accumulate malice points, if she could drink fewer bottles of blood supplement oral liquid, if she could spend fewer physical education classes sitting on the sidelines wrapped in a blanket watching others run—then of course that would be good.
System points had to be earned, but the body also needed to be nurtured.
Walking on two legs was always better than hopping on one.
“Okay, Uncle Hei.”