October 6th arrived quietly, but for Arthur, it felt heavier than any other day this week. The air in the classroom seemed thicker somehow, and the usual chatter of students hitting the rhythm of morning routines could not penetrate the haze that had settled over him. He walked into the room with his usual measured steps, the polished floors reflecting the pale sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. His thoughts were tangled, loops of worry and unease that had been building ever since the last days of September.
Arthur had always been a quiet boy, but these past days, his silence had become more profound, a shadow over his features that no one could easily pierce. Even now, as he settled into his seat in the third row, his gaze flicked intermittently to the blackboard, though he wasn't really reading anything. His hands rested on the desk, gripping the edges as if to anchor himself to the present.
The classroom door clicked behind the students, and Mr. Brown, the teacher, entered. He was known for his strict demeanor and sharp, brown hair that seemed always perfectly in place. His eyes scanned the room, commanding attention without needing to raise his voice. Today, however, there was something different in his expression. A weight that seemed almost out of place in the ordered world of the classroom.
"Good morning, students," he said, his voice steady, though there was a hint of gravity beneath the usual formality. The class responded with a collective "Good morning, sir." Mr. Brown paused, walking slowly to the front, leaning slightly against his desk as he folded his arms.
"I have news," he said, letting the words hang in the air. His gaze swept across the room, eyes landing on each student in turn, as if preparing them for the impact. "Kaito Hiroshi, one of the brightest students in our school, will be transferring to another school."
The words struck Arthur like a sudden gust of wind. His body froze mid-motion, the pencil in his hand trembling slightly. Kaito… transferring? he thought, disbelief coiling in his chest. His mind raced, trying to understand what he had just heard. "Because of his dad's transfer," Mr. Brown continued, "he will be moving at the end of this week. I know many of you will miss him, and I hope you'll wish him well in his new school."
Arthur's mind felt like it had been severed from the world around him. The murmurs of his classmates barely registered. They were speaking softly, some exchanging glances, but none seemed to grasp the depth of the truth that Arthur knew. They didn't know the reality behind Kaito's transfer—none of them did. None of them could.
Arthur clenched his fists, pressing them against his thighs to keep from reacting. They don't know. They have no idea what's really happening. His jaw tightened as he forced his eyes back to the blackboard, willing himself to sit quietly. Panic flared within him, a bitter reminder of the fragile order of the world around Kaito. He remembered the last days he had spent with Kaito, the strange, silent camaraderie, and the intensity that always seemed to follow the boy wherever he went.
Maybe it's better… he thought, a reluctant heaviness settling in his chest. …not to spread any more panic.
He drew a deep breath, trying to steady his mind. He took his seat fully, folding his arms on the desk and staring down at the scattered papers before him. The world outside the classroom continued as normal: distant sounds of footsteps in the hall, the chatter of students, the occasional slap of a locker door. Yet Arthur felt trapped in a bubble, a quiet sphere of despair that separated him from the rest of life.
Alia, sitting across the aisle, avoided his gaze. She had not spoken to him since the news about Kaito surfaced. Her previous warmth, the ease with which she interacted, had vanished into a careful distance. She seemed determined to let go of the thread that connected them to Kaito, leaving Arthur alone with the weight of his own thoughts.
Forget about Kaito… she had said once, her tone curt but final. And in her silence, Arthur understood that she meant it. She wanted to move forward, to bury the unease that Kaito's departure brought. But for Arthur, moving forward was impossible. The void Kaito left behind was not just an absence in the classroom; it was a fracture in Arthur's day-to-day reality.
Days had passed. One week had already slipped by, and Arthur felt no lighter. His nights were restless, and his thoughts never strayed far from Kaito. Sometimes he imagined him in his new school, navigating the hallways, interacting with new classmates. Each imagined scene brought a stab of longing, a reminder that he could not reach out, could not intervene, could not protect.
Even now, the ordinary world—the monotony of desks, chairs, and chalkboards—seemed like a distant stage, and he, a mere observer, powerless to act. The small moments he had shared with Kaito replayed endlessly in his mind: the quiet nods, the brief smiles, the unspoken understanding that existed between them. Arthur pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to suppress a shiver. The absence of his friend was not just noticed; it was palpable, a constant ache in his chest.
---
While Arthur struggled with his own inner turmoil, thousands of kilometers away, Kuro was engaged in his own web of calculations and strategies. He was seated comfortably in a dimly lit office, the faint hum of electronics surrounding him, as he spoke casually into a secure line. His expression was calm, even casual, belying the gravity of his words.
"Sir," Kuro began, his voice measured, "change of plans in our Operation Fern." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, the soft leather creaking under the shift. "To get Kaito, we'll be taking his friends and his father as leverage. It will be… beneficial."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Kuro's calm exterior did not waver, but his mind was already ticking through contingencies, probabilities, and potential outcomes. Operation Fern had initially been designed with direct approaches, surveillance, and subtle extraction strategies. But now, with the risk of failure higher than expected, a more aggressive plan was warranted. Using Kaito's close allies and family as leverage promised higher chances of success—but also increased the stakes dramatically.
