Page 14 of The Last Tiger

“So why is your family celebrating a Dragon holiday?” Seung asks, setting down his stuff as I root through my books, looking for the final practice test to give to him.

“Father insisted.” I roll my eyes.

A couple of weeks ago, Father came home in a rage.

Governor-General Isao, the leader of the Tiger Colonies, had issued an executive order announcing the right of the Dragon government to commandeer privately held railroads for “national security purposes.” Since our family business is the predominant railroad company in the colonies, this was obviously a monumental threat to Father’s entire livelihood.

Although Isao’s order stopped short of actually seizing any railroads so far, the threat was deathly clear.

Father took it as a personal message, which it well could have been.

Perhaps the governor-general just wanted to remind Father that while he might have powerful friends in the Dragon Empire, he’s still of the colonies.

That no matter how favored Father might be, Isao still has ultimate power over him.

And so, as a way to demonstrate his utter fealty to General Isao, Father proposed that the Choi family host a large celebration for the Dragon Empire’s biggest holiday of the year.

Always the strategist, Father has invited the most important Dragon officials and socialites in the colonies, and Isao is bound to hear of it.

“Here.” I set down a hefty packet in front of Seung. “Get started. You’ve got half a practice test left and three hours to do it.”

“And you?”

“ I’ll be facing a test of my own: seeing whether or not I can survive this night without making a fool of myself in front of the Dragon nobility.

Trust me, it won’t be fun. I’ll come back later to check on you.

These parties are always the same—eventually everyone will forget I’m there, and I’ll be able to sneak away. ”

Seung’s grin returns. “Okay. Have fun,” he calls as I step out into the hall.

“I won’t,” I call back, shutting the door.

The courtyard is bustling with guests.

Government officials and their wives converse lazily with affluent heirs decked out in the finest silks.

Yellow lanterns hang over the inner courtyard, glowing gently up to the moon, while sprigs of pampas grass have been planted tastefully—likely by Seung—in prominent positions throughout the garden.

Music emanates from one end of the yard, where an elderly woman’s hands fly dexterously over the strings of a zither.

Beside her, a stern-looking man pounds an enormous drum.

At the head of the main building looking over the courtyard, a huge portrait of Governor-General Isao has been hung where everyone can clearly see it. The general looks imposing and severe in his dark red military uniform, its shoulders studded with stars.

I coast along the edge of the garden, trying to be inconspicuous.

I’ve always hated these parties, with their empty gossip, the judgmental appraisal of everyone’s manners and state of dress. I smile politely and bow my head at various guests as I skirt around, attempting to avoid being roped into too many conversations.

The music swells as Father and a series of guests enter through the main gate. Father’s head leans closely against that of another man as he whispers something in his ear. The man barks out a raucous laugh and claps Father several times on the back as they step into the garden.

I recognize the other man instantly as Director Kobayashi—a prominent Dragon diplomat, whose family owns a massive electronics company. Director Kobayashi is one of Father’s critical contacts with the Dragon government, and his family has grown quite close to ours over the years.

Speaking honestly, I’ve always loathed the Kobayashis. Especially Director Kobayashi’s son, Kenzo, who is possibly my least favorite person in the world.

Speaking of whom…

Behind Father and Director Kobayashi enters a tall, lithe form I know far too well.

The flashes of cameras can be seen now from the entrance to the courtyard, where the journalists Father made sure to invite have turned their attention to the young Dragon scion.

Kenzo Kobayashi strides in, dressed smartly in slacks so deep blue they’re almost black, which hew tightly to his long legs.

Kenzo gives a too-confident smirk before the flashing cameras.

His hair is styled, his thin lips pursed.

As he enters the garden, the other guests flock to him, sending smiles and fawning looks his way.

Kenzo wades through their greetings and compliments, waving them off, like a ship cutting through the sea.

“He’s been recruited by the Dragon Army as a lieutenant,” one girl whispers to another. “And so young…”

As though he can feel my presence, Kenzo raises his head, his gaze finding its way through the crowd to me. He gives a slow, deliberate smile as he raises his fingertips to his lips and blows me a kiss. I pretend not to see, fuming.

Kenzo has been an infuriating presence in my life forever.

Ever since I was a kid, when the Kobayashis first arrived next door from the Dragon Empire, Father was always inviting Kenzo over to our house and forcing us to play together.

