Hikaru Saito's POV
The gates loomed ahead as Akane, and I walked side by side through the school courtyard. It was still early, sun barely brushing the rooftops, but something about the morning felt louder charged, like electricity was stitched into the wind.
Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to. Her silence was comfort and warning all at once.
The ride in had been quiet, filled only with the hum of tires and the low purr of Akane's vintage coupe. Every time I glanced at her through the reflection in the window, she looked... alert. Like she was scanning the horizon for something just out of sight.
Students swarmed past us into the main hallway, laughter spilling into the corridors—but beneath it was a hum. A buzz of whispers, fast and urgent.
"Did you hear about Hikaru during try-outs? That was insane!"
"Unreal. He moved like he was seeing the plays before they happened."
"He's not just fast. It's like his body knows what's coming."
I dipped my head slightly, trying to vanish into my hoodie, but the stares still found me. Some wide-eyed. Some narrowed. Some curious. Some suspicious.
We passed a group of girls huddled near the lockers. One leaned in—no effort to lower her voice.
"He's so hot, isn't he?"
"No joke—he glowed under those gym lights. And not just sweat glow."
Akane glanced sideways and the girl's voice cut off mid-sentence. Her stare had that effect.
"Ignore them," Akane said, her tone neutral. But her eyes weren't.
"They're noticing things I didn't want them to," I muttered.
"They're reacting. Not thinking," she replied. "And curiosity like that? It doesn't always stay friendly."
A hand clapped my shoulder, jarring me slightly from the spiral.
"Hikaru!" Taro's voice rang out as he and Akira caught up with us, grinning.
Taro adjusted his glasses, his trademark smirk sliding into place.
"You're officially school legend now. Rumours say you leapt ten feet to catch a tennis ball. That true?"
Akira elbowed me lightly.
"Or you're just an alien in disguise. A government experiment gone right. Come on, man—you obliterated the basketball drills."
Their teasing landed softer than usual—because underneath it, they were watching me. Carefully.
"We're not here to freak you out," Taro said, voice dropping. "We just want you to know—this spotlight? Doesn't change anything. We're still here."
Akira nodded. "Especially if you start flying next week."
I gave them a tired smile, grateful in ways I couldn't put into words.
But the feeling stayed. That invisible stare. Like someone was threading needles into my spine from somewhere beyond the crowd.
The bell rang. We shuffled into class.
And then the teacher walked in—not alone.
"Before we get started," he said, adjusting his tie with a nervous tic, "we have a transfer student joining us today. Ren Kurozawa."
Silence. The kind that folds into itself.
An unfamiliar boy stepped forward—and the room shifted.
His hair was silver. Not bleached, not dyed silver. Like frost under moonlight. It shimmered beneath the ceiling lights.
His eyes were crimson. Not the hazel-red some contacts mimic—but a deep, living red, like slow flame behind stained glass. Sharp. Direct. Hungry.
"Whoa," someone whispered. "Is that real?"
"He looks like he walked straight out of a manga."
He bowed, every motion graceful and deliberate.
"My name is Ren Kurozawa. It's a pleasure to meet you all," he said, voice smooth. Too smooth.
The teacher gestured toward the empty seat next to me, and Ren took it without hesitation. He didn't glance around like new kids do. He didn't fidget. He simply sat—as though he'd always belonged there.
He turned toward me; lips curved into a smile that held too many layers.
"You're Hikaru, right?"
"Yeah," I said, cautious. "How do you know that?"
He chuckled softly.
"Word travels. Fast. Especially when someone moves like you do."
I felt myself stiffen. Akane, from two rows back, hadn't taken her eyes off him.
"You've caused quite the stir," he continued, leaning just slightly closer. "Speed like that... precision like that... it doesn't come from training. It comes from somewhere deeper."
"What are you trying to say?" I asked, voice low.
He met my gaze without flinching.
"Just curious."
Before I could respond, the teacher launched into the lesson—but the words blurred like static behind glass.
