Shaaahhh...
I turned the faucet, cutting off the stream of pouring water.
After Hitokawa and the others finished their small farewell party, I had stayed behind to wash the remaining dishes.
As I was organizing the dried tableware, the manager, who had been resting inside, walked out.
"What? Those guys gone already?"
"Yes. They said they enjoyed the meal and headed out."
The manager staggered toward the counter, clutching her throbbing head—likely the result of passing out the moment she got drunk.
I poured fresh water into a cup packed with ice and handed it to her, hoping it would help her sober up.
The manager took the ice water and downed it in one heroic gulp. At this rate, her head was going to ache for reasons entirely unrelated to a hangover.
However, she seemed to handle the chill just fine. Handing the cup back with much clearer eyes, she spoke.
"I'm keeping the shop open for one more week. I need to let the regulars know we're moving. Can you work through that period?"
"Well, it's not like I have anything else to do, so sure. I'll look for another job while I'm at it."
"Thanks. Close up and head home for today. I'm in no mood to deal with customers."
"Ah. You should head home first, Manager."
"Hm?"
"That kid will think I'm working my usual shift and come by."
At the mention of "that kid," the manager looked as if she understood and waved her hand.
"Oh, right. I'll head out then. Make sure you lock up properly."
"I will."
Once the manager left, I was the only one remaining in the shop.
At this hour, the place would normally be bustling with noisy customers; seeing it so empty made it feel like I had wandered into an unfamiliar place.
I checked the clock.
There was still some time before Eto would arrive.
To make use of the spare time, I pushed the chairs and tables to one side.
In the center of the wide-open space, I planted both hands on the floor.
"Hup!"
I kicked my legs up and straightened them, locking myself into a handstand.
I wasn't just doing something weird to kill time because I was bored. I was taking this seriously.
As I held the pose perfectly still, I recalled the conversation I'd had with that investigator boy.
Arima Kishou.
A man who hadn't even reached his twentieth year, yet was armed with a terrifying combat ability that defied his age.
It was enough to make me wonder if he was even human.
Eto seemed to know something about the source of that strength, but she refused to tell me.
According to her, there was no need for me to know, and knowing would only increase the likelihood of getting dragged into unnecessary trouble.
I certainly agreed with that.
Arima wasn't just a Ghoul Investigator. He was connected to something deeper.
Living wedged between Ghouls and investigators was already enough to drive a person insane; I had no desire to get entangled with some unknown power on top of that.
Fortunately, the other side also maintained a proper distance, allowing me to avoid deep involvement.
Arima's silence on the matter was likely his way of honoring the promise to protect my current way of life.
Regardless, while our relationship remained ambiguous, he occasionally visited the shop with Hitokawa and the others, so we exchanged light conversation now and then.
One day, I asked him how to get stronger.
Since I didn't know what the future held, training was an absolute necessity.
I had been following a training regimen passed down by Hitokawa every day, but I had begun to feel as though I'd hit a wall.
I wondered if knowing how Arima trained his body would be of help.
The boy, who was sipping juice since he wasn't of legal drinking age, looked at me steadily before opening his mouth.
"Forget it."
I was momentarily speechless at the blunt refusal, but Arima continued.
"You have no talent."
"Talent?"
"The talent for killing."
"You're calling that a talent?"
"At the very least, when dealing with beasts that do not die easily, one requires the corresponding stats and tactics."
It was absurd, but it sounded plausible.
The only problem was that it lacked conviction coming from a guy who could simply bulldoze through tactics with raw ability alone.
"I've killed Ghouls before, you know."
"I wouldn't call that talent. Was that truly achieved through your own strength alone?"
"..."
Of course not.
When I fought the Ghoul who had bought a police identity from some broker, I was only able to finish him because Eto, having awakened her [Kakugan], had set the stage for me.
When I fought that damn Artist Ghoul who played with human corpses like they were art projects, I had the help of both Eto and Hitokawa.
If either of them had been missing, I would have likely ended up as one of his twisted masterpieces, satisfying his perverted ideals.
Come to think of it, I had never once defeated a Ghoul using purely my own power.
"There is no need to obsess over winning. Isn't your way of fighting based on not killing?"
I had indeed said something like that once.
However, unlike Arima, who had the luxury of choice, there are situations where one of the two must die for the fight to end. I simply wanted to be prepared for that.
"In that regard, the training method you learned from Hitokawa-san does not suit you. Investigators are optimized for unleashing explosive strength in short bursts to kill Ghouls. You, conversely, are the type who pours all your effort into finding a way to end a fight without killing—a truly tedious personality. Therefore, I recommend training designed for long-term combat."
It felt as if I were receiving a counseling session.
Arima had a better grasp of my nature than I expected and even offered a viable alternative.
Since he had mixed in some cutting remarks that sounded like his true feelings, I retaliated by confiscating the stir-fried bulgogi and vegetables I had given him as a service item.
In the ensuing silence, Arima shot me a look of protest, clearly asking why I had given the food only to take it back. I told him that if he wanted the bulgogi back, he had to tell me exactly how I should train.
Arima's answer was simple.
Handstands. Once a day, maintain a handstand until your arms reach their limit and you can no longer hold the pose.
"Huu..."
My sigh was heavy with fatigue.
The concept was simple, but the execution was grueling.
My arms were numb, blood rushed to my head, and droplets of sweat from my forehead dampened the floor.
Since the goal was to continue until I personally recognized my limit, it was never going to be easy.
"Is this actually helping?"
I had trusted him and done it for a week, but it only felt exhausting; I didn't feel any real progress.
I wondered if he had just blurted out something random just to get his bulgogi back.
While I harbored that slight anxiety, my straight body began to sway precariously, like a tree caught in a typhoon.
