Chapter 5: The New Son

The house loomed in the twilight. Just a plain two-story on a quiet street—except to me, it was a battlefield. I stepped inside; the creak of the hinges louder than I remembered. Warm light spilled across the entryway, but the tension was immediate.

From the living room, the television buzzed low. I knew the ritual: my father, whiskey in hand, fixated on the news.

I hovered at the threshold, debating. Hide upstairs, or...

My footsteps barely made a sound on the hardwood. He didn’t look up.

I cleared my throat.

His eyes flicked over, brows knitting. He studied me—my posture, the uniform, the fit.

"Is that... still my son?"

"It's me," I said.

He took a long sip, gaze narrowing.

"You've changed," he muttered. "What happened?"

"I’ve been working on myself."

He didn’t take his eyes off the TV.
"You act like shedding a skin makes you someone new."
The contempt in his voice was measured, as if pride were a sin I’d committed.
"You think a pressed uniform and a straighter spine suddenly make you better than everyone else?"

I felt the heat rise in my chest but forced my tone steady.
"I’m just trying to move forward."

He scoffed, swirling the last of his whiskey.
"Forward doesn’t mean forgetting where you came from. Don’t let your little makeover go to your head, boy."

My jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was exhaustion.
"Right," I said, turning my back to the couch. "Wouldn’t want to offend your nostalgia."

I didn’t wait for a reply. The quiet thud of my footsteps on the stairs was the only response. I didn’t realize how tense my body had gotten until I rounded the corner—until I saw Aoi’s silhouette in the hall and everything stilled.

She stared. Not with disdain—something else.

"What?" I snapped.

"Nothing."

Her voice was small. She turned and walked away, but I watched her go, unsettled by what I saw in her eyes.

At dinner, the house was quiet, heavy.

My mother looked up from the rice tray, eyes wide.

"Hikaru?"

I nodded.

She lowered the tray slowly. "I didn’t recognize you."

"Guess I’ve changed."

Her lips pressed together, then softened. "You look strong."

I watched her walk off, a thousand unspoken thoughts buzzing in the air between us.

By the time I sat at the table, the emotional weight of the house had shifted. Not softened—just redistributed. The living room’s silence had followed me into the kitchen like a fog.

My mother stood behind the table, setting down a tray of rice bowls with quiet precision. She glanced up—froze mid-motion.

"Hikaru?"

Her voice cracked, barely audible.

"It is me," I said.

She approached slowly, searching my face.
"You’ve changed a lot."

I offered a small smile.
"A bit, maybe."

"You look strong." She said it like a discovery, like seeing a ghost remade.

"Thanks," I said quietly, easing into my seat.

Dinner began in fragments. The clink of chopsticks. The muted hum of the television bleeding in from the living room, where my father still brooded in silence. Aoi sat across from me, picking at her rice and sneaking quick glances when she thought I wasn't looking. My mother kept the conversation afloat with talk of school and teachers, but her voice was thin, like scaffolding holding up something that had already collapsed.

Then Kenta stormed in.

His footsteps hit the hardwood like hammer strikes. Every eye turned before he even spoke. He stopped in the doorway, staring at me.

“What the hell happened to you?” His voice was loud—deliberately loud. Aoi flinched. My knuckles tightened around my chopsticks.

"I've changed," I said.

He scoffed and dragged a chair back with too much force, dropping into it across from me.

“Changed? You mean you finally got sick of being a fat little loser?”

The old nickname punched through my gut—fatso. That was his favourite. I'd almost forgotten the way it sounded in his voice: sharp, amused, cruel. Years of it. Echoes of being pushed around, laughed at, told I'd never be anything.

“Kenta,” my mother snapped, her tone uncharacteristically stern.

He didn’t care. His grin curled cruelly.

“You really think cleaning up your face and standing a little straighter makes you someone new? Is this for a girl? Or are you just playing dress-up till someone calls your bluff?”

The words landed, but they didn't bury me this time. I held his gaze. I remembered being twelve, hiding bruises behind sweaters, swallowing shame like it was dinner.