The voice on the other end—known only as 56—responded with a measured acknowledgment. Kuro listened carefully, his face unreadable. The subtle inflection of tone, the small pauses in speech, each revealed more than the words themselves. When the conversation concluded, 56 ended the call abruptly, leaving Kuro alone in the quiet room once more.
For a moment, he simply sat there, contemplating the plan, letting the room's muted light wash over him. He considered Arthur, Alia, and Kaito's father—not by name, but as variables in a broader equation. Each person represented a node in a network of influence, a lever to be pulled at the right moment to achieve maximum effect. The thought did not disturb him; in his mind, it was all purely analytical, a game of strategy and outcomes.
And yet, even with the careful planning, Kuro knew unpredictability was inevitable. Kaito was not ordinary, and the potential for uncontrollable variables lurked in every corner. That knowledge added a subtle tension beneath his otherwise composed demeanor. The game was set, the pieces in motion, and soon the consequences would ripple outward—faster than anyone could anticipate.
---
Back in the classroom, Arthur's world remained muted, framed by absence and memory. Each day stretched long, punctuated by small reminders of what he could not change. Even simple things—his seat, the chalkboard, the distant laughter in the hall—seemed tinted by Kaito's absence. He did not cry, did not plead; his pain was silent, internalized, a quiet storm within.
He recalled moments of shared laughter, fleeting conversations, and even the times Kaito's gaze had met his own, laden with unspoken understanding. Now, each memory was a ghost, drifting through the corridors of his mind, refusing to dissipate. And while Alia moved forward, purposefully letting go, Arthur remained caught in the liminal space of loss, caught between what had been and what was now irretrievably gone.
The day dragged on, the hum of routine masking the undercurrent of tension that pervaded both sides of the world—Arthur's personal grief and Kuro's calculated plotting. Two parallel realities, intertwined by the presence of a single boy: Kaito Hiroshi.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows through the windows. Arthur remained seated, staring down at the desk, hands still pressed together, thoughts wandering endlessly. Somewhere far away, the mechanisms of Operation Fern quietly began to shift into motion, oblivious to the quiet despair of one small classroom. And somewhere in that same world, Kuro plotted, calculated, and waited, the ripples of his actions destined to intersect with the fragile threads of friendship, loyalty, and power that bound Arthur, Alia, Kaito, and their families.
In the quiet, Arthur whispered to himself, barely audible: I hope he's safe… I hope he's okay…
The words were soft, fragile, but they carried the weight of weeks of unspoken worry. And as the bell rang, signaling the end of another class, he gathered his books, rose from his seat, and walked slowly down the aisle, still caught in the shadow of what had been and what was to come.
---
It had been a week since Kaito's father had secluded himself in his room, shutting out the world. The air in the household carried a weight, a quiet melancholy that seemed to seep into every corner of the living room. Ayaka's mother sat quietly on the sofa, her fingers tracing the edges of a framed photograph resting on the coffee table. It was a picture from happier days: Kaito and Ayaka, smiling freely in a sprawling flower garden, her husband beside them, his arm draped over her shoulders in a protective gesture. The blooms of summer surrounded them in vibrant colors, capturing a moment of warmth and familial love.
But now, that warmth felt distant, almost unattainable. Ayaka's mother let out a soft sigh, her eyes misting over as she stared at the photograph. The smiles in the picture seemed to mock the quiet despair that had settled in the house since Kaito's disappearance. She brushed a tear from her cheek, whispering softly, "I hope they're safe…"
Upstairs, Kaito's father had spent days in solitude, locked away in his room, the weight of despair pressing down on him. The world outside had become irrelevant, his mind consumed by thoughts of failure and loss. The silence of the room was suffocating, broken only by the occasional rustle of papers or the creak of furniture. Nights were the hardest. The darkness seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with imagined horrors and what-ifs about Kaito's safety.
Yet, over the past week, something had shifted within him. He had reached a turning point, a fragile but undeniable clarity breaking through the fog of depression. If I stay locked here, I will not be able to save Kaito. I will not be able to protect my family. The thought struck him with a new kind of determination, a resolve that had been buried beneath grief and hopelessness.
He had watched Ayaka tirelessly helping her family, managing household matters and comforting her mother, all while holding back her own pain. Observing her strength, he realized he could no longer remain passive. The realization was painful, yes, but invigorating. Action, even if incremental, was the only path forward.
With a steadying breath, he opened the door to his room and stepped into the hall. The light of the afternoon filtered through the windows, highlighting the dust motes floating lazily in the air. His presence immediately caught Ayaka's attention. She froze, eyes wide, caught between surprise and hope.
"Dad… you… you came out," she stammered, her voice tinged with disbelief and a flicker of happiness.
He gave a faint, tired smile. "I can't stay locked in my room anymore, Ayaka," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "I will approach every legal way to save Kaito, your brother. I promise you that."
