"Mrs. Katsura, I understand your feelings, but these are the rules of the Busujima family. Please forgive me."
Adrian Black sat comfortably in a grand armchair, looking down at Manami Katsura, who was kneeling on the floor before him, and delivered his refusal in a tone dripping with sorrow.
Traditionally, in a setting like this, he should have been sitting in seiza—kneeling with his legs folded under him on the tatami. However, Adrian found that posture excruciating on his knees. So, he had simply ordered his servants to bring him a comfortable chair.
Although this broke traditional etiquette, he was the master of the Busujima Dojo. Who would dare say a word against him?
"Master, although this request is very presumptuous, Kotonoha is my daughter. Please have mercy!" Manami pleaded, her forehead touching the floor.
If anyone else had told Manami Katsura that they could cure Kotonoha's heart condition with a "secret recipe," she would have slapped them across the face.
Over the years, she had taken Kotonoha to every famous hospital in Japan and even consulted specialists abroad. The diagnosis was always the same: it was a congenital defect, incurable with current medical technology.
But as the saying goes, a con artist doesn't need to be eloquent to deceive people; they just need status.
Masao Busujima was the Sword Saint, the number one martial artist in Japan. His social standing was comparable to the Governor of Tokyo. When a man of such legendary stature spoke, how could Manami not believe him?
It was the same logic as a financial scam: If a random beggar asked you for ten dollars, you'd ignore him. But if a famous billionaire told you he forgot his wallet and asked to borrow ten dollars for a taxi, promising to wire you a million in return, would you doubt him? Of course not.
"Mrs. Katsura, family rules are difficult to break. Please don't make things difficult for me," Adrian said, leaning back in his chair with a helpless expression.
"Master Busujima!"
Manami suddenly crawled forward on her knees, closing the distance to his feet.
'Damn it!'
Adrian's eyes widened slightly.
Watching Manami crawl forward was a spectacle in itself. Her massive breasts seemed to act as counterweights or cushions, grazing the tatami as she moved. They were so large and heavy that as she hunched forward to crawl, they swung and slid like a pair of heavy rubber tires rolling across the floor.
'Does she have landing gear attached to her chest?' he cursed inwardly, struggling to keep his composure. 'She's practically rolling toward me!'
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