Nakashima Residence, Ichigaya, Shinjuku-ku → October 28th, 2022
“Family is the place where even wounded pride finds somewhere soft to rest”
Shunsuke sat on Miyu’s bed, his phone buzzing relentlessly on the blanket beside him. Each vibration tightened the knot in his chest. With a quiet sigh, he picked it up, already knowing what waited for him.
He opened the app.
His notification feed overflowed. Comments stacked endlessly—some supportive, a few neutral… but the ones that caught his eye were the ones dripping with venom.
“How can you stoop so low and take someone like Shion?”
“She’s using him. It’s obvious.”
“How could you betray your fans like this?! We’re the reason you’re famous.”
Shunsuke swallowed hard. The familiar sting crept in—the same cold, hollow feeling he knew too well from the darker days of his career. He dragged a hand over his face, trying to steady his breathing. Not for himself… but for Miyu.
And for Yuki.
He scrolled further, the words becoming harsher the deeper he went. Someone had even posted a cropped photo of Yuki, circling her face with a caption asking whether she was “his secret child.” He felt his stomach turn.
Shunsuke locked his phone and set it aside, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes.
“Kuro… it’s getting worse,” he whispered.
The raccoon chirped softly from the blanket, as if sensing the shift in his mood.
Shunsuke leaned back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t care what they say about me. But Miyu… and Yuki…” His voice cracked, just barely. “They don’t deserve this.”
Kuro chirped again, padding over and placing a tiny paw on Shunsuke’s leg.
For the first time since the notifications began flooding in, Shunsuke managed a faint smile.
As he scrolled further, the flood of comments shifted tone, and despite himself, a laugh slipped out.
“That tanuki is cute. Shun, we need a social media page for the tanuki. Now.”
“Is that a tanuki?”
“What a fluffy raccoon, he is so round.”
Shunsuke glanced toward the blanket-covered corner, where Kuro had lifted his head with slow, offended precision. “Some of my followers are suggesting you look a little round,” he remarked, his tone deliberately neutral but edged with faint amusement.
Kuro stared at him in open disbelief, his expression tightening as his fur puffed out in indignant protest. The raccoon emitted a short, disgruntled chirp, gripping Shunsuke’s phone with both paws as though verifying the accusation himself.
A quiet laugh escaped Shunsuke despite the prevailing tension. “I understand. It’s inaccurate terminology,” he said, attempting to placate him. “You’re not fat—just unusually fluffy.”
Kuro turned a full circle on the blanket, his movements abrupt, as if presenting empirical evidence to counter the allegation.
Shunsuke shook his head, the faintest trace of fondness breaking through. “Fine. I’ll defend your public image if it becomes necessary.”
The door slid open, and Miyu stepped inside. She paused briefly, her gaze shifting between Shunsuke and the raccoon. “Why does he look like someone insulted his entire lineage?” she asked.
Shunsuke exhaled, carefully maintaining composure. “Someone online called him ‘round.’”
Miyu settled beside him and assessed Kuro with clinical precision. “But he is round.”
At this, Kuro let out an aggrieved, muffled sound and buried his face in the pillow, his posture the clear embodiment of wounded pride.Miyu and Shunsuke laughed softly together.
Then Shunsuke’s phone vibrated again. This time, it was a notification that Ryuichi had posted something on social media. Shunsuke raised an eyebrow, surprised, since Ryuichi rarely posted. He was more the type to live rent-free in everyone’s comment section.
Shunsuke tapped open the thread Ryuichi had posted, and his breath hitched.
My name is Ryuichi Sakamoto, and I am the younger brother of Shun Ishihara. I am also a final-year law student at Tokyo University.
I am writing to address the circulation of photographs depicting my brother, his partner, and a minor child.
Under Japanese law, specifically the Act on the Protection of Personal Information and provisions regarding minors’ image rights, the unauthorized distribution of identifiable images of children without parental consent constitutes a violation of privacy law.
To be clear:
- My brother and Shion are public figures. Criticism and discussion of their relationship is protected speech.
- The child in these images is not a public figure and has no such protections waived.
I have begun documenting all accounts sharing, editing, or commenting on images that identify this child. Legal counsel has been retained, and we will pursue civil action against individuals who:
- Continue to share these images after this notice
- Create derivative content (edits, memes, speculation posts) using the child’s likeness
- Engage in targeted harassment regarding the child’s identity or family situation
This is not a request. This is a legal notice.
If you care about my brother, if you ever respected him, prove it by protecting an innocent child’s right to privacy.
Delete the images. Stop sharing them. Move forward.
