To Mrs. Wells' right sat Misty, and to her left were Hanako and Blanca. Neither of the two women seemed bothered by the seating arrangement—if anything, sitting side by side only made it easier for them to observe each other.
Blanca looked at Hanako Arasaka.
How should she describe seeing Hanako in person? If she had to choose a single word, it would be: expected.
Unlike Hanako's mother, Michiko Arasaka—whose style and appearance were unusually futuristic and striking—Hanako's presentation was exactly what one would imagine from a highborn daughter of the Arasaka family.
Proper, elegant, and composed.
Perhaps because of the Western-style Christmas gathering, Hanako had foregone her usual cherry blossom-patterned kimono—an outfit Karl often joked she would never stop wearing—and instead wore a finely tailored dress. Its pale white and soft pink hues still evoked the image of a blooming sakura.
Her eyes were bright and steady, framed by long curled lashes and a clear gaze. Her nose was graceful, her lips full. She wore minimal makeup—subtle eyeshadow, a gentle blush—giving her a healthy, vibrant look. Combined with her refined, East Asian–leaning features, she exuded a quiet, delicate beauty.
It didn't even feel like she had gone out of her way to dress up, and yet the effect was undeniable—like looking at the moon and finding yourself entranced not by its shape, but by the sunlight it reflects.
Even as a woman herself, Blanca had to admit: when it came to noble elegance, Hanako Arasaka was overwhelming. She didn't just look the part—she defined it.
Of course, she was the Arasaka heiress, after all.
Blanca clenched her hand beneath the table, just out of Hanako's line of sight.
Was it jealousy over her beauty? Or bitterness over her being Arasaka?
No. Blanca knew it wasn't either of those.
She clenched her fist for one reason only:
She felt a threat.
A deeply personal one—one that couldn't be ignored.
She had caught Hanako's earlier gaze. And in that moment, the way Hanako looked at Karl—soft, familiar, natural—had shaken her.
It reminded Blanca of her own childhood, when she used to peek through cracks in the attic walls and watch other children basking in the sunlight—sunlight that never touched her.
The darkness of her past loomed again.
She had lived in shadow for so long that it had become normal. But then she'd grown, stepped out into the light, and learned to embrace it. And now—now, if she had to return to that attic… to watch someone else soak in her sunlight…
She would not accept it.
Nothing in this world should be taken for granted. No one should be bathed in light by default.
The attic had been torn apart. The sun now shone on her.
And if she were to die, then so be it—but she would die in the sun.
Blanca stopped thinking about Hanako.
Today's encounter… was a blessing in disguise.
Had it not happened, she might never have noticed the threat. Might never have realized what was at stake, or how badly she wanted to close the distance between herself and that unreachable place.
Was it still possible?
Yes. It was.
Blanca thought of someone.
Lucas Halford—the man who had become CEO of Militech after Rosalind Myers.
He was said to be Myers' ideological successor. But everyone knew how messy things had gotten between Myers' NUSA and Militech. Their alliance had fractured after she was forced to step down—and the one who had taken her place was none other than Lucas Halford himself.
An heir? Sure.
Militech had one advantage over Arasaka, though. In Arasaka, only family could become CEO. But Militech had no such restriction.
You could rise as high as your will—and your ruthlessness—could take you.
Even someone like Myers, who had already been CEO, had been pushed out.
At Arasaka, no matter how capable you were, you ended up as the family's dog.
At Militech, the fight was bloodier—but the throne was open.
"Hanako. Ms. Blanca. Here's your cake."
Maki appeared, handing out slices. Blanca gave her a faint smile.
"Thank you, Miss Maki."
She accepted the small piece Karl had cut. The red berry jam atop the white frosting stood out sharply.
Blanca turned toward Hanako.
"Miss Hanako Arasaka."
Hanako turned her head politely.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Blanca—Karl's friend."
She placed deliberate weight on the word friend, and Hanako caught the meaning immediately.
Friend?
Emotions flickered in Hanako's heart.
Was it disdain? Resentment?
No—neither.
What she felt was alertness.
She heard what Blanca was implying—and responded in kind.
"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Blanca. As it happens, I'm Karl's friend as well."
Her voice was calm, natural—but the weight of those words settled like lead in Blanca's chest.
Because in that moment, Hanako had acknowledged it:
She, too, was a friend. And she, too, had intentions.
Neither woman said another word.
Sometimes, a single sentence is enough.
Today was a good day.
No point overthinking it.
"Wow, Maki, your cake's amazing. Make me more next time?"
"Beg for it, and maybe I will."
"I'm begging."
"God, you've got no shame. Have a little dignity, will you?"
"Can I eat dignity?"
Across the table, Maki and Karl were joking as they polished off the last two slices of cake.
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