Episode 3

My father sent me to a well-regarded school in the United Kingdom, where I spent the best years of my life. I focused on studying, making friends, establishing connections, started my own company, did the best I could, and tried to live happily. Occasionally, my father would call to check on me; I attempted to keep the conversations brief, responding with short "yes" or "no" answers to his questions.

My first year there felt like a dream. I learned about a new culture, made many friends, and studied hard. I always tried to be at the top of my class, or at least among the best, while balancing work with leisure and outings. Thankfully, I succeeded in that.

While studying, I was completely focused, and when I was with my friends, I could forget everything else. A year after arriving in this new place, I had become one of the locals—I didn’t feel uncomfortable or lonely. On the contrary, I had made many friends and had become more social, attending parties and group outings. One day, when we went out to see a movie, everything went normally—we paid for tickets, bought some snacks, entered the theater, watched the film, and afterward, we decided to go to a restaurant. Upon arriving, we saw some guys intimidating four girls. Being the gentlemen we were, we went to their aid. In return for our help, they offered to buy our dinner, which we initially declined because we hadn't sought any reward. However, the girls insisted, and to avoid making them feel bad, we gratefully accepted their kind gesture. We had a peaceful dinner, chatted a bit, exchanged phone numbers, and then each went to our own homes.

Months later, one of the girls contacted me, asking if I’d like to have dinner with her. I said it would be a pleasure. We chose a date, time, and place, and there we met. After dinner, we went to see a light show in the city center where I was staying and then had some street food. I walked her home and then headed to mine. Days later, she contacted me again, and we went out, enjoyed a meal, and visited a zoo, as she wanted to go with someone, but her friends were busy. So, I accompanied her. It was a lot of fun, reminding me of when my mother took me to the zoo as a child.

After that day, she and I became best friends, and it remained that way for about two more years. Then, one day she invited me to dinner and confessed her feelings. While I had great affection for her and cared deeply, I accepted being her partner, although I didn’t really understand love and thus never said “I love you.” Nevertheless, we were an ordinary couple—we ate together, held hands, and occasionally kissed, but that was all. We stayed together until three months before my departure from the United Kingdom to Japan. On a date, she asked if I loved her and I couldn’t answer, not knowing if my feelings were love or just fondness. Following my silence, she realized I didn’t love her and said, “I don’t understand how I could have wasted six years of my life with someone who doesn’t love me.”

I replied honestly, “I don’t know what love is. I’ve never felt it, and that’s why I couldn’t answer you.”

She challenged, “It’s hard to believe you don’t know what love is. Even if you haven’t felt it, perhaps you’ve seen it with relatives or friends, which might give you an idea.”

“I thought I knew what love was, but reality showed me otherwise. I have a vague idea that love involves sacrifice, mutual understanding, respect, and responsibility.”

“Then why are you still confused if you know that much?”

“Because, even though I respect and understand you and have been by your side, I don’t know if I’d be willing to sacrifice something for you.”

She acknowledged, “I understand. Even though you don’t love me, I’m grateful for the time you’ve spent with me, for looking after me, listening to me, and giving advice.”

“I, too, am grateful for your company during a very gray period in my life. You made me appreciate having people around, and your presence made me feel less lonely.”

After a brief conversation, we hugged for the last time and said goodbye in the park where we once had our first date.

Months later in the United Kingdom, I completed my academic training, certified as an economist, and finished my university degree. It was time to return to Japan, my home.

The closer the time came for my return, the more nervous I became, knowing a different reality awaited me, and the beautiful dream of the past years would disappear. But this did not bother me, as I dearly missed my homeland’s food and culture.

Upon my return to Japan, I found a shock waiting for me. A stranger was sleeping in my room, which had once been mine. Stunned, I asked about the intruder and was told he was the new young master of the house.

Confused—I was supposed to be the young master—I waited for my father to inquire about the situation. When he arrived, I greeted him, "Good evening, Father, I hope you've been well these past years."

"Good afternoon, yes, I've been fine,” he replied.

"Father, I have a question. I would like to know who the young man in my room is."

"That young man you saw is your half-brother, Osamu."

"And why is he in my room? Couldn’t you provide him with his own?"

"He had his own room, but there was an accident, and we needed to remodel, so he's using your old room temporarily. Since I didn’t know when or if you would return, I gave it to him."

"How thoughtful of you with your son, as it seems I'm the surplus in this family. I’ll spend the night at a hotel."

"There's no need. The guest room is available; you can stay there."

"Oh, how fortunate. Then, if that room is free, why didn’t you give it to Osamu while his room was being prepared?"

"Because your room is more comfortable."

"Fine, thank you for the information, Father. But as I said, I prefer a hotel for everyone’s comfort."

Upon leaving, I ran into the woman, my half-brother's mother, and overheard the housemaid greet her, "Madam, you're back. Would you like dinner?"

"No, I'll go straight to my room," she replied.

Hearing that turned my stomach, and I realized my father had married that horrible woman despite everything I'd told him. It felt so hypocritical, and I was disgusted to belong to that family.

I departed heartbroken and disappointed. As the days passed, I discovered more: two years after I'd left, my father had married her, legally recognized Osamu, had a three-year-old daughter with her, had let her manage my mother's foundations, and was planning to give her my mother’s company shares. Learning this, anger coursed through me, as that man who had cursed and spoken ill of her was now protecting and giving her everything my mother had once owned. It infuriated me more and at that moment, I decided to reclaim what belonged to my mother.

I devised a plan to recover everything, first locating my mother's will and hiring the best lawyer in Japan to assist me. Once I won the legal battle against that woman and my father, 70 percent of shares in 15 companies, three country houses, an apartment in Tokyo, five foundations, and three orphanages were returned to me.

Angered, they tried to strip me of it all, but failed. Conversely, I persuaded several shareholders to sell me their stakes, becoming the majority shareholder of nine companies and president of the most important and most profitable one. My father, stepbrother, and that woman were furious, as I’d ousted them of nearly all their assets in the blink of an eye. They hadn't realized they could be left destitute due to my mother's will. I wasn’t that callous; I allowed my father to keep his mansion and gave him a monthly cheque, and I let my brother work as an assistant manager in one of the companies so they could both get by. I had been generous, I thought, and figured they wouldn’t be so angry, but I was gravely mistaken, and soon one of them would bring about my demise...

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