For every ruler there is a god. Above them all, there is only the puppeteer — the one who assigns them their roles and twists the figures as he wishes. Ichirou was the one whose hands had spent a lifetime preparing to keep the puppets there as them should be kept.

And now — when his father was about to let out his last breath — when it was time for him to take the stage, it was as if everyone around him was purposely trying to make it harder.

As soon as Ichirou began to settle things with the borders, conflicts within began, as soon as he settled conflicts within, problems with the Ravens began. Nathan's suddenly announced son, who had definitely inherited his penchant for creating chaos around everything he touched, was slowly but surely becoming a problem. Put that together with his brother's not-so-smoothly falling into his own psychosis, resentful of the whole mortal world, and the situation was beginning to take a bad name. Riko barking like a lap dog was the norm, but now he was really starting to bite. Whether he felt his power or despaired at his loneliness that much didn't interest Ichirou — he was ruining the team's reputation, and badly.

Another night spent in his office, dealing with everything Kengo hadn't initiated him into until the situation became critical. His temples throb — the letters are already blurring before his eyes, and all he can do is groan in pure annoyance. His patience is strong, but not infinite. But instead, Ichirou only exhales, his peripheral vision catching sight of a figure gliding down the hallway. You're still awake — waiting for him, and for the third night in a row he shakes his head, staying up late hunched over his desk.

“I told you to go to bed,” he says, voice steady, but his eyes pull away from his papers as if on cue. You care for him genuinely, he knows and thanks you in his heart — marrying for love in his measure is rare, but his luck has always been great as well. “I won't be done here for a while yet,”