3rd Person POV
[Hyoudou Residence]
Miki Hyoudou hummed as she ladled extra curry onto Gorou's plate, the steam curling into his tired face like a warm embrace. "Another order from Hokkaido today," he murmured, rubbing his calloused hands together before accepting the dish. "Pine for a new resort complex. They specified our timber after that Kyoto project."
Miki clapped her hands together, her smile bright enough to eclipse the overhead light. "See? I told you that architect's praise would spread!" She leaned in, conspiratorial. "The foreman at the Nishida yard called it 'liquid gold'—said the grain's so even it looks painted."
"Now they see my husband's talents~" Miki sings as she sits down with her husband with 2 ceramic cups and a bottle of sake "I'll allow it just for tonight to celebrate your success~"
Gorou chuckles before filling the 2 cups with sake "I was planning to celebrate anyway, it would be better to have my son here with me. Where is he anyway?" he asks as his hand takes the cup to his nose "I miss this smell so bad"
Miki chuckles "I know you miss you, so I bought your favorite sake~" she says before taking a sip "Ahhhh~" she sighs before looking at Gorou "Well, Issei is upstairs, taking a shower, should be down here right about....now."
Issei steps into the kitchen with a towel over his head "Good evening, father" he speaks weakly, his shoulders slumped under the weight of impending confession. Gorou's cheer falters for a fraction—his boy looks like he's marching to the gallows, not dinner. Miki's smile doesn't waver as she slides a third cup toward Issei's usual seat. "Sit, sweetheart. Your father's got good news!"
The clatter of chopsticks against porcelain echoes louder than necessary as Issei sinks into his chair. His mother serves him a steaming plate of curry "You won't believe how good this day was, your father's masterpiece appeared on an architecture magazine, what's even better is the fact that the prime minister complimented it~"
Gorou rubs his neck sheepishly, cheeks flushed from sake and praise. "Ah, it was just a small feature—"
"A full-page feature!" Miki corrects, beaming as she slides the magazine across the table. The glossy spread shows Gorou's lumberyard timber framing an award-winning ryokan, the caption praising its 'unparalleled stability even in high humidity.'
Issei's fingers tremble against the magazine's edge. The timber grain looks eerily like prison bars in the dim kitchen light.
Miki leans forward, oblivious. "And guess what? The Nishida Group wants exclusive rights to— Issei?" She finally notices his pallor. "Sweetheart, are you feeling—"
"I'm fine, super fine" Issei forces himself a smile as he takes the magazine and buries his face in it "Woah, dad, is this really your work? It looks unreal" he can't say it now, this is the happiest day in his father's life aside from the day he married mom 'I can't ruin it' Issei thinks to himself as he tries to contain his shaking hands by pressing them against the magazine.
"Dad, this deserves a sake" he said and pours for Gorou a cup of sake "Kanpai" Issei raises his glass, Gorou chuckles and takes the cup "Kanpai" Miki joins in "Kanpai~"
The clink of ceramic rang hollow in Issei's ears as he drained his cup of rice water in one go. Gorou's proud grin widen "That's my son" as he drinks his own cup and lets out a loud sigh "Ahhh~It's been so long since the last time I drank"
"It can get even better dear" Miki chuckles as he starts speaking about something she received to day "I had a call from a teacher at Issei's school, Miss Nico Robin, love, and guess what? She complimented him a lot for his good performance in history classes and enthusiasm in supporting the teacher"
Issei stays still, so Robin-sensei called them, it's the headstart she promised him so that he can admit the truth about the blackmailing lawsuit 'Why is it tonight?' His thought rings like a pagoda's bell, this signals him to tell them the truth, in the middle of his father's greatest success in his career, how could he say that his misdeed could cost him everything? But if he doesn't say it now, when will he?
The curry tastes like ash in his mouth. His father's laughter—rich and warm—fills the kitchen "So...my son is getting praised by his teacher, and history no less? Did she talk about the score, dear?" he turns to his wife. "She said his score was higher than most students in his class and she was really proud of him."
Gorou slaps his thighs in amusement "I see, then I have a proposal for you, my son" she turns to Issei "I'm having a coming order or restoring a temple dated back to Sengoku period, are you interested in joining as my historical consultant? I'll pay you fairly like my own employees"
Issei's chopsticks clattered against his plate. His father's eyes—warm with pride and sake—waited for an answer. The curry congealed in his stomach like cement. "I—" His throat clicked dry. "That sounds... amazing, Dad." The lie tasted bitter.
"You don't need to be nervous, Issei, I will consult professional historians for my work, but I want to hear your opinion as well, so no pressure, alright? Consider this a way to delve deeper into a subject you're doing very well at school" He laughs and ruffles his son's hair before turning back to his meal.
The weight of his father's trust pressed down on Issei's shoulders like a millstone, making the admission harder than anything else, how could he just ruin this moment of happiness by his own mistake. Keeping his face straight and happy, Issei keeps on eating while his inside is in a tug war
'Say it! Admit it! Confess your sin!' a flow hits, but it was stopped by another flow 'Not now! Not at this moment! Let them be happy without burden' 'But if not now, when? Do you think they'll be happier if they learn it from someone else?'
Issei's fingers clenched around his chopsticks, knuckles whitening. Across the table, his father animatedly described the temple restoration project—hands sketching arches in the air, eyes alight with passion. Miki leaned in, her laughter bright as she refilled Gorou's sake cup. The scene was so painfully normal it made Issei's chest ache.
"But with that much work, are you sure you would have time for us?" Miki asks "That's exactly what I am concerning with" Gorou sighs "It's good to have my business growing like this, but you're right, more work and reputation would take more time of mine away. So I've been thinking about it, and"
He drinks his cup of sake before continuing "I'll leave one out of 3 lumberyard to a student of mine, Yamada, to take over, I'll only manage 2 closest ones to my home, I am still the owner, but the management will be handle by someone else so that I can have more time for dinners like this"
"The boy who has been following you for 10 years?" Miki asks "Yeah, that one" Gorou confirms "He has grown a lot under my tutelage and I think it's about time to let him take a bigger role in the business." He turns to Issei "So, no worry, my son, I won't be away from home for weeks anymore, and I can attend your graduation ceremony when the time comes."
Issei's stomach twisted. His father was rearranging his entire livelihood—for him. The magazine's glossy pages stuck to his sweating palms. He opened his mouth—"Thank you so much, dad"
"Anything for you, my son, say" he tilts his head "Have you thought of your future career? Any ideas or dreams job yet?"
The question struck like a guillotine blade. Issei's mind went blank except for the looping memory of Nami's voice—¥20 million in damages—and Robin's clinical dissection of his nonexistent options. His father's expectant smile wavered as silence stretched. Miki nudged his elbow gently. "Sweetheart? You've been so quiet tonight—"
"I haven't, dad, I'll take some time to think about it" Gorou nods "I see, just take you time, Issei, no need to rush to find your own passion. But if you interested in carpentry, just let me know, these old hands can still teach you a thing or two" Miki chuckles as she refills Gorou's sake cup "And remember that time you tried to teach him and he nailed his own sleeve to the plank?"