But this wasn’t then.

“I’ve grown up,” I said, my voice measured. “Maybe it’s time you did, too.”

Silence gripped the room. Even my father looked over, eyes narrowing, caught off guard.

Kenta’s smirk cracked, just a flicker—but enough. Something bitter flared behind his eyes.

“Guess we’ll see how long that attitude lasts.”

His voice had dropped to a low growl; more threat than tease.

When dinner ended, I climbed the stairs with my pulse hammering. I shut the door to my room and leaned back against it, sucking in air. My heart thrashed, but under the nerves was something new—clean, fierce.

I hadn’t flinched. And that felt like its own kind of victory.

I’d stood my ground, and it felt… good.

The kind of good that left my lungs full, but my chest tight. As I moved toward the desk, my phone buzzed softly. I picked it up, the glow slicing through the room’s dim quiet.

Akane.

"How’s everything at home?"

I stared at her message, the concern in her words like a balm against the wreckage of dinner. She didn’t owe me anything—certainly not kindness. But she kept reaching out anyway.

"It’s complicated. But I’m okay. Thanks for checking in."

Her reply came seconds later, like she’d been waiting.

"I told you, Hikaru. You’re stronger than you think. Don’t let them shrink you back down."

I sat on the bed, thumbs hovering over the screen. For a moment, I considered brushing it off with a joke. But then I typed:

"Kenta tore into me at dinner. Said I looked like I was 'playing dress-up.' That I’d stopped being pathetic."

Another quick reply.

"That’s rich—he only lashes out when he’s scared. He’s watching you leave him behind."

The words hit harder than I expected. Truth wrapped in warmth.

"I was never anything to them. Fatso. Freak. Punching bag. It's like I'm trespassing in my own house now."

There was a pause before her next message came through—long enough to make me think she'd pulled away.

"Then let them feel like strangers. You don’t owe them comfort, especially not after how they treated you."

And finally:

"You changed because you fought for something better. That makes you dangerous to people who stayed the same."

I read her words repeatedly, letting each one carve out space in me. I could still feel her kiss from earlier—soft, confident, a mark of solidarity. She saw me.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt seen.

I lay back, the quiet folding around me—but something was off. Not just the residual ache from Kenta’s insults. It was deeper, like my body was picking up signals it shouldn’t.

The sound came first. My father’s breathing through the walls—slow, uneven. Not TV-watching slow but strained. A rasp hitching in his chest like his lungs had forgotten their rhythm.

I sat up, tuning in.

From down the hall, Aoi’s footsteps scratched across the floor. Her pacing was rhythmic, deliberate. Not random anxiety—calculations. She was thinking hard, lost in it.

But the kitchen bled noise.

Kenta.

Not the sound of a sibling winding down. His movements were taut, deliberate. A creak as he gripped the counter—then his breathing, shallow and sharp. And his heartbeat. Fast. Frantic. Furious.

It thudded through the house like a war drum.

I pressed my palms to my knees, trying to steady myself, but everything grew sharper. The fridge’s hum buzzed into my bones. The air felt electric, crawling across my skin.

How was I hearing this?

I could sense Kenta's rage without seeing it. His clenched jaw. His fists. The acidic coil of resentment, simmering like poison.

And then came the fear: not his—mine.

This wasn’t just heightened senses. This was beyond human. I felt every rhythm, every vibration, every fault line in the people around me.

My father—slipping slowly into fragility behind that silence. Aoi—fraying quietly at the edges, building something behind her usual detachment. And Kenta—a walking snarl, his anger wrapped around something deeper: fear. Even loss.

I leaned against the wall, heart pounding. Was this who I was now?

I thought of Akane’s words again. I scrolled back to read them, gripping the phone like it might anchor me.

"You’re stronger than you think."

Was she just being kind? Or did she know more than she let on?

Her silence had weight. Like she’d seen this before. Like she'd felt something in me shift and chose to stay anyway.

That thought grounded me.

