Kazuki Tanaka didn't attend school.
It wasn't because he particularly hated it, but he had different values.
For some reason, his father and mother were constantly traveling all over the world. For the moment he was born until he turned five years old, they kept traveling.
That became a natural part of his life, there was some intention to change from his parents part but Tanaka quickly turned down that suggestion.
Again, he didn't hate school but he didn't want to give up his time with his family.
Fortunately, he inherited his father wits and he didn't find much trouble studying at home.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"My father is amazing! My father is great! My father is awesome!"
Kazuki Tanaka admired his father.
That was no secret.
At airports, in hotel lobbies, in restaurants where waiters barely understood his language, Tanaka would beam with pride and declare it to anyone who would listen. His small hands would tug at sleeves, point upward, eyes shining as if he had personally discovered the greatest man alive.
And to him, he had.
Most people remember their childhood as a mixture of light and shadow, scraped knees, tears before bedtime, scoldings, lonely afternoons.
Kazuki Tanaka only remembered light.
Or at least… that's what he believed.
His earliest memory was from when he was two.
He didn't remember the country. He didn't remember the language people were speaking around them. Those details had long faded.
But he remembered the sky.
It was wide and painted gold by the setting sun.
He was sitting between his mother and father inside a Ferris wheel carriage. The metal frame creaked softly as they rose higher and higher. Below them, the world shrank, people becoming dots, cars becoming toys.
His mother laughed first.
Then his father.
Then him, high, uncontrollable giggles, the kind that make your stomach hurt.
He remembered his father lifting him up so he could press his tiny palms against the glass.
"Look, Tanaka," his father had said. "This is only a small part of the world."
And Tanaka believed him.
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They traveled constantly.
Not once or twice a year.
Constantly.
Airports became more familiar than neighborhoods. Suitcases were always half-packed. The scent of airplane cabins , recycled air and faint coffee, became normal.
He rode chair lifts through the Alps, legs dangling above endless blankets of white. He saw the sky mirror in Bolivia, where the earth and heavens merged into one seamless reflection, and he asked his mother if they were walking on clouds. He stood before ancient ruins his father called the Seven Wonders of the World, holding his father's hand as guides spoke in languages he barely understood.
His father's work demanded movement.
Meetings in different countries. Conferences. Negotiations.
Tanaka didn't understand any of it.
He only understood that life was an adventure.
And he loved it.
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When he turned five, the adults began to worry.
"Shouldn't he attend a proper school?" someone had asked.
"Children need stability," another voice had said.
Kazuki Tanaka remembered the discussion vaguely.
He remembered running to his father afterward, wrapping his arms around his leg.
"I don't want to stay in one place," he had said, eyes wide with fear at the thought. "I want to go with you."
And just like that, the decision was made.
Benson joined them soon after.
What began as an assistant role slowly turned into something more. Benson became tutor, supervisor, quiet guardian. Lessons were held in hotel suites, on trains, sometimes even at airports between flights.
Math beside mountains.
History overlooking oceans.
Science explained while crossing borders.
Fortunately, Tanaka learned quickly, frighteningly quickly for someone his age. Concepts stuck. Languages came easier than expected. His curiosity filled the gaps that structure might have left behind.
The adults took this as confirmation.
This life was working.
___
____
_____
One of his favorite memories was from when he was six.
They were in Siberia.
He didn't remember why.
Only that the snow came suddenly.
A violent storm swallowed the landscape, wind howling like something alive. They were trapped inside a wooden cabin, walls trembling under the assault of ice and wind.
For the first time in his young life, Tanaka felt fear.
But his mother pulled him close.
She wrapped him in blankets that smelled faintly of lavender and snow.
And she sang.
"Hush now, the snow is falling slow,Covering dreams the cold winds sow.Close your eyes, my little one,Till dawn returns, till storm is done.
The moon may hide, the stars may fade,But I am here, don't be afraid.Sleep, my heart, the world will warm,Beyond the frost, beyond the storm."
Her voice was soft, steady, warmer than the fireplace, stronger than the wind outside.
The storm eventually passed.
Morning came.
The snow glittered peacefully under sunlight as if it had never raged at all.
Looking back now, Tanaka could admit he had been terrified that night.
But when he remembers it, what lingers isn't fear.
It's warmth.
Her warmth.
___
____
_____
Years continued to pass in motion.
