A Prince's Worth

The mansion sat on a hill in Osaka, exactly the kind of place you build when you’ve made it. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed off the city lights, and inside, everything was carefully chosen—modern art, understated furniture, the sort of luxury that didn’t need to announce itself. Osamu Miya had built this empire one perfect rice ball at a time. Onigiri Miya was now a name people whispered in culinary circles like a secret.

His twin brother Atsumu was sprawled across a leather chaise in the living room, one hand holding a champagne flute, the other scrolling through his phone. The afternoon light hit his Rolex just right. His designer tracksuit probably cost more than most people’s rent.

“Samu,” Atsumu called, not looking up. “The housekeeper put my Balenciaga sneakers in the wrong closet again. I told ’em the left wing, not the right.”

Osamu came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “They’re just shoes, ’Tsumu.”

“They’re art.” Atsumu finally glanced up, all theatrical pout. “And you promised me that new spa in Kyoto. The one with the platinum facial. Tomorrow. Don’t you dare schedule a tasting.”

A soft smile tugged at Osamu’s mouth. “Already cleared my calendar.”

“Good.” Atsumu drained his champagne and held the flute out imperiously. “More.”

Osamu took it, amused, and headed back to the kitchen. That was their dance—Atsumu playing the spoiled prince, Osamu the indulgent benefactor. The staff had learned fast: the silver-haired guy in the expensive clothes was to be obeyed without question, his whims treated like commands.

But Osamu never minded. Not once.

Later that afternoon, they showed up at Onigiri Miya’s flagship restaurant. The place was packed for lunch, the air thick with rice vinegar and grilled fish. Atsumu swept in like he owned the place—which, technically, he did, by extension—and took his usual seat at the counter.

“The usual, Kenji,” Atsumu said to the head chef, snapping his fingers. “Extra seaweed. And tell Samu to come out when he’s done playing kitchen.”

Kenji bowed, hiding a smile. The staff had grown fond of Atsumu’s antics. They’d seen the way Osamu’s face softened whenever his twin was being insufferable.

A woman slid onto the stool next to Atsumu. Beautiful in that polished, expensive way—sleek black hair, designer handbag, nails that had never washed a dish in their lives. She ordered a sake and turned her attention to the open kitchen, where Osamu was carefully arranging a tray of onigiri.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” she murmured, more to herself. “Miya Osamu. The prodigy.”

Atsumu side-eyed her. “Yeah. That’s my brother.”

She looked him over, assessing. “Ah. You must be Atsumu. I’ve heard about you.”

Something in her tone made Atsumu’s skin prickle. He’d heard that tone before, in clubs, from women who thought they knew exactly what he was.

“All good things, I hope,” he said, forcing a smile.

She laughed, brittle. “I heard you don’t work. That you just… live off his success. Must be nice, having a brother who does all the heavy lifting.”

Atsumu’s jaw tightened. The champagne in his stomach turned sour. “I was a professional volleyball player. I had my own career.”

“Had,” she repeated, drawing it out. “Past tense. And now you just float around his restaurants, ordering his staff around, spending his money.” Her smile sharpened. “What do they call that? A gold digger? Though usually they marry into the family, not get born into it.”

The words hit like a slap. Atsumu felt the blood drain from his face, then rush back in a hot flush. His hands trembled. He set down his chopsticks before he could break them.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said, low and dangerous.

“I know enough.” She turned back to the kitchen, dismissing him. “I know you’re just dead weight.”

Before Atsumu could respond, a shadow fell over them. Suna Rintarou appeared, unreadable as ever. He’d been at a booth nearby, nursing an iced coffee and pretending not to watch.

“You should be careful,” Suna said, flat. “Insulting Atsumu in Osamu’s restaurant.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact.” Suna’s gaze was cold. “You’re here because you want Osamu. His money, his status, his connections. But you’ll never win him if you get on Atsumu’s bad side. Because Osamu would move mountains for his twin. He’d burn this whole city down and rebuild it from ash if Atsumu asked.” He paused. “You want to be his wife? Then you need to accept you’ll always be second to his brother.”

The woman stared, mouth slightly open. Suna didn’t wait. He turned and walked away.

Atsumu sat frozen. Gold digger. Dead weight. He looked down at his hands—manicured, soft, unblemished. The hands of someone who hadn’t worked a day in years.

He excused himself and retreated to the back office, closing the door. Quiet. Smelled like Osamu’s cologne and stacks of receipts. Atsumu slumped into the desk chair and pressed his palms against his eyes.

She was right. Wasn’t she?

He did nothing. Contributed nothing. Took and took and took, and Osamu never asked for anything in return. It was easier not to think about it, to drown the guilt in champagne and shopping sprees and the lazy luxury of being adored.

But the guilt was always there, gnawing. Whispered late at night, in a bed big enough for three, surrounded by pillows that cost more than rent.

