The silence stretched between them.
Akaito stood at the edge of the street, his masked face unreadable, his coat rippling faintly in the dusk breeze. Across from him, the girl with red hair—small, tense, clutching her backpack—shifted her weight awkwardly.
Neither spoke.
And then, so softly it was almost swallowed by the wind, she whispered:
"...Dad."
Akaito stiffened. His body, normally so fluid, so controlled, jolted ever so slightly—like the word had struck somewhere deep he hadn't armored.
He let out a slow breath, then lifted his hand in a quiet gesture.
"Come on," he said, voice low. "Let's go inside."
⸻
The old wooden house creaked softly as Kairi stepped through the doorway. Her eyes widened.
It was like walking into a museum.
Ancient scrolls lined the walls, their faded ink marking languages she didn't know. Heavy ropes from distant temples hung like quiet sentries. On a stand near the back, a katana rested—a World War II soldier's blade, polished but worn by time.
Kairi hovered uncertainly near the doorway, unsure if she was supposed to touch anything.
Akaito glanced over his shoulder.
"Sit," he murmured, motioning to a cushion near the low table.
Kairi obeyed, slipping her backpack off and settling onto the cushion. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Kairi drew in a shaky breath and began.
⸻
She told him everything.
How the scientists had taken Akaito's DNA—how they'd chosen a woman without a gift, a quirkless body, to serve as the other "ingredient."
How she had been born not as a child, but as a weapon.
How one day, a fire tore through the facility, and her mother—small, frightened, determined—escaped with Kairi clutched in her arms.
For years, they lived quietly, hiding. Her mother would tell stories at night—soft stories about Akaito, about her father, the man who once made the darkness tremble.
And then one day, her mother grew sick.
Too sick, too fast.
And in the end, she was gone.
Kairi's voice cracked, her small hands trembling on her knees. Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept speaking, her words tumbling out in a rush.
She told him how lonely it had been, how empty the days had felt since. How for two long months, she'd been searching for him.
"I didn't know if you were real," she whispered, wiping at her eyes, "but I had to find you."
⸻
Akaito was silent for a long time.
He sat back slightly, one hand braced on his knee, his masked face lowered as if staring deep into some memory only he could see.
Finally, quietly, he reached out.
His gloved hand rested gently on Kairi's small shoulder.
"I know what it's like," he murmured.
His voice was softer now, edged not with steel but with something older, heavier—grief, maybe.
"I know what it's like to lose someone you love. To be alone"
He exhaled slowly.
"I never knew you existed," he said, voice low, steady. "I'm sorry."
His hand squeezed gently.
"But you're my daughter. I can see that now. You are my daughter."
He sat back, meeting her watery gaze.
"I have an extra room here. You can stay if you want. I'm not expecting you to call me Dad—not unless you want to. But we can take this one step at a time.
You and me."
⸻
Kairi wiped her eyes with her sleeve, nodding quickly.
"Okay," she whispered.
Akaito rose smoothly and held out a hand.
"Come on. I'll show you your room."
As they walked down the quiet hallway, he glanced back.
"What's your name?" he asked softly. "And your age?"
She sniffled, then smiled faintly.
"Kairi. I'm eleven."
Akaito gave a small nod, something warm flickering briefly in his eyes.
"Alright, Kairi," he murmured. "Let's get you settled."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Kairi felt the smallest flicker of something she hadn't known she was still capable of feeling.
Hope.
Morning Light
The soft glow of morning slipped through the old wooden window. Dust motes danced lazily in the sunbeams, floating above the futon where Kairi stirred.
She blinked open her eyes.
For a second, she forgot where she was.
The worn ceiling beams, the faint scent of old paper and soap, the thin futon beneath her — all of it felt strange and yet... safe.
I'm here now, she thought.
I'm really here.
She sat up slowly, brushing her messy red hair back. Her backpack rested neatly in the corner, her shoes placed side by side. It almost felt... normal.
Suddenly, the door slid open.
Keiko — tall, black coat, sharp eyes — stepped halfway inside. "Ah, you're up. Good."
He pointed casually over his shoulder. "Bathroom's at the back right. Left handle's hot, right handle's cold. I suggest you get ready — you and I are going out to eat."
And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the hall.
Kairi sat there for a moment, thoughtful.
He's... so casual about all this.
She stood, stretched, and padded softly to the bathroom. After a warm bath and changing into her clothes, she stepped into the small living room where Keiko waited by the door.
"Perfect. Let's go," he said with a faint, approving nod.