By then, he understood that the constant travel was because of his father's work. Important work. Work that required responsibility.
Work that made his father admirable.
But there was something else.
His mother would sometimes leave.
Abruptly.
No grand explanations. No detailed schedules. Just a soft kiss on his forehead and a gentle, "I'll be back soon."
Sometimes she returned in a few days.
Sometimes longer.
When Tanaka asked where she had gone, the answers were always simple.
"Just something I needed to take care of."
Her smile never faltered.
But as he grew older, he began to notice something strange.
Whenever she returned from those trips, she held him just a little tighter.
And sometimes, only sometimes, her eyes looked tired.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Regardless, one thing never changed.
His admiration for his father.
If anything, it grew larger with every passing year.
"My father created those cars. He's amazing."
He said it proudly, to hotel receptionists, to flight attendants, to strangers standing in line beside him. Even when they didn't ask. Even when they didn't understand Japanese.
That was why he began learning other languages.
Not for school.
But so the world could properly understand how incredible his father was.
English first.
Then bits of German.
Some French phrases.
He practiced in mirrors. Repeated sentences until pronunciation sharpened.
___
____
_____
Then one day, the world began speaking his father's name without Tanaka's help.
"The genius billionaire philanthropist, Kazuki Yosuke, is rumored to be planning Japan's first privately funded space station."
The television glowed in the dim living room.
Tanaka sat cross-legged on the floor beside Benson, eyes wide, unblinking.
A space station.
Space.
Other worlds.
The front door opened.
His father stepped inside, loosening his tie, irritation faintly lining his voice.
"Seriously… to think someone would leak that so quickly."
But Tanaka barely heard the complaint.
He spun around.
"Father! Is that true?!"
His father paused.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"Well… it's something I'm considering. If the companies continue performing well over the next few years, I'll have the funding."
Funding.
Projects.
Expansion.
Adult words.
But Tanaka heard only one thing.
Space.
"Father!"
"Hm? What is it?"
Tanaka's small hands clenched into fists.
His chest swelled with something electric.
"I want to become an astronaut!"
For a second, silence.
Then his father laughed, not mockingly, but warmly.
"Well then," he said, placing a hand on Tanaka's head, "you'd better study hard."
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When Kazuki Tanaka turned eight, Kazuki Mio was born.
And for the first time in his life, admiration shared space with something else.
Mio was impossibly small.
Impossibly soft.
She inherited her mother's sky-blue eyes, clear and luminous like morning after rain. Her delicate facial features mirrored her mother's elegance, while her hair carried the same dark shade as their father's.
Tanaka, by contrast, had inherited his mother's gentler appearance, softer lines, warmer expressions, but everything else was unmistakably his father's.
From the moment she came home, Mio became the center of gravity.
Adults hovered around her.
Voices softened around her.
Even the air felt lighter in her presence.
"Peekaboo!" his father would say, crouching in front of her crib.
"Hehe!" Mio would respond, her laughter bubbling unpredictably, pure and uncontrolled.
Tanaka watched carefully.
Studied the way adults tilted their heads.
The way they widened their eyes.
The way they exaggerated their voices.
Then he imitated them.
"Peekaboo!"
Sometimes she laughed.
Sometimes she blinked.
Sometimes she stared at him blankly.
The unpredictability fascinated him.
Her reactions felt like rewards.
Before long, he spent nearly eighty percent of his time with her.
Holding bottles.
Making faces.
Guarding her crib like a knight stationed before royalty.
___
____
_____
Tanaka was intelligent.
But he was still a child.
He didn't have the vocabulary to describe emotions.
So he ranked them instead.
Father.
Mother.
Mio.
Benson.
That was his world.
He didn't crave friendships at school. He didn't chase playground popularity. Other children felt… unnecessary.
Why would he want something smaller when he already had something vast?
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When Mio turned three, her words began forming clearly.
And one memory in particular carved itself into Tanaka's mind.
Their father had taken the entire family to a musical concert, a grand hall filled with warm golden light and the hum of anticipation. The ceiling arched high above them, chandeliers shimmering like suspended constellations.
When the music began, it felt alive.
Strings swelled.
Drums pulsed like a heartbeat.
And deep beneath it all, the bass thrummed, grounding everything, steady and powerful.
Mio's eyes widened.
"It's really cool!" she whispered loudly, gripping Tanaka's sleeve.
