Game Without Limits

 With her lips delicately pursed, she shifted her gaze to the screen. Her hand, with long, elegant nails, slid smoothly across the desk until it rested on the phone's receiver. For a moment, it seemed as if even the air in the room held its breath, waiting for the next move.

"Don't make me repeat myself, dog," her voice was quiet, yet laced with an icy, threatening undertone. Each word was carefully chosen, like a needle poised to strike.

She pressed the button, cutting off the conversation. Without changing her posture, she placed the receiver back onto its cradle. Sitting in the chair, like a cat preparing to pounce, everything was under her control. Her sleek black hair lightly brushed her shoulders, as soft as silk, and her red eyes—whose gleam outshone everything around her—remained cold and calculating.

The office was adorned in a luxurious style, every detail carefully selected to reflect status and influence. The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfume, and every element, from the golden picture frame to the delicate porcelain cup, spoke of her position in the world.

It was then that the door creaked open slightly, and a guard entered, motionless as a statue, dressed in a formal tuxedo with dark sunglasses concealing his eyes. He took a few steps toward her, knowing his role, and raised his voice.

"Madam, Mr. Tadashi Kiyosumi has arrived," his voice was respectful, yet neutral.

She slowly turned her head, her lips curving into a thin, almost imperceptible smile. There was something in her gaze—elusive, yet magnetic.

"Tadashi…" she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity. "So, what are you waiting for? Take him to my father. Ask him not to linger. I don't like it when time drags on."

The guard bowed, his footsteps sharp and swift. He knew that in her presence, every minute was a game where nothing could disrupt her plans.

Once the door closed behind him, she returned to her thoughts. Her red eyes revealed no emotion, but power radiated from them. The coming moments were going to be decisive.

She rose from her chair, stretching smoothly, like a predator preparing to strike. Her steps were light, almost soundless, and her dark hair cascaded in waves down her back as she made her way to the door. The famous Lady Yamato Haruko, mistress of this house, possessed not only natural beauty but also a commanding power that emanated from every movement.

Her steps on the luxurious staircase echoed clearly. Every step in this mansion was part of her path to absolute authority. The walls, adorned with exquisite paintings and stained glass, reflected the light, creating a mysterious atmosphere, as if the very architecture was a part of her design. She ascended with the same calmness, as if simply following a premeditated plan.

When she reached the door to her father's chambers, two guards in black suits standing on either side didn't dare look her in the eye. They knew their place. Haruko, oblivious to their presence, slowly cracked the door open and stepped inside.

The room was silent, broken only by quiet conversations and the sounds typical of professionals at work. Doctors, composed and focused, and lawyers, seemingly never wasting a moment, discussed important matters, their voices blending with the hushed whispers in the background, coming from the old man lying in the bed.

Her father, Mr. Yamato Ryōjirō, was in plain sight, but his condition remained hidden from unnecessary eyes. He had been the head of this house just yesterday, and his dominant presence could still be felt, despite everything. His pulse, measured by Tadashi Kiyosumi, was the most crucial element of the scene. Tadashi, sitting beside him, exuded calm confidence. His hands moved with practiced certainty, checking the pulse, while his eyes remained focused on the old man. Tadashi was more than just a doctor—he was an ally, someone trusted, and his bond with Haruko's family was subtle, yet unbreakable.

Haruko stopped in the doorway, her red eyes sweeping across the room. Everyone present, even Tadashi, froze as she entered. Silence fell again as she took a step forward, standing before her father. He gazed at her with an expression that spoke volumes, but no words were necessary. Everything had already been decided.

Several weeks had passed since the events in the laboratory. Mr. Yamato Ryōjirō, one of the influential investors, had been among those who inhaled the toxic substance in the closed chambers of the complex. At first, there had been no sign of trouble. He returned home and continued his work as usual: tense business meetings, sleepless nights, and endless reports. But gradually, like a shadow, the inevitable threat began to loom.

At first, he noticed a slight tickle in his throat. Then came a persistent cough that wouldn't go away, even with the strongest medications. Over time, fatigue, weakness, and blood in his sputum became troubling signs. Loss of consciousness became a daily reality. At first glance, the symptoms seemed like a simple case of poisoning, but in reality, the situation was far worse.

When Mr. Ryōjirō was urgently hospitalized, doctors arrived at a horrifying conclusion—he was suffering from a rare and aggressive disease caused by the poisoning, one that was slowly destroying his body. The doctors couldn't pinpoint exactly what the disease was, and its symptoms were so unique that treatment seemed nearly impossible. Only supportive therapy could slow the process, but Yamato's condition continued to worsen. It seemed as though the disease was toying with him, and every time he managed to recover slightly, it would return, even more destructive than before.