Gorou throws his head back laughing—the deep, booming sound that used to make childhood-Issei giggle uncontrollably. Now it only made his ribs feel like they were cracking under pressure. "Ah! The way he screamed—'Dad! Dad! I'm part of the furniture now!'" Gorou mimed hammering motions, nearly spilling his sake. Miki dabbed her eyes, shoulders shaking with mirth.
Issei forced a chuckle that came out more like a wheeze. The magazine page under his fingers tore slightly where his nails dug in. Across the table, his father's face was flushed with alcohol and joy—the same face that would crumple when he learned about the lawsuit, the blackmail, the video—
"You're too drunk, honey~After all these years, your alcohol tolerance is still so weak, that's why I never allow you to drink" Miki pulls her slumping husband back so that he can lean against the chair "Now, Issei, don't forget to take a bath before sleep, alright? You're sweating bullets right now"
Issei jerked at the mention of his name, his damp forehead gleaming under the kitchen lights. He hadn't realized he'd been sweating—or that his mother had noticed. The curry in his stomach churned like storm-tossed waves. "Y-yeah. Sure, Mom." He stood abruptly, chair screeching against the tile.
Gorou blinked blearily up at him, the sake loosening his grin into something softer, more vulnerable. "My boy... you'll be taller than me soon." His calloused hand patted Issei's arm with rough affection. "Strong, too. Just like your—hic—grandpa."
The words lodged in Issei's throat like fishbones. He managed a stiff nod before fleeing upstairs, his father's laughter chasing him like a ghost. Gorou slumps forward, causing Issei to jolt up from his seat to stop his father from falling.
"Still the same man" Miki giggles "Help me take him back to our room, Issei"
Issei caught his father's slumping weight, the familiar scent of sawdust and sake clinging to Gorou's work shirt. Together they maneuvered him down the hall—Miki steadying Gorou's shoulders while Issei bore the brunt of his weight, the muscles in his arms trembling not from strain, but from guilt.
"You've gotten stronger," Miki murmured, squeezing his bicep as they lowered Gorou onto the futon. The casual pride in her voice made his ribs ache.
Issei swallowed hard, watching his father snore contentedly, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing under his roof. His mother smoothed Gorou's hair back with a tenderness that twisted the knife deeper.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Miki's fingers brushed his damp cheek—when had he started crying?—and Issei recoiled like her touch burned. "I'm...fine, mom, just some sawdust fell into my eyes"
Miki hummed skeptically but let it pass, tucking the blanket around Gorou's shoulders before standing. She smoothed Issei's rumpled collar, her fingertips lingering—a silent question. Issei forced a smile, stepping back before she could read him further. "Go shower," she murmured, turning off the bedside lamp. "I'll clean up downstairs."
The bathroom door locked with a click that felt more like a cell door slamming shut. Issei slumped against the tiles as scalding water pounded his shoulders, the steam doing nothing to loosen the knot in his chest. His reflection in the fogged mirror was blurred, indistinct—just like his chances of salvaging this.
'What do I do now?' he thinks to himself as he slowly sinks into the bathtub, letting the warm water soothe his aching muscles—the only comfort he could allow himself. Through the steam, his father's drunken laughter echoes faintly from downstairs, mingling with his mother's humming. The sound twists his gut tighter.
How can he tell them about his grave sin now? His mother was happy he did well at school, his father is happy that he is advancing in his work, and Issei, he couldn't open his mouth to admit to them that he tried to harm the life of someone else, worse, someone who was already harmed before.
The water has gotten cold, and Issei hasn't noticed it until his teeth chatter, his skin pale and wrinkled from soaking too long. He steps out of the tub, drying himself mechanically, his mind still swirling with guilt and fear. The mirror is fogged, but he doesn't bother wiping it—he doesn't want to see his own face right now.
Downstairs, his mother's soft humming drifts up the stairs—a folk song, something about cherry blossoms and promises. She always hums when she's happy. The knife in Issei's gut twists deeper.
'Why is it so hard to say it out?' Issei asks himself while rubbing his dripping hair. His reflection stares back—eyes bloodshot from suppressed tears. A droplet rolls down the mirror like a lone raindrop on a windshield.
The bedroom door creaks as he pushes it open—the scent of cedar from his father's half-finished model ship on the desk mingles with the damp towel around his neck.
Taking his phone out, he needs to call her, he needs her advices. He quickly dials Robin-sensei's numbers, the dial tone hums ominously in his ear, the seconds stretching into eternity before a click signals connection.
"Robin-sensei—"
"Issei-kun." Her voice cuts through like a scalpel—precise, clinical, yet laced with something softer than he expected. "I spoke with your parents."
The phone nearly slips from his damp grip. "I...I couldn't tell them. Not tonight."
A pause. Water drips from his hair onto the wooden floorboards, each drop echoing like a clock ticking down.
"Why?" She asks—not accusatory, but probing, like a surgeon assessing where to make the first incision.
Issei stares at the water droplet slowly spreading across the wood grain. "Dad...got featured in Architecture Monthly. Nishida Group wants exclusives." His voice cracks. "He's delegating management to spend more time at home—for me."
Robin exhales—a soft, knowing sound. Below, Miki's off-key humming drifts up through the floorboards, mingling with the clatter of dishes. "And now confessing would fracture that happiness."
"Exactly!" The word bursts out too loud; Issei clamps a hand over his mouth, listening for his mother's footsteps. Silence. He continues in a ragged whisper: "But if I don't...Nami-san's lawsuit—"
"The longer you wait, the more it compounds." Robin's tone shifts—gentler now, almost maternal. "Can you talk to them now?"
"My father is sleeping after drinking," Issei whispered, pressing the phone closer as if it could absorb his shame. "And my mother—she's humming. She only hums when she's happy." The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he paced, each step echoing the restless circling of his thoughts.
Robin's silence stretched long enough that Issei almost checked if the call had dropped. Then, with deliberate softness: "I see, this is bad, I didn't know your family is having that big lift, how about this? Tomorrow, you tell your parents to go to school to meet me, by then we will talk about it together"
The phone nearly slipped from Issei's grip again—this time from sheer relief. "You'd...you'd do that?" His whisper cracked like thin ice. Downstairs, the clatter of dishes paused; his mother's humming shifted into an old folk tune about maple leaves turning.
"Of course." Robin's voice carried an unfamiliar warmth, the kind he'd only heard when she spoke to Nami after particularly grueling legal battles. "But Issei-kun—" The sudden shift back to clinical precision made his stomach lurch. "This only works if you're honest. Completely."