Their father chuckled.
"You know," he said casually, "I used to play bass in college."
Tanaka's head snapped toward him.
"You did?!"
His father nodded, almost dismissively.
"I wasn't bad, either."
That was all it took.
"I want to play too."
He didn't ask.
He declared it.
On his next birthday, a bass guitar waited for him.
He watched his father demonstrate finger placement, posture, rhythm.
And like a parrot, Tanaka mimicked him.
At first, the sounds were clumsy.
Strings buzzed. Notes died too quickly.
But he practiced relentlessly.
Because his father had once done this.
Because if he mastered it, he would be closer to him.
Over time, the clumsiness faded.
And when he finally played a simple progression cleanly, Mio clapped enthusiastically from the couch.
"Oni-chan is cool!"
His father nodded in approval.
"Not bad."
Not bad.
Two simple words.
His mother scolded their father for being so non-challan but those simple words ignited something inside Tanaka.
He discovered a new emotion.
Pride.
It was warm.
It filled his chest when his sister smiled at him.
When his father acknowledged him.
When he translated praise about his father in a foreign language and saw strangers nod in admiration.
He loved being praised.
But more than that....
He loved praising his father.
Because every compliment his father received felt like proof.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Years passed.
Kazuki Tanaka turned thirteen.
The chair dug into his back.
Rope burned against his wrists. Tight. Too tight. Every struggle only made it bite deeper into his skin.
The room smelled like rust and damp wood. Oil. Dust. Cigarette smoke.
A warehouse.
Dim light flickered from a single bulb overhead, swinging slightly, casting long, distorted shadows against concrete walls.
Tanaka threw his head back and screamed at the top of his lungs.
"LET ME GO! I swear, you're going to regret this!"
His voice cracked midway.
The man sitting across the room did not respond.
His stupidity had finally caught up to him.
___
____
_____
Creek
The room was dark and he couldn't see too well, but it was unmistakably the sound of a door opening.
A man walked in, holding a little girl from behind.
Her hands were tied in front of her with rough rope, her body trembling violently as tears streamed down her face.
"Oni-chan!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Oni-chan!"
Tanaka jerked forward in his chair.
"Mio! I'm here!" Then in English, his voice turning sharp and furious: "Let her go, you jerk!"
The man watching Tanaka exhaled smoke slowly.
He was middle-aged. Blond hair slicked back carelessly. A thick mustache sat above thin lips stained faintly yellow from nicotine. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms marked with faded tattoos.
He watched Tanaka the way someone watches a barking dog.
Another man, the one gripping Mio, spoke over his shoulder in a language Tanaka didn't understand.
"Hey bro! This kid won't shut up. What do I do?"
The blond man answered in that same foreign tongue, voice lazy.
Tanaka caught nothing.
Not a single word.
That terrified him more than the ropes.
The man holding Mio nodded and began dragging her toward a metal door at the back.
Mio panicked instantly.
"Oni-chan! Oni-chan!"
"Don't touch her!" Tanaka screamed. "Don't hold her like that!"
Tanaka glared at him, chest heaving.
"You don't know who my father is."
"Oh really?" he said, stepping closer.
A pause.
Then the man laughed.
A dry, humorless sound.
"Why," he said slowly, crouching down so their faces were level, cigarette dangling from his lips, "and how exactly you think we catch you anyway?"
Tanaka's stomach dropped.
"What?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Smoke blew into his face. "This is thanks to you."
The words didn't register at first.
"If you didn't keep shouting everywhere about your father, the great Kazuki Yosuke," the man continued, mocking the name, "we would not know. You would not be here."
The warehouse suddenly felt colder.
Behind him, Mio's crying grew louder as the other man tightened his grip.
"Don't hold her like that!" Tanaka shouted again.
"What the hell is that brat spouting?"
The second kidnapper muttered something in their language.
The blond man waved him off. "Ignore him. Lock her in storage. Lights off. She will cry herself to sleep. If she keeps being loud, tape her mouth."
The metal door screeched open.
Mio's eyes widened in terror.
"No! Oni-chan! It's dark! I don't want dark!"
Tanaka's entire body began shaking violently against the ropes.
"I SAID LET HER GO, YOU ANIMALS!"
The blond man's expression snapped.
"What did you just say, you little bastard?"
The punch came fast.