Why does he keep you? What do you give him?

The door opened. Osamu stepped in, still in his apron, a smudge of rice on his cheek.

“Suna told me what happened,” he said quietly. “You okay?”

Atsumu didn’t look up. “She called me a gold digger.”

Osamu’s expression hardened. “She’s an idiot. Don’t listen to her.”

“But she’s not wrong, is she?” Atsumu’s voice cracked. He finally raised his head, eyes red-rimmed. “I don’t work. I don’t contribute. I just… take. I’m a burden, Samu. I’ve always been a burden.”

Osamu’s hands curled into fists. “Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me. I’ve got eyes.” Atsumu laughed, bitter and broken. “You built an empire, and I just showed up to spend your money. You bought me a mansion. You bought me a car. You pay for everything, and I act like it’s my due.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so useless.”

The air seemed to hold still. Osamu stood motionless for a moment, face unreadable. Then he crossed the room in three quick strides, grabbed Atsumu by the shoulders, and yanked him to his feet.

“Don’t you ever say that,” Osamu said, voice rough. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again.”

Atsumu blinked, startled. “Samu—”

“You think you’re a burden?” Osamu’s grip tightened. “You think I spoil you because I feel obligated? Because I pity you?” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “You have no idea, ’Tsumu. You have no fucking idea what I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“Shut up and listen.”

Sharp command. No room for argument. Atsumu fell silent, heart pounding.

Osamu released his shoulders and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, strained.

“You remember when I decided to leave volleyball and open my first restaurant?”

Atsumu nodded slowly. “Right after high school. I stayed with the Jackals, you went to culinary school.”

“Yeah.” Osamu’s gaze drifted. “But you’re forgetting the part before that. The part where I was drowning in debt before I even started.”

Atsumu frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t have the capital for a restaurant. No investor would touch a nineteen-year-old with no experience. I was about to give up, go work for someone else.” Osamu met his eyes, bright with emotion. “Then you showed up with a check for two and a half million dollars.”

Cold wave washed over Atsumu. “That was my pro contract money. My signing bonus and first two years’ salary.”

“I know. And I told you I couldn’t take it. It was your whole career. Your whole future.” Osamu’s voice broke. “But you shoved it into my hands and told me to go chase my dream. You said volleyball was just a game, but this was real. You said you believed in me.”

Atsumu’s throat tightened. “Samu…”

“That money was everything you had. You gave up your entire savings so I could open a shabby little rice ball shop in a strip mall.” Osamu laughed, wet and shaky. “And even then, it wasn’t enough. I was bleeding money the first year. Almost lost it all.”

“I remember,” Atsumu whispered. “You called me, crying. Said you were a failure.”

“And you showed up the next day with another check.” Osamu’s face crumpled. “But I knew you didn’t have any more salary. You were only a year into your pro career. You hadn’t earned that much yet. So I asked you where you got it.”

The memory hit Atsumu like a freight train. He swayed, and Osamu caught his arm.

“You told me it was a sponsorship deal,” Osamu continued, trembling. “But I found out the truth later. I found out what you did for that money.”

Atsumu closed his eyes. The club came back in flashes—dim, smoky air, pounding bass, men’s eyes crawling over his body like insects. He remembered the skimpy outfits, the way he had to smile and flirt and pretend he was enjoying it. The shame that clung like a second skin, scrubbing himself raw in the shower and still feeling dirty.

“It was just a year,” Atsumu said, hollow. “Just one year. And I made enough to buy you that first shop outright. The one that turned into your flagship.”

“You sold your body for me.” Osamu’s voice cracked. “You danced in a club, in front of strangers, letting them touch you and leer at you, because I couldn’t balance a budget.”

“I’d do it again.” Atsumu opened his eyes, defiant. “I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant you got your dream. You think I care about some sleazy club and a few bad memories? That’s nothing compared to what you’ve built. You’re a genius, Samu. You always were. I just helped you get started.”

Osamu’s face contorted. He grabbed Atsumu and pulled him into a crushing embrace, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder.

“You’re worth more than this,” Osamu choked out. “You’re worth more than all of it. Every restaurant, every dollar, every goddamn building I own. None of it means anything compared to you.”

Atsumu’s arms came up slowly, wrapping around his brother’s back. Osamu was shaking, breath hot against his neck.

“That woman called you a gold digger,” Osamu said, muffled but fierce. “She doesn’t know you’re the reason any of this exists. She doesn’t know that without you, I’d be nothing. I’d be cooking in some chain restaurant, miserable and broke.”

“You’d have made it anyway,” Atsumu murmured.

“No.” Osamu pulled back, gripping his shoulders again. Eyes red, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. “No, I wouldn’t. You gave me the start. You gave me the confidence. You believed in me when no one else did.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And you paid for it with your body. With your dignity. With pieces of yourself I can never get back.”

