Chapter 20 — “Touko’s Tears ”

Kei hesitated before speaking, searching for the right words. Touko stood in front of him, small fists clenched at her sides, her gaze sharp enough to cut straight through him.

He took a slow breath.

“Touko… the girl I helped—she wasn’t anyone special. I didn’t even know her name.”

Touko didn’t blink. She waited.

Kei continued, choosing each word carefully.

“I was at the station. A girl was being harassed by a stranger. She looked scared. I stepped in, that’s all. I didn’t know anything about her. I just made sure she got home safely.”

For a moment Touko stared at him, her expression unreadable.

Then her lips trembled.

Then her eyes watered.

And then, without a sound, tears began to fall—slow, shaking drops that left thin trails on her cheeks.

“Papa…” Touko whispered, voice breaking. “I thought… maybe someone hurt you.”

Kei felt his chest tighten. He reached out instinctively.

“Touko, no. I’m fine. It’s okay.”

The moment his arms opened, Touko rushed into him, burying her face against his chest. She clung to him like she feared he might slip away if she loosened her grip even slightly.

Her voice cracked in a whisper muffled by his shirt.

“Please be safe, Papa…”

Kei froze for a heartbeat—then gently held her shoulders, steadying her.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “Touko, nothing will happen to me.”

Touko didn’t immediately let go. She held him tighter, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt—the same shirt that still carried a faint scent from another girl.

Kei stroked her hair slowly.

“I promise. I’m safe.”

Her breath shuddered.

“Papa… don’t let anyone get close to you like that again. Promise me.”

“Touko…”

“Promise.”

Before Kei could answer—

“Dinner is ready!”

Yui’s voice floated from the kitchen.

Touko finally pulled away, wiping her tears quickly, trying to look composed before her mother entered. Kei gave her a small, reassuring nod.

Touko nodded back—but her eyes no longer looked fragile.

They were sharp.

Cold.

Claiming.

---

Dinner Passed Quietly

Yui chatted casually, unaware of what had just happened. Kei responded politely, forcing calm into his voice. Touko sat beside him, unusually silent, her gaze fixed on Kei the entire time—studying him, memorizing him, guarding him.

When dinner ended, Touko excused herself first.

“Good night, Mama. Good night, Papa.”

Her voice was sweet.

Perfect.

But her eyes.

Her eyes stayed on Kei for one last, long moment before she disappeared upstairs.

---

The Next Morning

Kei reached for the laundry hamper to grab the shirt he wore yesterday—the one Touko grabbed so tightly when she cried.

It was gone.

He searched the hamper.

Then the drying rack.

Then the laundry basket.

Nothing.

He frowned.

“Yui, did you take my shirt from yesterday? The blue one?”

Yui blinked. “No. Maybe you misplaced it?”

Kei searched again.

Still nothing.

A strange unease crawled down his spine.

But Touko came downstairs a minute later, uniform perfect, hair neat, smile calm.

“Good morning, Papa,” she said sweetly.

She looked innocent.

Untouchable.

And Kei, unsettled, let it go.

---

Elsewhere

Behind the house, hidden by the small shed, a faint curl of smoke rose from a metal bucket Touko had found in the garden.

Inside, blackened scraps of fabric still burned.

Her hands were steady as she stirred the ashes with a metal rod, watching them crumble. The shirt was nearly gone—the scent, too.

She whispered softly to the rising smoke.

“No one else gets to leave their scent on Papa.”

Her eyes didn’t waver.

Her expression didn’t soften.

“Not now. Not ever.”

She placed the lid back onto the bucket, dusted her hands, and walked back toward the house—her steps quiet, graceful, calm.

As if nothing happened at all.