I didn’t have answers—not about my body, not about my family, not about the transformation brewing inside me. But I had her. And that counted for more than I’d thought.

I pushed open the window, letting the night air bleed into the room. The street was quiet, bathed in golden halos of light. Somewhere out there, Akane was breathing the same air, watching the same stars, wondering about me.

The silence wasn’t suffocating now—it was deep. Reflective.

The morning light crept in before I could sleep. I was already sitting upright; legs crossed at the edge of the bed. Every sound sharpened: a branch whispering against the siding, footsteps padding down the hall, the refrigerator’s pulse humming like a heartbeat beneath the floor.

I stood. My body moved like liquid. Effortless. Controlled. Alive.

My uniform hung across the chair, neat and pristine. I stared at it, at what it symbolized—who I’d become.

And still, one question lingered in the quiet.

What am I transforming into?

The Next Day:

We stepped into the science lab and my chest tightened for a split second—until I saw Mr. Ishida pushing in his dry-ice cart. He was tall, salt-and-pepper hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, that calm gravity in his voice. He caught my eye and offered a brief nod—no pity, just steady acknowledgement. In past semesters, every time experiments were announced, classmates paired off in seconds and I’d end up solo. Teachers either looked away or pretended nothing was happening. Not Ishida-sensei. He’d quietly set up a second station and wordlessly work beside me. Science stopped feeling lonely.

On each lab island, beakers, digital thermometers, gloves, and balloons gleamed under fluorescents. Students buzzed, glancing at me as they formed groups of four. A few girls drifted over, smiles hopeful—until Akane lifted her head and met their eyes. Her gaze was cool, unwavering, like a silent “back off.” The girls melted back into the crowd.

Akira slid into the seat on my left.
“You in a group yet?” he asked, leaning against the tabletop.

I shook my head.
“Not yet.”

Taro dropped his notebook beside me.
“We’ve got room,” he said, flashing a grin.

Before I could answer, Akane rose from her corner and strode over. She paused at the edge of our island.
“Room for one more?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, heart thudding.

Just like that, our quartet was complete: Akira, Taro, Akane—and me.

Mr. Ishida cleared his throat and clapped his hands once.
“Today we’re observing sublimation: solid CO₂ straight to gas. Your task is to capture the carbon dioxide in balloons and plot temperature change over time. Safety first—gloves and goggles on. Any questions?”

He demonstrated with tongs, lowering a block of dry ice into warm water. Fog billowed over the rim, curling like a ghost. A balloon inflated instantly.

Taro cocked an eyebrow.
“That’s so cool. It’s like the air’s alive.”

I grabbed the tongs, lowered a fresh sliver of dry ice, and felt the lab air grow colder. Thick vapor spat out in a hiss. Akane settled the balloon’s neck around the beaker.

Akira peered at his thermometer.
“Minus twenty-three point two degrees. That’s… intense.”

“Record it,” Akane said, her tone light. “Then check the pressure at our table.”

I scribbled the number on the data sheet as Taro adjusted the beaker’s position under a clamp. Conversation buzzed—but with purpose. We passed gloves, compared readings, and speculated on why no liquid phase formed.

Mr. Ishida drifted by, inspecting our setup.
“Controlled fog release, good seal on the balloon, precise temperature logging. Excellent work.”

His praise was quiet but firm. More than any grade, it told me I belonged here.

When the balloon creaked at full inflation, Akira carefully released the valve. The gas rushed out in a soft roar, and the balloon collapsed like a slow-motion breath. Taro whooped. Akane laughed, brushing fog off her glove.

“First decent group experiment I’ve ever done,” Taro admitted, eyes bright.

Akane tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You saw, didn’t you? When Ishida-sensei talks, you’re the only one who hears the lesson.”

I glanced at Mr. Ishida across the lab, then back at my team.
“I guess it’s easier to focus when I’m not trying to disappear.”

She met my gaze, lips curving.
“You fit right in.”