Too fast.
Tanaka didn't even see it fully, only the blur of movement before pain exploded across his face.
His head snapped sideways.
The chair tipped.
He crashed onto the concrete floor, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.
For the first time in thirteen years...
Kazuki Tanaka was hit.
His ears rang.
Warm liquid streamed from his nose.
He tasted iron.
Before he could orient himself, a boot slammed into his stomach.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
"Don't you get it? You stupid piece of shit!" the man snarled, kicking him repeatedly.
"This is your fault!"
Each blow folded him inward.
He tried to curl up but the ropes restricted him.
He tried to push the man away, but he couldn't.
He was weak.
So weak.
"I didn't mean to…" he gasped in English, voice trembling.
Another kick.
The metal storage door slammed shut.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"BROTHER!!! I'M SCARED!"
Her scream tore through the warehouse.
Tanaka's head lifted sharply.
"MIO!" he shouted, blood dripping from his mouth. "I'M RIGHT HERE!"
The blond man laughed harshly. "Look at this son of bitch. Still running his mouth."
Another kick drove into his ribs.
A cough burst from Tanaka's throat.
Blood splattered onto the concrete.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
"Mio! I'm h—here! Your brother is here!"
"Shut up!"
A final kick to his abdomen forced a strangled cry from him.
The room began to spin.
The single hanging bulb blurred into streaks of light.
His body trembled uncontrollably, not from pain anymore.
"Mio…" he whispered hoarsely, barely audible now. "I'm here…"
From behind the metal door, faint sobbing.
This is all thanks to you.
Then frantic pounding.
Then...
"Brother… it's dark…"
His vision darkened at the edges.
The warehouse faded.
The last thing he heard before consciousness slipped away....
was his sister crying in the dark.
*********************************************************************************************************
When he woke up, it was to white.
White ceiling.
White light.
White noise.
A steady beeping filled the air.
For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming.
His body felt heavy. Not just tired, distant. As if it belonged to someone else.
There was something tight around his face. Across his forehead. Along his cheek. One of his eyes wouldn't open.
He tried to move.
Pain answered.
Sharp. Immediate.
A soft gasp broke the silence.
"Tanaka...!"
Warmth suddenly engulfed him.
Arms wrapped around him carefully, trembling.
His mother.
She leaned over the hospital bed, holding him as gently as if he were made of glass.
"You're awake… thank God… thank God…"
Her voice cracked repeatedly. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his hospital gown as if he might disappear again.
He blinked slowly with his uncovered eye.
Her face came into focus.
Her eyes were swollen.
Red.
She had been crying.
A lot.
His throat felt dry. Raw.
"…Where am I?" he managed, voice hoarse and weak.
A chair scraped softly against the floor.
His father stepped closer into view.
Even standing straight, he looked different.
Smaller.
Relieved.
"You're safe," his father said quietly. "You're in the hospital. You've been asleep for two days."
Two days.
The word echoed strangely.
Hospital.
Safe.
And then...
the warehouse.
The ropes.
The punch.
The door slamming shut.
Dark.
Tanaka's body reacted before his mind could catch up.
He jolted upright violently, heart hammering, wires tugging, the heart monitor spiking into frantic beeps.
"Mio!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Where's Mio?!"
His mother gasped and gently pushed him back down.
"Tanaka, calm down, calm down!"
His father placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"She's safe," he said firmly. "She didn't suffer any injuries. She's in another room. She's just sleeping."
Sleeping.
The word loosened something inside his chest.
His breathing slowed slightly.
"I see…" he whispered, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm glad…"
He turned his head slightly.
Now that his panic had subsided, he truly saw them.
His mother's face was pale. Exhausted. Her lips trembled faintly even as she tried to smile at him.
His father's eyes...
There were dark circles beneath them. Deep ones. His usually composed posture held tension. His jaw looked tighter than usual, as if he hadn't unclenched it in days.
They must have stayed awake.
Waiting.
Watching.
For him.
He wanted to cry so badly, but he couldn't.
His chest tightened. His throat burned. His eye stung.
But no tears came.
This happened because of you.
The kidnapper's words returned, clear as glass.
Crying suggested that something bad happened to him, while in reality...
It was all his fault.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The following days blurred together.
Tanaka avoided his father.
Not rudely.
But deliberately.