A drop of water slid from his hairline down his neck—he couldn't tell if it was bathwater or sweat. "I will be," he choked out, fingers tightening around the phone. The cedar-scented model ship on his desk caught his eye—half-finished, like his courage.
"Good." Papers rustled on her end—the sound of a case file closing. "Tell them it's about your exemplary history project. I'll handle the rest." The line clicked dead before he could stammer thanks.
Issei stared at the darkened screen as he feels the relief of having a teacher to assist him, only by then, an email arrive, it's from Nami, with an image of the cover of a lawsuit file and the content 'Tick tock, Issei~Are you excited? I hope your parents are too because soon, the dawn will shine away the dark' the mail reads, followed by an attachment that she listed the damage estimation. His fingers trembled too violently to tap it open—the subject line alone ("Notice of Civil Proceedings - Hyoudou Household") burned his retinas.
Downstairs, the faucet squeaked off. Footsteps padded toward the stairs—his mother coming up to bed. Issei hurled his phone onto the pillow like it was venomous, its screen still glowing with Nami's taunt. The sheets rustled as he clambered into bed, back to the door just as it creaked open.
"Issei?" Miki's whisper carried across the room, laced with concern. "You're shaking." Her hand brushed his shoulder; he stiffened. "Are you—"
"I'm just cold," he lied through chattering teeth, burrowing deeper under the covers. The mattress dipped as she perched on the edge, her warmth seeping through the blanket.
"You didn't even dry your hair properly," she murmured, reaching for the towel still tangled in his damp curls. Her fingers worked gently, the rhythmic motions reminiscent of when he was small and afraid of thunderstorms.
"What happened to you today, sweetheart? Did something happen at school?" Miki's fingers paused in his hair, her touch featherlight. Issei clenched his jaw against the truth threatening to spill—her hands smelled like lemon soap and freshly laundered fabric, just like childhood.
"Just...tired," he mumbled into his pillow, the lie sour on his tongue. The mattress shifted as Miki sighed, her weight lifting away. The bedside lamp clicked on, casting long shadows that made the lawsuit notification on his phone screen seem to pulse ominously.
"Robin-sensei called earlier," Miki said casually, folding the damp towel over her arm. Issei's breath hitched. "She said you've been showing remarkable improvement in history. Wants us to come discuss your 'potential academic path' tomorrow." Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes when he finally turned to look. "You've been keeping secrets, haven't you?"
The lump in Issei's throat swelled until he couldn't speak—only nod weakly. His mother kissed his forehead, her lips warm against his clammy skin. "Get some rest, my little scholar." The lamp flicked off, plunging the room into darkness heavier than the guilt pressing down on his chest.
When the door clicked shut, Issei lunged for his phone, thumb jamming the screen to life. Nami's email glared back—the attached legal documents a minefield of legalese, but the ¥28 million damages demand (when had it increased?) burned clearer than any threat. His finger hovered over Robin's contact.
He needs to let her know, that he doesn't have the time to wait until after school tomorrow, the file will arrive in the early morning, and he needs to let Robin-sensei know before that. His fingers shake as he hits call, the dial tone stretches unbearably—until Robin picks up on the first ring, as if she'd been waiting.
"Change of plans?" Her voice is calm, but he hears the rustle of fabric—she's already moving, already adapting. Somewhere behind her, a drawer slams shut.
"Nami-san—" Issei's whisper cracks as he glances at his bedroom door, listening for his mother's footsteps. "She sent an email with the lawsuit file image in her hand, it will arrive by early morning—"
"So she is done playing patient, huh?" Robin's voice sharpened—the sound of a blade being unsheathed. Papers rustled violently on her end, followed by the metallic snick of a briefcase latch. "Well, then you have to wake up early tomorrow to fetch the file as it arrives"
Issei clutched the phone tighter, his pulse hammering against the plastic casing. "But my parents—"
"Will sleep until seven if Gorou's hangover holds." Robin's interruption came with the crisp efficiency of a guillotine blade. "Be at the gate by five-thirty. Wear your uniform—it'll look like an early study session."
A floorboard creaked outside his door—Issei froze mid-breath until his mother's faint humming faded down the hallway. "What if they wake up?"
"Then you tell them exactly what I said—history project consultation." The clack of high heels echoed through the receiver as Robin paced. "But listen carefully: when that courier arrives, you intercept that file before anyone else touches it. Understood?"
The dial tone cut off with surgical precision. Issei stared at his darkened phone screen—the glow reflecting in his sweat-slicked palms—until his vision blurred.
[Arto's mansion]
Robin is sitting next to Nami on Arto's bed in his room, Akeno, Rias, Kuroka and Albedo are watching whatever is going on between them.
"You're really pushing him to the edge, huh, Nami?" Robin asks, fingers drumming against the leather-bound legal dossier in her lap. The bedside lamp casts elongated shadows across Nami's face, highlighting the tightness around her lips that contradicts the playful sway of her legs dangling off the mattress.
"Well, I just want to see how far you would go to save that boy. You're oddly invested. I admit I was wrong when trying to nudge the boys to contact Arlong for the money. But this, Robin, is what he committed, you agreed with that, then why are you trying to protect him now?" Nami's fingers traced the embossed gold lettering on the lawsuit folder—Hyoudou v. Nakamura—her nail catching on the edge like a claw.
Robin's fingers stilled on the dossier. The silence stretched thick enough that Albedo shifted uncomfortably by the doorway, her wings twitching. "I'm not trying to protect him, I am migrating the damage on his family, especially his parents' emotions, Nami," Robin finally said, her voice low like a physician delivering a terminal diagnosis. "They don't deserve to be that devastated...emotionally"
Nami's leg stopped swinging. The smirk slid off her face like melting wax. Then Nami exhaled sharply through her nose, flipping open the lawsuit folder with exaggerated care. "Fine. But he still faces consequences." Her manicured nail tapped the damages column. "This number doesn't change."
Across the room, Kuroka's tail twitched in irritation. "Nya~ You're being unusually cruel, even for you." She stretched lazily across Nami's laps. "What's the real game here?"
Nami's fingers clenched around the folder's edge—just for a second—before she smoothed the crease away. "No game. Just..." She trailed off, gaze drifting to the window where Kuoh's neon lights shimmered through the snow-framed glass. "I want him to understand what it's like to have your life upended by someone else's greed."
Akeno's phone was placed gently against the soft bed. "Ah." Her smile was serene, but the static crawling up her sleeves betrayed her. "This isn't about Issei at all, is it?" Rias joins "It's just Nami enjoying the power she is having over someone, like how those of Arlong used her..."
The red-haired princess wraps her arms around Nami "How does that feel, Nami? Having others' lives in your hands, at your disposal, having their emotions shifting constantly based on your mood?"