Haruko Ryōjirō, his daughter, was by his side, but her strength was wearing thin. As always, she tried to hold herself together, like a rock in a stormy ocean. But with each passing day, as she watched her father weaken, she felt more and more helpless. Endless visits to the best doctors, expensive treatments, overnight shifts in a room filled with numerous doctors and scientists—all of this had become a part of her life, and it was no easier. It felt as though, in a life where everything was controllable and manageable, this one factor had emerged—the unknown, the unpredictable, and most terrifying of all, the uncontrollable.

Her gaze grew duller, and her steps heavier. She could no longer hide from herself how exhausted she was—not just from the illness, but from the endless efforts that seemed to lead to nothing. The ceaseless battle with the shadow of disease had drained her, and the spirit that had once been unyielding now questioned the very nature of this struggle.

Haruko weakly pressed her hand to her temple, gazing into Tadashi's face as though hoping to see even the slightest change, though there had long been no room for hope in her heart. She noticed the way he exhaled, and something fleeting passed through his eyes—whether it was fatigue or a spark of doubt, as if he were trying to understand what they and Ryōjirō were still hoping for.

"How's his condition, doctor? Any better?" Her voice was even, though Haruko knew she couldn't believe the words. She had asked them so many times, she had lost count. He silently glanced at Ryōjirō, his lips pressing into a thin line, his gaze fixed on the monitor readings.

Tadashi quietly stood, stepping aside as though moving away from something invisible, and spoke with a weight that made each word feel devoid of any hope. "No signs of improvement, as before."

His answer came almost like a verdict, but Haruko knew her father was more than just a patient—he was her world. Fear gripped her chest. Was there any chance left that this man, who she had once seen as an undefeatable force, would come back to life?

She stood still, on the brink of despair, but she still couldn't bring herself to give up. "But…?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but there was something more than despair in it. Tadashi gave a signal that there was something important.

"You can call me crazy, Haruki," he said, meeting her gaze and offering a faint, slightly nervous smile. "But I'll tell you one thing."

Haruko, forgetting everything, stared at him, her eyes full of expectation. This doctor was her last anchor. There was something in his words that still kept her from being fully consumed by the abyss of despair.

"I had a patient a couple of years ago with similar symptoms," Tadashi began. "Like you, I thought it was the end. After the treatment, I told him there was no hope and left. I was certain he would die… but some time later, I saw him again."

These words didn't immediately reach Haruko. She stood frozen, absorbing every one of his words despite the deep pain that choked her breath.

"And what happened to him?" she asked, tension in her voice, now fully focused on the doctor.

Tadashi sighed, his gaze becoming slightly more alive, as if he were struck by what he was about to share. He took a step closer, as though wanting his words to resonate in the silence not just as information, but as a key to something greater.

"He wasn't just a hallucination," Tadashi continued, "but a living, healthy, strong person. His face had changed, he'd even gained weight, and the one who had come to me—vanished, as though he'd never been there at all." He fell silent, as if even he couldn't believe his own words.

"How?" Haruko couldn't contain herself; her words escaped her lips, filled with both worry and astonishment.

Tadashi smiled, but it wasn't a smile of satisfaction—it was more a faint sadness, as though he, too, was searching for an answer. "I was shocked myself. So, when I met him again, I approached him. We sat in a café, and I decided to ask him what had happened, why the illness had suddenly disappeared. And he told me that some strange person had taken him in."

"Strange man?" Haruko thought for a moment, her mind racing through all possible scenarios. It felt like a strange revelation that could turn everything upside down. Something in her chest tightened, as if she had heard something important, yet not entirely comprehensible.

"Yes," Tadashi confirmed. "He wore an eye patch," he said. "The man behaved oddly. But what's most surprising is that he said the treatment had nothing to do with conventional medicine. There was something... unusual about his approach." Tadashi fell silent, looking at Haruko. "I can't explain it, but it doesn't seem like a medical miracle. It's like something that goes beyond everything we know."

Haruko stood there, as if in confusion, as if reality itself had lost its sharpness. She tried to believe these words, but doubt gnawed at her like poison. A strange man. She might not believe in it, but something in his words made her feel that something in her life was happening—something she could not control.

"What if this is the chance we've all been waiting for?" Tadashi added almost in a whisper, as if afraid he might believe it more than he should.

Haruko closed her eyes, sinking into her thoughts. Everything that was familiar to her now receded, making space for something she couldn't understand. Her heart beat faster, and something flickered in her eyes—a tiny spark of hope.