The evening air was still, almost too still. Cicadas had fallen silent, and even the wind seemed to hesitate as it passed through the narrow streets. Within the Hyūga home, the lights glowed warmly, but the weight of unspoken words lingered in every corner.
Ryouji sat on the tatami floor of the living room, his back against the wall, a faint ache settling into his shoulders. He had spent the day pretending—pretending that breakfast had erased the questions, pretending that Ren's serious eyes hadn't pierced through him, pretending that the stranger's shadow wasn't still lurking somewhere beyond their doors. But night had a way of tearing down those illusions.
Hana entered quietly, carrying a folded blanket. She knelt beside him, laying it gently across his lap. "You didn't eat much at dinner," she murmured.
"I wasn't hungry," he replied, though they both knew it wasn't about hunger.
For a moment, Hana simply looked at him. The years had softened his features, but she knew what lived beneath the calm. He had been a storm once—a man whose name was whispered in fear—and though he tried to hide it, she could still see the stormclouds flickering in his eyes.
"Ren is asking questions," she said softly.
Ryouji let out a slow breath. "I know. He deserves answers, but…" His words trailed off, heavy with hesitation.
"But you're afraid the truth will change how he sees you."
His silence was her confirmation. Hana reached for his hand, gripping it firmly. "Ryouji, he already sees you. Not who you were—who you are now. A father. A man who chose us over everything else. Don't underestimate how much that means to him."
Before Ryouji could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Ren appeared, clutching a small notebook to his chest. His expression was hesitant but determined.
"Dad… can we talk?"
Ryouji straightened, exchanging a glance with Hana, who nodded and quietly excused herself. Ren stepped into the room and sat across from his father. For a while, the boy said nothing, only fidgeting with the edges of his notebook. Finally, he looked up.
"Yesterday… you promised to protect us. But… what if you can't?"
The question was simple, but it cut to the bone. Ryouji stared at his son, struck by the honesty of it. Ren wasn't asking to be comforted with lies—he was asking to understand the limits of his father's strength.
"Ren," Ryouji began slowly, "I can't promise that nothing bad will ever happen. I can't promise that the past won't try to reach for us again. But I can promise this—" He leaned forward, his voice steady, unwavering. "As long as I draw breath, I will stand between you and that darkness. I will fight until I can't stand anymore. That is my promise as your father."
Ren swallowed hard, his small fists tightening around the notebook. "But what if they're stronger than you?"
The innocence of the question stung, because in his heart, Ryouji knew there were forces out there stronger than him. He had seen them. Fought them. Survived them only barely. But strength was not what defined his vow.
"Then I'll become stronger," Ryouji said firmly. "Because love makes a man stronger than fear ever could. You, Sakura, your mother—you are the reason I won't fall."
For the first time, Ren's eyes softened. He opened his notebook and pushed it toward his father. Inside were messy sketches—drawings of their family. Four stick figures standing together beneath a crude sun. At the bottom, Ren had written clumsily: We're strong if we're together.
Ryouji's throat tightened. He reached out, pulling Ren into his arms. The boy resisted for only a second before melting into the embrace.
"You're right," Ryouji whispered against his son's hair. "Together, we're stronger than anything."
At the doorway, Hana watched quietly, her heart aching and swelling at once. She said nothing, only letting the moment unfold.
The night stretched on, peaceful for once. The weight of the past still lingered, but now it rested on Ryouji's shoulders with a different shape—not as a chain dragging him down, but as a burden he willingly carried for the sake of his family.
Later, when Ren had fallen asleep on the futon beside him, Ryouji remained awake. He looked at the boy's sleeping face, then at the quiet home around him. The house was modest, the street outside unremarkable, but for him, it was everything worth fighting for.
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, letting the silence embrace him. "A father's promise isn't about winning every battle," he thought. "It's about never surrendering. No matter what."
And with that vow burning steady in his heart, Ryouji knew that when the past returned—and it would—he would be ready.