By then, the dining room was already full, with everyone waiting only for the master of the house to arrive.
Although the crowd lent the dining room a lively air, the atmosphere was far from peaceful.
"I wonder what delicious food we'll have tonight. I'm starving."
A man in a white suit, dressed with a somewhat rakish flair, lounged in his chair with a grin and reached down to rub his stomach.
Beside him, an older man who bore a resemblance to him gave him a cool glance.
"You're no longer a child. Haven't you learned to mind your manners?"
"We're in our own home, big brother."
The man in the white suit showed no sign of restraining himself and merely chuckled.
"We're members of the Cromwell Family. Of course we can relax in our own home. We're not like certain outsiders who'll get kicked out if they stop putting on an act for even a moment."
As he spoke, the man in the white suit glanced at a potbellied, brown-haired man seated nearby. The latter remained engrossed in his newspaper, seemingly deaf to the remark. The woman beside the brown-haired man merely raised her head, stared at the white suit for a moment, then looked away and resumed speaking quietly to her daughter.
Instead, the young man sitting on the brown-haired man's other side raised his head and looked toward the white suit.
"Uncle, that isn't right. The Cromwells are a military family. Discipline is part of our family tradition."
"Oh? Once you become the head of the family, are you planning to dictate what we wear and where we sit?"
The white suit leaned back in his chair and grinned at the young man, who met his gaze without either servility or arrogance.
"That isn't what I meant.