Around me, students tried not to stare but couldn't help it. Ren's presence disrupted something primal. Like he wasn't new. Like he was waking up something old.
He didn't take notes. Didn't raise his hand. But every now and then, he'd glance at me—and I felt it.
Measured.
Judged.
Filed away.
When the bell rang, Ren stood up smoothly, tossing his bag over his shoulder. He gave me one final glance.
"It's going to be interesting getting to know you, Hikaru."
As soon as Ren rounded the corner, his silver hair catching a final glint of hallway light, Akane turned to me—voice sharp and low.
"Stay away from him."
I frowned, taken aback by the urgency in her tone.
"Why?"
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes remained fixed on the space Ren had just vanished into, like the hallway still echoed his presence.
"Didn't you notice? His hair. His eyes... they're not natural."
I thought back to that moment—his crimson gaze locking with mine, the way his silver strands shimmered under the fluorescents.
"He dyes his hair. Contacts, maybe?"
Akane's voice cut clean through my rationalizing.
"It's not that simple. Silver like that doesn't exist in humans—not naturally. And his eyes..." she glanced at me, her own glowing faintly. "They're like mine."
The chill that ran through me wasn't just from what she said—but how she said it.
"You think he's like you?"
"I don't think, Hikaru. I know."
I stared at her, my pulse quickening.
"Then... what does that make you?"
Her crimson eyes softened, flickering with something heavy sadness. Regret. But she didn't answer. Not directly.
"You'll find out very soon," she said quietly. "But for now... just trust me. Stay away from Ren."
Her tone wasn't threatening. It was protective. Final.
And yet, her words stirred more questions than they answered. If Ren wasn't human... and Akane wasn't either...
Then who was I becoming?
The streets outside melted into a quiet cascade of headlights and raindrops as the limo glided through the city, a silver ghost weaving between stoplights. Inside, a silence lingered—not uncomfortable, just... waiting.
Akane sat across from me, her gaze lowered to a book resting in her lap. She turned a page occasionally, but her eyes didn't follow the words. I knew she was somewhere else—still back in that hallway. Trailing Ren in her mind.
I leaned against the window, my reflection barely visible beneath the city's glow.
Admiration. Curiosity. Envy.
They filled every glance, every hallway whisper. But none of it felt earned. None of it felt mine. It felt like I was walking in someone else's body—with power that didn't belong, attention I didn't ask for, and questions I couldn't answer.
Through it all—Akane had remained.
She was there before everything changed. She'd believed in me when I couldn't even look myself in the mirror.
And yet I'd doubted her. Pushed her away. Demanded answers like she owed me something.
I swallowed the guilt rising in my throat.
"Akane," I said quietly.
She looked up, eyes softening as they met mine.
"What is it?"
I hesitated. Then—
"I wanted to say I'm sorry."
Her brows pulled together gently.
"Sorry? For what?"
"For doubting you. For questioning everything you've done for me. I've been so caught up in all of this—trying to make sense of what's happening to me—that I forgot how much you've helped me through it."
My voice wavered. The weight of it all was settling heavy now.
"I wouldn't be here without you. And I've treated you like you owed me answers. Like I didn't already owe you so much."
Akane closed her book, laying it aside. She didn't speak right away—just gave me space. Time.
Then she leaned forward slightly, voice calm but steady.
"Hikaru, you don't have to apologize."
"I do," I said. "You've done nothing but protect me. And I've repaid you with suspicion. That's not fair."
Her gaze flickered—something unreadable passing through her crimson eyes.
"I was never angry with you. Not for a second."
Those words hit harder than I expected. I opened my mouth, struggling to explain, but she reached out gently.
"I understand. You've been through more than anyone should. You're allowed to have questions. To feel lost. But you don't have to carry it alone. I'm here."
Her hand brushed mine—warm and grounding.
"I don't deserve your kindness, Akane. Not after how I've treated you."
She gave a small smile, one that made her seem softer than usual.
"You don't have to deserve it. I care about you, Hikaru. That's reason enough."
