PART 5 — The Truth Adults Don't Say Aloud
The moment he was gone, the air in the room changed.
Dr. Ken straightened, the faint green glow around his hands fading completely.
"There are things I could tell just from the scan," he said. "But I need to know something first."
Akari looked up. Renjiro turned fully toward him.
"Did anything happen after the night of the attack?" Dr. Ken asked. "Anything unusual. Physical. Sudden."
Akari hesitated. Then quietly, she said,
"This morning."
Renjiro exhaled through his nose. "He ran downstairs. Blood was coming from his left eye. He was terrified—kept saying he didn't want to die. Then he collapsed."
Dr. Ken's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened slightly.
"I thought so," he said.
Akari's voice trembled. "What does it mean?"
Dr. Ken folded his hands.
"The bleeding isn't the problem. It's the signal."
Renjiro frowned. "Signal of what?"
"That he's carrying more than his mind can stabilize," Dr. Ken replied. "The body steps in when the psyche is overloaded. In Haruto's case, it chose the eye as a release point."
Akari shook her head. "Overloaded by what? Stress? Pain?"
Dr. Ken looked at her directly.
"Fear."
The word settled heavily between them.
Renjiro stiffened. "Fear of what?"
Dr. Ken paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Not something abstract. Not danger in front of him. This is deep, sustained fear—something he's been bracing against for a long time."
Akari whispered, "He doesn't talk about being scared."
"That's exactly why it's dangerous," Dr. Ken said. "He doesn't acknowledge it. He suppresses it. Every time he does, the pressure builds."
Renjiro's jaw tightened. "So what is he afraid of?"
Dr. Ken looked down briefly.
"Loss. Repetition. Being left behind again."
Akari's hands clenched. "Again…"
Dr. Ken nodded.
"There is something he believes will happen if he fails—something he thinks he won't survive a second time."
Renjiro asked quietly, "And the eye?"
"When the fear spikes suddenly," Dr. Ken said, "his system attempts an emergency release. If he stays calm, the pressure redistributes and he recovers. If he resists—if he panics—he collapses."
Akari swallowed hard.
"So the bleeding is a warning."
"Yes," Dr. Ken said. "Not of death. Of overload."
Renjiro looked away. "And if we ignore it?"
Dr. Ken's voice lowered.
"Then one day the warning won't be enough."
Silence filled the room.
Akari spoke softly. "So we protect him… from fear?"
Dr. Ken met her eyes.
"You help him feel safe. You don't let him believe he's facing things alone. And above all—"
He paused.
"—you don't let him think dying would be easier than continuing."
Outside, laughter echoed faintly down the corridor.
Inside the room, they realized just how close Haruto had already come to believing exactly that.
Dr. Ken moved to the chair near the wall and sat down slowly, as if the weight of the room had finally caught up to him.
"There's something I want to ask," he said.
Akari and Renjiro both looked at him.
"…Go on," Renjiro said.
Dr. Ken folded his hands together.
"Why don't you let Haruto remain as he is?"
Akari stiffened.
"You care for him deeply," Dr. Ken continued. "You watch him constantly. You protect him. You adjust your lives around him." He looked up. "Why?"
Renjiro frowned. "Because he's family."
Dr. Ken nodded once.
"Even though he's sick?"
Akari's breath caught. "That doesn't change anything."
Dr. Ken didn't argue.
"You put more effort into him than into Ayame or Kaito. But that effort won't change the outcome."
The words landed heavily.
"You're wasting yourselves," he said calmly. "I don't know the future—but I do know this: Haruto is not going to live a long life."
Akari's hands trembled. "Don't say that."
Dr. Ken looked at her, not unkindly.
"It would be easier for you," he went on, "to focus on the others. Ayame and Kaito have no abnormalities. No instability. They will live full lives."
Renjiro's voice dropped. "And Haruto?"
Dr. Ken exhaled.
"Haruto is different."
He leaned back slightly.
"I've known him since the day he was born," he said. "As a baby. As a child. And now at eight." His eyes narrowed. "Every time I examine him, something is different. His emotional balance. His responses. His internal state. They never stabilize the same way twice."
Akari whispered, "But you said he's improving."
"He is," Dr. Ken agreed. "But improvement does not mean longevity."
Silence stretched.
"The day he was born," Dr. Ken said quietly, "his parents feared only one thing."
Renjiro looked up sharply. "What?"
"That if the truth about him was ever revealed to his siblings," Dr. Ken said, "he would be alone."
Akari swallowed. "Alone…?"
"Yes," Dr. Ken replied. "Because once he understands what he is—once others understand—it becomes very easy to distance yourself."
Renjiro clenched his fists. "You still haven't said what that truth is."
Dr. Ken looked at the floor for a long moment.
"The reason," he said, "is because Haruto is… an abnormal."
The word hung in the air, cold and final.
Akari's voice shook. "You're saying we should give up on him?"
Dr. Ken looked up at her then.
"I'm saying the world eventually will."
Another silence followed—this one heavier.
Outside the room, Haruto laughed faintly at something Misaki said.
Inside, Akari stood.
"No," she said firmly.
Dr. Ken looked at her.
"If the world is going to abandon him," Akari continued, "then that's exactly why we won't."
Renjiro stepped forward beside her.
"You may see an abnormal," he said. "But we see a child who's still here."
Dr. Ken watched them both. For the first time, something unreadable crossed his face.
"…Then," he said quietly, "be prepared."
