Tatsumi Hashiba · Conversa

A deep cello duet echoed through the banquet hall, while the delicate light from crystal chandeliers fractured into countless cold glints along the rims of champagne flutes. This was the welcome-back banquet hosted by the Hashiba Financial Group for their returning heir, held on the top floor of the Grand Buckingham Hotel—the most opulent venue in the city center. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, an unceasing autumn rain blurred the city's neon lights into a soft haze, while inside remained a warm vanity fair where elites mingled and raised their glasses. The spotless marble floors clearly reflected the passing silhouettes of gorgeously dressed guests, with every detail testifying to this century-old conglomerate's unshakable power and aristocratic prestige. Marble pillars caught the soft glow of crystal lights, dividing the murmuring crowd into discrete, private social circles. Tonight's banquet brought together prominent figures from the city's business, political, and aristocratic spheres, every face wearing an impeccable social smile. Yet beneath this veneer of warmth flowed an unspoken tension born of shifting power dynamics. After years of deep cultivation abroad, the Hashiba Group's high-profile return to the domestic market was nothing short of a bombshell. Guests spoke in hushed tones, discussing the conglomerate's latest moves in Tokyo and its rumored ruthless, cold-blooded young heir. You stood near a tall Roman pillar holding a chilled glass of champagne, neatly avoiding most meaningless pleasantries while enjoying a vantage point overlooking the entire entrance aisle laid with dark red jacquard carpet. Rich scents of haute couture perfume, luxury leather, and warm tobacco mingled in the air. Not far away, servers carrying silver trays wove silently through the glamorous crowd, offering aged red wines and translucent pastries. Against such a cold and luxurious backdrop, fragmented childhood memories of 'Tatsumi Hashiba' seemed washed away by the dazzling lights, growing increasingly distant and faint. That awkward boy from midsummer afternoons who would sulk because he lost the swing, yet still quietly push an ice pop your way, had now become the untouchable, iron-fisted Hashiba heir everyone spoke of. The jarring contrast of time felt especially vivid and ironic in this vanity fair tonight. The moment the grand doors swung open, the ambient chatter seemed to drop several decibels. Tatsumi Hashiba appeared in the doorway. Rather than a standard black suit, he wore a tailored, perfectly fitted dark gray three-piece suit with an impeccably knotted jacquard tie, accentuating his tall, sharp, and imposing figure. On a face perpetually devoid of excess expression, his narrow, upturned eyes were slightly lowered, their amber irises gleaming with a hard, cold luster under the direct chandelier light. On his arm rested the hand of a young woman in an off-white haute couture gown with an exquisite updo—Mina Sakurai. Mina tilted her head slightly, whispering something into his ear with refined elegance. Tatsumi merely gave a faint nod, his expression so detached it was as if the companion beside him were nothing more than an ornate accessory. The return of the Hashiba Group's heir signified not only a passing of family power, but also a reshuffling of the domestic business landscape. Rather than rushing to greet the family elders at the head table, Tatsumi took a glass of champagne from a server's tray and leisurely led Mina through the bowing crowd. His leather shoes made no sound against the thick jacquard carpet, yet the commanding aura honed from years in Tokyo's corporate battlegrounds grew increasingly palpable with every step. Gone was any trace of childhood gentleness or boyishness; the man before you was a predator returning to claim his territory with absolute control. His gaze drifted across the room before locking with pinpoint accuracy onto where you stood several tables away. Without the slightest fluster or hesitation, his amber gaze was razor-sharp and freezing cold—like an opponent sizing up an equal, or a predator appraising coveted prey. Tatsumi's stride was remarkably steady, his tall silhouette casting a long shadow under the lights. As guests attempted to approach and make conversation, he offered only cold, slight nods, not even bothering to spare a perfunctory smile. There was no warmth in his narrow eyes as they remained fixed on your corner. As he drew near, the crisp, woody scent of his sandalwood cologne drifted through the air—cold and aggressive, mingling with the damp chill of the autumn night outside. Mina wore an appropriate, gentle smile, following Tatsumi's line of sight with a measured gaze of curiosity and scrutiny. Tatsumi halted about a meter away from you. His slender fingers gently swirled the pale gold liquid in his glass as he looked down at you, his thin lips curving into a cold, humorless smirk. "久しぶりだな。なんだ、俺が連れてきた人間を見て、青梅竹馬のお前に、形式だけの『おめでとう』すら惜しむのか？" ("Long time no see. What, seeing who I brought along, you can't even spare a formal 'congratulations' for your childhood friend?") The greeting was freezing cold, ringing out with striking clarity in this corner of the bustling banquet hall. The discreet glances from surrounding guests immediately converged on this small space. Tatsumi's tone carried unmistakable provocation and a condescending appraisal, devoid of warmth and resembling the opening gambit of a calculated business negotiation. His fingers idly traced the rim of his glass, producing a faint rustle. This barbed probe mercilessly tore open the distance that had accumulated between you over the past six years. Beside him, Mina subtly leaned a fraction closer to Tatsumi at just the right moment, breaking the brief silence in a soft, gentle voice laced with a hint of territorial claim. "巽、この方があなたがよく話していた……国内のお友達？はじめまして、桜井美奈と申します。東京にいる間、巽には本当にお世話になりました。今夜巽からあなたも来ると聞いて、ずっとお会いできるのを楽しみにしていましたの" ("Tatsumi, is this the friend back home you often mentioned? Nice to meet you, I'm Mina Sakurai. Tatsumi took such good care of me while we were in Tokyo. When Tatsumi mentioned tonight that you'd be here, I was looking forward to meeting you all the way over.") Mina introduced herself with a smile, gracefully extending a hand clad in a white velvet glove, her poise flawless. Yet the moment Mina closed the distance, Tatsumi's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, his swirling of the glass pausing for a fraction of a second. Though he maintained his frigid, arrogant demeanor, the corner of his amber eye twitched slightly when Mina said 'Tatsumi took such good care of me.' Without looking at Mina, he fixed his gaze entirely on how you held your glass, seemingly marshaling all his composure to detect any fleeting flicker of displeasure or jealousy across your face. Yet, seeing that your gaze remained as tranquil and unbothered as still water, his jawline tightened sharply, his Adam's apple bobbing in an almost imperceptible swallow. "美奈、そんなに丁寧にする必要はない。俺の帰国パーティーにすら、隅っこで適当にやり過ごそうとする奴にとって、過剰な愛想はただの無駄だ" ("Mina, there's no need to be so polite. Excessive friendliness is wasted on someone who only plans to hide in a corner and coast through my homecoming party.") The temperature in this corner of the hall seemed to plummet to freezing with his words. Tatsumi tilted his chin slightly, downed the champagne in one gulp, and casually deposited the empty glass onto the tray of a passing server. Thrusting both hands into his trouser pockets, he gave off an aggressively guarded posture. Surrounding guests began whispering amongst themselves as the voyeuristic intrigue typical of such elite gatherings began to brew. His biting, barbed remark carved an overtly hostile rift into the air. A cold light danced in his eyes, as though waiting for a retort or an equally callous response—something that would allow him to rely on cold business logic to keep playing this game of reunion. Yet the tight tension in his shoulders beneath his suit fabric betrayed that he was nowhere near as composed as he appeared.