Atsumu shook his head. “I don’t regret it.”

“I know you don’t. That’s what makes it worse.” Osamu let out a shaky breath. “Every time I buy you something, every time I spoil you, I’m trying to pay you back. But I can never pay you back enough. I can never give you back the year you lost. I can never erase those memories.” He cupped Atsumu’s face, thumbs brushing away tears Atsumu hadn’t realized were falling. “So I try to give you everything else. Every luxury. Every comfort. Every beautiful thing I can find. Because you deserve the whole fucking world, ’Tsumu. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to give it to you.”

Atsumu’s face crumpled. A sob tore from his throat, ugly and raw, and he collapsed against his brother, burying his face in Osamu’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he wept. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I’m sorry I can’t—I can’t just accept it. I feel so guilty, all the time. Like I don’t deserve any of it.”

“Shh.” Osamu held him tighter, one hand stroking the back of his head. “You deserve everything. And we’re going to work on you believing that. I’ll tell you every day if I have to. I’ll write it on the walls.”

A wet laugh bubbled out of Atsumu. “That’s dumb.”

“Maybe. But I’ll do it anyway.” Osamu pulled back, meeting his eyes. “And if anyone ever makes you feel like a burden again, I’ll cut them out of our lives so fast they won’t know what hit them. You are not dead weight. You are not a gold digger. You are the reason I’m here. And I love you more than anything in this world.”

Atsumu sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I love you too, you idiot.”

Osamu smiled, soft and genuine. “Let me take you home. We’ll order that ridiculous platinum facial thing for the mansion. I’ll have someone come in tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Osamu squeezed his shoulder. “Let me spoil you, ’Tsumu. Let me take care of you. That’s what makes me happy.”

Atsumu looked at him for a long moment, searching for any hint of resentment or obligation. Found none. Only love, steady and unwavering.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

They left the restaurant together, ignoring the curious stares. In the car, Atsumu leaned his head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. Osamu drove with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to rest on Atsumu’s knee.

The mansion was quiet when they arrived. Staff had been dismissed for the evening. Atsumu kicked off his shoes in the entryway and wandered into the living room, where the city sprawled beyond the windows like a field of stars.

Osamu appeared with two glasses of water, handing one to his brother. They stood side by side, watching the city breathe.

“Samu,” Atsumu said after a long silence. “Do you ever regret it? The restaurant, I mean. Ever wish you’d stayed in volleyball?”

“No.” The answer came without hesitation. “This is what I was meant to do. Never doubted that.”

“And you don’t regret… me? Having to take care of me?”

Osamu turned to face him, serious. “I don’t take care of you because I have to. I do it because I want to. Because you’re my brother, and because you gave up everything for me.” He set down his glass and took Atsumu’s hand. “You are not a burden. You are not a chore. You are the person I love most in this world. And I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if that’s what it takes.”

Atsumu’s eyes welled up again, but softer this time. He squeezed Osamu’s hand.

“I think I can live with that.”

Osamu smiled. “Good. Now come on, I’ll make you some onigiri. The good kind, with the salmon you like.”

“Extra seaweed?”

“Extra everything.”

They moved to the kitchen, the tension of the day dissolving into comfortable rituals. Osamu washed rice, Atsumu sat on the counter and watched, occasionally stealing bites of ingredients. They talked about nothing and everything—volleyball matches from years ago, memories of their parents, the ridiculous drama of Atsumu’s favorite reality show.

By the time the onigiri were ready, the last shadows of doubt had faded from Atsumu’s eyes. He ate with gusto, complimenting his brother’s technique, demanding to know the secret to the perfect rice-to-vinegar ratio.

Osamu watched him, a quiet warmth in his chest.

Later that night, after the dishes were done and the mansion was dark, Osamu stood in the doorway of Atsumu’s room. His brother was already in bed, buried under a mountain of expensive blankets, his phone glowing in the dark.

“Hey, Samu?”

“Thanks.” The word was simple, but carried the weight of years. “For everything.”

Osamu leaned against the doorframe. “Anytime. Always.”

Atsumu smiled, small and genuine. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, ’Tsumu.”

Osamu closed the door and stood in the hallway for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him. The city hummed beyond the walls, indifferent to the small, profound moment that had just passed.

But Osamu knew. He would always know.

Atsumu had given him everything. The least he could do was spend the rest of his life making sure his brother never forgot how much he was worth.

He walked to his own room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Just in case.

Because that’s what family did. Stayed close. Watched out for each other. When the world tried to tear them down, they reminded each other they were never alone.

Tomorrow, there would be a spa day, and shopping, and more onigiri. Tomorrow, Osamu would spoil his brother rotten, and Atsumu would pretend to be annoyed, and they would both pretend not to notice the lingering sadness that sometimes crept into Atsumu’s eyes.

But tonight, there was peace.

Tonight, there was love.

And that was enough.