I nodded slowly, the last of my defences unravelling.
"I'll do better. I'll trust you more. I promise."
Her eyes shimmered—relieved but still guarded.
"That's all I ask. Just trust me for now."
She leaned closer, fingers curling gently around mine.
"When the time is right, I'll tell you everything. Every truth. Every secret. But until then..." Her grip tightened just slightly. "Trust me with the unknown."
I met her eyes, steady and bright.
"I trust you," I said, the words heavier than I realized.
She smiled. A quiet smile, but one that lit something inside me.
The limo slowed, turning onto my street. My house came into view, porch light casting a soft pool of gold onto the pavement. My pulse ticked upward.
"Goodnight, Hikaru," she said gently. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I stepped out, the warmth of her touch lingering like a flame behind glass. The limo pulled away, melting into the darkness.
And for a moment, surrounded by streetlight and memory, I stood still.
Everything wasn't answered.
But maybe… just maybe…
It would be.
The Following Day
The weight in my chest hadn't eased since Ren arrived. Something about his presence pressed against my senses like static—too sharp, too quiet. Like a sound I couldn't hear, but somehow still felt.
The power in me was waking up in pieces. Reflexes. Strength. Something else I couldn't name. And with it, the distance between who I'd been and what I was becoming felt bigger with every breath.
I needed to breathe.
I needed something simple. Familiar. Something from the version of life before crimson eyes and silver hair.
So, when Akira raised a brow at me in the courtyard, a mischievous glint in his eye, and said,
"Arcade this weekend. Just buttons and beatdowns—what do you say, Hikaru?"
hesitated. But only for a moment.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's go."
Taro adjusted his glasses, voice calm as always.
"This will be your first time isn't it. It's going to be fun, trust us!"
The Following Afternoon
The arcade's neon lights lit up our faces like sparks from another world. Loud, overstuffed with colours and laughter, and pulsing with retro music—it was the kind of chaos that made you forget everything else. And for a few seconds, it worked.
Akira darted toward the fighting game station, already jabbing at the controls.
"Come on!" he called, eyes gleaming. "Time to prove whether you're actually superhuman, or just really dramatic."
I smirked, stepping up beside him.
"You're gonna regret that."
The game loaded. Akira grinned. We launched in.
He was fast. The kind of fast you only get from long afternoons and minor obsessions.
But I was faster.
My fingers moved without thought—reading him before he even made a move. One blink, and I'd countered. Another, and his character was crumpled on the floor.
Akira froze. Stared.
"What the—!? Hikaru, I didn't even touch you! Are you secretly pro?"
Taro chuckled from behind.
"Maybe you should stop underestimating him."
Then he stepped in, rolled up his sleeves, and wiped the floor with both of us in a flurry of quiet mastery.
The matches blurred, but the laughter didn't. It was a brief, golden bubble. Me, Akira, Taro. No powers. No orders. Just us.
And in that moment, I almost felt like nothing had changed.
Almost.
Later, we wandered into the manga store across the street. Cool air, soft jazz playing from overhead speakers, and the scent of freshly printed pages.
Taro went straight for the intellectual shelf—titles with sharp covers and sharp ideas.
Akira headed for the high-stakes, explosion-filled dramas.
I drifted.
I ran my fingers across spines without really reading them. Pulled out one or two, flipped through pages.
And still… my thoughts crawled back.
To Ren.
To the way he entered class like he already owned it. The way his silver hair shimmered like metal under moonlight. The way his crimson eyes didn't just look—they saw. Deep. Familiar. Wrong.
He wasn't just composed. He was too composed.
Like he'd been playing a role he'd rehearsed perfectly.
I looked down at the manga I'd picked up, realizing I hadn't read a single word. It was hard to focus when a person you'd barely met felt like a déjà vu wrapped in danger.
We stepped out of the manga store, bags in hand, the day fading into dusky hues. Akira was laughing over some ridiculous manga he'd just bought—something about space pirates and psychic cats. Taro had already launched into a quiet analysis of a sci-fi title, his voice calm, steady, and oddly comforting.
