The announcement had exploded in the living room like a small joyful bomb.
It was a Saturday in November (the next day), the sky grey and cold outside the windows, but inside, it was warm. Yuki had jumped in place, her ponytail dancing in all directions. "WHAT? YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY BROTHER OR A BABY SISTER?!"
Toru had frozen for a second, then an immense smile lit up her face. She threw herself at Kenji for a hug, squeezing him tight. "CONGRATULATIONS!"
Kenji, a little smothered, had smiled — a real smile, not his usual half-smile. "It's so great, right?"
"SO GREAT!" Yuki confirmed, joining them in the embrace.
Akari, sitting on the couch, watched them with bright eyes. Her belly was still flat — only two months — but she already had that particular glow in her gaze. Hiroshi, beside her, had his arm around her shoulders, his fingers gently stroking her arm.
"Okay, kids, gently," he said, but his voice was soft, almost moved.
Daichi, who had come home, joined the scrum, and the four young people almost rolled on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
"A LITTLE BROTHER OR LITTLE SISTER!" Daichi shouted, eyes wide. "I'M GOING TO TEACH THEM HOW TO MAKE NOISE!"
"We're going to teach them lots of things," said Kenji, eyes shining, one hand still clinging to Toru's arm.
Yuki turned to Akari. "Do you know if it's a girl or a boy?"
"Not yet," Akari replied, a hand on her belly. "In a few months."
"I hope it's a girl," said Toru, standing up, adjusting her pendant. "That way we can go shopping with her and do lots of other things..."
"Or a boy," said Yuki. "We could teach him gardening, playing video games..."
"Or both," said Kenji. "If it's twins."
Everyone laughed. Akari grabbed Kenji's hand and squeezed it.
"Are you happy, sweetheart?"
Kenji looked at her, and for once didn't hide what he was feeling. "So happy."
The weeks that followed were a succession of small, ordinary joys.
Autumn gently slid into winter. The trees lost their leaves, the streets adorned themselves with Christmas decorations, and Akari's belly began to round under her thick sweaters.
The training center became their headquarters. After school, Kenji, Yuki, and Toru met there almost every day. Sometimes Daichi joined them, between two trains, and watched them train or led combat and rescue exercises in the danger room.
In Yuki's room, the smell of damp earth and sap filled the air. Yuki was crouched in front of a bed, her hands buried up to the wrists, her fingers moving as if caressing the soil. Around her, strange shapes were beginning to emerge.
"Look," she said one afternoon in December, her voice focused.
She closed her eyes, and a stem shot from the ground. But this time, it didn't grow straight. It divided, formed branches, angles, curves — and suddenly, a small silhouette appeared.
A fox. A life-sized wooden fox, with a bushy tail and pointed ears.
Toru let out a cry, her hands flying to her mouth. "IT'S MAGNIFICENT!"
Yuki stood up, wiped her hands on her apron. Her cheeks were red from effort and pride, a strand of hair stuck to her temple. "I've been trying for weeks. It's not perfect, but it holds."
Kenji approached, observed the sculpture. Every detail was there — the eyes, the whiskers, the slender paws. He reached out, touched the wood. It was smooth, warm, alive.
"It's very detailed," he said, his voice full of admiration.
"Yes. I spent hours and hours on it." Yuki stroked the fox's head, her fingers gently following the contours of the ears. "It can't move yet, not yet. But it's there. It's solid."
Toru took out her notebook and started to draw after examining it from all angles. "I have to draw it, it's too beautiful, too successful. Soon you'll create..."
"Armies," Kenji breathed.
Yuki laughed, a clear and joyful laugh. "Armies, I don't know. But a fox, yes. The next step is making it move."
In Toru's room, the atmosphere was different. Here, everything was calm. Toru was sitting in the middle of the room, eyes closed, hands resting on her knees. Around her, 5 shields floated in the air — circles, squares, stars, complex shapes she had drawn the day before.
Kenji and Yuki entered softly, holding their breath. Yuki put a hand over her heart, eyes wide at the spectacle.
Toru opened one eye, smiled. "You can come in. I'm just sustaining them."
"They're all holding?" asked Yuki, her voice full of wonder.