"Powerful, almighty, intoxicating and utterly....poisonous" Nami's whisper hung in the air like gun smoke. Her fingers trembled against the lawsuit folder—just once—before clenching into a fist. "I keep wanting to play more with him, pushing his emotions from end to end, from the peak of relief to the depth of despair, and it's....killing my own moral when I have a valid reason to do what I did, he hurted me, and he deserves what punishment I give, but—"
"But you don't deserve what it's doing to you," Rias finished, pressing closer until her forehead touched Nami's temple. Albedo made a wounded noise in her throat, her claws digging into the bedspread as she watched them.
Robin snapped the dossier shut with finality. "Then stop." The crisp sound made Nami flinch. "You've made your point. You've secured damages. Continuing now would make you no better than—"
"Don't." Nami's voice cracked like thin ice. "I will continue, I will follow this lawsuit to make sure he knows that his mistake makes real lost, even if it's just fabrication, he needs to know his action has physical consequences"
Robin's fingers tightened around the dossier, the leather creaking under her grip. Across the bed, Akeno's golden eyes flickered with something dangerously close to recognition—the way a storm recognizes its own lightning.
"You're right," Robin conceded softly, leaning forward until her shadow engulfed Nami's trembling hands. "But tell me this—when you imagine his parents opening that lawsuit notice tomorrow morning, do you feel satisfaction? Or just the ghost of Arlong's hands on your shoulders?"
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Nami's breath hitched—once, twice—before she wrenched her gaze away, staring at the window "None of that, I want to see how a caring pair of parents dealing with their child in crisis, because unlike him, no one was there to protect me when I was raped day after day by Arlong"
Robin's fingers leave the file and wrap around Nami, this girl, though being the same age as her, is still hurting from old wounds, from unfilled gaps from her traumatic life that Arto's love couldn't quite fulfill.
The older woman pulls Nami closer, resting her chin on Nami's head "Then promise me, you won't ruin his future completely. He needs consequences, but he doesn't need his entire life destroyed—because you know better than anyone how that feels."
Nami's fists clench against Robin's blouse, the fabric twisting in her grip. The snow outside keep falling slowly. "I'll...think about it," she mutters, but the tension in her shoulders has already begun to unravel.
Albedo smiles as she joins the fray of hug from the front "I can see your emotional colors has stabilized, you've cleared your mind?"
Nami exhales sharply—less a sigh, more like releasing a breath she'd forgotten she was holding. Her fingers unclench from Robin's blouse, leaving crescent-shaped wrinkles in the silk. "Yeah, thank you all for tolerating my endless grumbling"
Rias giggles as she presses deeper, "Oh, come now, wait until our mother joins us, by then you will definitely hear complaints" Nami turns to Rias, their foreheads touch "What do you mean by 'our mother'?"
"My mother, Venelana Gremory, wants to adopt you to be her daughter and I want to have a big sister"
Nami's breath catches—a sharp intake that makes Robin's arms tighten reflexively around her shoulders. Across the room, Kuroka's ears twitch upright, her tail coiling tight around Akeno's wrist like a living question mark.
"You're joking." Nami's voice is too flat, too controlled. Her fingers dig into the bedsheets, the fabric stretching taut beneath her nails. "The Crimson Ruin doesn't take strays."
Rias' laughter rings bright against the tension, her forehead still pressed to Nami's. "Oh, she does when they're brilliant, beautiful, and happen to be dating her favorite inventor."
Her fingers Nami's face "She's been drafting the paperwork since your proposal for Atreides's business model and she went insane when you started to manage Abyssgard Financial Management, the Finance Department was that impressed by you"
"Will I become like...devil or something?" Nami asks, only to be responded by Rias's laugh "Of course not, as long as you don't want to, you can stay human and be a princess of Gremory clan just fine" Rias giggles as she presses her nose against Nami's "And I will finally have a sister who loves me more than she loves money"
Nami's breath hitches—a sharp, disbelieving sound that makes Albedo's wings flutter in response. "You're serious." It's not a question. Nami's fingers twitch against the rumpled bedsheets, her knuckles pale where they grip too tight. "Venelana Gremory wants—"
"To braid your hair while you explain compound interest," Rias interrupts, her grin widening as she mimics her mother's regal cadence. "'Such a fascinating human innovation, darling—now hold still, this tiara is not optional.'"
The laughter that bursts from Nami's lips is startled, raw—the kind of sound that hasn't escaped her since Arlong's men dragged her away from Bellemere's grave. Robin's arms tighten around her shoulders, the older woman's chin resting atop Nami's head as if to anchor her.
"Well, you red head certainly has ways to make me go easy on that boy, are you sure he is not a target for your peerage or something?" Nami asks, her fingers unconsciously tracing the scars on her wrist—old marks from rusted manacles.
Rias leans back with a theatrical gasp, pressing a hand to her chest. "I don't know, maybe if he has some out of this world power, I'll consider it, but I bet he would never dare pulling anything perverted on us as long as you're here."
Kuroka stretches across the bed, her tail flicking against Nami's thigh. "Nya~ That's assuming he survives the lawsuit first." Her golden eyes gleam with mischief as she props her chin on Nami's knee. "So? Will you let Robin-sensei's favorite student off the hook?"
Nami exhales through her nose, watching the raindrops chase each other down the windowpane. The silence stretches until even Albedo's restless wings still. "I won't, because 1. He is not Robin's favorite student, that one is Sona Sitri, 2. I still need him to learn his lesson."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by a file slammed onto a desk]
[Next day - Afternoon - Kuoh Academy]
Issei's parents are sitting inside his classroom, they came today to the call of Nico Robin-sensei, she said there was something urgent, but didn't say what so Issei's parents don't know what to expect. They arrived dressed formally—Gorou in a stiff-collared shirt that clearly hasn't been worn since last year's PTA meeting, Miki in a lavender dress with sleeves that keep slipping past her wrists.
Robin enters the classroom with the practiced ease of someone who owns every space she inhabits. The late afternoon sunlight catches the silver threading of her blazer as she places a manila folder—thicker than any textbook—on the teacher's desk with deliberate softness. "Hyoudou-san, thank you for coming," she says, and Issei watches his father's shoulders relax at the honorific.
Miki leans forward, fingers twisting the strap of her purse. "Is this about Issei's scholarship? He mentioned you nominated him for—"
"I'm afraid not." Robin's interruption is gentler than the way she flips open the folder, revealing the lawsuit paperwork. Gorou's breath catches audibly when he sees the Nerona family crest embossed at the top.
Across the room, Issei digs his nails into his thighs hard enough to bruise. The scent of chalk dust and floor wax becomes suddenly overwhelming as Robin begins explaining the blackmail attempt in clinical, unsparing detail—each word landing like a scalpel incision.
"I'm sorry about lying to you both, Mr and Mrs Hyoudou" Robin starts "But the purpose of this meeting is about....a lawsuit against your son." Robin slides the folder across the desk—the rustle of paper deafening in the stunned silence.