I walked between them, grateful. The arcade, the laughter, the scent of ink and new pages—all of it had brought me back to Earth for a few precious hours.
And then the air shifted.
Not visibly. Not dramatically. But I felt it.
The noise around us seemed to hush just slightly, like someone had turned the world's volume down by one notch.
"Yo, Hikaru."
Akira's voice cut through it, light and unaware.
"Isn't that the new guy? Ren, right?"
I turned.
Ren stood just across the street, framed by the flickering glow of a vending machine. His silver hair shimmered beneath the artificial light, untouched by the breeze. He wasn't doing anything dramatic—just sipping from a can of juice, one hand tucked casually into his pocket.
But he was watching us.
More specifically—me.
His crimson eyes met mine, and I felt the quiet press of something… ancient. It wasn't menace. Not outright. But it wasn't friendly either.
It was focus. Sharp and unyielding.
He crossed the street like he belonged to the moment. Effortless. Smooth.
"Evening," he said, nodding at Akira and Taro before turning his gaze back to me. "Hikaru. You looked like you were having fun."
His voice was… polished. Clean. The kind of voice that never stumbled, never cracked, never gave away more than it meant to.
I tried to swallow the weird feeling in my throat.
"Yeah," I said. "Just a normal day."
His lips quirked upward, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Normal's good. You should hold onto it while you can."
That was when the vending machine behind him sparked—a tiny flicker of static dancing across its digital display before returning to normal.
Akira raised an eyebrow.
Taro glanced toward it but said nothing.
"Well," Ren said, stepping back. "I'll see you around."
And just like that, he was gone. Walking toward the station, blending into the night as if it were waiting for him.
Akira scratched his head.
"Okay… that dude is seriously weird. Cool haircut, though."
Taro pushed up his glasses, voice quiet.
"There's something off about him."
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was—every fibre of me had felt the same thing.
Ren didn't just show up. He appeared. Like he was placed here. Like he was watching something. Waiting.
And I had a sinking feeling that whatever I was becoming… Ren already knew more about it than I did.
I tossed my shoes aside, the exhaustion from the day pressing heavy on my shoulders. I had done my best to shove thoughts of Ren into the furthest corners of my mind—his too-perfect smile, the way he watched me without blinking, those crimson eyes that gleamed like they were seeing more than they should. But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, something wasn't right. That feeling in my gut—the creeping tension that refused to loosen its grip—was stronger than ever.
My gaze fell to my phone on the table. I hesitated only a moment before reaching for it and dialling Akane's number. My thumb hovered over the screen as doubt briefly tugged at me, but the weight in my chest was too much. I needed answers. I needed her voice.
The phone rang once, twice—then her calm tone greeted me.
"Hey, Hikaru. How was your day?"
I stared at the wall, trying to figure out how to say what was clawing at my thoughts.
"It was... fine. But something's bothering me. I need to ask you about someone."
She didn't interrupt, just waited.
"Ren. The new guy. I... I don't know how to explain it, but something's off. He's too composed. Too perfect. And I feel like—like he knows something about me. Something I haven't even figured out yet."
There was silence on the line. I shifted where I sat, waiting, pulse picking up.
Finally, Akane spoke.
"I've been waiting for you to notice."
That sentence froze me.
"Wait—what do you mean?"
Her voice was quiet but steady.
"Ren's not just a student. I've seen him before. My father works with him. I don't know everything, but I do know this—he doesn't show up anywhere by accident."
My stomach turned.
"So why is he here? Why now?"
Akane paused like she was weighing every word.
"I don't have all the answers. But people in my family—people like Ren—they only move when there's purpose. His presence means something. And if he's watching you… then your part of it."
I sat back on the couch, overwhelmed. Ren wasn't just strange—he was part of something deeper. Something deliberate.
"What do I do?" I asked, my voice low.
