Chapter 16: The chosen father || Erabareta Chichi

  Shunsuke’s apartment, Roppongi, Minato-ku → October 4th, 2022

  “The moment a name became a bond.”

  Content warning: mentions of injury recovery, past violence, emotional vulnerability. Also contains extreme sweetness (Yuki might cause cavities).

  Shunsuke lay on the bed, his body a fragile, trembling line. He drifted in and out of sleep, his mind a blurred landscape of pain and medication. Miyu sat on the edge of the mattress, the last bandage strip sealed against his raw skin.

  “Thank… you,” he mumbled, the words heavy, slurred by the sedative meant to bring him peace.

  Miyu’s fingers brushed his cheek, feather-light, wiping away the bead of sweat at his temple. His hair, damp and dark, clung stubbornly to his skin. Even under the drugs, his body betrayed him: a constant tremor, a shiver that had nothing to do with cold.

  “You’re still in so much pain,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Why does he always bear this alone? “I wish there was something I could do to take it away.”

  Shunsuke’s clammy hand found hers, his grip weak yet insistent. “I’m… fine,” he rasped, the lie sharp in her chest. “I… chose… this.”

  She bent to kiss his feverish forehead. “You’re lucky,” she murmured, though the word felt like ash on her tongue. “They’re only second-degree burns.” Lucky. Only. How could such words ever apply to him like this?

  At the door, Yuki lingered, clutching Kuro to her chest. The raccoon’s nose twitched, sensing the stillness of the room. With cautious steps, Yuki approached the bed, setting Kuro down carefully, like placing a talisman beside someone who needed it most.

  “Shun-nii… I hope you’re feeling better soon,” she whispered, small and earnest, her voice a fragile thread of innocence in the heavy silence.

  Shunsuke managed a weak but genuine smile, giving her the faintest nod. “I will, Yuki. Just a few days. I’m sorry you had to see this.” His hand lifted, ruffling her hair with a tenderness that defied his pain.

  Kuro nudged at his chest, a soft chitter rising as he curled against him, as if to say, I’m here. I’ll guard you now.

  The next days blurred together for Shunsuke, who drifted in and out of sleep more often than not. Through it all, Kuro never left his side. When Shunsuke ventured onto the balcony for a breath of night air, the raccoon would position himself so he could always keep his human in sight.

  Miyu tended to the burns with a steady devotion, changing the bandages, applying ointments, her hands unfailingly gentle. When the sting grew too much, Shunsuke would stroke Kuro’s fur, murmuring soft words into the warmth of his little companion.

  Fragments of memory clung to him: the harsh brightness of the ER, the sharp smell of antiseptic, Miyu’s voice rising as she argued with the doctor over his medication. He couldn’t recall the words, only the fierce edge of her tone, and the way she had refused to back down.

  The sound of the door opening drew him back. Miyu stepped into the bedroom, her lips curved in a faint, tired smile.

  “You’re awake, Shunsuke.”

  He gave a weak nod. “Yes. Kuro woke me up.”

  The raccoon tilted his head toward Miyu and chirped proudly, as if expecting praise for his diligence.

  Miyu chuckled, crouching to pat his head. “You should only wake him if he stops breathing properly, silly.”

  Kuro flopped dramatically onto his side in response, tail flicking, as if to say he had done his duty regardless.

  Shunsuke managed a faint smile, though the pain still shadowed his face. “Did you sleep, Miyu?” he asked softly, worry threading through his voice. He knew she had spent most nights awake tending to him. The thought left a sour guilt in his chest—she already had Yuki to care for, and now she had him too.

  Miyu’s hand came up to stroke his cheek, her touch feather-light. “I did sleep a little,” she reassured him gently. “On the couch, while Yuki played in the living room with her Switch Lite.”

  Shunsuke gave a small, tired nod. “Alright… I’m sorry for being a burden right now.”

  Miyu’s lips curved in a smile, tender and unwavering. “You’re silly, just like Kuro. I don’t mind taking care of you, Shunsuke.”

  His cheeks warmed with a faint blush at her words, and before he could respond, Kuro chirped loudly, fixing him with a look that seemed to say: See? She called you silly too.

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  Shunsuke rubbed Kuro’s fur gently, his fingers tracing the soft rhythm of comfort. Then the doorbell rang. Kuro sat up instantly, ears perked, his little body tense like a sentinel.

  Miyu rose from her seat and slipped quietly out of the bedroom. Shunsuke strained to listen, every nerve pulled tight. He caught the murmur of her voice, soft and polite, and then a deeper male voice in reply—familiar, but blurred by distance.

  He shifted, forcing himself upright despite the pull of pain across his back. Kuro edged closer, pressing against his side as if to steady him.

  When the door finally opened, Taiki stepped inside. For a moment, silence filled the room like a held breath. Their eyes met, and in that unspoken space, Shunsuke offered the faintest of nods. Taiki returned it, heavy with meaning, as if words would only shatter the fragile air between them.