As we packed up, I caught the soft thump of goggles hitting the table and the click of Akira’s pen closing. For once, none of it felt foreign or forced. Under the unspoken approval of the one teacher who’d always had my back, I’d found a place—and a team—that didn’t see me as an afterthought.

I was leaning against the doorframe, waiting for the last of the trays to be stacked in the classroom. The hallway was empty—just the soft echo of footsteps and the hum of lockers closing. My fingers tapped out a slow rhythm against my bag strap, replaying how easy it had felt to joke with Akira and Taro today.

A steady pair of footsteps approached. Mr. Ishida—necktie loosened, blazer slung over one shoulder—paused beside me.

“Hikaru,” he said, voice low enough that no one else would hear. “Got a minute?”

“Of course, Sensei.” I pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him.

He glanced down the corridor, then back at me.
“When I heard you transferred into this class, I won’t lie—I was worried about how you’d fit in. Unfamiliar faces, new routines… it can be overwhelming.”

I shrugged, surprised by the concern in his tone.
“I’ve… been okay,” I said. “More than okay, actually.”

He gave a small, genuine smile.
“I noticed. The way Akira and Taro laugh at your jokes. How Akane waits for your input. Those aren’t just polite gestures—they’re real connections.”

My chest warmed.
“I’ve been lucky,” I admitted. “They’ve been… great.”

He stopped by a locker and leaned against it.
“You’ve earned it. You stepped forward today—didn’t hang back or shrink into the background. That took courage.”

I looked down at my hands.
“Thank you for believing in me, Sensei. For… giving me a chance.”

He straightened and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Keep this up, Hikaru. Friends, experiments—they both grow stronger when you nurture them. I’m proud of how far you’ve come.”

He patted me once more and walked off toward the prep room. I watched his back until it blended into the hallway’s blur of lockers and light.

Alone again, my fingers lingering on the cool metal of a random locker. For the first time, I wasn’t the kid left out—I was the one they included. And that made all the difference.

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Gym class used to terrify me—I always lagged and drew jeers. Today, though, my nerves vanished, replaced by pure energy. Lining up for warm-ups, I felt every muscle primed to explode.

I eased onto the track just as the tennis club wrapped up their drills on the courts nearby. I caught sight of a few girls leaning over the railing, eyes widening the instant they spotted me.

Akira jogged up beside me, elbow nudging mine.
“They’re all staring at you,” he whispered, grinning.

My cheeks heated.
“Akira, cut it out…”

Taro appeared at the start line, clipboard in hand.
“Alright, Saito versus Akira, 100 meters flat—referee’s whistle will start you. Ready?”

Akira crouched into his blocks; I took my position opposite him, heart hammering.
“Set…”

The whistle shrieked.
“Go!”

I exploded forward, every step a silent surprise, wind roaring in my ears. Halfway down, I passed a classmate jogging at the back. His voice cracked out as I flew by:
“Whoa, Saito! Where did that come from?”

I barely registered the shout—eyes locked on the finish ribbon. I crossed it first, chest heaving, only to see Akira’s arm stretch through the tape a fraction later.

Taro checked his stopwatch, face bright.
“Hikaru—10.29 seconds! Akira—10.37! Both personal bests!”

A stunned hush fell over the field. Even Mr. Kuroda, our gym teacher, who normally glanced our way only to call out sloppy form, paused mid-note. He stepped forward, voice carrying across the track:
“Looks like you two have been holding out on us.”

Akira laughed as he peeled off his gloves.
“That was incredible, man.”

I wiped sweat from my brow, whispering,
“I… didn’t expect that.”

Taro clapped me on the shoulder.
“You earned it, Saito. Keep this up, and nobody’s catching you.”

My breathing slowed as I realized for the first time I wasn’t trailing behind—I was leading the pack. And when Mr. Kuroda motioned me to the sidelines with that rare nod of approval, my chest swelled with something like pride… tempered with the simple joy of having finally caught up.