"Trust your instincts," Akane said, her tone firm. "He's friendly now, but that doesn't mean he's safe. Be careful, Hikaru. And remember—I'm here. You're not alone."
Her words were a lifeline. The storm in my chest slowed just a little.
"Thank you," I said softly. "I'm starting to realize... I trust you more than I thought."
"Good," she replied. "Hold onto that."
The call ended. I placed the phone on the table and sat in silence, the quiet pressing against me like fog. Akane's words echoed in my head—but the house felt too empty, too quiet.
Without thinking, I found myself walking toward Aoi's room.
We'd never talked much. She was always distant, buried in books and anime, her own world kept separate from mine. But tonight, I couldn't be alone—not completely.
I knocked gently on her door.
"Aoi?"
There was a pause, then her voice floated back, distant but clear.
"Come in."
I pushed open the door slowly, half expecting her to ignore me.
Aoi was seated at her desk, phone in hand, her back turned. The soft glow of her screen lit up the room in muted blue, casting shadows along the walls. She didn't move when I stepped in, but something about the way her shoulders rested—not tense, not guarded—made me hesitate.
She felt… different.
Not cold. Just quiet.
"I, uh… just wanted to check in," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I know we don't talk much, but… I wanted to see if you were okay."
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she set her phone down carefully and turned halfway toward me. Her eyes met mine. And in that moment, I saw something I hadn't seen before—recognition. Not surprise. Not discomfort. But familiarity. Like she'd been expecting me.
"I'm fine," she said softly. "It's just… everything feels weird lately."
I leaned against the doorway, unsure what to say next.
"Yeah," I admitted. "It's like… everything's changing at once. And I don't really know how to keep up."
Aoi exhaled through her nose, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the edge of her desk.
"You're not the same," she said quietly. "I've noticed. I know everyone has but I've noticed something deep inside you has changed as well."
The words landed harder than I expected.
I'd been pretending. Playing normal. Smiling when I needed to. But even Aoi—distant, elusive Aoi—had seen through the cracks.
"I feel like I don't know who I am anymore," I murmured. "Like I'm becoming something I don't understand."
Aoi watched me for a moment, her gaze softer than it used to be.
"You don't have to figure it out tonight," she said. "But you're still Hikaru. You're still my brother. And honestly… you're doing better than I thought you would."
I smiled faintly. She'd always been the quiet one, the hard-to-reach presence in the house. But now, for the first time in what felt like years, her voice was grounding.
"Thanks," I said, the words heavier than I'd expected. "I guess we both have things to work through."
She nodded once. Then turned back to her screen without a word—but this time, her posture didn't shut me out.
It welcomed me in.
And that was enough.
Dinner was simple— Chicken katsu served with shredded cabbage, a drizzle of tonkatsu sauce, and a side of warm miso soup. A bit fancy. But as the aroma filled the room, something stirred inside me—something I hadn't felt in months. Comfort. That quiet, unspoken warmth that used to live in these walls before everything cracked and splintered.
The kitchen light buzzed faintly above, casting a golden hue over the modest table. My mother moved between stove and counter with practiced grace, her worn slippers shuffling across the tiled floor. I watched her as she placed bowls down with care, her smile gentle—but not reaching her eyes. Like a photo left out in the sun too long. Faded.
We hadn't sat down like this as a family in… forever. Or at least, it felt that way.
"How was your day, Hikaru?" she asked, sliding the bowl in front of me.
Her voice was soft, too soft, like she was afraid the question might shatter something. I hesitated. The spoon in my hand hovered over the rice. Her eyes were warm, but they searched—like they were trying to read a language she no longer spoke.
"It was okay," I murmured. "Just… a lot on my mind."
She didn't press. Just nodded slowly, the corners of her mouth pulling into a small, understanding smile. Then, without a word, she reached out and laid her hand over mine.
Her fingers were cool, her touch gentle. A small gesture—but it undid me.
"Things have been harder lately, haven't they?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my throat from tightening. The soup steamed in front of me, untouched.
