~ Misaki ~
I leaned back a little, propped myself up on one hand and watched as Hina sipped the rest of the tea, satisfied with herself - as if she had just saved the world. Maybe she had. At least ours had.
"So, what else did you find out?" Yuki finally asked, his voice softer. Not secretive, but watchful - like someone who knows the peace never lasts long.
I glanced briefly at Haruki. He understood immediately, but I spoke first.
"Takuma was sent by a certain 'sensei'. No direct contact, just instructions via a third party. The boy was nervous - out of his depth, but not clueless. Probably one of several."
"A network?" asked Yuki.
"Or the beginning of one," Haruki murmured. "I was able to get him to talk a little. Enough to recognize patterns. His language, his insecurity - he's trained, but with no real background. Not a yakuza, not a professional."
"A tool, then," I summarized.
Yuki nodded slowly. "Then let's hope Father can get more out of him and Shōgo."
Hina pulled a face. "Work again."
I put a hand on her head. "Just a little."
"Promise?"
I hesitated. Then I said, "Yes."
She beamed as if I had given her the greatest gift.
At that moment, the door opened quietly. Sōta entered, her face chiseled, but her shoulders slightly slumped. No sign of danger - but no sign of the all-clear either.
"Father wants to see you both now," he said calmly.
I stood up. Haruki did too.
Hina wanted to protest, but I put my index finger to her lips. "Later."
She nodded meekly, then clung to Yuki, who pulled her onto his lap without comment.
The sliding door slid almost silently to the side. As always, the room was kept simple: Tatami mats, a low table, the walls decorated with calligraphy. And in the middle of it all - Father.
The oyabun sat upright like a rock in the surf, his hands folded on the table, his eyes closed. I could only tell that he was breathing by the barely noticeable lift of his shoulders.
Sōta took a step forward. "Misaki. Haruki."
The oyabun opened his eyes. Clear, penetrating eyes that fixed us immediately.
"Come closer."
We knelt down on the prepared seats. I could feel Haruki's tension next to me, even though he was holding up well. I held my father's gaze, waiting for him to speak.
"I heard you brought two guests."
"Shōgo... and a rookie. Takuma," I said. "Shōgo is in an unconscious state. The other one... is talking."
"What did he say?"
Haruki replied, "He doesn't know his employer. Calls him 'sensei'. Got orders through a third party. According to him, it was his first real mission."
"And this mission...?" father asked.
"He was supposed to support Shōgo," I said. "Maybe trigger it. Maybe eliminate it. He didn't know for sure himself. But it was planned."
The oyabun was silent for a moment. Then: "A network, then. Still under construction. And someone is pulling strings - outside our field of vision."
He looked directly at me.
"You took the initiative, Misaki. Without consulting me."
I lowered my eyes briefly. "It was a decision on the spot. I take responsibility."
"I know."
Silence. Then - a barely noticeable
I raised my head again. It was only a quiet sentence, but I felt Haruki breathe a sigh of relief beside me.
"And you, Haruki?" Father's eyes were now on him. "What have you learned?"
Haruki cleared his throat. "The communication between the rookies was encrypted. But not good. I found tracing points - possible ways this 'sensei' operates. I need more time, but it's a start."
"A start," Father said. "More than I expected."
He stood up, slowly, but with the unwavering calm of a man who has carried the weight of responsibility for decades.
"Shōgo will be questioned. Takuma as well. I want names, places, connections. You've done a good job - but that was just the beginning."
He stepped closer to me and put a hand on my shoulder
"Well done, Shinku."
I just nodded.
Then father turned to Haruki, "And you - you're growing."
Haruki blushed a little, but he bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, father."
"Go now. Get some rest. I'll call you when I need you again."
We bowed and left the room.
In the hallway, I took a deep breath. Haruki looked at me from the side.
"Shinku, yeah?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "He only says that when he's happy."
Haruki grinned. "Then I guess it was worth it."
I shook my head, but I couldn't quite keep the smile off my face.
I stepped back into the drawing room. The sun was slanting through the paper walls, dancing on the cups. Hina had long since grabbed a picture book and was lying on her stomach on the tatami, her feet in the air. Kimiko had arrived in the meantime - she was sitting elegantly on a cushion, one hand on her stomach. Her smile was gentle.
"There's our Kurohime again," she said softly, barely teasing, and bowed her head in greeting.
I sat down next to her. "Kimiko. You're glowing."
"I'm sweating," she corrected, glancing at Hina. "But if you can survive that little mess, you can manage a second child."
Hina grinned without looking up. "I'm not a mess at all!"
"Yes, you are," came the chorus from Yuki and Sota, who had just returned with fresh tea.
Sota settled down next to Haruki and stretched out his legs. "What did you tell father?"
"Just the bare minimum," I said quietly. "He's satisfied."
Haruki nudged Sota lightly with his elbow. "She's left us all behind."
"Because she's the best," Hina shouted proudly.
Kimiko sighed playfully. "And at least the rest of us get to look pretty."