Gorou's fingers hover over the document like it's radioactive. His calloused hands—used to rough timber—tremble as they trace the ¥28 million damages claim. "This...can't be right." His voice cracks on the last syllable, his gaze darting to Issei as if searching for denial in his son's slumped posture.
Miki's lavender sleeve slips again as she reaches for the papers, her fingers brushing against the image of the victim, and the one who sued their son, Nakamura Akemi.
"Nakamura Akemi....isn't this...the Nami girl you said you went to meet the other day?" Miki's voice wavered as her fingers traced the photograph—Nami's defiant smirk frozen in black-and-white, her arms crossed over the Clima-Tact strapped to her back. The studio lighting caught the scar peeking above her collar—a jagged thing Issei had never noticed before.
Gorou's chair scraped violently backward. "You told us you were meeting a classmate for—" His hand jerked toward the document's highlighted section—Sexual Coercion Attempt via Blackmail Material—before recoiling as if burned. The classroom's fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting stark shadows across his ashen face.
Robin remained motionless by the chalkboard, her silhouette elongated like a judge's robe. "The lawsuit specifies emotional damages from attempted coercion," she clarified, tapping a paragraph with clinical precision. "But given the victim's...lost of faith in people's sincerity" She paused just long enough for Gorou's breath to hitch. "She doesn't agree with outside of court settlement, she wants the law to deliver the justice"
Miki's purse hit the floor with a muffled thump. Her fingers—still scented with lemon soap from this morning's laundry—clutched at her husband's sleeve. "Issei," she whispered, the name cracking like old varnish, "tell me this is some terrible misunderstanding."
Issei's throat worked soundlessly. Behind him, the classroom clock ticked louder with each passing second, its hands inching toward the moment his father would understand why the lumberyard's newest client suddenly canceled their contract last week.
Gorou staggered forward, bracing himself against a student desk. The wood groaned under his grip—the same hands that had steadied Issei's first bicycle now trembling against the particleboard. "You filmed a girl?" His voice dropped to a raw whisper. "Demanded...things?"
"Putting that way would be....quite inaccurate, Mr Hyoudou" Robin said "it's that Issei found footages of the victim's past sexual abuse and tried to use it against her for his own gain, which in this case is....ownership and romantic relationship"
To prove her point, Robin pulls out from the file an USB, containing the record of Nami and Issei's conversation in the library the other day:
Issei: "I could—" Issei's voice cracked. "Send it to everyone."
Nami: "You could," Nami agreed. "Yes, that's right, you could, Issei, you could send it to everyone and ruin my new life here in Kuoh. Then what do I have to do to make you not do that? Tell me, everything is your to command"
Issei: "Senpai, I—"
Nami: "Yes?"
Nami: "Just say it, Issei, I don't want my past surfaced, and you're holding the reign"
Issei: "I want—" His voice cracked. The words tasted like rust. "You. To be mine."
Gorou's knuckles whitened against the desk. The wood splintered under his grip—tiny fractures spiderwebbing through the laminate like cracks in ice. Across the room, Miki made a sound like a wounded animal, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt into desperate pleats. The USB's recording continued to play, Nami's voice dripping with venomous sweetness—everything is yours to command—and Issei's ragged breath hitched as he remembered how her eyes had glinted like broken glass in the library's dim light.
Robin remained statue-still by the chalkboard, her crossed arms cutting a sharp silhouette against the white surface. "This," she said, tapping the USB with one elongated fingertip, "is why Nakamura-san refuses settlement. The law recognizes coercion when consent is extracted under threat of harm." Her gaze flicked to Issei—clinical, dissecting. "Your son attempted to weaponize trauma."
Miki surged forward, her lavender sleeve catching on the desk's edge. "He didn't—he couldn't have understood—" Her voice shattered as she grabbed Issei's shoulders, her thumbs pressing into his collarbones hard enough to bruise. "You didn't know what that footage meant to her, did you? Tell me you didn't know!"
Issei's vision swam. His mother's lemon-scented hair filled his nostrils—the same smell from childhood scraped knees and failed tests—but now it choked him. Behind her, Gorou swayed like a felled tree, his work-roughened hands hanging limp at his sides. The man who'd taught him to hammer nails straight now looked at him like he was a stranger holding a knife.
"I...didn't....I...was completely unaware that was the real traumatic footage....I thought it was just....an act....a porn movie she....filmed" Issei shakily speaks. Robin sighs "As of truth, those footages...were real, Nakamura Akemi was raped by a group of criminals when she was in Sweden, she made many explicit protests by words in Swedish, English, and actions like trying to kick the rapist away from her, so it's hard to explain it was all an act before the court"
Miki's grip slackened. Her hands—still warm from the laundry she'd folded that morning—hovered inches from Issei's face as if afraid to touch him. The classroom air thickened with the scent of her jasmine perfume, now cloying and suffocating.
Gorou made a sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a whimper, "Issei, I can't believe....you thought a girl being raped....is somekind of sick porn show...." He turns to his son, the gentleness of a carpenter has been broken now that he is truly angry "Have you watched too much you hallucinated between scripts and realities?"
He slams his hands on the chair's armrest "Issei! Answer me, how do you expect people at the court to trust your excuse when you're already viewing rape as entertainment?!" Gorou's voice ripped through the classroom, cracking like dry timber under sudden pressure.
The fluorescent lights buzzed like dying wasps overhead. Issei's mouth moved silently—a goldfish gasping in a shrinking bowl—as his father's shadow loomed across the chalkboard. Gorou's work boots left scuff marks on the linoleum with each thunderous step forward, the rubber soles squeaking like mice being crushed underfoot.
"I asked you a question." Gorou's voice dropped to a whisper that carried worse than a shout. Behind him, Miki pressed both hands over her mouth—her wedding band glinting under the lights like a blade.
Robin shifted almost imperceptibly, her crossed arms tightening just enough to crease the fabric of her blazer. "Mr. Hyoudou—"
"No." Gorou's palm smacked against the nearest desk hard enough to make the USB jump. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "I want to hear this from him. From my son." His jaw worked side to side, the stubble catching the light in uneven patches. "When did watching women suffer become your idea of fun?"
Issei's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The classroom clock ticked three deafening times before he managed to whisper, "It wasn't...I didn't think..." His fingers dug into his thighs hard enough to leave crescent moons in the fabric of his pants. The scent of his own sweat mixed nauseatingly with his mother's perfume.
"Of course you didn't think!" Gorou's voice cracked like splitting wood. His calloused fingers—still ingrained with sawdust from this morning's work—curled into fists at his sides. The classroom's ventilation system hummed to life, carrying the metallic tang of old radiators that did nothing to mask the sour fear-scent rolling off Issei. "You just saw a girl in pain and thought—what? That it was some kind of game?"