He was as obnoxious and self-centered then as he is now; if anything, the years have only gone further to his head.

It’s been less than a year since Kenzo left for Adachi Training Academy to learn Dragon ki. I’m puzzled as to why he’s been recruited so early by the Dragon Army—normally they wait for graduates to finish their year of training. I would have been just as pleased to never see him again.

Father spots me across the garden and beckons me over. This time, I oblige. It’s not like I have a choice.

“Hello, Eunji,” says Director Kobayashi in Dragon tongue as I arrive.

“Good evening, Kobayashi-san,” I reply, switching into flawless Dragon speech.

My pronunciation will be scrutinized tonight; I must be on my best behavior.

Mastery of Dragon language is especially important for us families of Tiger blood; my behavior here reflects on Father’s reputation.

If I make even the slightest mistake, stumble over the smallest word, I’ll be sure to feel his wrath later.

I lower my head modestly.

“You are set to take the Exam next month, yes?” Director Kobayashi asks me.

I nod. “Indeed. Thank you for asking.”

“Well, I look forward to hearing about your perfect score ,” the director says dryly. “I’d expect no less from the daughter of sharp-witted Director Yamamoto.”

He uses our adopted name—to all of Father’s important Dragon contacts, we are the Yamamotos, not the Chois.

As I’ve been taught, I drop my gaze to the floor and humbly shake my head, mixing in a perfectly timed, slightly embarrassed chuckle for good measure.

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Eunji,” Father says, his voice containing just a note of impatience. “Aren’t you going to greet your childhood friend?”

I swallow my pride and turn, even less happily, to the boy at Director Kobayashi’s side.

“Kenzo-san.” I bow, gritting my teeth.

“Hey,” Kenzo replies lazily, leering down at me with piercing eyes as hard and bitter as stones.

My stomach curdles at Kenzo’s arrogance. He’s deliberately flouting the social etiquette, and he does it because knows he can, thanks to his sharp jawline, his eerily symmetrical face, etched with a permanent smirk, and his preeminent social position.

“Great to see you again,” Kenzo drawls, the edge of his lip drawing up into a slack half smile. From where he’s standing, the eighteen-year-old towers over me.

When we were children, Kenzo was seldom alone, constantly flanked by a gaggle of schoolboys who eagerly carried out his every whim, grateful to bask in his very presence.

People—adults and children alike—gravitated toward him like flies to oozing honey.

They would do anything for Kenzo, including embarrassing themselves or hurting others.

Whenever he held a grudge, Kenzo didn’t have to lift a finger.

He’d just mention something offhand to his posse, and the schoolboys would busy themselves making that person’s life utter torment.

Kenzo may think he’s charming in front of a crowd, but it’s the kind of brash, entitled charm that makes me sick. The world was built to serve boys like Kenzo Kobayashi, and he knows it. And he knows that everyone else knows it too.

“Now, then,” Father says curtly, “everyone’s here.”

The four of us walk together into the center of the courtyard.

Father clears his throat and takes an empty champagne glass from one of the side tables.

He gently taps a metal spoon against it repeatedly, sending a ringing sound throughout the garden.

Around us, guests turn to look, their conversations winding down to a murmur.

“If you would do me the honor,” Father announces. “Tonight’s program is ready to begin. Please join me in offering congratulations to my dear friend Kobayashi-san, who has just been promoted by Governor-General Isao to minister of development.”

Director Kobayashi’s eyes flash with pride. The guests oblige, showering him with applause.

“And this handsome young man beside me—his son, Kenzo Kobayashi. Kenzo so astounded the ki masters at Adachi Academy that he has been granted an early graduation— and a prestigious new position as lieutenant assistant to the head of intelligence in the Dragon Army, beginning this fall.”

The smiles and applause turn now to Kenzo, whose sly grin lifts farther at the corners, revealing pointed canines. There are a few gasps of delight. I stand fuming by the side, not bothering to clap.

Great. This is exactly what Kenzo needed. One more thing to go to his head.

“It’s not every day we have a prodigy in our midst,” someone booms. “Show us a move, Kenzo!”

“Show us your Dragon ki!”

“Please, I couldn’t possibly,” Kenzo insists half-heartedly, raising a hand.

“Show them, Kenzo,” Director Kobayashi implores, his voice cold and proud.