"For 20 minutes." Toru stood up, and the shields followed her, floating around her like a constellation. She extended an arm, and they turned with her, graceful. "I worked on durability. Now I can keep them for up to about an hour."
She reached out, and one of the shields drifted away, crossing the room. Then another, in a different direction. She made them dance, spin, move with astonishing precision, her fingers moving like a conductor's.
"And the range," she continued. "I can send them up to 5 meters now. And control them remotely."
Kenji watched, fascinated. He felt the energy of the shields, sharp, almost musical vibrations crossing the air.
"Like telekinesis," he said.
"Yes. That's it." Toru brought all the shields back, gathered them into a protective sphere around her, then made them spin faster and faster. "I can move them, position them, sustain them. I don't need them close to me anymore."
Yuki applauded, jumping in place, her ribbons flying around her. "SO STRONG!"
Toru smiled, dispersed the shields with a gesture, and came to sit with them, a little breathless but radiant. "We're progressing fast."
"Very fast," said Yuki, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Together," said Kenji.
In his own room, Kenji worked differently.
The generators hummed softly, the sensors blinked. But it wasn't to absorb that he had come today. It was to mold. He had spent days learning this technique.
He closed his eyes, extended his hands before him. He felt the energy in his reactor — warm, dense, ready. He drew it gently, brought it up through his arms, to his fingertips.
Then he pushed it out.
A bluish glow burst from his palms, but it didn't shoot out like lightning, it was the energy in its neutral stored form. It remained, floating in the air before him, shapeless. Kenji looked at it, concentrated.
"Form yourself," he murmured.
The glow hesitated, trembled, then began to stretch. It took a vague, crude shape — an imperfect circle, with fuzzy edges.
Kenji gritted his teeth. More concentration. He visualized the shape he wanted — a perfect sphere, smooth, regular.
The glow obeyed. Slowly, the edges smoothed, the shape rounded. After a long minute, a blue sphere, perfectly round, floated in the air before him.
Kenji looked at it, amazed. He reached out, touched it with his fingertips. It was warm, soft, almost alive.
"Amazing," he breathed.
He spent the next hour molding. Cubes, pyramids, stars. Each shape was a struggle — the energy always wanted to return to its liquid, shapeless state. But with concentration, he managed to sustain it, to sculpt it.
When Yuki and Toru entered, they found him surrounded by a dozen small luminous shapes — spheres, cubes, a five-pointed star, a small imperfect heart.
"It's beautiful," Toru murmured, eyes shining.
"You learned to make hearts?" said Yuki with a mischievous smile.
Kenji blushed. "It's for training. Symmetry is hard."
"Of course." Yuki approached, looked at the small floating heart. "It's pretty."
Kenji didn't answer, but he smiled.
Winter passed, marked by training and progress.
In January, Akari's belly was clearly visible. She moved more slowly, one hand constantly resting on her child. Kenji loved to place his hand next to hers, feel the small kicks, the turning.
One evening, as he was tinkering in the living room, Akari let out a small cry.
Kenji looked up, heart pounding. "What? What's wrong?"
Akari laughed, placing a hand on her belly. "Nothing serious. The baby is moving. Come feel."
Kenji approached, hesitant. He placed his hand on his mother's belly. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then — a small pressure, soft, barely perceptible, like a fish brushing the water's surface.
Kenji held his breath. "Is it him?"
"It's him. Or her."
Another pressure, a little stronger this time. Kenji felt his eyes prickle.
"He's kicking," he murmured.
"He knows you're there."
Kenji blinked several times. Akari stroked his hair, her hand soft and warm.
"Don't cry, sweetheart."
"I'm not crying." His voice was choked.
The next day, at the center, Kenji told Yuki and Toru everything.
"He moved?!" Yuki bounced in place, hands clasped. "You felt it?!"
"Yes. Twice."
Toru smiled, eyes shining. "And did you cry?"
"No."
"Yes, you did," said Yuki, crossing her arms with a wry smile.
"I didn't cry. My eyes prickled. It's not the same."
They burst out laughing.
"You're so cute, Kenji," said Toru.
He blushed to the tips of his ears. "I'm not cute."
"Yes, you are."