Miki also looks at her son, her hands tremble "Issei...how could you...do this...?" She grips his shoulders tightly "I raised you better than this." Her voice fractures into something barely audible—the same whisper she'd used when stitching up his scraped knees years ago, now carrying none of its old comfort.
"Please, my son, answer me, please, tell me I'm dreaming." Miki's fingers trembled against Issei's shoulders, her nails digging crescents into his uniform fabric. The scent of her jasmine perfume turned cloying, mixing with the acrid tang of Gorou's sweat and the faint metallic bite of old radiator dust circulating through the vents. Somewhere down the hallway, a janitor's mop bucket clattered against tile—an absurdly mundane sound against the suffocating tension.
Issei's throat clicked dryly. His vision blurred at the edges as he stared at his father's cracked leather work boots—the same pair Gorou had worn to every parent-teacher conference since middle school, now scuffed beyond recognition. "I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't know what got into my mind when I said those words.....I thought it was control.....I thought it was power.....I didn't know.....I truly didn't know that....she was....."
Robin exhaled through her nose—a slow, measured sound like a judge lowering a gavel. "Ignorance doesn't erase intent, Issei." Her fingers tapped the USB once more, the plastic casing clacking against the desk like a death knell. "You saw distress and chose exploitation. That's what the court will see."
Gorou's shoulders sagged as if the bones had been yanked from his body. His calloused hands—hands that had sanded every splinter from Issei's childhood furniture—now hung limp at his sides. "Twenty-eight million yen," he whispered, not to anyone in the room, but to some invisible abyss opening at his feet. "We'd have to sell the lumberyard. The house. Everything."
Miki's hands flew to her mouth again, her wedding band catching the light as it trembled against her lips. "There has to be another way," she pleaded, turning to Robin with wet, desperate eyes. "Community service, rehabilitation, he can still fix this, right?"
Robin shakes her head "As far as I know, if this case was handled by the court, it will be handled by Juvenile Court, meaning measures for Issei will focus on steering him back to the right direction to not ruin his future. But....Nakmura's side filed another lawsuit....against you two....for compensation in Civil Court, because they can't sue Issei, so they aimed at you, his legal guardians"
Gorou's knees buckled. The classroom chair screeched as he caught himself on its back—his wedding band scraping metal. The sound set Issei's teeth on edge. Somewhere beneath the panic, he registered that his father's hands had never looked so old before—the knuckles swollen from decades of carpentry, the nails permanently stained with varnish that no amount of scrubbing could remove.
"They're...suing us?" Gorou's voice splintered like cheap plywood under a nail gun. Behind him, Miki made a wet, punched-out noise, her fingers clutching at the desk edge until her knuckles matched the chalkboard's pallor.
Robin's shadow elongated across the floor as she stepped forward. "Under civil law, guardians bear financial responsibility for minors' intentional torts," she said, her tone clinically precise—the same detached cadence she used when explaining why certain cuts of meat needed longer marination. "Nakamura-san's legal team argues your parenting failures enabled this." She tapped the USB again. "This evidence suggests willful negligence."
Miki's wedding band clicked against the desk as her grip spasmed. "We didn't—we never—" Her breath hitched violently. The lavender fabric of her sleeve darkened where tears dripped from her chin. "Issei, tell them we didn't know!"
The classroom lights flickered again—a stuttering pulse that made the shadows of Gorou's slumped shoulders twitch like something dying. Issei's mouth filled with the coppery taste of a bitten cheek. His parents' scents overlapped nauseatingly—his father's cedar-sap work shirt, his mother's jasmine hand cream—both now laced with the sour tang of fear-sweat.
At that moment, the door opens, revealing a man in neat formal tux with a leather briefcase steps into the room, he looks at the people sitting in the classroom as he bows "Good afternoon, everyone, I am Kouji Tadashi, lawyer of young miss Nakamura Akemi who came to talk about the compensation for my client's case"
He turns to Robin "Miss Robin, are they the defendants?" Robin nods "They are, Issei Hyoudou and his parents" The lawyer nods "I see, then, may you take the boy out for a bit so that we can talk about the compensation for what he caused? Since it would only concern his parents, who are financially capable of handling the weight of the consequences"
Robin's fingers closed around Issei's elbow with the precision of surgical forceps. Her grip didn't tighten—didn't need to. The mere contact sent him stumbling to his feet like a marionette with its strings cut. Behind them, Miki made a wet, aborted noise halfway between a protest and a sob. Gorou remained motionless—his silhouette carved from the same oak he'd spent his life shaping, now petrified.
Once the door clicks shut behind him, the lawyer doesn't even bother with the papers anymore. "I'll be brief about the compensation. According to miss Nakamura's demand, she wants not your compensation, but she wants you to cooperate in an...act of compensation"
Gorou's fingers twitched against his thighs—the same nervous tic Issei had inherited. Miki's breath hitched audibly, her wedding band clicking against the desk as she leaned forward. "What kind of...act?"
Tadashi's polished oxfords tapped against the linoleum as he circled the desk. The scent of expensive leather and bergamot cologne clashed with the classroom's chalk dust. "I know this is unconventional, but it's my client's desire, her family wants you 2 to make it look like you have to sell your lumberyards to pay for your son's grave mistake, she wants this to be a public spectacle, she wants Issei-san to see his parents losing their livelihood for him" he said smoothly.
He pauses as Miki gasps "But don't worry, you will still be the actual owner of those lumberyards, she just wants to make it look like you have to sell them to pay for your son's mistake. Of course, her family will compensate you accordingly for your cooperation."
The classroom's clock ticked three times before Gorou's fist slammed onto the desk hard enough to make the lawyer's briefcase jump. "You want us to stage our financial ruin?" His voice splintered like green wood under an axe. Miki's fingers dug into her husband's sleeve—her nails leaving half-moon indents in the flannel.
Tadashi didn't flinch. He adjusted his cufflinks with the precision of a man used to defusing explosions. "Consider it theatrical restitution," he said, tapping his briefcase clasp. "My client requires psychological compensation more than monetary. She wants Issei-san to feel consequences—not just hear about them."
The leather groaned as he popped it open, revealing a contract thicker than a dictionary. "Your cooperation ensures your son learns accountability without...permanent consequences to you because you two don't have anything to do with your son's mistake"
Gorou's hands hovered over the document like a man reaching into fire. His calloused fingertips—once steady enough to carve dovetail joints without measurement—trembled against the paper's edge. Miki's breath hitched beside him, her fingers twisting the strap of her purse into a tight spiral. The classroom's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the lawyer's impassive face.