Was I finally at my limit?
No. I can hold on a bit longer.
Perhaps it was the impatience born from the vague nature of the training.
I miscalculated my physical limit.
As my balance tipped to one side, I tried to shift my weight with one arm to correct it, but my arm wouldn't budge, sending only a stabbing muscle pain through my shoulder.
"Uh, whoa!?"
Reacting a beat too late, I tried to right myself.
But my center of gravity had already shifted beyond the point where my numb arms could control it.
My body tipped completely backward.
The floor rushed up to meet my back. It was too late to break the fall.
I braced myself for the inevitable jolt of pain along my spine, and the accompanying wave of humiliation.
Whish! Thud.
"...?"
Something strange happened.
Instead of rolling disgracefully across the floor, I was suddenly standing upright on both feet.
What happened?
Could Arima's training actually have worked?
"Why do you suddenly have such a triumphant look on your face?"
"Huh? Ah..."
The joy of discovering my own growth was short-lived.
I turned to look at my daughter, who had just saved me from a nasty fall.
She wore the brown uniform of a nearby girls' middle school, her hair shimmering with a faint navy tint.
Long hair would have suited her, but for some reason, she insisted on keeping it short, ending at her shoulders.
"...How long have you been watching?"
I asked Eto, who had just finished her school day.
"Since you started grunting and doing handstands."
"That's from the very beginning! Make some noise when you arrive!"
Even if it was training, it was a bit embarrassing to do in front of Eto, which is why I had only done it secretly at night.
I didn't expect to be caught like this.
Eto giggled as she watched my face flush with heat.
"I've gotten into the habit of erasing my presence lately."
To an outsider, it might sound like she was still going through a chuunibyou phase, but in her case, it was a reality.
Have you ever witnessed the phenomenon of someone walking right beside you, yet making absolutely no sound?
That was Eto.
Her skill at suppressing her presence was so profound that you could forget she existed even while she was walking next to you.
Sometimes at night, I would be startled, as if I had suddenly spotted the glint of an owl's eyes in the darkness.
I had told her it was bad for my heart and asked her to make her presence known, and while she usually complied, she still seemed to practice the art of stealth whenever I wasn't looking.
I couldn't blame her.
The reason she clung to these far-from-ordinary habits was likely the same reason I trained every day.
Preparation for an unpredictable future.
"By the way, you're closing earlier than usual. Did something happen to the manager?"
"Apparently, she sent the landlord to the hospital."
"...What on earth happened?"
Eto looked just as bewildered as I had been.
Since she was here, I began preparing to leave and explained the situation.
"Well, the original owner transferred the title of the building to his son, but the son got greedy and... Eto?"
As I wiped away the sweat from my training and reached for my coat on the rack, I noticed Eto was no longer paying attention to me.
I was in the middle of recounting the manager's heroic tale; where had her attention gone?
I reflexively followed her gaze and turned my head, only to flinch violently.
It was the same shock I felt when I'd walk to the bathroom at night and find Eto hiding in the shadows without a sound.
A third party had entered the shop.
A man of large build stood blocking the entrance.
He was wrapped in a long coat, with a fedora pulled low over his eyes.
Recalling the dangerous men in fedoras I had encountered before, I instinctively shifted into a defensive stance.
But the moment I saw the man's face beneath the brim, the tension vanished, replaced by a different kind of shock.
It was a familiar face.
He had more wrinkles than the last time we met, and his hair had turned snow-white, but his fundamental features remained the same.
"...Mister Kuzen?"
He was the acquaintance who had entrusted Eto to me—and her biological father.
***
Eto was bewildered.
The first emotion she felt upon seeing the man was not hostility or murderous intent, but pure bewilderment.
She hadn't sensed him. He had managed to get behind her.
Personal space. A stranger had invaded a psychologically restricted zone without permission.
Naturally, hostility should have surged.
And yet, it didn't. That was why she was so confused.
Why wasn't she angry?
Was it because of the clear eyes shining from beneath the shadow of the fedora?
Or was it because they held a warmth as deep as Takaki Koma's?
"Eto."
The stranger called her name.
It was a heavy voice, one that had transitioned from middle age into seniority, yet she could hear a sorrowful tremble within it.
She remembered this voice.
She had met him once before.
The meeting had been too brief for her to even ask his name, but the man's presence had been so striking that the memory remained vivid.
The question she had pushed aside due to other concerns now resurfaced.
Who was this man?
The answer lay with Koma.
"...Mister Kuzen?"
"...!!"
At that murmur, Eto's body stiffened.
Kuzen.
She had heard the name.
She knew that the owner of that name was her biological father.
But seeing him actually standing there made it feel surreal.
It felt like a dream.
Was this really Kuzen?
Was this man truly the parent she shared blood with?
But why?
A reunion with a biological parent should have been a joyful occasion, so why was her heart racing with such turmoil?
Unable to comprehend this new kind of confusion, Eto could only clutch at her chest.
Step.
Then, in a space where time seemed to have frozen, the first to move was Koma.
With a look of disbelief, as if wondering if he were mistaking a stranger for a friend, he stepped toward Kuzen.
As he drew closer, Kuzen's features became clear, and doubt turned into certainty.
It was unmistakably Kuzen.
The benefactor who had saved his life, his dear friend, and the husband of Aunt Ukina.
The man who had entrusted Eto to him.
The moment that certainty hit, Koma's walk turned into a full sprint.
"Koma."
Kuzen opened his arms to welcome his old friend, and...
"YOU NEVER SAID I'D BE RAISING A KID FOR OVER FIFTEEN YEARSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
BAM!!!!
"Ghk!?"
What slammed into the face of the long-lost friend was the fury-filled dropkick of a single man who had spent fifteen years raising a child alone.