Shinjuro didn't move, didn't speak. His broad shoulders trembled slightly as he stared at the floorboards, fists clenched on his knees. And for the first time, the man who had faced countless demons seemed smaller, human, helpless before something no sword could cut.
"We don't always have to do our best, Father. It was never about that from the start… we just have to do what we can... Not the best, but what truly matters," Kagerou said quietly. Yet to Shinjuro, those soft-spoken words struck harder than any blade could.
A silence followed Kagerou's words.
It wasn't an empty silence, but one that spoke, a silence only a man burdened with responsibility could understand.
Kagerou said nothing more. He didn't need to. He understood, and he chose to let the silence remain.
Unbeknownst to them, Ruka stood nearby, having overheard their exchange. Sadness clouded her gentle eyes, yet behind it, a quiet joy flickered.
"…It's truly a blessing for us that you came into our family, Kage-kun," Ruka whispered, wiping away the tears trailing down her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured softly, before stepping away.
In that quiet moment, father and son, bound not by blood, but by something far stronger, sat in wordless understanding.
One was too mature for his age. The other, too soft-hearted for a man who had slain countless demons.
"In the end," Kagerou continued.
The fading light of dusk bathed their faces, the scene like an epilogue at the close of a long story.
"…In the end… loss is never a pleasant thing. Sadness, anger, those are natural. We're human, after all. Feelings are what make us alive. But behind every loss, there's something to be learned. We learn to cherish what remains, to appreciate what we still have. Sometimes, loss doesn't make us weaker… it makes us stronger. You are not alone, Father. No… You never will be"
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- The next day.
After yesterday's conversation, something subtle yet undeniable changed within the Rengoku household.
The sadness was still there, regret doesn't fade easily, but beneath it, a new warmth stirred.
Laughter returned to the house.
They didn't long for the past or worry about what was to come.
For the Rengoku family, what mattered now was simple: To live in the present, together.
Their days went on quietly.
Ordinary moments, shared smiles, the aroma of warm tea at sunrise, small things, yet precious beyond measure.
Things they had not realized they'd missed until now.
Ruka's condition wasn't yet dire; she could still manage small tasks a housewife might do. But to keep her from tiring, Shinjuro and Kagerou shared the household chores between them, except for cooking, which remained strictly her domain.
Now, Ruka sat upon the engawa. In one arm, she held little Senjuro, and with her free hand, she gently stroked Kyojuro's hair as he lay resting against her lap.
Together, they watched the yard, where Shinjuro and Kagerou were sparring as usual.
"Kyojuro?" Ruka spoke softly, her voice like a tender breeze.
"Yes, Mother?" Kyojuro replied, his bright eyes still fixed on the movements of his father and brother.
Ruka smiled. "I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. Do you know why you, your father, and your brother were born with greater strength than so many others?"
Kyojuro frowned slightly, thinking, but no answer came. "…No, Mother, I don't"
"It is so that you may protect the weak," Ruka said, her tone still gentle, though a quiet gravity underlined every word. The weight of her gaze made Kyojuro finally look up at her. "Those who are born blessed with gifts greater than others carry an obligation, to use them for the sake of the world, for all of our fellow brothers and sisters"
Her hand paused in Kyojuro's hair. "You must never use that God-given strength to bring harm to mankind, or to serve your own selfish desires. The duty of the strong is to protect, to guide, and to help those less fortunate. That is a responsibility you must carry with purpose"
Her eyes met his directly. "Be sure you never forget that"
"I won't!" Kyojuro answered at once, voice firm with youthful conviction.
Ruka's smile softened, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Kyojuro," she murmured, gently turning his head back toward the yard. "I don't know how long I'll be with you all…" Her voice stayed steady, though her tears threatened to fall. "But having strong, gentle children like you and your brothers… that has been my greatest blessing. I believe in you"
"Mother…" Kyojuro murmured, feeling warm droplets touch his cheeks. He wanted to turn toward her, but Ruka gently held his head in place, guiding his gaze back to the yard.
"…Kagerou, Kyojuro, Senjuro, and Shinjuro… all of you are my greatest treasures. My pride... my happiness," Ruka whispered. Her voice trembled faintly, yet carried a serene warmth. "I'm not asking for much, just a little more time… just a little, and I'll be happy"
To whom did she speak, Kyojuro, herself, or perhaps to God? No one knew.
"…My family"
Kyojuro remained silent, for his age, he wasn't that oblivious.
He saw. He heard. He understood more than anyone realized.
He knew what his father and brother had been talking about these past few months.
He knew his mother's condition, even if no one said it out loud.
But he had tried to push it away, clinging to the comforting lie that everything would be fine.
And yet…
The words his mother had just spoken shattered that fragile hope. Everything he'd been holding onto, his certainty, his warmth, fractured like thin glass under falling rain.
At that moment, Kyojuro realized… The warmth he was feeling now would not last forever.
Tears welled in his eyes.
The figures before him, his father and brother sparring beneath the sunlight, blurred, as if seen through a veil of rain.
"I… I-" His words caught in his throat, trembling between his breath and his heart.
Ruka watched quietly, her chest tightening. Every instinct in her wanted to comfort him, to take back her words, but she didn't. She couldn't.
This, too, was something her son had to face.
Kyojuro swallowed hard, then nodded slightly. "…I understand, Mother," he whispered.
The wind stirred gently, carrying his words into the soft light of the daylight.