Tadashi tapped a manicured nail against Clause 12-B. "The Nakamura family will purchase your lumberyard through a financial managing corporation named Abyssgard, they company will gain the right to manage your money flow, but they won't interference in business"
He then gave them another file of intel of Abyssgard Financial Management "The company is currently managing the finance for an array of big corporations, so you don't need to worry about their reputation on the market, and AFM can secure you lots of orders from oversea if there is any demands for lumber via their connections"
Gorou's fingers twitched against the edge of the contract—his knuckles whitening before abruptly relaxing. The scent of fresh ink and pressed paper mingled with the lingering chalk dust, sharpening the surreal contrast between the sterile classroom and the life-altering decision before them. Miki's breath hitched beside him, her fingers tightening around the strap of her purse as if it were the last anchor to reality.
"Then... what happens after?" Gorou's voice was rough, stripped of its usual warmth—the timbre of a man who had spent years haggling over lumber prices now reduced to bargaining for his family's dignity.
Tadashi's polished smile didn't waver. "Once the transfer is finalized publicly, AFM will lease the lumberyard back to you under a dummy corporation name—Hyoudou Timber will continue operations uninterrupted, just under different paperwork." His cufflinks glinted as he flipped to another page. "Your son, however, must believe it's real. That's non-negotiable."
Miki's fingers trembled against Gorou's sleeve. "For how long?" The lawyer shrugs "I haven't been disclosed to that information, maybe until your son is deemed worthy of Akemi's forgiveness, that is entirely on him, because the entire purpose of what we are doing....is for a lesson to be learn in the hardest way"
Gorou's fist clenched—his wedding band biting into his palm. The scent of sawdust clung stubbornly to his shirt, a bitter reminder of the life he'd built with calloused hands. "And if we refuse?"
Tadashi's smile didn't falter. He snapped the briefcase shut with a click like a judge's gavel. "Then the lawsuit proceeds as filed. Twenty-eight million yen in damages, plus legal fees." His polished oxfords tapped against the linoleum as he stepped back. "But I trust you'll make the... prudent choice, to ensure your family's stability, and your son's development"
Gorou's shoulders slumped—not in defeat, but in the bone-deep weariness of a man who had spent thirty years lifting timber only to find his own son was the heaviest weight he'd ever carried. Miki's fingers dug into his forearm, her nails leaving crescent moons in the fabric of his shirt. "We'll...need some time to think about the terms" Gorou speaks first.
The lawyer nods "As it should be, we will have time discussing the terms, but the act we want your cooperation, it should start the moment you leave this room, can we trust you with that?" Gorou and Miki look at each other, then slowly nod.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by snow falling over lumberyard]
The lawyer comes out of the room and looks at Issei, who is standing with Robin "You can come in now, young mister Hyoudou." The lawyer steps past him with practiced indifference, leaving behind the faint scent of bergamot and something metallic—like coins left too long in a pocket.
Issei's shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he stepped forward. The classroom door swung shut behind him with a click that echoed like a vault sealing. His father stood motionless by the chalkboard—not the sturdy oak Issei knew, but something petrified. His mother clutched a handkerchief twisted into wet knots.
"We're losing the lumberyards." The words land like axe-blows. Gorou's fingers dig into the windowsill, his wedding band scraping against chipped paint. "Twenty years. Gone. All 3 of them" His voice splinters on the last syllable—too raw to be entirely acting.
"Issei, we'll talk about this once we're home," Miki whispered, her voice cracking like thin ice. Her fingers twisted the strap of her purse—knuckles white against the lavender fabric—but the way her eyes flickered toward Robin betrayed the scripted nature of her distress.
Gorou slammed his fist against the chalkboard, sending a cloud of dust into the sunlight. The impact echoed like a gunshot. "There is no 'home' after this!" His performance was too convincing; the tremor in his hands too visceral. "The main yard goes to Nakamura's people tomorrow. The other two—" He choked, dragging his palm down his face. "Gods, the loans alone..."
Issei staggered back as if physically struck. His throat burned with the acid tang of bile. He looks over to Robin-sensei like pleading if there is anything she can do, just anything at all, but her face, stern and helpless, she is just a teacher, not a god, she shakes her head "This is beyond me, Issei, this is between you and your parents, and Nakamura-san"
Miki's fingers found Gorou's wrist under the desk—their silent communication honed by decades of marriage. The tremor in her touch wasn't entirely feigned. "We'll...we'll need to tell the employees," she whispered, watching Issei's face crumple through her lashes.
Gorou's chair screeched as he stood abruptly. "Pack your things," he growled at Issei, the timber yard owner's growl rougher than usual. "We're going home." His work boots struck the floor with deliberate heaviness—each step weighted with performative despair.
The hallway outside smelled of industrial cleaner and adolescent sweat. Issei trailed his parents like a condemned man, his shoes scuffing against scuff marks older than he was. At the stairwell, Gorou paused just long enough for Issei to see the way his father's shoulders shook—whether from rage or relief, even he couldn't tell.
"You should know by now how much it has cost us to make up for your mistake, Issei," Gorou's voice cracked as he gripped the steering wheel, knuckling white against worn leather.
The truck's cab reeked of pine sap and stale coffee—scents that usually meant safety, home. Now they just made Issei's stomach churn. Miki clutched the dashboard as Gorou took a sharp turn toward the lumberyard. "G-Gorou—"
"We have to see it one last time." His voice was too thick. The truck's headlights cut through the downpour, illuminating the Hyoudou Lumber sign—its kanji suddenly fragile-looking under the storm's assault.
Gorou killed the engine with a jerk of his wrist. The ensuing silence was broken only by rain covering on the roof. "Out."
The lumberyard gate groaned as Gorou shoved it open—too hard, the chain-link rattling like a cage. "It took me more than twenty years to build this, and an afternoon to lose it." He kicked loose timber across the gravel, "you should know by now how much it hurts me, Issei."
Snow sluiced through Issei's hair, icy rivulets tracing the same paths as his silent tears. The scent of wet sawdust—once comforting, familiar—now clogged his throat like guilt given form. Ahead, his father's silhouette moved through the downpour with jerky, unnatural motions, shoulders hunched against more than just the storm.
Miki lingered by the office doorway, her fingers hovered near the family photo nailed to the wall—Issei at seven, grinning atop a stack of timber, Gorou's proud hand on his shoulder. She didn't take it down. Just touched the frame lightly, as if memorizing its weight.
Gorou wrenched open the equipment shed with a screech of rusted hinges. The floodlight flickered, casting jagged shadows across stacks of saws and hydraulic lifts. He seized a claw hammer—the one Issei had used last summer to rebuild the loading dock—and hurled it against the far wall. The crash echoed like gunfire. "Dad—"
The hammer's impact reverberated through the shed long after it clattered to the concrete floor. Gorou's breathing came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving against the damp fabric of his work shirt. Rainwater dripped from his clenched fists—some of it mingling with the blood where his nails had bitten into his palms.
Issei took an involuntary step back, his sneakers slipping on the wet gravel. The scent of wood flooded his nostrils, sharp enough to make his eyes water. Behind him, Miki made a wounded noise—the same sound she'd made years ago when Issei broke his arm falling from the oak tree out back.