⸻
Small Restaurant – Late Morning
The little restaurant buzzed softly with voices and the clink of dishes. Warm sunlight poured in through wide windows, casting golden squares on the table.
Kairi sat across from Keiko, watching as the waiter placed their plates carefully in front of them.
A small chocolate dessert was set beside her meal.
Her eyes lit up despite herself.
Keiko caught the flicker of a smile. "Ah, so you like chocolate?"
Kairi gave a small, shy nod — but then, as Keiko added with a faint smile, "I liked chocolate too. Since I was about your age," her face lit up fully, and she grinned wide.
For a moment, her earlier nervousness slipped away, replaced by something bright and genuine.
Keiko's gaze softened slightly, his own small smile lingering a bit longer.
A few seconds of silence passed as they both picked at their meals.
"So, your name's Kairi, right?" Keiko asked, his voice calm.
She glanced up, cautious. "Yeah. What's up with that?"
"My name's Ushugimi Keiko," he said simply.
Kairi froze, her fork halfway to her mouth.
The resemblance. The name. The connection.
It hit her all over again.
Keiko gave her a gentle, almost amused look. "Alright. Here we are. You can ask me anything you want."
Kairi hesitated, stabbing at her food with her fork. For a moment, she just sat there, shoulders tight, eyes lowered.
Then, suddenly, her hand clenched, and she set the fork down a little too hard — the small clink sharp in the quiet.
Her voice came out sharper than she expected:
"If I was made from you... then what am I supposed to become?"
"Kairi..." he said quietly, setting his utensils down carefully.
"You're not a thing. You're not a weapon. And you're not a copy."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms lightly on the table, his voice low but firm.
"You're a child. You shouldn't be carrying a question like that on your back."
Kairi opened her mouth to protest — but stopped. Her lip trembled just slightly.
Keiko's gaze didn't waver.
"I'm not here to tell you what you're destined to become," he continued gently. "That's yours to figure out, in time. But if you want my answer, right now?"
He gave a faint, small smile — the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes, but was honest.
"I just want you to be a kid."
Kairi sat back slowly, her shoulders sagging. Her eyes stung suddenly, but she swiped at them quickly, trying not to let him see.
Across the room, Keiko's eyes flicked to another table. Sitting there, sipping tea, was Ryukyu — the dragon heroine. She was alone, reading her phone between sips.
"Wait here," Keiko murmured, standing smoothly. "I'm going to do something."
He approached Ryukyu calmly, hands in his pockets.
"Ryukyu," he greeted, his voice respectful but cool. "I've heard about you. A dragon heroine. I was curious... do you breathe fire? Do you have scales that make you indestructible?"
Ryukyu looked up, startled for just a moment — then a small, amused smile tugged at her mouth. She gave a soft chuckle.
"You're... forward," she said, her voice warm but edged with curiosity. "No, no fire breathing. And no, I'm not indestructible. But thanks for thinking I'm impressive." Her amber eyes flicked over him, sharp and assessing. "You're pretty handsome yourself, you know."
Before Keiko could answer, Kairi appeared at his side.
"The waiters brought the bill," she said softly.
Ryukyu's eyes flicked to Kairi, eyebrows lifting slightly. "Oh? Is she your little sister?"
Keiko shook his head calmly. "No. She's my daughter."
Ryukyu froze for a beat — her amber eyes widening. "Your... daughter?"
Keiko gestured lightly. "Kairi, meet Ryukyu. Ryukyu, this is Kairi."
"and im ushugimi keiko"
Ryukyu leaned back, blinking once, then twice, as realization slowly clicked into place.
He's so young. Far too young to have a daughter that age.
As Keiko turned to leave, he gave Ryukyu a polite nod. "It was good meeting you."
Ryukyu watched them go, tapping her fingers lightly against her cup.
As they left, Ryukyu frowned slightly, realization dawning.
That man... was he the one Rumi talked about? The vigilante?
Walking Down the Street
They walked side by side along the street, the sun warm on their backs.
Keiko glanced down at Kairi, a faint glimmer of something thoughtful in his eyes.
"A dragon among mortals... it's incredible someone like her exists." he said softly. "In my era, someone like her would've been worshipped as a goddess."
Kairi blinked up at him, confused. "Huh?"
Keiko gave a small laugh under his breath. "Never mind. Anyway, we're going to buy you some new clothes now. I can tell those clothes have been through a lot — we'll get you some new ones."
Kairi flushed slightly, frowning, but she didn't argue.
Together, they continued walking — a strange, quiet pair, stepping into a world neither fully understood yet.