  Shunsuke’s gaze drifted down—and froze. Taiki’s right hand was wrapped in fresh bandages, stark white against the dark of his suit. For a heartbeat his mind refused to piece it together. Then the truth struck like a blade. That was why Shohei had stopped. Why the room had fallen silent.

  The tears welled before he could stop them. His throat closed, his chest aching. “I’m… I’m sorry, Satsuma-san,” he whispered, the words breaking into a sob.

  Taiki sat beside him without hesitation, the mattress dipping under his weight. He placed his uninjured hand carefully on Shunsuke’s shoulder, a steady warmth in the storm. His voice was low, measured, but not cold. “Shunsuke, it’s fine. Don’t carry this guilt. I’m grateful you’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.”

  Yuki stood in the doorway, her raccoon plushie clutched tightly in her arms. Miyu hovered just behind her, gentle and watchful. With a small hop, Yuki climbed onto the bed, setting her plushie beside Shunsuke as if it too were keeping vigil. Her bright eyes lingered on him before shifting curiously to Taiki.

  “Are you Papa Shun’s papa?” she asked, her voice pure and guileless.

  Shunsuke’s breath caught. More tears spilled free before he could stop them. He pulled Yuki into his arms, holding her against him as though she were the only anchor keeping him steady.

  “Yuki-chan,” he whispered into her hair, his voice trembling.

  She pulled back just enough to peer up at him. “Did I say something bad? You’re crying, Shun-nii.”

  Miyu sat beside them, her hand coming to rest gently on her daughter’s back.

  “Yuki,” she said softly, “sometimes adults cry when they’re happy.”

  Yuki tilted her head, wide-eyed. “Are you happy, Shun-nii?”

  A sob broke loose from his chest, raw and quiet. He pressed his face into her hair, clutching her closer.

  “I am, Yuki-chan,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “So much.”

  Taiki rose quietly and stepped back toward the wall, giving them space. His voice was low, almost gentle.

  “No, I’m not his father by blood. But I am the one he chose to be his father.”

  Yuki tilted her head, looking up at Shunsuke with wide, curious eyes.

  “So… like I chose Shun-nii as my papa?” she asked brightly.

  Shunsuke’s throat tightened. He managed a small nod.

  “Just like that,” he whispered.

  Miyu brushed Yuki’s hair back tenderly before standing. “Can I bring you something, Satsuma-sama?” she asked softly.

  Taiki shook his head. “Not necessary. I only wanted to see how Shunsuke is doing. I have a meeting with his father later—discussing a potential alliance with the Nakashima-gumi.” His tone was warm, but carried weight.

  Shunsuke’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across his features.

  “My father wants an alliance? Why?” The disbelief in his voice was unmistakable.

  Before the silence could settle, Yuki piped up, her innocence cutting through the heaviness like sunlight.

  “Does that mean Mama and Papa can be together forever?”

  Shunsuke drew Yuki closer, holding her as if she were the very heart of his world.

  Taiki moved toward the door. “If I’m allowed, I’ll come by after the meeting and tell you everything,” he said quietly, pausing at the threshold.

  “You’re always welcome here, Satsuma-san,” Shunsuke replied warmly.

  A rare smile touched Taiki’s face before he stepped out. Miyu followed, walking him at least to the door out of courtesy.

  Yuki snuggled deeper against Shunsuke’s chest. “I’m happy to have you and Mama,” she whispered, her voice small but certain.

  “And I’m happy to have you and your mother, Yuki,” Shunsuke murmured back, his words breaking on a tide of emotion.

  Kuro chirped in response and nudged Yuki with his nose, as if to say: I’m happy too.

  The night had settled softly over Tokyo, the hum of distant traffic weaving with the faint chorus of cicadas. On the balcony, the air carried a cool whisper, rustling the leaves of Miyu’s potted plants. She and Shunsuke sat close on the wooden bench, Kuro nestled contentedly in the crook of greenery, his soft breathing blending with the quiet night.

  Shunsuke reached for her hand, their fingers finding each other as naturally as breath.

  “I still can’t believe my father agreed to an alliance with yours,” he murmured, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

  Miyu leaned into him, careful not to press against his bandaged side. “Maybe… he’s doing it for you?” she offered, her gaze lingering on their entwined hands, the warmth grounding her.

  A dry, humorless laugh escaped him, brittle in the stillness. “He’s never done anything for me. He’s planning something.”

  Their eyes lifted, meeting in a silence heavy with understanding. For a heartbeat, the world around them seemed to hold still—the city, the night, even the stars overhead—before they closed the distance. Their lips met in a deep, aching kiss, full of longing and shadowed by the unspoken fear of what lay ahead.

  Kuro chirped softly, as though blessing the fragile peace he sensed. With their foreheads resting together, Shunsuke let a rare, gentle smile soften his features.

  “Let’s just hope for the best,” he whispered, brushing her lips again in a tender, lingering kiss that tasted of both hope and uncertainty.