The sun slipped into the Akira mansion slow, spilling across the marble floor like someone just dragged a golden sheet over it. Normally mornings there felt quiet, steady. But today had a buzz to it. Ren's graduation day.
Six years old and already the top of the whole country. Not just his school. Not just his city. Everywhere. His name was in the papers. Teachers called him a genius. Parents whispered his name with half envy, half admiration. The Akira boy.
But inside the house, none of that mattered much. To Aya he was still the kid who left socks everywhere, who clutched a plastic sword in his sleep, who tripped more than he walked.
She sat on the bed that morning, hands fussing with his collar like it was the most delicate thing in the world. Her fingers shook a little—not just from her health, but pride too.
"Look at you," she whispered, brushing his hair flat. "My handsome graduate."
Ren puffed up his chest, eyes shining. "Mama, I told you, I'm not little anymore! I'm big. Bigger than Papa!"
From the doorway came a low laugh. Akira leaning there, arms folded.
"Correction," he said. "Smarter than me already."
Ren pointed at him like he'd won an argument. "See? Even Papa knows!"
Aya's laugh filled the room, warm enough to push shadows away. For a second, the world felt untouchable.
The school was chaos in the best way. Kids in stiff uniforms, running, laughing. Parents with flowers and cameras. Everyone wanted to freeze the day in pictures.
Ren stood in the middle of it, clutching his award so tightly it might crack. He hardly noticed the teachers praising him, or the reporters scribbling notes. His eyes kept bouncing back to Aya and Akira. Every clap from his mother, every nod from his father—it was all he needed.
After the ceremony, Akira clapped his hands like he'd made up his mind already.
"Playground," he said.
Aya blinked. "The playground?"
He gave her that quiet smile. "Ren deserves it. And you deserve air that doesn't come through windows."
She almost protested, then just smiled. Because she wanted that too.
Far away, in a room thick with dust, a man in a black coat sat listening to the world through static. Mask over his mouth, glasses hiding his eyes.
"They're out today," he said into the radio. "The man, the woman, the boy. Do I move in? Over."
The reply came calm, smooth, with a chuckle buried in it.
"No."
The man frowned behind his mask. "Why? You think I can't handle them? Over."
"Not about what you can do. It's about how it will look. Akira isn't just a man anymore. He's a banner. If his family dies neat, the city won't call it war. They'll call it murder. They'll rise for him, burn the streets."
The man gripped the radio harder. "So when then? What's the plan? Over."
"When the time's right," the boss said. "Not by us. By someone the city won't mourn. A homeless man, desperate enough to die for a few bills. That's all it takes. Over."
Silence. Then the black coat man laughed bitterly. "I already know where to find one. Over."
"Good," the voice said. And cut the line.
Ren's laughter carried through the park, sharp and bright. He raced other kids, climbed too high, slid down too fast.
"Mama, Papa, look!" he shouted every other second.
Akira pretended to stumble when Ren darted past him, making the boy shriek with pride. Aya sat on a bench, one hand on her stomach, her eyes wet as she watched. The air smelled like cut grass, sunlight, freedom.
She tilted her head back, soaking it all in.
"You're glowing," Akira murmured, dropping beside her.
She snorted softly. "I'm sweating."
Still, they sat there, breathing in the simple quiet. Watching their son chase pigeons like they were dragons.
It ended too fast. Aya's smile faltered. She bent forward, coughing hard. Akira caught her before she hit the ground.
"Mama!" Ren cried, sprinting toward them.
Akira kept his arm tight around her, voice calm though his eyes weren't. "She'll be fine. Ren, stay here."
That night the mansion was too quiet. A doctor came, serious face, careful words.
"She needs to be admitted tomorrow. Don't delay."
Aya tried to smile at Ren. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Mama just needs rest."
But Ren wouldn't leave her side. He clung to her hand until sleep finally dragged him down.
The next morning the gates creaked open. Akira held Aya steady on one side. Ren gripped his other hand stubbornly.
"You should stay home, Ren," Akira said.
"No," Ren shot back. Fierce, small. "I won't leave Mama."
Aya smiled faintly, and Akira let it go. The three of them walked together, every step heavy.
The hospital rose ahead, white and waiting.
And in the crowd, half-hidden, the black coat man stood still. Glasses flashing in the sun, mask hiding the grin.
He lifted his radio.
"Target in position."
Click.
Silence.