I laughed softly, leaned back and looked at them all - Sota with his serene calm, Yuki with the mischief in her eyes, Kimiko with her quiet smile, Haruki with that alert look... and Hina, who was just being herself.
---
~ Later that evening ~
The table was generously set: grilled fish, rice, miso, tofu with ginger, pickled vegetables, tamagoyaki. Mother moved quietly around the room, her gaze scrutinizing but satisfied. The tatami mats were fresh, the scent of incense was in the air - and somewhere underneath: Home.
I was sitting between Kimiko and Haruki, opposite Yuki. Sota sat at the head end as usual - but not in the main seat. That was reserved for Father. He was already sitting there, quietly, without words, with the matter-of-factness of someone who no longer needs to draw attention to himself. His presence was enough.
Kimiko's daughter sat on her lap, holding on to her yukata and yawning softly. Kimiko's husband - watchful and reserved - sat opposite her. He spoke little, but observed a lot. Kimiko's second pregnancy was obvious, but she still radiated calm. Almost more than usual.
Sota's son, on the other hand, was a little whirlwind - even on his second onigiri, which he chewed with full cheeks.
"It tastes best with the ume!"
"Slow down, Daisuke," Sota's wife warned in a hushed voice. "Not all at once."
"But he's right," said Sota. "Ume has always been the best."
"You used to think everything was the best," Yuki interjected.
"Except Kimiko's cooking experiments at eleven," said Haruki.
Kimiko grinned. "They were artistic."
"They were dangerous," said Yuki. "Almost like Hina's green tea."
"It was delicious!" protested Hina from the edge of the table.
"It wasn't," Haruki whispered.
Mother smiled as she lifted the teapot. "It's not about perfection," she said. Her voice was calm but firm. "Just about the will to make it with love."
"So my tea was perfect!" exclaimed Hina immediately.
"Almost," Mother said, winking at her. "Just a little more patience - and less matcha."
I was given a fresh bowl of roasted sweet potatoes. Mother set it down quietly in front of me, but gave me a brief, satisfied look.
Father raised a brow when Hina tried to squeeze between Haruki and me. "Not with your elbow in the rice," he said calmly.
"Hai, Oyaji," she replied, pushing the plate with both hands - and then grinning cheekily anyway.
Kimiko handed me the soy sauce. "Kyōto?"
"It was messy in Kyōto, but we got what we wanted," I said casually.
"Was it quiet?" asked Sota.
Haruki shrugged his shoulders. "By our standards - yes."
"And the rookie?" asked Yuki.
"Talks a lot. Knows little. But learns quickly."
Kimiko nodded thoughtfully. "Like a young dog."
"You might like him, Yuki," Haruki interjected.
"I have enough young dogs in the dojo."
A soft snort came from the head end. Father, his back straight, his gaze steady, slipped a piece of fish between his lips. Then - a light, dry laugh.
Not loud. Not infrequently. But genuine.
Mother looked at him briefly, as if she could hear more in that tone than we could. Then she turned back to us.
"I'm happy to see you like this," she said softly - not wistfully, but with warmth. "Together. And alive."
"Me too," Kimiko murmured as she gently stroked her daughter.
"Maybe it will stay that way for a while," Yuki said - not as a question, but like a hope.
The conversation continued. Hina argued playfully with Haruki over the last piece of tamagoyaki, which Sota grabbed before either of them could reach it.
"Unfair!" they shouted at the same time.
Kimiko laughed softly. Sota's son was also halfway to dreamland, his head leaning against his mother's arm.
Mother began to quietly collect the first bowls. No one protested. No order was necessary.
I leaned back.
Tea. Fish. Voice. Warmth.
The last bowls of rice were empty, the plates almost cleared. Mother put the teapot back on the tray, while the children slowly became sleepier - Hina's head had long been leaning against Haruki's shoulder, Kimiko's daughter was fast asleep in her father's arms, and Sota's son had long since lost the battle against tiredness.
It was quiet. Only the soft clink of china and the rustling of tatami.
Then Father cleared his throat quietly.
All eyes turned to him - not because he was loud, but because people always listened carefully when he spoke.
He was still sitting at the head end, his posture straight, his gaze clear. With a slow movement, he put the tea bowl down.
"After dinner. In the north room."
Nothing more was needed.
But everyone knew what it was about.
There were no more words. No "What exactly?" No "Why?". Just nods.
Sota put the chopstick aside. Yuki pulled a notebook out of her inside pocket. Kimiko gave me a quick glance before gently pulling her daughter closer to her.
I nodded slightly. "Got it."
Father didn't say anything else. But his gaze rested on me for a moment longer - firm, penetrating, but not hard. Then he turned away and slowly stood up.
Mother stepped next to him, as if of her own accord, and together they left the room - quietly, gracefully, without haste.
As the door closed behind them, Haruki exhaled. "The north room, then."
"The last time he said that, it was about the distribution of the southern districts," Yuki muttered.
"Or about the dispute with the Nagaoka group," Kimiko said quietly.
I looked into my tea bowl. The warmth was almost gone.
Shinjū-kai, then.