Shunsuke stared at the words on the screen, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. For a long moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Only read the post again slowly, carefully because his mind refused to accept that Ryuichi, who only ever posted snarky comments and memes, had written something so sharp, formal, and devastatingly protective.
Miyu leaned closer. “What did Ryuichi post?” she asked softly.
Shunsuke handed her the phone wordlessly.
As Miyu’s eyes moved over the text, her lips parted in stunned silence. “He… he wrote this?” she whispered. “Your brother?”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Kuro, sensing the shift in atmosphere, waddled over with a concerned chirp. Miyu instinctively scooped him into her lap, stroking his back while she read the post again.
Shunsuke swallowed hard. His voice trembled.
“He… he’s defending Yuki,” he murmured, almost to himself. “He’s defending us.”
Miyu looked at him, eyes warm and wet with emotion. “Shunsuke… this is incredible. He’s using his voice, his future profession to protect Yuki.” She squeezed his hand. “Your brother… he’s amazing.”
Shunsuke exhaled, shaky and overwhelmed. “I never asked him to do this,” he whispered. “I didn’t even tell him about the comments. He did this on his own.”
He sank back slightly, the weight of relief and affection settling into his expression. “Ryu always acts like he doesn’t care,” he said, lips curving into a soft, disbelieving smile. “But when it matters… he always shows up.”
Kuro chirped approvingly, as if agreeing wholeheartedly.
Miyu leaned her head against Shunsuke’s shoulder. “You have a wonderful family, Shunsuke.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the truth of that sink in.
“No,” he said gently, eyes opening to meet hers. “We have a wonderful family.”
Outside, the house was filled with the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation. But inside this small room, the world felt still—soft—safe.
Ryuichi had their back.
And Shunsuke, for the first time since the photo went online, felt hope.
Shunsuke picked up his phone again, glancing at Kuro—who was still dramatically sulking into the pillow, only his ears visible.
“Kuro,” he said solemnly, “I’m going to take a photo of you and put it online. Someone needs to defend your honor.”
Kuro lifted his head just enough to glare at him.
Shunsuke snapped the picture anyway.
A perfectly round, deeply offended raccoon.
He opened the app and began typing, his lips already twitching with amusement.
Caption:
Kuro would like everyone to know he is not “round.” He is “architecturally fluffy.”
He has spent the last 20 minutes demonstrating his elegance through interpretive spinning. I have been instructed to inform you all that he is filing a formal complaint with management (me).
Also, he’s a raccoon, not a tanuki. He’s very sensitive about this.
— Shun
Miyu tried—she really tried—not to laugh, but a choked sound escaped her anyway. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking.
“You’re a proud raccoon dad, Shunsuke,” she said, her voice thick with amusement and affection.
He looked at her, a soft flush coloring his cheeks. “Maybe…”
Miyu leaned in, her smile warm, and kissed him gently. “It suits you,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his.
In the corner, Kuro chirped once—less offended now, but clearly still filing emotional paperwork.
Miyu and Shunsuke stood up. “We are in the garden, Kuro, you can stay here if you like,” Shunsuke said, kneeling beside the raccoon and gently stroking his fur. Kuro let out a still-offended but soft noise.
Miyu and Shunsuke left the bedroom but left the shoji door open so Kuro could join them in the garden again whenever he wished. As they reached the garden, Shunsuke saw Ryuichi with his phone in hand, writing notes on a pad of paper. Shunsuke approached him and hugged him tightly.
Ryuichi, completely surprised, playfully tried to wiggle free. “Nii-san, if my clothes get wrinkles, then your fans are the least of your problems!”
Shunsuke only held him tighter, burying his face briefly against Ryuichi’s shoulder with a shaky laugh.
“You,” he said, his voice thick with relief, “are impossible.”
Ryuichi gave up the struggle with an exaggerated sigh, his arms stiff at his sides like a hostage. “I am also busy,” he muttered, though the tips of his ears—flushed pink—betrayed his genuine embarrassment.
Hina stood nearby, arms crossed, smiling knowingly. Miyu stopped beside her, watching the exchange between the brothers with soft eyes.
Shunsuke finally released him enough for Ryuichi to breathe, but he kept his hands on his shoulders, steady and grounding.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, sincerely. “I saw your post. I… didn’t expect you to do that.”
Ryuichi cleared his throat, suddenly finding great interest in brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve, refusing to make eye contact. “It was necessary,” he said. “People were crossing lines. And Yuki—” His voice hesitated, a rare and fragile sound. “She doesn’t deserve that.”
Shunsuke’s chest tightened. “You’re protecting her.”
“I’m protecting all of you,” Ryuichi corrected, the sharpness in his voice intended to mask his embarrassment. “It’s reckless to involve a child. And it’s illegal. That post will make half of them panic-delete on reflex alone.”
