National Hero

As Rei walked home he kept replaying the moment in his head.

The shredded umbrella.

The raindrops turned into blades.

Kuroe’s blood on her cheek.

The masked rider’s hollow stare.

His own heartbeat pounding like it was trying to break free from his ribs.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and tried to focus on something — anything — else.

“Haya Kuroe,” he muttered, saying the name out loud to see if it shook loose something in his memory. “Haya”

Rei blinked. The name sounded familiar. Like a word he’d skimmed past somewhere, maybe on a poster or in a headline. It hovered on the edge of recognition, teasing him, as if the answer were just behind a fogged glass.

He frowned, scratching the back of his head. “Where have I heard that…?”

Nothing.

His brain refused to cooperate.

Rei sighed sharply, stepping up to his front porch.

“Eh. I’ll figure it out later.”

The door creaked open as he pushed it, the soft scent of rain-soaked wood greeting him. He kicked off his shoes, half-expecting the house to be silent like it always was at this hour.

But the living room lights were on.

And someone was inside.

Rei froze in the entryway.

“…Dad?”

There, on the couch, hunched slightly forward with his elbows on his knees, was Arata Yorinobu — Rei’s father. His usually immaculate shirt was wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. A near-empty mug of coffee sat on the table beside his untouched dinner.

Most shocking of all

He was home. Early.

Rei couldn’t remember the last time that had happened during the workweek.

His father didn’t even turn around.

The glow of the TV lit the stern, angular lines of his face.

“Dad.”

A nod.

Tired acknowledgment, nothing more.

“Uh—” Rei stepped further into the room, still dripping rainwater. “You’re… home.”

“Yes.”

Another short, clipped answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

Rei followed the direction of his stare.

The national news was on.

A suited commentator stood beside a podium on a stage. Microphones were clustered in front like hungry insects. Camera flashes flickered across the screen.

At the podium stood a tall, sharply dressed man with short black hair and a rigid posture. His expression was grim, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

A small graphic popped up at the bottom of the screen:

HAYA KENJI — Cabinet Minister of National Security

Rei’s breath caught.

The name slammed into him like a punch.

Haya Kenji.

Haya…Kuroe

That’s why it had sounded familiar.

His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized he had saved a national hero daughter.

He looked at the stern man on the screen again — the man who had built an entire career on speeches about Freak regulation, Freak containment, Freak danger.

The man who called them threats.

Accidents waiting to happen.

Walking weapons.

“…Her dad,” Rei whispered.

On screen, Haya Kenji raised a hand to quiet the room.

“About an hour ago,” he began, voice steady but edged with something sharp and cold, “my daughter was attacked.”

Reporters burst into rapid-fire questions. Haya held up a hand, and the noise died instantly.

“She is alive,” he continued. “She is receiving treatment for minor injuries as we speak.”

Rei felt the blood drain from his face. He could still see the scratches on Kuroe’s cheek. The fear beneath her calm.

On the couch, his father exhaled through his nose. Not quite relief. More like approval.

“Damn Freaks,” Yorinobu muttered under his breath, the words slipping out as he sipped his coffee.

Rei stiffened.

On screen, Haya Kenji pressed on.

“She would not have survived if not for the swift actions of a civilian bystander — a human — who intervened at great personal risk.”

Rei blinked in disbelief.

He’s talking about me.

His throat tightened. He took an involuntary step closer to the TV.

“A human saved her life,” Haya repeated, leaning into the microphone. “While a Freak attempted to end it.”

Rei’s father gave a grunt of agreement. “Exactly.”

Haya Kenji continued, voice rising with practiced conviction.

“This is yet another demonstration of why we must strengthen regulation. These individuals walk among us uncontrolled. Unmonitored. Unrestrained. And the cost of their freedom…” He paused, eyes narrowing as he gripped each side of the podium.

“…is paid in innocent blood.”

A murmur of approval swept across the reporters. A few nodded openly.

Rei swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His father spoke without looking away. “He’s right. Freaks shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near civilians.”

A short period of nothing being said passed then his father finally glanced over at him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, skimmed over Rei’s soaked clothes, the mud on his knees.

“Why are you wet?”

Rei tensed.

His mind raced.

Can’t tell him.

Not when the whole country was watching Haya Kenji explode on national TV about how someone saved his daughter.

“…It rained,” Rei said simply.

His father stared for a moment longer than normal. As if searching for cracks in the lie.

Finally, he nodded once.

“Hurry and change. You’ll get sick.”

Rei nodded. “Yeah.”

But he didn’t move.

On screen, the speech reached its crescendo.

“We must act now,” Haya Kenji declared. “For the safety of our children. For the safety of our homes. For the safety of our nation.”

A burst of applause filled the room.

Rei flinched at the volume.

A new commentator appeared in a split-screen beside Haya — a middle-aged man with glasses.

“This attack comes as Minister Haya continues to push reforms to tighten Freak mobility, citing rising incidents nationwide…”

The TV kept talking, words blending together like a storm of static.

Rei’s ears buzzed.

He saw Kuroe’s calm smile when she’d thanked him.

Her faint tremble as she touched her bleeding cheek.

Her hesitation when hehad asked why she was targeted.

Why didn’t she tell me?.

He felt cold all over again.

The same cold he felt when the rain stopped midair.

His father stood up, stretching his shoulders. “I’ll be working from home tonight. Don’t stay up too late.”

Rei nodded silently.

Yorinobu paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing slightly at Rei’s expression.

“You look pale. Don’t worry yourself over the news more than necessary. Leave that to the adults.”

Rei bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.

“…Yeah. Sure.”

The door to his father’s study closed with a soft click.

Rei stood in the dim living room, staring at the TV as the commentators shifted topics — talking about the masked assailant, the timeline, the investigation.

He slowly sat down on the couch.

His hands were still trembling.

He tucked them beneath his thighs to hide it, even though he was alone now.

On the TV, Haya Kenji’s face lingered in a replay, anger carved into every line of it.

Rei exhaled shakily.

Of course she wouldn’t tell a stranger. Especially after something like that.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Outside, the rain began falling again — gentle this time, natural, without blades or malice.

Rei watched the window for a moment.

Every droplet made him flinch.

His father’s voice echoed faintly from the study, speaking on the phone.

“…Yes, I saw the report. Horrible. They should have been locked up long ago.”

Rei’s hands tightened.

He thought of Ichi.

He thought of Kuroe.

He thought of the masked rider, somewhere out there.

He thought of the moment when the rain froze.

Rei shut his eyes.

“Some eventful days now” Rei started walking towards the stairs as he rubbed his eyes. “Hopefully they stop now”

up stairs was completely dark, no lamps on making Rei bush the air with his hand to find his door. A creak sound was heard in front of him, as he approached he realized his door had opened.

Uh must have touched it without feeling. Rei paid it no mind and walked in and closed it.