If his father entered a room, Tanaka would pretend to sleep.If his father spoke, Tanaka answered briefly.If their eyes almost met, Tanaka looked away first.
He was preparing himself.
He would confess.
He would tell him everything.
That it was his fault.
He just needed the courage to say it.
One afternoon, as he approached his father's office room, he heard voices through the slightly open door.
Benson.
And his father.
Their tones were low.
Serious.
"…the transfer has been completed," Benson was saying.
A pause.
Then..
"To think I gave those bastards Thirty million dollars, after what they have done to my son." his father replied quietly.
Silence filled the room.
"It was the fastest way," Benson added. "The young masters well being is above all."
Tanaka froze.
Thirty Million Dollars.
For him.
For Mio.
His father had to pay money to save them?
To save them from his stupidity?
He stepped back slowly and began quickening his steps.
The hallway suddenly felt unstable.
Kazuki Yosuke replied, "You are right, that's what matters."
___
____
_____
That night, alone in his hospital room with the lights dimmed, he opened his laptop.
His hands trembled slightly as he typed.
How much does an astronaut make?
Search.
Results loaded.
Average annual salary: around 60,000 thousand Dollars.
He stared at the screen.
Even if he worked his entire life…
Even if he never spent a single cent…
Even if he gave everything...
He would never repay thirty million dollars.
Never.
His dream flickered in his mind.
The space station.
The declaration at thirteen.
"I want to become an astronaut!"
It felt childish now.
He closed the laptop slowly.
The dream ended there.
___
____
_____
He began thinking differently after that.
If being an astronaut wouldn't be enough...
Then he needed something bigger.
A business.
Like his father.
He researched obsessively.
He even considered finding a part-time job as soon as he was physically able.
Every thought revolved around one thing:
Repayment.
Redemption.
Erase the damage.
___
____
_____
But while he calculated numbers...
Mio began breaking.
The first episode came suddenly.
She was sitting on the hospital bed when her breathing changed.
Quick.
Shallow.
Her hands began shaking.
"It's dark," she whispered.
The lights were on.
The curtains were open.
"It's dark again…"
Her eyes weren't seeing the room.
They were somewhere else.
Her chest heaved as panic consumed her. She clawed at the bedsheets, tears streaming uncontrollably.
Doctors rushed in.
"PTSD," they said afterward. "Acute stress response from the incident."
Sedatives were administered.
Explanations were given.
But none of the medical terms mattered.
Tanaka only saw his parents' faces.
His mother trying to stay strong.
His father standing stiffly at the foot of the bed, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.
And Mio...
crying over a nightmare that refused to release her.
The words returned.
It's all your fault.
They didn't shout anymore.
They whispered.
Relentless.
___
____
_____
More than half a day passed after she was sedated.
She might have woken up.
He didn't know.
He couldn't stay in the same room.
The air felt too thin.
He stepped onto the hospital balcony.
The city stretched out before him, lights blinking in the distance, cars moving like silent currents.
The horizon was calm.
Indifferent.
He walked closer to the railing.
Looked down.
A single jump.
That's all it would take.
Thirty million would still be gone.
But maybe the burden would lessen.
Maybe Mio wouldn't associate darkness with him.
The wind brushed against his bandaged face.
He leaned forward slightly.
Just enough to imagine.
"Oni-Chan!!"
He turned.
His mother stood there, panic written across her face.
And in her arms...
Mio.
Crying.
"Oni-chan!"
She broke free from their mother's hold and ran toward him, wrapping her small arms around his waist tightly, as if afraid he would vanish.
Her fingers gripped his shirt desperately.
"Oni-chan… don't leave…"
He froze.
She was shaking.
Still shaking.
Even now.
The doctors spoke gently from behind.
"It's because he was the only one with her at the time," one explained. "He's her anchor. It would be best if they stay together. It will help her recovery."
Anchor.
The word settled heavily inside him.
Mio pressed her face against his chest.
"I'm scared when you're not with me…"
His hands slowly rose.
He hesitated.
Then wrapped his arms around her.
If she needed him...
Then he couldn't disappear.
Maybe…
"I'm right here..."
Maybe there was still some use to his existence.
************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Months passed.
Winter bled into spring.
And twice a week, Tanaka sat on the same beige couch inside a quiet office that smelled faintly of tea and old books.