Shunsuke smiled softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Ryuichi scoffed. “Of course I did. You’re my brother.”
Hina slid an arm around Ryuichi’s waist. “You can just say you care, you know.”
Ryuichi immediately stiffened, pulling his posture rigid. “I will not be slandered like this.”
Shunsuke laughed—a full, genuine sound—his shoulders relaxing for the first time all day.
Miyu stepped closer, slipping her hand into his. “Your brother is incredible,” she whispered.
Shunsuke nodded, pride warming his expression. “Yeah… he really is.”
Ryuichi, noticing their joined hands, pretended not to but then pointed his pen at Shunsuke anyway.
“And you shouldn’t be on social media right now, Nii-san. I know you’re doomscrolling. I can see it in your eyes. Put the phone away before I confiscate it.”
“You can’t confiscate my phone,” Shunsuke protested weakly.
“I’m a law student. I can confiscate anything.”
Hina rolled her eyes. “That’s not how that works.”
But Shunsuke was smiling again—light, relieved, and grateful.
Behind them, a soft chirp echoed through the hallway.
Kuro appeared at the threshold of the shoji door, like an offended emperor making a formal entrance.
Ryuichi blinked. “…He actually is round.”
Kuro let out a scandalized chirp so sharp that even Ryuichi took a step back.
Shunsuke groaned. “Great. Now you offended him, too.”
Miyu giggled, covering her mouth. “This family is going to get sued by its own raccoon one day.”
“I’ll represent him,” Ryuichi offered dryly.
They all sat down around the large table. Kuro jumped onto Shunsuke’s lap, his dark eyes scrutinizing the dishes set out for the family. When he failed to see anything that met his high standards, he huffed softly and jumped back down.
Shunsuke chuckled, amused. “Oh, didn’t he like what was here?”
Meilin smiled gently. “Should I make him something too?”
Miyu shook her head. “No, Mother. Kuro is already round enough. He had his share of food this morning. He will survive.” Miyu said softly, and in the background, Kuro let out an unmistakably offended huff. Miyu quickly corrected herself: “Oh, sorry. He is architecturally fluffy.”
Everyone laughed softly at the exchange.
Ryuichi leaned back in his chair, smirking as Kuro waddled dramatically beneath the table like a betrayed emperor seeking justice.
“He definitely understood that,” Ryuichi muttered. “Look at him. Injury to pride: catastrophic.”
Kuro shot him a pointed chirp.
Shunsuke reached down and scratched behind Kuro’s ear. “It’s okay, buddy. They don’t appreciate your structural design.”
Meilin smiled warmly at the scene. “He is very expressive for a raccoon,” she said, settling down beside Yuka and Hikari. “Almost like another child at the table.”
“Please don’t tell him that,” Shunsuke sighed. “He already behaves like he pays rent.”
Miyu covered her mouth, suppressing a laugh. “He definitely acts like the apartment belongs to him.”
Hikari, who had been quietly holding Yuka’s sleeve, pointed at Kuro with bright curiosity.
“Auntie Miyu… is that a cat?” she whispered.
The adults around the table tried—and failed—not to laugh.
“No, sweetheart,” Miyu said gently, leaning closer. “He’s a raccoon. His name is Kuro.”
Hikari’s eyes widened. “Kuro…” She paused. “Can I pet him?”
Kuro paused mid-huff, his ears perking up at the small voice.
Shunsuke glanced at the raccoon, then at the child, then nodded. “If he comes to you, you can pet him. He chooses.”
Kuro stared at Hikari for a long, regal moment. Then, with all the gravitas of a deity descending Mount Takao, he stepped forward—slow, dignified, his blanket dragging behind him.
He sat directly before Hikari and chirped once, as if giving his royal approval.
Hikari giggled and gently stroked his head. “He’s soft!” she beamed.
“That’s the fluff architecture,” Ryuichi murmured, sipping his tea.
Hina nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t pretend you don’t think he’s adorable.”
Ryuichi looked away, muttering something too quiet to catch. His ears betrayed him again, faintly pink.
Yuka watched the raccoon and her daughter with a soft, bittersweet smile that made Shunsuke’s chest tighten. He nudged Miyu gently, and she followed his gaze. Quietly, Miyu reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it.
The garden was bright with sunlight. Voices were warm, laughter gentle. Even with the chaos waiting online, even with the danger lurking outside this home, the moment felt profoundly safe.
Kuro curled contentedly at Hikari’s side, looking incredibly smug about choosing the most important seat.
Meilin exhaled happily. “This,” she said softly, her eyes sweeping over the group, “is what family looks like.”
And no one at the table disagreed.