Lookism : Average

The sliding doors of the hall creaked open, and Lucian stepped in with an air of casual indifference, his black kimono flowing loosely around his tall, lean frame. His long hair, damp from the sauna, hung in messy waves, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost wild, untamed look. The dark fabric of his kimono contrasted with the polished wooden floors, and every movement he made carried the weight of arrogance, as if the very space was beneath him.

Sakura, who had remained standing by the door, instantly lowered her head in respect. "Clan Head Lucian," she murmured, though her tone carried more than just respect—it was a quiet acknowledgment of the power he wielded, even if it was often misused.

Lucian didn't even glance in her direction. His piercing gaze remained focused on the elders as he walked into the center of the room. Without any formality, he moved to the seat traditionally reserved for the head of the Miyamoto clan. He didn't bother with ceremony or the formal greetings that the elders had undoubtedly been expecting. Instead, he flopped lazily into the seat, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, the sleeves of his kimono falling casually around him as if the seat had always been his.

"Well," he began, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I trust you've all been talking about how I'm ruining everything, huh? About how I'm not fit to lead the mighty Miyamoto clan. Am I right?"

One elder, his face wrinkled with age and wisdom, cleared his throat before speaking. "Lucian, you are the heir to this clan, but you must understand that your actions—your lack of discipline—are damaging our reputation. The Miyamoto name is built on respect and tradition. You cannot simply discard these values because of your own personal whims."

Lucian glanced at him, his grin only growing wider. "Respect? Tradition?" He scoffed, leaning back in his chair with the same casual arrogance. "Tell me, old man, how exactly has that worked out for you? How many of these so-called 'respectful' old fools have actually done anything to keep the clan alive? All I see is a bunch of tired, shriveled up relics holding onto an image that doesn't even matter anymore."

 They could see the cracks in his arrogance, and like vultures circling prey, they were not about to let him get away so easily.

Lucian sat back in his seat, his body language signaling disinterest, but his eyes betrayed the tension building beneath the surface. His arms were crossed, his jaw clenched tight, as he listened to their incessant jabs.

"Your father was a disgrace to the Miyamoto name," an elder, his voice cold and sharp, said without missing a beat. "A man who played at power, but never understood its true weight. And look at you. Just like him. You carry that shame with you, Lucian, whether you like it or not."

Lucian's eyes narrowed, but his lips remained tight. He said nothing. They were pushing him, prodding at the wounds that had always been there, always hovering just beneath the surface.

"Do you think the clan can survive under your leadership?" another elder chimed in, his tone condescending. "You're nothing but a spoiled child, pretending to be something you're not. Just like your father, pretending he had control when he was nothing but a puppet. You are no different, Lucian. The Miyamoto clan will crumble if you continue down this path."

Lucian shifted in his seat, a barely noticeable twitch of his jaw. He wanted to lash out, wanted to shut them all up, but he held it in, biting his tongue. He could feel the anger boiling inside of him, but he knew he couldn't let them see it—at least, not yet.

One of the older men, a particularly smug-looking figure, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with malice. "You've inherited your father's weaknesses, Lucian. Your arrogance blinds you, and you lack the discipline to lead. The strength you have means nothing if you don't have the intellect to back it up. How much longer do you think the clan will tolerate this? How long before they remove you from your position and put someone with real strength in your place?"

Lucian's hand twitched on the armrest, but he held his ground, still silent, still restrained. The elders could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, but he was struggling to keep it contained. They didn't let up.

"You're a disgrace to your Grand father's legacy," one elder added, his voice dripping with disdain. "And that's all you'll ever be. A failed attempt at something more, a boy who thinks he can command the clan simply because of his birthright."

The room grew still as the weight of those words sank in. Lucian's eyes flashed with something dangerous, a flicker of fury just beneath the surface. But still, he held his tongue.

"You think you're better than us, don't you?" another elder asked, his tone mocking. "You sit here with all this bravado, but it's just a facade. You're nothing more than a spoiled brat who doesn't understand the first thing about power. You couldn't even keep your father's reputation intact, let alone the clan. What makes you think you're any different?"

At this point, the tension in the room was palpable. Lucian's breathing became heavier, his grip tightening on the armrest, but still, he remained silent, though the anger was evident in his clenched jaw and twitching muscles.

And then, it came—one final strike.

"You think you're worthy of this position?" the same elder sneered. "You're nothing but a child playing at being a leader, and the whole clan knows it. You're just like your father—weak, pathetic, and incapable of understanding what it truly means to rule."

That was the breaking point.

Lucian's composure shattered like glass. His fist slammed down onto the table, sending a shockwave through the room. His body tensed as the fury that had been simmering inside him for so long exploded out in a single, primal scream of rage.

"SHUT UP!" Lucian sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Oh, you wanna talk about my father? My legacy? Well, screw that. I couldn't care less about any of your pathetic little expectations. I'm not my father, and trust me, I'll make damn sure you all see that. You think I'm weak? Think I don't have what it takes to lead?...you old bones are better at barking than holding those swords"

The elders exchanged disdainful glances, their expressions hardening with each passing second as Lucian's rage hung thick in the air. They had pushed him too far, and now they were ready to cast him aside. They had seen enough of his anger, enough of his disrespect, and the cracks in his façade were too obvious to ignore any longer.