When I slowed, Akira was already on his feet, brushing grass off his shorts. He offered me a genuine grin.
“Nice work, Saito. Only eight-hundredths in it—next time, I’ll close that gap.”

I shook my head, catching my breath.
“You’ll have to train harder than that.”

He laughed and bumped my shoulder.
“Oh, I will. Consider this my invitation.”

Mr. Kuroda stepped forward, folding his arms.
“Friendly rivals push each other to the next level. Keep it up—both of you.”

I wiped sweat from my brow, heart still racing. For once, I wasn’t chasing I was leading. And with Akira at my heels, I knew this was only the beginning of something better.

I was about to slip back into the relay when the bump happened—nothing serious, just a light collision at the turn. Still, Mr. Kuroda’s sharp “Off to the nurse’s office, Saito!” sent me trudging down the hall.

The door to Ms. Hoshino’s office stood half-open, pale light spilling into the dim corridor. Stepping inside, I smelled antiseptic and a faint, sweet perfume I couldn’t place. The room was silent save for the tick of a wall clock. She sat behind her desk, long legs crossed, nails painted deep burgundy. When she looked up, her smile was all teeth—warm, but sharp.

“So, you’re the famed Hikaru Saito,” she purred, rising to her feet. Her olive-skinned hand hovered briefly in the air before she swept it in my direction. “Infamous? Yes, I think that’s right.” She leaned forward, eyes dark as she took in my soaked shirt and heaving chest. “Word travels fast.”

My pulse fluttered as she slipped on latex gloves and reached for my wrist. Her touch was light, almost teasing as she pressed two fingers against my pulse point. “Steady… too steady,” she murmured. “Most kids would be shaky after that tumble.” Her gaze flicked up, catching mine in a slow, deliberate pause. “Feeling… different these days?”

I swallowed. “I guess I’m fine,” I managed, half-smile forced.

She pressed the ice pack against my cheek, her fingers brushing my hairline. “Lucky, or… unusual?” Her tone dropped to a whisper. “You’ve changed so much since spring. Faster, stronger… Care to tell me the secret?”

I shifted under her stare, uncomfortable. “It’s just… practice.”

She chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Practice, hm? Well, keep it up. But if anything, strange happens—heart racing, odd tingles—don’t hesitate to visit me. I want to make sure my… star patient stays healthy.”

She stepped back, gloves peeling from her fingers with a soft snap. “Take care, Hikaru. And remember—my door’s always open.”

Clutching the ice pack against my cheek, I nodded and slipped out, her words echoing down the silent hallway like a promise I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep.

The lunch bell rang, and we all filed into the courtyard with our trays. The sun was warm on my back, a welcome change from the track’s fatigue. Akira and Taro fell into step beside me as we carried our food to an empty bench.

Taro dropped into the seat across from me, sliding his tray onto the table.
“That 100-metre dash was insane,” he said, shaking his head. “10.29 seconds, Saito—where did you hide that speed?”

Akira grinned, plopping down next to me.
“I was at 10.37, and I swear I had you by a fingertip at the end.”

I laughed, shrugging off my sweat-damp shirt.
“Akira was right on my heels. I barely believed it myself.”

Taro leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Seriously, man—you’ve got to think about the track team. Kuroda-sensei’s going to put your name on the bulletin board.”

I took a bite of rice, considering.
“I never thought of it. I mean, I’ve only been running since gym class.”

Akira nudged me playfully.
“That’s exactly why you should join. We could all train together—improve our relay times, take down school records.”

Taro nodded.
“Yeah. Imagine the two of you—relay champions. You, Akira, and… Fujiwara could be your cheerleader.”

I smiled at the idea.
“Relay champions, huh? I like the sound of that.”

Akira leaned back, tucking his chin on his fist.
“You’d be our star runner—anime-style hero. I call dibs on rival with a redemption arc.”

Taro laughed.
“Just don’t go full anti-hero on us. We want friend Saito, not brooding loner Saito.”

I grinned, tapping the table.
“No villain arc, promise. But if I ever get too cocky, you two better knock me back down.”