The walls were soft gray. One tall plant stood in the corner. A small fountain trickled gently near the window, its sound meant to calm the nervous system.
Tanaka found it irritating.
"So, Tanaka-Kun," Toshi Kuramatsu said gently, adjusting his glasses. "How have you been sleeping lately?"
"I sleep well," Tanaka replied smoothly. "Thank you for asking, Toshi-San. And you? Are you sleeping enough?"
The therapist smiled faintly.
"I appreciate your concern. I'm doing fine."
Tanaka smiled back.
He and Mio had been attending sessions for two months now.
Mio cried in hers.
Tanaka did not.
Toshi folded his hands in his lap.
"I'd like to revisit the incident today," he said carefully. "Only if you feel ready."
Tanaka nodded immediately.
"I understand. It was frightening at the time, but it's over now. I'm fine."
"You say that often," Toshi observed.
"Because it's true."
Toshi studied him for a quiet moment.
"Your sister still experiences nightmares. Panic episodes. She clings to you frequently."
"She's five," Tanaka replied calmly. "It makes sense. You should focus on her. She's the one who needs help."
"And you don't?"
"I'm fine."
"When the police found you," Toshi continued gently, "you had multiple fractures. Severe bruising. Dehydration. You shielded her."
Tanaka's smile remained.
"I did what anyone would do."
"That doesn't mean it didn't affect you."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Toshi shifted slightly.
"Tanaka-kun… can I ask you something different?"
"Of course."
"What do you want to do now?"
Tanaka blinked.
"With your life," Toshi clarified. "When you think about the future, what do you see?"
"I want to focus on my studies from now on," he answered smoothly. "I think that's the most important thing. If I work hard academically, everything else will follow."
"Is that something you want," Toshi asked gently, "or something you feel you should do?"
"It's the same thing," Tanaka replied.
Toshi didn't look convinced.
"Tanaka-Kun… sometimes when children go through trauma, they try to regain control by becoming very responsible. Very perfect. Very strong."
Tanaka's fingers tightened slightly against his slacks.
"There's nothing wrong with being responsible."
"No," Toshi agreed softly. "There isn't."
A pause.
"But responsibility and punishment are not the same thing."
The air shifted.
Something cracked.
"Stop," Tanaka whispered.
Toshi's voice remained calm. "You mentioned once that you feel you should have done something differently that day."
"Stop."
"You were a child."
"Stop."
"You are not responsible for what grown men chose to do."
"Fucking stop!"
The world snapped.
Tanaka shot to his feet.
The vase near the bookshelf shattered against the wall.
Ceramic exploded across the floor.
His breathing turned ragged, distorted.
"I don't need this!" he shouted. "I deserved it! I deserved worse! She's the one who has nightmares, not me! I should be the one..."
He grabbed a sharp shard.
Drove it into his palm.
Again.
Again.
"You see?!" he screamed. "This is nothing! This pain is nothing compared to what I've done! IT'S NOTHING!"
"Tanaka-Kun!"
The voice echoed.
Distant.
Warped.
—
"Tanaka-kun?"
The office was intact.
The vase stood untouched.
Tanaka was still seated neatly on the beige couch.
His hands rested calmly in his lap.
Toshi leaned forward slightly.
"Are you alright?"
Tanaka blinked.
Then he smiled, bright, harmless, just as he practiced.
"Ah… sorry. I think I'm just a little hungry. I didn't eat much earlier."
"I see," Toshi said gently.
"Yes. That's probably it."
He rubbed the back of his hand absentmindedly.
There were no wounds.
___
____
_____
Later that evening.
In the same office.
But without Tanaka present.
Yosuke sat across from Toshi, tension evident in his posture.
"So?" Yosuke asked quietly. "How is he?"
Toshi exhaled slowly.
"Honestly? He is very difficult to read it's almost frustrating. Well I'm not surprised since he's your son."
"That doesn't sound reassuring."
"I've worked in this field for over a decade," Toshi continued. "When a child goes through something like that, we typically observe symptoms, fear responses, sleep disturbances, irritability, regression."
"And he shows none of that."
"None that are visible."
Yosuke's jaw tightened.
"So what does that mean?"
"It means one of two things," Toshi replied calmly. "Either he is emotionally detached to an abnormal degree, in other words, a sociopath.. Which I do know is not the case."
"And the other?"
"He is suppressing his emotions."
Silence fell.