Gorou turned slowly. In the flickering light, his face was a patchwork of shadows and grief. "You were supposed to be better than this." The words emerged cracked, raw—too quiet to carry over the storm, yet they struck Issei with the force of a physical blow.
Miki's fingers curled around the doorframe, her wedding band catching the light as she swayed slightly. "Gorou, he's—"
"Look around, Miki." Gorou gestured wildly at the lumber stacks, the idle forklifts, the decades of labor rendered worthless by a signature. "This was supposed to be his inheritance. Now it's just collateral damage."
The downpour muffles Issei's choked sob, turning it into something shapeless and broken. His fingers claw at the gravel, nails splitting against the stones. When he lifts his head, his father's face swims in his vision—blurred by snow and something hotter, saltier. Behind them, the lumberyard sign creaks ominously in the wind, its familiar kanji suddenly foreign under the flickering floodlights.
Miki steps forward, her lavender dress clinging to her legs. She doesn't reach for Issei—just hovers, her fingers twisting the ruined handkerchief into tighter spirals. "We'll...find a way," she whispers, but the words lack their usual warmth. The lie tastes bitter even to her.
Gorou exhales sharply through his nose and stands, hauling Issei up with him. His grip doesn't loosen—if anything, it tightens, fingers digging into the sodden fabric of Issei's uniform. "Get in the truck," he growls, low and rough. The command leaves no room for argument.
The ride home is silent save for the rhythmic squeak of the windshield wipers. Miki stares resolutely out the passenger window, her reflection fractured by raindrops. Issei hunches in the backseat, dripping onto the worn upholstery, his breath fogging the glass beside him. The scent of wet wool and pine sap cloys in the enclosed space.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by a truck rushing through the snow]
[Hyoudou Residence]
Returning home, Gorou said nothing but makes his way to Issei's room, each step is heavy like a hammer slamming down a nail. Pushing the door open, he steps in and takes all the adult magazines, the revealing women figures, the porn tapes,....the only things he could blame for his son's stupidity and his own lost
He takes them all into a box and comes downstairs, Issei doesn't even bother stopping him, he knows it will come eventually. Gorou takes a spare trashcan and put everything he took into it, then pour gasoline all over them, the stench of petroleum overpowering the familiar scent of newsprint and glossy pages.
Miki stands by the porch, arms crossed tightly against her chest. Her wedding band catches the flicker of the lighter Gorou pulls from his pocket. The flame dances in his cupped hand before he drops it into the bin. The magazines curl instantly, edges blackening like withered leaves.
Issei watches from the doorway, his fingers digging into the frame. The heat licks at his face, closer than he expects. For the first time, he notices how thin his father's shirt is—how the firelight outlines the sharp angles of his shoulders, the way his spine presses against the fabric like a rope under tension.
Gorou doesn't move until the last tape melts into bubbling sludge. Then he lifts the can and tips it sideways, letting the contents spill onto the wet gravel. The flames gutter out with a hiss, leaving behind a smear of ash and warped plastic.
"Go to bed, Issei, we'll talk tomorrow, I've taken enough today" Gorou orders with tiredness, he has never been this angry, and so helpless, his gentle nature was flipped upside down in one afternoon.
Issei nods, his throat too tight to speak, and trudges upstairs. The absence of his usual posters leaves the walls eerily bare, like a stranger's room. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the snow falling all over Kuoh.
Downstairs, Miki wordlessly hands Gorou a fresh towel. He scrubs at his face roughly, the coarse fabric catching on his stubble. The scent of smoke lingers stubbornly in his hair. "Do you think...he understood?" Miki whispers, glancing toward the staircase.
Gorou exhales, long and slow, watching the steam rise from his tea. "No," he admits. "But he will." The mug trembles slightly in his grip—not from anger now, but exhaustion. Decades of callouses can't hide the way his fingertips twitch against the ceramic.
"Miki, just one, please" Gorou lets go of his forced tough facade, revealing a vulnerable father helpless before his son's mistake, now could only seek solace in the thing he is determined to eliminate for his son's birth, cigarette.
Miki sighs and pulls out a pack from her purse—hidden behind her wallet like a dirty secret. The lighter clicks once, twice before catching. Gorou inhales sharply, the cherry flaring bright in the dim kitchen. The smoke curls around his face like a veil, softening the harsh lines carved by stress. "It's so....bitter....first one after 16 years....so bitter...." Gorou comments between puffs, his voice rough like gravel underfoot.
Miki takes the cigarette from her husband's hand, and to his surprise, she takes one too, she has never smoked before, and but now, she wants to feel that solace, because she can't turn anywhere else. And she coughs violently because of the smoke.
Gorou quickly pats his wife's back "You shouldn't have taken it, Miki." His rough hands still tremble slightly—the nicotine doing little to soothe the storm inside him. Miki waves him off between coughs, her eyes watering. The cigarette dangles awkwardly between her fingers like a foreign object, its smoke curling upward in hesitant spirals.
"At least you have nicotine to turn to, what about me?" She asks bitterly as her eyes keeps watering because of the smoke "I was the one who allowed him to buy those tapes and magazines, I have always thought it was some normal development for teens his age. If I had controlled it sooner...."
Gorou exhales slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the water-stained ceiling. The kitchen light flickers—the same bulb that's needed replacing for months—casting jagged shadows across Miki's face. He reaches for her hand, his calloused thumb tracing the delicate bones of her wrist. "You couldn't have known," he murmurs, but the words taste hollow even to him.
"I'm so sorry, Gorou, I'm so sorry..." Miki whispered, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. The cigarette in her fingers trembled, its ash scattering across the tablecloth like tiny ghosts. Gorou remained silent, his free hand tightening around hers until their intertwined fingers turned white—a desperate anchor in the storm.
[Hyoudou Residence - Issei's room]
Upstairs, Issei buries his face in the pillow in his room, only now the clog of his emotions was released as he started to cry, his tears wetting the fabric beneath him, muffled screams escaping his lips as he grips the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white against the fabric.
Only now, he starts to cry, raw and painful, now the magnitude of what he did finally hits him in full force. His fingers twist the sheets into tight knots as muffled screams escape his lips. The pillow beneath him grows damp with tears—the kind that burns his eyes and leaves his throat scraped raw.
He, with his own hands, has burned away his parents's present, and also, his future. His father said those lumberyards will always be the safe haven for him to come back if he fails in the path he chose, now, it's gone, forever, all because of his decision.
The pillowcase dampens further, the cotton fabric clinging to his cheek like a second skin. Issei digs his nails into his palms—half-expecting the sting to wake him from this nightmare—but the crescents of pain only anchor him deeper into reality. Through the thin floorboards, the muffled sound of his mother's coughing fits drifts upward, punctuated by his father's low murmurs. The house smells of pain and regret.