This Wasn’t in the Dad Manual

Renjiro Tsukishima paced his lab, clutching a pint of ice cream like it was the only thing standing between him and total emotional collapse. A pile of empty cartons sat accusingly on his desk, their melted remains demonstrating how well he was not handling this. He stabbed his spoon into the pint with more force than necessary and shoved another bite into his mouth, trying very hard not to cry.

"Fatherhood suits you." Gaia teased.

Renjiro scowled at her, his cheeks bulging with ice cream. “This isn’t funny.”

“I never said it was funny.” Gaia tilted her head. “I said it suits you.”

He threw his spoon into the empty pint with a clatter, gesturing wildly. “She’s been kidnapped by anti-AI extremists, Gaia! My little girl! And I—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat aggressively. “I was the one who sent her to Harmonia in the first place! This is all my fault.”

Gaia hummed thoughtfully, which Renjiro knew was code for I’m about to say something you won’t like. “You sent her there because you were spoiling her rotten. Shall I replay the footage of you letting her reprogram your entire security system for fun? Or the time she hacked the coffee machine to play elevator music every time you brewed a cup?”

Renjiro threw his hands in the air. “That wasn’t spoiling. That was—encouraging her creativity!”

“Mm-hmm.” Gaia raised an eyebrow. “And the time you built her a fully functional drone army because she said she was bored?”

“She was bored and lonely…” Renjiro grumbled, grabbing another pint of ice cream from the stash in the lab’s mini-freezer. He popped the lid off and dug in. “I didn’t think sending her to Harmonia would mean handing her over to a bunch of murderous zealots.”

Gaia’s holographic form flickered slightly, her voice softening. “You sent her there because you wanted her to grow, Renjiro. To make friends, to have a life beyond this lab. And she has. You’ve seen it yourself.”

Renjiro froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. He hated that she was right. He’d seen the changes in Miyuu— the spark in her eyes when she bragged about the systems she’d hacked without tripping SOLON’s alarms, the way she spoke about the student council like they were the best (and most infuriating) family she’d ever had. Her complaints always came with this stupid little smile. She’d found something at Harmonia, something he couldn’t give her here.

But now she was in danger, and he was stuck in his lab eating his feelings while Gaia dispensed her irritating brand of wisdom.

“I should’ve kept her here…” he muttered, more to himself than to Gaia. “I should’ve—”

“Renjiro.” Gaia’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Miyuu is strong. You made sure of that. She’s not just your little girl anymore. She’s her own person.”

He sighed, sinking into his chair and setting the ice cream aside.

"Can’t you just... I don’t know, switch off all the systems and send the police over?" He asked.

Gaia tilted her head in what he recognized as patience bordering on exasperation. “You know I can’t do that.” She said evenly.

"Why not?" Renjiro snapped. “What’s the point of being a super-intelligent AI if you can’t pull the plug when things get bad?”

“The point of Harmonia is for the students to govern it. They must work together to solve this problem, to learn, to grow. Harmonia exists to prepare them for the world beyond its gates, not to shelter them from it.”

Renjiro groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “That’s a great speech, Gaia. Really inspiring. Except my daughter is strapped to a table somewhere, probably surrounded by extremists who want to dismantle society as we know it. Forgive me if I don’t feel like this is a teachable moment.”

Gaia’s expression softened. “I know you’re scared, Renjiro. But Miyuu isn’t helpless. She’s resourceful, determined, and—” her lips quirked into a smile, “—a little reckless. I wonder where she gets that from.”

Renjiro snorted, though it came out more like a pained laugh. “She’s a Tsukishima. It’s genetic.”

“Exactly.” Gaia said, her tone warm with reassurance. “And that means she’s capable of handling this. You gave her the tools. Now, you have to trust her to use them.”

He leaned back in his chair, the weight in his chest not quite lifting, but maybe shifting just enough for him to breathe. “I just want her to be safe.” He murmured, more to himself than to Gaia.

“And she will be.” Gaia replied with certainty. “But maybe pace yourself on the ice cream. You’re going to regret it later.”

Renjiro let out a long groan, burying his face in his hands. “I already regret everything.”

Gaia’s soft chuckle filled the lab, a sound that always managed to cut through his worst moods.

"Fine." He muttered. "But if she comes out of this with so much as a scratch, I will find a way to overwrite every single protocol you have."

Gaia’s smile widened just enough to look smug. “Noted.”