Yuki leaned towards him. "And did you talk to him? To the baby?"
"No. Not yet."
"You must!" Yuki took his arm. "You have to talk to him, so he recognizes your voice."
Toru nodded gravely. "I'll talk to him too, when I come to your house."
Kenji smiled. "Okay."
February passed, then March. Spring was beginning to show its face, the park's trees covered in timid buds.
Akari's belly was now enormous. She moved with difficulty, getting up carefully, a hand on her back. But she smiled all the time, a soft, peaceful smile.
The girls often came to the house. Yuki brought small potted plants, which she arranged in the room prepared for the baby — succulents, small flowers, a mini-bonsai. Toru had drawn a mural on the wall — an enchanted forest with smiling animals, glowing mushrooms, a river snaking between the trees.
"It's magnificent," said Akari, seeing the mural, her fingers brushing the wall. "Toru, you've improved so much."
Toru lowered her head, embarrassed but happy, her cheeks flushing. "It's for the baby."
Kenji watched them, sitting on the bed nearby, a discreet smile on his lips. His room, right next to the baby's, was ready. He had prepared everything carefully — shelves for his notebooks, a star-shaped nightlight he had designed himself.
April arrived, with its showers and sunny spells.
One evening, the doorbell rang.
Kenji went to open it, and his heart leaped.
On the threshold, an elegant woman with impeccably styled white hair, dressed in a dark blue coat, looked at him with bright eyes. Behind her, the grey April sky let fall a fine rain.
"Grandmother!"
Eleanor Ashworth opened her arms, and Kenji threw himself into them. She hugged him tightly, her fingers stroking his hair.
"My dear grandson," she murmured. "You've grown even more."
Behind her, luggage waited. She had come for two months, to be there for the birth.
Akari appeared in the entrance, and mother and daughter looked at each other for a moment. Then they embraced, tears in their eyes, for a long time, as if to make up for all those years.
"Mom."
"My daughter."
Hiroshi joined them, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Eleanor, what a pleasure to see you again."
Eleanor wiped a tear. "The pleasure is mine."
Daichi came thundering down the stairs. "GRANDMOTHER!"
He almost jumped on her, nearly knocking her over. Eleanor laughed, hugging him close.
"Daichi, you're even taller! And still as noisy, I was warned."
"IT'S MY STYLE!"
The house became even livelier with Eleanor's presence.
She cooked English dishes no one knew, told stories from her time with sweeping gestures and sparkling eyes, and spent hours talking with Akari, hand in hand, as if to make up for all those lost years.
Kenji loved seeing them together. His mother smiled more, laughed more. Eleanor looked at her daughter's belly with infinite tenderness, her eyes sometimes misting over.
"You are beautiful," she said. "Pregnancy suits you."
Akari blushed. "Mom..."
"I'm serious. You're even more beautiful than before."
One afternoon, Eleanor came to the training center with Kenji. Yuki and Toru were there, in the middle of training.
Eleanor watched them, fascinated. Yuki was growing a life-sized wooden deer, her hands running over the trunk to shape the details, her ponytail dancing with every movement. Toru made 8 shields dance around her, sending them across the room with precision, her fingers moving like a conductor's.
"They're incredible," Eleanor murmured.
"They're my best friends," said Kenji.
Eleanor placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "I can see that. You're well surrounded."
At the end of the session, Eleanor approached the girls.
"Yuki, Toru," she said with her elegant British accent. "Kenji has told me so much about you. I'm delighted to finally meet you in person."
Yuki blushed violently. "Grandmother Arashi!"
Eleanor smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Call me Eleanor, my dear. Or grandmother, if you like."
Toru approached timidly, her fingers playing with her pendant. "You're really the former Prime Minister?"
"I was, yes. Now I'm just an old lady who loves her grandchildren." She took both girls' hands, squeezing them gently. "Thank you for being there for Kenji. It means a great deal."
Yuki and Toru exchanged a glance, moved, their eyes bright.
The weeks passed. April gave way to May, milder, sunnier.
The baby was due any day now.
One evening, as the whole family was gathered — Akari, Hiroshi, Kenji, Daichi, Eleanor, Takeshi — Akari suddenly stood up, a hand on her belly, her face contorting for a second before recomposing itself.
