VOLUME III: 60 – A New Visit

[Akane's POV]

The office was still, almost unnaturally so. I liked it that way. Numbers balanced neatly in their columns. Deadlines lined up on my calendar. Every hour accounted for, every task boxed in. That's how I kept myself steady, work divided into grids, leaving no space for disarray.

I had just finished a string of reports when my phone buzzed across the desk. Aoi.

AOI:
They’re working on my character design. Weaver says it’ll take a while but omg it feels real now. My new mama is scary talented. Send help.

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. That was her. Always dramatic. Always halfway between collapse and rebirth. I typed a reply without hesitation:

AKANE:
Don’t scare them off this time.

I set the phone down, shaking my head. Typical Aoi. But at least she’s doing something with her chaos.

The knock broke my train of thought. Firm. Decisive. Not one of my staff.

Before I could answer, the handle turned.

My mother stepped inside without waiting for me to speak, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that set the pace for the room. She sat in the visitor’s chair like she belonged there more than I did.

“Mother,” I said carefully.

“Akane.” She adjusted her sleeve with deliberate precision. “You’ve been difficult to reach.”

“I’ve been working.”

Her eyes flicked to the neat stacks on my desk, then back to me. “And your sister?”

“What about her?”

“She can’t keep drifting forever.” Each word was measured, sharp. “She needs stability. Structure. You should bring her in. Let her work at the company. At least then she’d learn some discipline.”

I kept my voice level. “I don’t know what she’s doing.”

Her silence was long enough to stretch. She looked at me, in that way of hers that left no room for escape. I had lived long enough under that gaze to know it was less a question than a verdict.

“You think I don’t see?” she said finally. Her tone was soft, but it cut cleaner than a shout. “You think I don’t notice when one daughter slips away, while the other scrambles to cover the gaps?”

The air thinned. For a moment, the office—the beige walls, the framed certificates, the calendar marked to the hour—felt like a flimsy set piece, too fragile to hold against her.

I folded my hands on the desk, a deliberate motion. “Aoi makes her own decisions.”

“And you enable them.”

“I respect her choices,” I said, more firmly than I intended. “That doesn’t mean I condone them.”

She arched a brow. “A clever distinction. But in practice?”

“In practice, I know where my responsibility ends. She is not my subordinate. She is my sister.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the weight of them pressed against me. In another life, I might have bowed. But I was no longer a child seeking approval.

She studied me a moment longer, then adjusted her bag and stood. The movement was brisk, final. “I’ll only say this once more. She is not a child. And I am not someone to be toyed with.”

She straightened her jacket, already half-turned toward the door. “I have a staff meeting in twenty minutes. Don’t think this conversation ends here.”

The words struck, not loud, but final. Like a door shutting.

Then she left, the real door clicking softly behind her.

Only then did I let my breath go, slow and quiet, before straightening the stack of reports that had shifted slightly out of line.

Order. Control. Always.

I reached for the desk phone, my hand steady.

“David,” I said when my assistant answered.

“Yes, Ms. Halberd?”

“In the future, if one of my family members comes to see me, even without an appointment, I expect to be notified before they walk through my door.”

A pause. Not long, but weighted. “Understood.”

“Good.”

I hung up, the line clicking back into place, the order reestablished.

But my personal phone glowed against the desk. I turned it over. Aoi’s reply lit the screen first.

AOI:
ur so mean.
also ur wrong.
i’m charming actually.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Relief and exhaustion braided together. If she’s teasing, she’s fine—for now.

But just below Aoi’s chaos, another name waited. A missed call. Two hours earlier.

I hesitated only long enough to check the clock. Then I pressed call.

The line rang, once, twice—

“You live!” The voice burst through, bright and disheveled. “I was about to send a search party across the Pacific. Or, y’know, hire one of those singing telegrams. Bet you’d love that.”

“You called me at two in the morning your time.”

“Two-thirty, actually. Don’t worry, I’m armed with crisps. That’s basically breakfast.”

“That’s not breakfast, Clem”

“Maybe not where you are, Miss Perfect Calendar Blocks.”

I exhaled, the closest I came to laughing.

There was a rustle on the other end, fabric against fabric, maybe blankets. “So. How’s my favorite terrifying lawyer? Win another war today?”

“I guess.”

“Mm.” Her tone softened. “Rough one?”

I didn’t answer immediately. My mother’s voice still echoed.

"Something like that"

“See? That’s exactly the problem. You’re deflecting. Don’t think I don’t hear it. Your voice gets this tiny steel edge whenever you’re pretending you’re fine.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Ha! No, no. I know you. You’ve probably been sitting with your shoulders pinned back so long your spine is crying. You need to relax before you fuse into a statue.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Liar. Should I prove it? I’ll do the voice.”

“No.”

“Oh yes. ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the court, exhibit A: Akane Halberd, tragically allergic to feelings. Symptoms include: sighing, glaring, and alphabetizing her own nightmares.’”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you like it,” she shot back, smug. Then, after a pause, softer she uttered, "Is it your Mum?”

“Yes.”

Her tone dropped with her smile, warm enough to fill the hollow silence my mother had left behind. “You don’t have to say more. I’ll just keep talking rubbish until you forget.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ve been training my whole life for this role. Anyway, you’ll appreciate this. My lasagna is currently a crime against humanity. It collapsed. Collapsed, Akane. It looks like someone buried a pizza alive.”

“You shouldn’t be allowed near an oven.”

"Honestly, the British Museum should display it. Future generations need to know.”

Her chatter kept spilling across the line, too loud for the sterile neatness of my office. But I didn’t lower the volume.

After a while, she hummed, soft. “Alright. Go be brilliant. I’ll be here. Always.”

“Go to sleep,” I told her.

“Bossy.” Her grin was audible. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Goodnight, Clem.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, gently, her words folded me like the first day of spring, “Goodnight, love.”

The line clicked dead.

I stared at the phone a moment longer, her laughter still echoing faintly in my ear. Slowly, almost against my own discipline, I let my shoulders ease back, the tension draining like I’d been holding my breath all day. The room, once suffocating under my mother’s shadow, felt just slightly wider.

A space where the air wasn’t sharp with judgment or duty, where the weight pressed less heavy on my chest.

I set the phone down, the conversations lingered on my thoughts. Two worlds, colliding, clashing. A thread pulling me back to something almost human.

I straightened the nearest stack of reports, but one page sat slightly off-center. For once, I let it stay that way. Because at that moment, I could.