"Yeah," I admitted, eyes dropping to the table. "I don't know how to keep up with everything. It's like… I'm chasing something. But with every step, I'm leaving pieces of myself behind."
She gave a soft sigh—one of those quiet, heavy breaths that held more love than words ever could.
"You don't need to chase anything, sweetheart," she said. "You've already come so far. You're not alone. You never were. Take your time. One step, one breath. We're here. Always."
The words fell over me like a blanket, settling something deep inside my chest. The knot I didn't realize I was holding began to loosen.
Outside, the cicadas buzzed low and steady, their song a constant hum beyond the sliding glass door. The sky was beginning to bruise into twilight, streaks of purple and orange bleeding across the horizon. For once, I let myself be still in it.
After dinner, the plates were washed and stacked, and the kitchen dimmed to its nighttime hush. I wandered into the living room and found my father sitting on the couch, half-illuminated by the flickering blue glow of the television. He wasn't watching—just staring through the screen like it was a window to some place he used to live in.
He rarely sat like that. Not engaged. Not retreating. Just… there.
"Dad?" I said, unsure if I was interrupting something or nothing at all.
He blinked and turned, his eyes a little tired, a little startled.
"Hey, Hikaru." His voice was low, rough from disuse. "What's up?"
I hesitated by the edge of the couch, then sat across from him on the floor. The silence between us was thick, but not tense. Just unfamiliar, like an old jacket that didn't quite fit anymore.
"I just wanted to say… thanks," I said, the words slow, deliberate. "For trying."
He stared at me like I'd spoken in a different language.
"I know I haven't been… great," he said after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. "There's a lot I regret. But I want to change that. If I can."
I nodded, the sound of the cicadas bleeding in from the open window.
"You don't have to be great," I said quietly. "Just… be here. That's enough."
For a second, I saw something shift in his expression. Something soft and aching. He exhaled slowly, like a knot in him had come undone too.
He stood and walked to the old bookshelf in the corner—the one with dusty photo frames and a cracked globe we never used. He pulled something small from behind a stack of books and returned, holding it out to me.
A tiny carved wooden figure—weathered smooth by time. A little animal, a fox or a wolf. I remembered it. I used to carry it everywhere when I was small. Pocketed it like a talisman.
"I kept this," he said. "Didn't know if it meant anything anymore."
I took it in my hands. The texture, the familiar shape—it was like holding a memory.
"It does," I whispered. "More than you know."
Later, as I walked down the hallway toward my room, I passed Kenta leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His head was tilted slightly, gaze sharp and unreadable. His posture had the same lazy defiance it always did—but his eyes, they lingered.
"Still pretending you're normal?" he asked. The words came out with a mix of sarcasm and suspicion but lacked venom.
I didn't flinch. I didn't look away.
"Not pretending anything," I said simply. "But I'm still Hikaru. That hasn't changed."
He scoffed—low and almost amused—but didn't respond. Just pushed off the wall and walked past me without another word.
There was a time when that kind of look would've eaten away at me. Would've made me spiral, question, shrink.
But not today.
That night, I lay in bed with the wooden figure resting in my palm, the sheets pulled tight up to my chest. The house around me was quiet—just the sound of the old pipes humming through the walls and the steady chirping of the insects outside.
I thought about my mother's hand, my father's hesitant smile, Kenta's narrowed eyes. I thought about all the pieces that didn't quite fit together but were still mine.
This house. This family. This messy, tangled life.
I wasn't trying to solve it all anymore.
I wasn't chasing answers or apologies or anyone else's idea of who I should be.
I was just… here.
Still changing.
Still learning.
But, for the first time, I was finally okay with that.
Akane Fujiwara's POV
The mansion was quiet, as it always was during private family meetings. Dim candlelight flickered against sterile walls, the cold air suffocating in its stillness. I entered the room, each step heavier than the last.
They were waiting.