"For what?" Akari asked.
"For the day," Dr. Ken replied, "when staying with him will hurt more than letting go."
Outside the room, Haruto sat on the bench beside Misaki, his legs swinging slightly as he leaned back against the wall.
Misaki stared ahead, her hands clenched in her lap.
After a moment, she spoke.
"So… why are you here?"
Haruto blinked and turned to her. "Dr. Ken wanted to see me."
He hesitated, then added lightly, "Anyway… why are you here?"
The moment he said it, Misaki's expression changed.
Her jaw tightened. Her eyes dropped to the floor.
"…You really don't know," she said.
Haruto frowned. "Know what?"
She let out a shaky breath, then another—until suddenly it all came out.
"My dad," she said, her voice breaking, "he's sick. Really sick. He's been here for days."
Haruto froze.
"I've been missing classes," Misaki continued, tears spilling over now. "I sit here every day after school. I thought—" Her voice cracked. "I thought you knew."
"I—I didn't," Haruto said quickly. "Misaki, I swear—"
She turned to him, eyes red.
"That's exactly it."
Her hands balled into fists.
"You don't even know what's happening to me, and you still call yourself my friend."
Haruto's chest tightened. "That's not fair. You never told me."
Misaki shook her head hard.
"A real friend wouldn't need to be told."
The words hit harder than anything else that day.
"I'm always listening to you," she said through tears. "Your fears. Your nightmares. Your silence. But when it's me—when I'm breaking— you're not even there."
Haruto stood up. "Misaki, I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to—"
But she was already turning away.
"I don't want to hear it," she said, her voice small and raw. "Not today."
She wiped her eyes roughly and ran down the corridor, her footsteps fading.
Haruto stood there, his hands clenched at his sides.
"…Am I really that bad of a friend?" he whispered.
He sat back down slowly, staring at the floor.
How could I not know?
How could I miss something like that?
His thoughts spiraled, tightening around his chest.
"…I didn't know," he said again, quieter now. "I swear I didn't."
But the hallway didn't answer.
Suddenly, he stood up again—this time abruptly.
"No," he muttered. "I can't just sit here."
Without looking back toward the room, Haruto ran in the opposite direction—away from Misaki, away from the hospital room, away from the words that wouldn't stop echoing in his head.
You're not a real friend.
And the corridor swallowed him whole.
Dr. Ken leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp.
"Akari… you should start accepting the things I'm telling you about Haruto. You have to. I know you already understand, deep down, what he is."
Akari's hands clenched in her lap. Her voice was firm, almost defiant.
"He isn't abnormal. He's… he's like a younger brother to me. I won't hear otherwise."
Dr. Ken's expression remained steady, unshaken.
"See, that's why I want him to join The Shinobi Vanguard Tournament."
Akari's eyes widened. "No! He can't. He isn't ready. He's too young. It's dangerous—he can't do it."
Renjiro stepped forward, his tone low and controlled. "Exactly. He isn't prepared for something like that."
Dr. Ken shook his head slightly, calm but firm.
"You misunderstand. I'm not sending him there to push him, or to harm him. I want to test him… to confirm what I already suspect. The things about Haruto I've only observed half of. He won't perform in a test I make him take in front of us. You know that as well as I do."
Akari's lips pressed together, her eyes narrowing. "But that… he's still just a child. How can you—"
Dr. Ken's gaze hardened, unwavering.
"Who expected him to kill that hunter? That's exactly what I'm saying. There is a vast difference between what he can do naturally and what anyone expects from him. That difference… it can tell us everything about him without putting him in unnecessary danger."
Renjiro's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Dr. Ken continued, his voice steady and measured.
"You don't need to do too much for him. You don't need to push him purposefully. But through this—through a controlled, observed environment—we will understand his fears. His instincts. How he reacts under stress. Everything I need to know to protect him… and guide him safely."
Akari looked down, her hands fidgeting slightly. Her heart clenched at the thought, but slowly, her shoulders relaxed.
"…If it helps us understand him," she said quietly, "and keep him safe… then I'll accept it. I'll accept Haruto as he is, and whatever this test will reveal."
Dr. Ken gave a small, approving nod.
"Good. That is all I ask. Carefully. Step by step. Always under supervision."
Dr. Ken leaned back slightly, his hands folded in front of him.
"Anyway," he said calmly, "you two don't need to take tension over this. There will be shinobi assigned as guards. He won't be alone, and the environment will be controlled."
Akari's eyes narrowed. "Wait… you just told us to leave him be because he won't last long, and that he's… abnormal. Then why are you doing this?"
Dr. Ken met her gaze evenly, unflinching.
"I do this for Haruto. Not for the tournament. Not for me. For him."
Akari blinked, confused. "For him?"
"Yes," Dr. Ken said, his voice steady, authoritative. "And because it is my duty. I am his personal doctor—directly appointed by the Hoshikawa clan leader. It is my responsibility to ensure he survives and develops safely, no matter what others think or fear."
Renjiro exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Even knowing the risks?"
Dr. Ken's expression didn't change.
"Especially because of the risks. Someone must see him clearly. Someone must act before he cannot. That's why I am doing this. Step by step. Controlled. Observed."
Akari's hands clenched, but her voice softened, heavy with emotion.
"…If it's for him… then I'll trust you. But I won't let him face it alone."
Dr. Ken gave a small, approving nod.
"Good. That is exactly what he needs. Presence. Guidance. Not fear. You two are that for him."