Akira bumped my shoulder.
“Deal. Now eat before this lunch hour evaporates.”

As we dug in, the worry and awkwardness I’d carried for so long slipped away. For the first time, I wasn’t just running my own race—I was part of a team. And that made all the difference.

I gave them a half-smile. The idea of joining something bigger didn’t seem so bad anymore. These changes… weren’t a curse after all.

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The bell rang, and the courtyard snapped to life—students flooding out of buildings, laughter mixing with the buzz of footsteps. But to me, the air felt thick. Like something was building.

I barely took three steps when I saw them.

Renji and Daichi.

They were posted up near the lockers, but their usual smugness had hardened into something colder. Renji’s stare cut straight through me. Daichi’s fists were clenched tight. Behind them, a few more of Daichi’s guys hovered—watchful, waiting.

I kept walking.

Renji stepped in front of me.

“Well, look who decided to come out of hiding.”

I stopped. “Move.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you give orders?”

Daichi chuckled. “He thinks he’s someone now.”

I said nothing. Just kept my breathing steady.

Renji leaned in. “What, all that new muscle making you brave? Think you’re better than us?”

I met his eyes. “I just don’t have time for this.”

“Too bad,” Daichi muttered—and Renji shoved me.

I staggered a step but held firm. Around us, a few students slowed. Some paused. The vibe shifted—curious murmurs rippling out.

Renji shoved again. Harder.

Still, I didn’t move.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he sneered. “You’re still the same loser. Just bulked up.”

“I’m warning you.”

Daichi stepped in close. “What are you gonna do, freak?”

My fists clenched. The heat was already rising. My body tense, pulsing with energy I barely understood.

Then a voice cut through the tension—

“Hikaru? Where are y—”

I turned. Akane stood at the edge of the crowd, confused, scanning faces. She froze when she saw Renji and Daichi flanking me.

Renji noticed her too—and smiled.

“Ohhh… so that’s why you’re puffing your chest now.”

He took a step toward her.

That was it.

I moved.

Fast.

One second, I was still—the next, I was in front of him. My hand shot out, grabbing his collar and yanking him back. I shoved him away, hard.

Daichi swung at me from the side—I ducked, drove a punch into his gut, and spun, sweeping his legs from under him. He hit the pavement with a grunt.

Another tried to grab Akane.

I was there before he could blink—twisting his wrist and sending him reeling.

Renji charged me.

I sidestepped, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed him against the lockers. “Don’t touch her.”

He struggled. “You think this makes you something?!”

“It makes me better than you.”

Another gang member lunged. I twisted, dropped low, and drove an elbow into his ribs. He crumpled.

Daichi was back on his feet—bleeding, furious. “You think you’re untouchable now?”

“No. I just don’t run anymore.”

He roared and came at me. I ducked under his punch, grabbed his shirt, and threw him to the ground. The crowd gasped.

It was silent now.

Renji stumbled to his feet, coughing, eyes wide with disbelief.

I looked at both—bruised, gasping, defeated.

“Stay away from me,” I said coldly. “And stay away from her.”

They didn’t answer.

I turned. Akane was standing frozen, eyes wide.

“You, okay?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah.”

I looked back once—Renji and Daichi still slumped on the ground.

The fight was over.

But just over my shoulder, I felt someone watching me

‘‘That’s quite enough ’’, a sharp voice echoed through the halls.

It was the chairman and I already knew what I was in for.

The end of the Day:

The sun was dipping low by the time the last bell rang.

The fight was hours behind us, but the whispers hadn’t stopped. I felt them trailing me all day—stares in the hallway, hushed voices behind locked doors. Most didn’t say a word to me directly, but they didn’t have to. The shift was obvious.

When I stepped out the school gates, the black limo was already waiting, sleek and silent.

Akane sat inside, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes watching me through the half-open tinted window. She didn’t smile.

I climbed in beside her, the door shutting with a soft click. The seats were plush, but the silence felt heavier than the luxury.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

I looked at her. “Do what?”