One elder, a sharp-eyed man with a long, white beard, cleared his throat loudly. His voice echoed through the room with venom, each word carefully chosen to cut deep. "Pathetic," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Lucian, still sitting in his seat, his composure shattered. "This is what we've come to. A boy who can't even control his temper. He's not worthy of leading the Miyamoto clan."

Another elder added, his words dripping with scorn, "You've proven time and time again that you're not fit to lead. The blood of your ancestors doesn't mean a thing when you can't even control your temper. You're a child playing at a man's game."

Lucian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. They didn't understand. He wasn't afraid of them. He was angry. Every word they spoke, every insult they hurled at him, made him feel a deeper, burning resentment. He wasn't some pet to be controlled, some boy they could push around. He was Lucian Miyamoto, and he would not bow to them.

The elders continued, their voices gaining momentum. "After careful consideration," one began, "we've decided that the leadership of the Miyamoto clan will be handed over to Kojiro Sakamoto."

The room went silent at the mention of the name.

Kojiro Sakamoto. The son of Hiroshi Sakamoto, a vassal of the Miyamoto clan and one of the faction leaders. The same Hiroshi Sakamoto who had been belittling Lucian only moments before. The man who had served under Lucian's grandfather, and the one who was now positioned to take over the leadership of the clan.

Kojiro, a middle-aged man with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes, had entered the room without any announcement. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew they had already won. His eyes scanned the room, locking onto Lucian for a split second before turning to the elders.

Without hesitation, the elders rose, one by one, in a synchronized display of power behind Kojiro. It was as though they were setting their piece in motion, casting their votes with unwavering certainty. The silence in the room was deafening as each elder stood and aligned themselves with Kojiro, not a single one casting their support toward Lucian.

The vote was swift. There was no debate, no hesitation. The decision had already been made long before this meeting began. Lucian had lost. The Miyamoto clan had decided that Kojiro would be their new leader, and no one stood with Lucian.

Lucian, who had been silently observing the proceedings with a simmering rage that boiled just beneath the surface, remained seated on the floor. His posture was casual, almost mocking—leaning back with his hands behind him, as if none of this truly mattered to him. His cold eyes scanned the room, the tension in the air growing heavier with every passing second.

His thoughts were clearer now than ever. As much as he hated it, he knew the truth—when he left this room, the assassins would be waiting. They had planned it all along. The removal of the direct descendant of the Miyamoto line would bring an end to his rule, and in the vacuum, Kojiro would rise to take control. Whoever took the reins would eventually control everything: the Miyamoto Heavy Metals, their construction empire, and the sprawling wealth of the Miyamoto Group.

The future he had once thought was his was now slipping through his fingers, and they were too blind to see it. But Lucian? He wasn't afraid. Not anymore. He could already see the futility of their so-called honor, the emptiness of the traditions they clung to. His fate had already been sealed, but he would face it on his terms.

Lucian's lips curled into a sneer, and, without missing a beat, he let out a harsh, cynical laugh that echoed through the room. It was almost as if the very sound of it was a challenge to the elders who thought they had him cornered.

"Isn't it funny?" Lucian's voice was laced with derision. "You idiots made a rule—only the Miyamoto blood should lead, right? Well, wasn't that the whole reason I'm the damn clan head? Didn't you morons make me take that position? Or are you telling me that Hiroshi's wife had her son, Kojiro, from my father?!" His laughter grew more bitter as he stared directly at Kojiro, his eyes full of mockery.

"Mind your words, or your tongue will be plucked from your mouth."Kojiro, with a mask of calm, responded in a voice that was sharp and unwavering

The room went still as Lucian's gaze locked onto Kojiro. 

Lucian couldn't hold back his laughter, his voice echoing in the room as he struggled to contain himself. "This shit is hilarious, man. I knew you little bastards would try to stab me in the back sooner or later. What, did you think I'd just sit here and nod like a damn puppet to all your old fart demands? You really thought I'd let you make me the clan leader just 'cause I'm a kid? Pfft, this is funnier than those stupid dramas on TV."

He wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "So, now what? You gonna kick me outta my own house? That's the plan, huh?" His grin only widened, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead, try me."

Lucian then waved his hand dismissively. "Alright, alright, 11 swords or sticks, whatever the hell emo names you call yourselves—you're dismissed. I'll take care of the problem myself."

Before anyone could respond, a harsh voice cut through the room. "Fool, don't you understand? You're not the clan head anymore. If you don't listen, we will use force."

Lucian was about to retort when the door swung open, and a panicked Sakura rushed in, her eyes wide with urgency. "Lucian—someone named Kitae Kim is here to meet you."

At the mention of the name, Lucian's smile stretched into something far more dangerous, more predatory. He stood up slowly, the air in the room thick with a sudden tension. As the door opened wider, a tall figure stepped inside—dressed in a black leather jacket, rugged jeans, and eyes as dead as a stone wall. It was Kitae Kim, Gapryong Kim's first son, known as Bad Kim.

But the most noticeable thing wasn't his appearance—it was the way he carried himself. As soon as he entered, he didn't even glance at the twelve other people in the room. His eyes were locked onto Lucian, and the rest of the room seemed to disappear. He didn't need to look at them. He knew. He knew that Lucian was the biggest threat in the room, despite how careless he appeared. To Kitae, Lucian was a tiger lying in wait, its claws sharp and ready to tear through anything in its path.

Lucian's gaze met Kitae's, his grin turning darker. "Well, well... look who decided to show up. This is about to get interesting," he murmured, as the tension between the two men filled the room.