My father sat at the head of the table; his piercing gaze fixed on the documents in front of him. The others—stoic, calculating—barely acknowledged me, yet their silence spoke volumes. Disapproval lingered in the air like smoke.
They'd been watching me. And I knew why.
My growing attachment to Hikaru hadn't gone unnoticed. To them, he was a distraction. A liability. A threat.
But I couldn't walk away.
"Akane," my father said suddenly, cutting through the silence. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately."
It wasn't curiosity. It was a warning—sharp, precise, like a blade slipped beneath velvet.
"What is it you see in this… human?"
The word dripped with disdain. I flinched, instinctively, but held my ground.
There was something else in his voice. Something colder. And deeper.
"He's not just a 'human,'" I replied carefully, keeping my tone measured. "He's different. I can feel it. Something's changing in him—and I can't ignore it."
My father's gaze narrowed, shifting briefly to the others before settling back on me.
"Changing?" he echoed. "What does that mean, exactly?"
He was testing me. Cornering me.
"His abilities," I murmured. "They're growing. There's something inside him… awakening. And it's not something I can control."
For a fleeting second, I saw it—the flicker in my father's expression. Concern. Recognition. Gone as quickly as it came.
"You're still too attached," he said, voice firm. "You know what happens when someone like him becomes more than he should."
I stiffened.
"I'm not blind to the risks," I said. "But I care about him."
A voice rang out from the other end of the table—one of the quiet ones, distant and cold.
"This human is a liability. We can't afford to let emotion cloud our judgment. If his powers are evolving, we need to act. Before he becomes uncontrollable."
My father didn't speak right away. He simply stared—calculating, ruthless.
But there was intrigue in his eyes.
More than fear.
More than disdain.
"I don't think you understand," I said, my voice trembling, yet unwavering. "Hikaru isn't like the others. He's not like me, but he's still human. And that's what makes him different."
The room fell into silence. It pressed against me from all sides.
"You're right," my father said eventually, his voice calm. "He's not like others. I've seen it. And you're willing to risk everything—your position, your future—for this… human?"
I met his gaze.
"I'm not asking for your approval," I said, stronger now. "I'm telling you. I won't let anyone hurt him. I'll face the consequences. But not at the cost of everything I believe."
My father leaned back, fingers tapping against the table. His silence was louder than his voice.
Finally, he spoke, icier than before.
"If this attachment continues… it will affect more than just you. You know what he is. He can't be trusted."
I shook my head.
"He's not what you think. He's still human. There's still time for him to control it."
Another pause. Then his words cut through me.
"I don't care what you believe. You'll do what's necessary to keep him in check. If you fail… you know the consequences."
The weight of his threat pressed against my chest. But I didn't look away.
"I will protect him," I said quietly. "No matter what happens. I won't let you hurt him."
As I stepped out into the hallway, the flickering candles behind me seemed to dim further. My father's final words echoed in my thoughts, but even their harshness couldn't shake what had solidified in my heart.
They knew more than they were telling me.
They'd been watching Hikaru long before I ever did. Even before his transformation began. Just like they'd watched me. Just like they planned everything else.
Was Hikaru just another pawn in their game?
Another weapon to shape and discard?
I didn't know. But I knew this:
He wasn't theirs to shape.
I stopped at the wall, resting a hand against the cold surface, my eyes fixed ahead. My vow to protect Hikaru wasn't just a thought—it was a promise. And this time, I meant it.
I'd failed him before. Let fear and secrecy drive a wedge between us.
But not again.
Not when he'd seen the worst in me… and stayed.
Hikaru, I thought. I'll protect you.
He already knew the kind of person I was. But the responsibility I felt for him… it was more than duty now. It was something real. Unshakeable.
Not just shielding him from the world's dangers—
—but from my family.
From the people who taught me how to survive but never how to care.
I drew a breath. Let the chill settle into my bones.
There was no going back.
Whatever came next—whatever Lucien Vale meant to my father, whatever Hikaru was becoming—I'd face it. With him. Beside him.
This was the path I'd chosen.
And it was his now too.