The Omurice Ritual

“Once upon a time, there was a greedy python. It devoured every animal in the forest, from the tiny mouse to the big elephant.”

Kousuke spoke with a melodic, practiced warmth, his voice rising and falling like a gentle tide, the kind used for reading scriptures or soothing a feverish child. He didn't look up from the stove. His focus was entirely on the yellow curtain of egg sizzling in the pan, a thin, perfect veil. With a practiced flick of the wrist, he folded the omelet over a mound of seasoned rice, creating a seamless, golden crescent.

“One day, a little kitten wandered into the python’s den,” he continued, reaching for the ketchup. “The kitten was smart. It distracted the python with tales of the city. It earned the beast’s trust, and eventually, it convinced the python to release the forest animals. Happy ever after!”

Kousuke turned. “What do you think, Yuuto? Think the kids at the parish study will be touched by it?”

Yuuto sat at the small wooden table, his legs swinging in a rhythm that didn't quite match the domestic peace of the kitchen. He took a slow sip of his milk, leaving a white mustache on his upper lip.

“It’s lame,” Yuuto said. His voice was flat, devoid of the high-pitched wonder expected of an eleven-year-old. “And a potential copyright strike. You just combined “The Greedy Python” and “1001 Nights” and called it a day, Kou-san.”

Kousuke let out a theatrical gasp of betrayal, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. He began to draw on the egg with the ketchup bottle. He was meticulous, ensuring the cat’s ears were perfectly symmetrical, surrounding the face with a flurry of bright red hearts.

“I just want a happy ending,” Kousuke murmured, his eyes hidden behind the glint of his wire-rimmed glasses. “For everyone. Including the python.”

Yuuto stared at the hearts—red smears against a yellow canvas. For a fleeting second, the boy’s mask slipped, and the smallest, most genuine curve touched the corner of his mouth. “You’re such a softie, Kou-san.”

“Only for you,” Kousuke chirped, ruffling the boy's hair as he set the plate down.

The morning was an exercise in curated peace. The kitchen smelled of toasted bread and dark coffee. They talked about the weather, about Yuuto’s science project, and the upcoming reading at the church. To any neighbor peeking through the blinds, it was a miracle of rehabilitation. A kind social worker raising a survivor of a massacre, healing a 'broken' child with omurice and fables.

Kousuke leaned against the counter, watching Yuuto eat, feeling the glow of his own "Salvation Project." He truly believed he was the guardian. He truly believed the house was a sanctuary.

As he drove Yuuto to school and leaned over to kiss his forehead, the radio hummed with a low-volume report: another body found in the industrial district. The 'Viper' had struck again.

Yuuto didn't flinch. He adjusted his backpack, smiled at Kousuke, and stepped out into the bright morning sun.

But the morning was merely the prologue.

***

The house at 2:00 AM was a different creature.

The warmth of the breakfast nook had soured into a cold, pressurized silence. Yuuto stood in the kitchen, his small form swallowed by the blue shadows cast by the digital clock on the microwave. He was stirring a mug of cocoa, the spoon clinking against the ceramic with a steady, haunting rhythm.

The back door creaked open.

Kousuke entered, but the 'Softie' was gone. His hair was a frantic nest. His expensive church shoes were stained with something dark and viscous that wouldn't come out with a simple polish. He tucked his hands—those gentle, egg-flipping hands—into his pockets to hide the trembling. He smelled of rain, cigarette smoke, and the sharp, metallic tang of iron.

He headed straight for the sink, the faucet splashing violently as he began to scrub. He used a stiff brush, scouring his skin until it was raw and pink, trying to wash away a stain that wasn't just on the surface.

“Welcome home,” Yuuto chirped from the shadows.

Kousuke froze, the water still running. He didn't turn around. He couldn't. Not yet. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the fridge and took a long, jagged swallow, the amber liquid acting as a chemical bridge between his two halves.

“Two catches back-to-back don't seem like a very pacifist idea, don't you think?” Yuuto turned, leaning against the counter. He looked at Kousuke not with fear, but with the quiet curiosity of a scientist observing a specimen.

Kousuke exhaled slowly, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. His hands were still damp. Yuuto stepped forward and flicked a lighter, the flame illuminating the hollows of Kousuke’s face—the eyes of the Viper peering out from behind the social worker’s skin—bloodshot, shimmering with a manic, cold light that he only ever saw in the dead of night.

“This one fought back,” Kousuke rasped, his voice a low, predatory growl. “Ruined my favorite shirt.”

Yuuto scanned the ruined fabric, his gaze lingering on a dark splash near the cuff. He didn't recoil. Instead, his eyes brightened, unnervingly wide.

“Cocky much,” Yuuto teased, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Want to hear about my writing project? It’s a sequel to your fable.”

Kousuke let out a puff of smoke, the dark cloud curling past the silver cross hanging from his neck. “Go on.”

“The kitten survived because the python loved him,” Yuuto said, his fingers tracing the edge of Kousuke’s stained sleeve. “And because the kitten was the only one who realized that the python wasn't a beast at all. He was just... lonely.”

Kousuke stared down at the boy. For the first time, he felt a prickle of unease—a sense that the 'miracle' he had brought into his home wasn't a kitten at all, but something that had been waiting for a predator to call its own.

“Go to bed, Yuuto,” Kousuke whispered, though he didn't pull his arm away.

“Until then,” Yuuto murmured, a chilling echo of a promise he hadn't yet made. Then he smiled. It was the same smile he had given the omurice hearts that morning.

Inside the python’s den, the lights stayed off. The neighborhood watch alert scrolled silently across the TV in the other room. But inside the kitchen, the only sound was the rhythmic stirring of cocoa and the heavy, shared breath of two monsters waiting for the sun to rise.

The python was home.

And for now, the kitten was the only thing it didn't want to eat.