Chapter 3: The First Plan

Gray’s oath of loyalty was met by Zenon with nothing more than a cold, emotionless glance.

There was no trace of sentiment, no surge of pride. To Zenon, Gray was simply the only usable human resource available at present. If that resource’s performance had improved, then so be it—an objectively good development.

“Stand, Gray. We don’t have time to wallow in emotion. There’s something I need you to do immediately.”

“Yes, my lord! Whatever you command!”

Gray’s renewed resolve gave his voice a strength it had never carried before. A good sign. Sustained motivation directly correlated to productivity, after all.

Zenon pointed to a circular graph pinned on the wall—a pie chart of expenditures. More than half of it was swallowed up by an obscene mass of wasteful spending.

“All reforms begin with one thing, stopping the bleeding. This house’s finances are bleeding. The cause, needless to say, lies with Father and my brothers.”

Gray caught his breath. Zenon had just branded his own father and elder brothers—the head and heirs of the Arkwright family as “the cause.” There was neither hesitation nor the faintest hint of respect in his voice.

“As long as their waste continues, no amount of effort on our part will matter. It’s like pouring water into a cracked bucket. The height of inefficiency.”

“B-but, Zenon-sama… to confront the Duke and your elder brothers—that’s…”

“That’s why we’ll hold a meeting.”

Zenon declared it plainly.

“A meeting? Whom do you intend to gather?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Father, Mother, my eldest brother Albert, my second brother Bertrand—and me. The five of us will decide how the Arkwright family’s money is to be spent.”

Gray was struck dumb. That wasn’t a suggestion—it was a declaration of war.

Zenon had always been the least regarded among his kin: a man of strong magic but unbearable arrogance, dismissed by everyone around him. For that very same third son to propose discussing the household’s finances with the Duke himself and the family’s heirs—it sounded utterly insane.

“That’s madness! The Duke will never listen. You’ll only end up punished, my lord!”

“Punished, hmm? I’ve considered that possibility. Even so, I have a plan.”

Zenon gestured toward the parchments spread across his desk, covered edge to edge with words and figures.

“This is a summary report of my analysis. Who spent what, when, on which items, and where the money came from—all recorded as objective data. The effects of that spending on the family’s finances are calculated in detail.”

He picked up another parchment—this one carefully redrawn into crisp charts and graphs.

“Humans are emotional creatures—especially when faced with inconvenient truths. Telling them ‘stop wasting money’ only provokes defiance. But undeniable facts—numbers—cannot be argued with feelings.”

He had seen it countless times in his previous life: every time he proposed cost reductions, resistance appeared.
‘This expense is essential.’
‘You’re ignoring tradition.’
‘It’ll lower morale.’
All the same excuses. And every time, Zenon had silenced them with data.

This time was no different—the only change was that his opponents were not corporate executives but his own blood relatives.

“Gray. You have two tasks. First, make several handwritten copies of this report. Use no one with poor penmanship—if even one digit is wrong, the data loses meaning.”

“Y-yes, my lord!”

“Second, arrange a family council three days from now. The agenda is ‘Restoring the Financial Soundness of the Arkwright Family.’ Tell them exactly that. The location—the second reception room here. It’s not overly spacious, and the acoustics are excellent.”

Zenon gave his orders in a calm, measured tone—each word steady and precise, like a veteran general laying out a battle plan before the campaign. Gray found himself unconsciously hanging on every syllable.

“But, Zenon-sama… will the Duke and the others even attend?”

“They will. Tell them this: ‘The third son, Zenon, has an interesting proposal regarding the family’s finances.’ They look down on me completely—so they’ll come with the attitude of humoring a child’s fancy. That’s fine. What matters is getting them all at the same table.”

Zenon’s blue eyes gleamed with a cold, sharp light.

“Once they’re at that table, it becomes my battlefield.”

Gray swallowed hard.

In his chest, fear tangled with something stronger—anticipation.

Perhaps this man truly can save the sinking Arkwright house… No—not perhaps. Only he can.

“Yes, my lord. I, Gray, will see this duty fulfilled without fail!”

With a firm nod, Gray carefully accepted the original documents and left the room in brisk, disciplined steps.

Once alone, Zenon began his mental simulation.

There would be four participants in the meeting.

His father, Duke Darius.
A textbook authoritarian. Proud, and utterly intolerant of opinions from those beneath him. To deal with him, Zenon would need to appeal to his sense of responsibility as head of the Arkwright family—and strike at his pride with the undeniable truth of their impending financial collapse.

His mother, Lady Isabella.
A spendthrift who cared more about social standing than the family’s survival. Her greatest fear was losing her position in high society. For her, the argument was simple: if the family went bankrupt, her precious status would vanish overnight.

His eldest brother, Albert.
He had all the self-importance of a future heir but none of the competence. He looked down on Zenon, and would no doubt reject any suggestion purely out of spite. The best strategy would be to corner him logically—use concrete figures to expose contradictions, leaving him with no room to respond.

His second brother, Bertrand.
A muscle-headed fool who despised thinking. Skilled with a sword and nothing else. He would simply parrot Father or Albert’s opinions. Zenon could ignore him—but he would need to stay alert in case Bertrand resorted to violence. Still, with Gray standing by as a guard, that risk was minimal.

He mapped out their personalities, thought patterns, and likely counterarguments—then constructed responses for every possible scenario.

How to de-escalate when debate became chaotic.
How to negotiate so that his own demands passed with maximum effect.

He poured into this mental simulation every skill honed in his previous life.

“…Perfect.”

After several hours of analysis and scenario testing, Zenon finally murmured the word quietly to himself.

The probability of success exceeded ninety percent. The remaining ten lay in unpredictable factors—chiefly the threat of irrational violence—but even that was mitigated by Gray’s presence.

He took a sip from the glass of water on his desk, moistening his dry throat.

Outside the window, dawn was beginning to break.

Three days from now—that would mark the Arkwright family’s moment of destiny.

Would they continue to rot and sink, or begin walking the path of renewal?

To Zenon, it didn’t matter which.

He desired only one thing:

To eliminate every inefficient element that threatened his comfortable, rational life.

Nothing more.