Blissful morning. The front door opened without a knock.
Heavy boots sounded in the foyer, followed by the familiar thud of a heavy greatcoat being hung on the rack. Sebastian looked up from the supply reports he was reviewing in the study, his face tightening instantly. He knew that stride.
His father had come home.
General Heinrich von Brandt stepped into the house as if he had never left — tall, imposing, still carrying the authority of a man who spent most of his time in Berlin or on high-level inspections. This family house in Munich had always been his when he chose to return.
Aiko was seated at the desk, quietly working on translations. She glanced up as the general entered the study, her posture polite but composed.
The general’s sharp blue eyes — so like Sebastian’s — swept the room and immediately locked onto her.
“Who is this woman?” he demanded, voice low and cold.
Sebastian stood at once. His mind raced for a believable explanation.
“This is Aiko Tanaka. She is a translator, Father. Assigned through Japanese embassy channels to assist with liaison documents. Her presence here is temporary and practical for the alliance.”
The excuse landed poorly. The general’s expression shifted from surprise to visible shock, then to something colder — a heavy, disapproving silence that Sebastian interpreted as pure racial disgust. His son was hiding a non-Aryan woman to live under the family roof. A betrayal of blood.
Aiko rose calmly before the tension could escalate further.
“General, I am only performing translation work for the Axis alliance,” she said steadily. “Nothing more. My role is strictly professional.”
The general’s gaze moved over her, then froze on the small golden locket resting against her collarbone. Recognition flashed across his face — raw and personal. He stared at it for several seconds before speaking again, his tone suddenly quieter.
“A word with you, Fräulein. In the office.”
Sebastian wanted to object, but one look from his father silenced him. Aiko followed the general out. Sebastian, out of feeling worried about Aiko, quietly stood outside of his father's office.
The general’s voice dropped. “That locket… where did you get it?”
Aiko, sensing danger but having no real knowledge of its deeper history, chose to play dumb. “I just... happened to find it in the market. Why do you ask?”
The general studied her carefully. He saw the careful neutrality in her eyes and misinterpreted it completely. He assumed she was deliberately hiding the truth — that she knew exactly who the original owner was and had perhaps been sent by her. He decided not to press further. If she was protecting her identity, then he would protect it too, for old times’ sake.
“I see,” he said at last, his voice heavy with unspoken meaning. “You don't need to be so cautious. If you're her family, you're our family too. Sebastian doesn't know about it, so please keep it low just like this.”
"Sebastian?" Aiko had no idea what the general was talking about.
"Yes, my poor son, grew up without a mother. He never know anything about her. He thinks she passed away already. This is for his own good. And I always kept the family photo from him, the only photo we have, right in this safe. Anyway, I'm glad that you're here, you may go back to your work. "
Aiko still had no clue, but she nodded and left the office with a sense of relieve.
Sebastian had overheard everything. His father was hiding something about his mother — and the proof was right there in the safe.
He slipped back to the study before Aiko returned. When she walked in a moment later, the tension in the room was immediate.
Sebastian moved without thinking. In two swift steps he closed the distance between them. His hand came up to brace against the wall beside her head, caging her gently but firmly as he leaned in. The space between their bodies was suddenly very small. His tall frame towered over her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to catch the faint scent of his uniform and the pine soap he used. His sky-blue eyes burned into hers with raw intensity, a storm of confusion, frustration, and something far deeper.
“What did he say to you?” he asked, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “What do you know about my mother? Tell me, Aiko, tell me!”
The air crackled between them. Aiko’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She could feel the heat of his body, the restrained power in the arm beside her head, the way his breath brushed lightly against her hair. For a fleeting moment, the memory of his gentle fingertips lingering on her hand flashed through her mind, along with those calm blue eyes that had once reminded her of her childhood cat. But this closeness was different — dangerous, electric, filled with unspoken longing.
She lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away, even as her cheeks warmed.
“If you want to find out so badly,” she said, her voice steady but edged with quiet anger, “why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Sebastian stared down at her for a long, charged moment. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before flicking back to her eyes. The tension hummed like a live wire. Neither of them moved. The silence stretched, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
Then, with visible effort, Sebastian exhaled sharply and stepped back, breaking the moment. His hand dropped from the wall.
Without another word, he turned and left the study.
That night, long after the house had fallen silent and his father’s snoring echoed faintly from upstairs, Sebastian moved through the darkened hallways.
He entered his father’s office. The hidden safe was behind the oak bookshelf panel. He knew the combination from childhood.
He turned the dial with steady fingers. The lock clicked open.
Inside lay several sealed envelopes. One, older and yellowed with age, caught his eye. He opened it carefully.
A faded photograph slipped out first.
It showed a beautiful young Japanese woman with gentle dark eyes and a soft smile — clearly his mother. She was wearing the very same locket that now hung around Aiko’s neck. Tucked beside the photo was a handwritten love letter in elegant German, signed simply “Heinrich,” and a small receipt for the locket dated years ago.
Sebastian stared at the image, the truth crashing over him like cold water.
His entire identity — the “pure Aryan” blood he had been raised to worship, the doctrines he had recited in icy baths, the rigid superiority he had believed in — was built on a lie.
His mother had been Japanese. Her existence had been erased for the sake of the regime.
He carefully returned the documents to the envelope, then took the entire packet with him, tucking it inside his tunic.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKsR94nSC6r
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