"He used to talk nonstop," Yosuke muttered. "If something bothered him, he'd tell me right away."
"Yes," Toshi nodded. "And now he doesn't."
Yosuke ran a hand through his hair.
"Should I ask him about it? I'm his father after all."
"No," Toshi said firmly.
Yosuke looked up.
"Pretend you don't know."
"What kind of advice is that?"
"I didn't say pretend not to care," Toshi clarified. "I said don't corner him."
He folded his hands.
"Your daughter's trauma is external. It surfaces. It cries. It trembles. That makes it easier to approach."
"And Tanaka?"
"His injury is internal," Toshi said quietly. "If you operate without understanding the wound, you can make it worse."
Yosuke's expression darkened.
"He told me he wants to focus on studying."
"Yes."
"He hates sitting still. He loves traveling."
"I asked him about taking a short vacation," Toshi said. "He declined. He said he wants to 'settle down and focus on academics.'"
Yosuke fell silent.
"This incident may have shifted his worldview," Toshi continued. "Children who experience helplessness sometimes try to compensate by chasing control."
"So what do I do?"
"Support what he chooses," Toshi answered. "Do not force outings. Do not pressure emotional confessions. Let him set the pace."
"And therapy?"
"He doesn't have to continue for now," Toshi said carefully. "But monitor him closely. If you notice drastic changes, anger, isolation, self-harm, emotional numbness worsening, contact me immediately."
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Pretty much this is Tanaka's backstory and trauma.
It was always planned from the beginning, for example, in chapter 6 Deja Vu, after he lost consciousness, he was recalling the event where the kidnapper was beating the crap out of him.
I was contemplating for a long time on where I should write it but finishing it here is here good enough, there could have been a better way but overall I'm satisfied.
So basically he's been blaming himself ever since for his sister's PTSD and for his father having to pay a ransom of 30 million dollars to save them. On the surface he didn't show any trauma from that incident to avoid going to the therapist. Actually when he went to the therapist sessions he did an amazing job trying to fake it. And in secret, he kept practicing self harm.
The rest of the backstory before his summoning was him attending high school, and continuing to be friends with Takehana Ito and the rest of the literature club. After Benson revealed the incident to Hana when he was taking her home, (It makes sense for him to tell her given how close she is to them and it's easier to explain after she saw Mio's breakdown).
She of course kept being mindful and didn't bring it up until she saw him harming himself (I don't know, in mind I'm picturing him cleaning a broken cup and shoving a piece of glass into his hand, making it look like an accident) and then she asked him if that incident was the reason as to why he was hurting himself, (After some back and forth, he tells her what is really on his mind, in return she doesn't tell a soul about what she saw or what he's about to tell her. Him wanting to pay the ransom back and how it's all his fault)
Many other things he does are a form of self punishment, for example when he gets bullied in high school, Hana thought he was clueless about it but he was doing it on purpose. He also started declining his father's requests to go on family trips again.
For him, it's mistaken that he developed some sort of fear of those trips because the kidnapping incident happened abroad, but it's completely the opposite, he loved traveling with his family more than anything but for him, it's simply unacceptable to experience that joy again.
That being said, his past is still not concluded but I'm going to summarize it here. The conclusion for the story is, after finding out his inner thoughts, Hana is shocked but also resolute herself to make help him recover mentally, you know that "I can fix him.". Tanaka was like "Pft, sure.." He didn't take her seriously but she kept being persistent and ended up spending even more time with him than before.
She grows to like him and it's the same for him somehow. It's like a love story but with a sad ending because no matter what, Tanaka was never going to let go of the past.
Even after finding out that he loves her, even after she made him forgive himself, he still was unable to let go of the past and decided to drop high school and cut contact from everyone. So his thought process was like this: "If I really I'm going to do this, if I really deserve forgiveness, then I should pay them on my own."
Tanaka was going to dedicate his life into paying his father every single cent anyway, the only difference was that he wasn't planning to forgive himself after fulfilling that goal (And he doesn't cut himself anymore lol). But after quitting high school and fulfilling his goal without any external help.
I don't know, the rest of the backstory is the slice of life type. I'm not in the mood to write a high school romcom that is meaningless, I only want to write his suffering lol.
It's a nice plot but I don't really have time for it. So if the fanfic becomes really famous and someone wants to write this mini-story on his own, you have my blessings.