She turned to face me fully. Her expression was unreadable caught somewhere between worry and something else. “All of that. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not the point, Hikaru.” Her voice tightened. “You didn’t have to jump in like that. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“I wasn’t about to let them lay a hand on you,” I said, firm but calm. “That’s all there is to it.”

She stared at me, lips parting like she wanted to say more, but hesitated. Then she looked away—out the window—fingers curling slightly in her lap.

“…But I’m happy you did,” she murmured, barely loud enough to hear.

I blinked. “Huh?”

She turned back to me, and this time, she smiled—but it was a strange smile. Soft, but with something just beneath it. Something that sent a little chill down my spine.

“That means we’re even closer now, right?” she said sweetly.

“…Closer?”

Her eyes sparkled. “You usually never fight at all. But you fought for me. That makes us special, doesn’t it?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “I mean, I guess. I just didn’t want them hurting you.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Exactly.”

There was something about the way she said it. Like she was claiming something.

Then, gently, her hand reached over and rested on mine. Warm. Steady.

“You're a little reckless sometimes,” she said. “But… I like that.”

My heart skipped a beat—not from fear, but from the way her voice softened.

The limo pulled to a stop in front of my house.

I reached for the handle.

“Hikaru,” she said quietly.

I turned.

And without warning, she leaned in and kissed me—lightly, deliberately—on the lips. Not rushed, not shy. Just… certain.

By the time I processed it, she’d already pulled back, her smile returning—gentler this time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered.

I nodded, dazed. “Yeah…”

As I stepped out, the door shut behind me. The limo rolled away, leaving me standing in front of the house.

The kiss still lingered on my lips. And for the first time all day…

…I wasn’t sure what had shaken me more.

The fight—or her.

Akane Fujiwara’s POV:

The soft hum of the limo was the only sound around me.

I sat alone, head resting against the window, watching the city blur by in streaks of fading light. But I didn’t see any of it. All I could see was him.

Hikaru.

His breath heavy. His chest rising and falling. The crimson glow in his eyes flickering like an echo of something ancient and dangerous. Something not entirely human anymore.

That moment—when he stood over Renji and Daichi, blood pounding in his ears, completely still as if daring the world to challenge him—I could feel it deep in my chest.

Terrifying.

Beautiful.

He wasn’t like them anymore.

He wasn’t like anyone.

I pressed my fingers lightly to my lips, remembering the kiss. I hadn’t planned it. It just… happened. One second, he was about to leave, and the next, I was kissing him like I’d been waiting to do it for years.

And he didn’t pull away.

He let me.

He needed me.

But that power… it’s accelerating faster than expected. Far too fast.

His body, his senses, his instincts—they’re shifting rapidly. That glow in his eyes… it wasn’t just a reflex. It was a response. To danger. To me.

And now?

Now he’s a confirmed case.

Father knows.
The Crimson Order knows.

They’ll be watching him now—every move, every word. He doesn’t even realize it, but there are eyes in the school, in the courtyard… in the shadows.

They’re everywhere now.

Because of him.

And I know how this works. First, they observe. Then they test. And when they decide he’s too unstable to control—they’ll move to eliminate.

They always do.

I curled my fingers into a fist, nails digging into my palm.

They won’t touch him.
I won’t let them.

Even if his strength becomes too much. Even if he loses control. Even if he starts to question himself.

I’ll be there.

Not just to support him.
Not just to comfort him.
But to protect him—from the Order, from the world, from himself if I must.

They don’t understand him.
They never will.

But I do.

And if anyone thinks they can take him from me…

I’ll show them what a Fujiwara is capable of.

The limo turned the final corner to my estate, the high iron gates parting without a sound.

I glanced down at my phone. No new messages. But I could feel it—my father was already planning. The moment Hikaru revealed his potential; he stopped being a bystander.

He became a threat.

To them.

To me…

To himself.

But he doesn't need to be afraid. Not as long as I’m with him.

I’ll keep him safe.

I’ll keep him mine.