"I think it's starting."
Silence fell in the living room. Daichi stopped chewing his biscuit. Kenji felt his heart stop for a second.
Then everything accelerated.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and waiting.
Kenji sat in the waiting room with his father, Eleanor, Takeshi, and Daichi paced, unable to stay still, his hands fidgeting.
"SHE'S OKAY? IS SHE OKAY?"
"Daichi, sit down," said Hiroshi, but his voice trembled, his fingers drumming on his knees.
Kenji looked at his hands. He thought of his mother, of his sister — because they now knew it was a girl. He thought of all those months of waiting, of all those small kicks in the belly, of all those times he had placed his hand to feel life moving.
"She'll be fine," he murmured. "Mom will be fine."
Eleanor took his hand, squeezing it tightly. She said nothing, but her presence was enough.
Hours passed. Then a door opened.
A nurse smiled.
"It's a girl. Everything is fine."
Kenji jumped up. Daichi too. They looked at each other, and without a word, they threw themselves into each other's arms.
"A GIRL!" they shouted at the same time.
Eleanor watched them, tears in her eyes, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Hiroshi approached her, and she took his hand, squeezing it.
Grandfather, meanwhile, cried and laughed with joy at the idea of being a new grandfather and having a little girl to spoil.
The room was calm, softly lit. Akari was in bed, tired but radiant, her disheveled hair stuck to her damp forehead. In her arms, a small bundled package.
Kenji entered slowly, holding his breath. Behind him, Daichi and Eleanor followed.
"Come see your sister," Akari said softly, her voice tired but full of joy.
Kenji approached the bed, looked at the tiny face. Closed eyes, small clenched fists, a mouth searching for something in its sleep.
"She's..." He searched for words, his throat tight. "She's small."
"Very small, yes."
Kenji extended a finger, delicately touched the baby's hand. The tiny fingers opened, closed around his, a minuscule but incredibly strong grip.
Kenji felt his eyes prickle. This time, he couldn't hold them back. A tear rolled down his cheek.
"I'm not crying, it's raining..." he murmured.
Akari laughed softly, a tired but happy laugh. "Of course not."
Daichi rushed forward. "MY TURN!"
He looked at his sister, mouth agape. "She's so cute." He lowered his voice, which was an achievement, almost a whisper. "Hello, little sister. It's me, Daichi. Your big brother. Well, one of the two. The other is Kenji. He's nice even if he cried a lot recently."
Kenji elbowed him, tears still in his eyes. Daichi laughed, a silent laugh for once.
Eleanor and Takeshi arrived, eyes moist, hands trembling slightly. They looked at their granddaughter, then at their daughter and her husband who supposedly had huge smiles on their faces, and finally at their grandsons.
"What's her name?" she asked, voice choked.
Akari looked at Hiroshi. They exchanged a glance, a complicit smile.
"We thought of Hana."
"Hana," Kenji repeated. "Flower."
"It's perfect," said Eleanor.
That evening, Kenji came home late with Daichi and Eleanor. He was exhausted, but happy, the smile still on his lips.
In his room, he opened his notebook.
He wrote:
Her name is Hana.
My sister. Our sister. She's so small. So perfect.
When she grabbed my finger, I thought my heart would explode.
Grandmother and Grandfather were there. She cried. Me too, a little. A lot, maybe.
Daichi was so happy. He talked quietly, for once. It was weird, but good.
Yuki and Toru will come see her tomorrow. They prepared gifts. Yuki grew a small flower. Toru drew a garden filled with animals in her notebook. I saw them preparing it, they were so focused.
At the center, we've progressed so much these seven months. Yuki makes incredible wooden animals — foxes, deer, wolves. Toru controls her shields at 11 meters, she makes them dance like stars. Me, I'm learning to mold energy. To give it shapes — spheres, cubes, stars. A heart, too. For practice.
Hana. My little sister.
I'm going to teach her everything.
He closed the notebook, turned off the light.
Outside, the moon shone over Fukuoka. A new life was beginning.
Kenji smiled in the dark.
And he fell asleep, the smile still on his lips.