Deus.Ex.Machina Chapter 37

The reality of it crashed over in waves, each one stronger than the last. My chest felt tight, like soone was squeezing my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

They were gone. Actually gone.

Not just away on business this ti. Not just missing another dinner or school event. Gone forever.

I'd never hear Dad's laugh again. Never see Mom roll her eyes at his bad jokes. Never sit awkwardly through another family dinner where they asked about school and I gave vague answers about classes I barely paid attention to.

A sound escaped , half laugh, half sob. God, I'd been so caught up in my supernatural training, that I'd barely spent any ti with them lately. Always thinking there would be more ti later. Always putting it off, telling myself they were busy with the company anyway.

And now there was no more ti.

A sob escaped before I could stop it. Then another. And suddenly, I was crying for the first ti since I'd arrived in this world.

For my parents, whose lives had been cut short. For the years we'd never get. For all the conversations we'd never have.

And for myself, suddenly more alone than I'd ever been.

The irony wasn't lost on . All my supernatural power, all my careful planning and training, and I couldn't protect the people closest to from a simple plane crash.

What good was any of it if I couldn't save my own family?

The tears eventually stopped, leaving hollow and exhausted. I laid back on my bed, still fully dressed, staring at the ceiling again.

My parents were dead.

And sowhere deep inside, past the shock and grief, a terrible suspicion was starting to form.

That feeling I'd had—that sense of impending doom? It hadn't been paranoia after all.

It had been a warning. One I hadn't understood until it was too late.

And now I had to wonder: was this really an accident? Or was it sothing else? Sothing connected to the supernatural world I'd been diving deeper into every day?

I didn't know. But I was going to find out.

Tomorrow, I would be the grieving son. I would talk to authorities, deal with lawyers, handle the press.

But tonight, I made a silent promise to my parents, and to myself.

If soone was responsible for this, they would pay. No matter what it took, no matter who they were.

I would make sure of it.

That night.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't

How could I? Every ti I closed my eyes, I saw their faces.

By the ti dawn crept through my windows, I was still sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.

Everything felt... empty. Like soone had hollowed out and left just the shell behind.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Young master?" Hayama's voice, still gentle but back to his professional tone. "The authorities are here."

Right. The real world doesn't stop just because your life falls apart.

"Give five minutes," I called back, my voice hoarse.

I splashed cold water on my face, threw on a clean shirt, and tried to look like I wasn't completely broken inside.

I was failing.

—

The next few days blurred together like so horrible dream I couldn't wake up from.

Police interviews. "No, I don't know why they changed their flight plans."

dia outside the house. "The Mishima heir declined to comnt at this ti."

Lawyers. So many lawyers. All of them speaking words that barely registered in my brain.

And through it all, Hayama stayed by my side. The only constant in a world that had suddenly shifted under my feet.

The funeral was the worst part.

I stood there in a black suit, watching them lower my parents into the ground. It didn't feel real. None of it felt real.

Half of Japan's corporate elite showed up. Politicians. CEOs. People whose nas I should have recognized but couldn't focus on.

And scattered among them, I noticed sothing that would have interested more if I could feel anything beyond the hollow ache in my chest.

Supernatural beings. Lots of them.

There was a woman with an aura that felt distinctly fox-like. A tall man whose presence scread "devil nobility." Even soone who might have been one of the actual Maou, though I couldn't bring myself to care enough to look closer.

My grandfather really had built sothing extraordinary.

"Leon."

I turned to find Sona beside , dressed in black, her expression soft with genuine sympathy.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "They were good people."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Her presence helped, sohow. Made the crushing weight a little more bearable.

After the service, as people started leaving, she squeezed my hand once.

"If you need anything," she said quietly. "Anything at all."

Then she was gone, and I was alone again with dirt on expensive shoes and a hole where my heart used to be.

—

The real nightmare started three days later.

I walked into the Mishima Corporation boardroom - a room I'd been in dozens of tis before, sitting beside my father as he taught the business. Now I was taking his seat.

It felt wrong. Everything about this felt wrong.

The board mbers looked at with a mixture of sympathy and concern. These weren't strangers - I'd grown up knowing most of them. Had sat through etings where Dad walked through quarterly reports and strategic decisions.

I knew how to do this. I'd been preparing for it my whole life.

So why did everything feel so impossible now?

"Let's begin," I said quietly, opening the folder in front of .

The quarterly reports. I'd helped compile half of these numbers just last month, working late with Dad to analyze the European markets. The data should have made sense - it always had before.

But now, staring at the spreadsheets, the numbers seed to blur together. My mind kept drifting to the last conversation I'd had with Dad about the Yamamoto acquisition. He'd been excited about the potential, sketching out projections on his tablet while Mom rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm.

"The Yamamoto subsidiary integration is proceeding ahead of schedule," the CFO was saying. "Just as you and your father projected last quarter."

Right. The integration I'd helped plan. The projections I'd run myself.

"Good," I managed. "What about the European expansion?"

"Still waiting on regulatory approval, but the groundwork you laid with the Frankfurt office should expedite the process."

I nodded. I rembered that trip. Dad had taken along to et with German officials, teaching how to navigate international regulations. He'd been proud when I'd caught a discrepancy in their filing requirents that could have delayed everything by months.

The mory hit like a physical blow. I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

"Sir?" The CFO's voice seed to co from far away. "Are you alright?"

I blinked, realizing everyone was staring at . My breathing had gotten shallow, my hands were shaking slightly.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Continue with the report."

But I wasn't fine. Every agenda item reminded of sothing - a lesson Dad had taught , a strategy we'd developed together, a problem we'd solved side by side. The knowledge was all there in my head, but accessing it felt like trying to think through thick fog.

"The Grigori contract renewal needs your signature," soone ntioned, sliding papers across the table.

I stared at the docunts. Another thing I'd helped negotiate. Another piece of the puzzle my parents had slowly revealed to over the years. They'd been preparing for this responsibility, grooming to take over when I was ready.

But I wasn't ready. Not like this. Not without them.

My hand trembled as I reached for the pen. The signature that ca out barely looked like my own handwriting.

"Are there any other pressing matters?" I asked, my voice barely steady.

The room exchanged glances. They could see I was struggling, these people who'd watched grow up in this corporate world.

"Perhaps we could table the remaining items until next week," suggested the CFO gently. "Give you ti to... adjust."

I wanted to say no. Wanted to push through like my parents had taught . But I couldn't. The grief was a weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe, impossible to think clearly.

"Yes," I whispered. "That would be... thank you."

I stood up carefully, afraid my legs might give out. "eting adjourned."

I walked out, leaving behind a room full of people who'd believed in , who'd expected to seamlessly step into my father's shoes.

I was failing them. Failing the company. Failing everything my parents had worked to build.

Hayama was waiting outside, his expression carefully neutral but kind.

"You did well, young master," he said softly.

"No, I didn't." The words ca out flat. "I froze up in there. I couldn't focus on anything."

"You're grieving," he said simply. "Your parents would understand."

The ntion of my parents made my throat tighten. "They spent years preparing for this. Teaching everything I needed to know. And now when it matters most, I can't..."

I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't admit how completely lost I felt despite all that preparation.

"Perhaps," Hayama said carefully, "you need ti to process. "

I looked at him.

"I just..." I started, then stopped. "I just want them back."

The admission hung in the air between us, raw and desperate.

Hayama's expression softened. "I know, young master. I know."

And for the first ti since the funeral, I let myself cry again.

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