Ayaka's initial joy dimmed slightly, replaced by a shadow of sadness. "Father… you're being transferred to a remote village as a police officer," she said quietly, the words heavy in the air.
He froze, shock rooting him to the spot. "What… what are you talking about?" His voice cracked, disbelief mingling with anger.
Ayaka's eyes filled with tears. "It's already been decided. You'll be sent away at the end of this month. I'm sorry…"
His mind raced, the walls of despair closing in again, but this time he fought to keep them at bay. Determination surged through him. If he was to be relocated, he would need leverage, time—any means necessary—to ensure Kaito's safety. He immediately reached for his phone and dialed the head of police, his fingers shaking slightly but his voice firm.
"Sir, this is… I'm being transferred," he said, urgency threading through his words.
"Yes," came the clipped, bureaucratic response.
He swallowed hard, forcing steadiness. "Sir, please… could you do something? I need time. I need some time to save my son. Please."
There was a pause on the other end. The bureaucratic rhythm of the voice seemed unwavering, but there was the faintest hint of consideration in the brief silence.
"I'm afraid I can't. It's already decided," the head of police replied firmly.
A shadow of desperation passed through him, but he pressed on, his voice steadying despite the tension. "Sir, please… I've dedicated myself to the force. I've followed orders even when neglected by my fellow comrades. I've done my work diligently despite the obstacles. I only ask for some time, just enough to… to ensure my family is safe."
There was another pause. Longer this time. Then, slowly, a tone of reluctant acknowledgment entered the response. "Alright… despite everything, you have done good work. You are a Catherine, and despite being neglected, you've carried your responsibilities well. I will give you time. By the end of the month, but no later."
He exhaled, a wave of relief mixing with lingering tension. "Thank you, sir. I will not fail. I promise."
He hung up the phone and turned to Ayaka, his eyes softer now, filled with a mix of resolve and weariness. "I may be transferred, but I will use every moment I have before then. I will do everything within the law to find Kaito, to protect him. That is my duty as a father, and as a police officer."
Ayaka nodded slowly, a fragile smile forming on her lips despite the tears brimming in her eyes. She reached out and held his hand, feeling the warmth and steadiness in his grasp. "Father… be careful," she whispered, a note of worry undercutting her words.
"I will," he replied softly, the weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders, tempered by the newfound resolve that had begun to bloom in the past week. For the first time since Kaito's disappearance, he felt that there was a path forward, however difficult, however dangerous. He would act. He would fight. And no distance, no bureaucratic obstacle, would prevent him from reaching his son.
Meanwhile, in the quiet of the living room, Ayaka's mother looked on silently. Though her expression remained tinged with sadness, there was a glimmer of hope. The father she loved, the man who had been swallowed by despair, was back. Not entirely healed, not entirely free of doubt, but alive to the challenge. And perhaps, that would be enough to see them through the coming trials.
In the coming days, plans would be set in motion. Legal channels would be pursued, intelligence would be gathered, and every small step would be taken toward Kaito's safety. The family would act as one, united by love and determination, even in the face of distance and bureaucratic interference.
And as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow through the windows, Kaito's father stood tall for the first time in a week, ready to reclaim his role—not just as a father, but as a protector. Ayaka smiled faintly, feeling a fragile but persistent hope take root in her heart. The fight to save Kaito had begun in earnest, and this time, no one would be standing idle.
---
Fourteen days had passed since that fateful morning when Kaito's father had first stepped out of his room, determination etched onto his features. Now, on the twentieth of the month, he had traversed a labyrinth of legal and bureaucratic hurdles. He had stood in crowded courtrooms, presenting his case with every ounce of reason and persistence he could summon. He had approached ministers, diplomats, anyone who might lend weight to his cause. But each attempt ended the same—dismissed, denied, or deemed "beyond our jurisdiction." The matter was international now, and the complexity of global politics rendered individual pleas almost meaningless.
He sat on the steps of the courthouse, shoulders heavy, eyes hollow from exhaustion. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the marble floor, mirroring the weight in his chest. He let out a slow, bitter sigh, the realization that despite all his efforts, time was slipping away from him. His gaze fell on the papers he had carried, the petitions and official documents that now felt useless. He had done everything he could… and yet, Kaito remained out of reach.
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Arthur was leaving the library. He had spent hours buried in books, trying to drown out the relentless pull of his thoughts. But knowledge could not fill the hollow left by Kaito's absence. His eyes scrolled through his phone as he walked, mechanically checking messages and notifications. Birthday wishes flooded in—friends, classmates, even people he barely knew. "Happy Birthday," they all said. Countless messages, each one a reminder of the passing day.
But Arthur felt no happiness. Not a flicker. The words, though kind, fell flat against the weight pressing on his chest. There was a party at his home waiting for him, a celebration planned with care and excitement—but even the thought could not reach him. His footsteps carried him forward, yet his mind felt trapped, weighed down by an unseen gravity.
And then, slowly, unnervingly, the surroundings began to blur. The streets and buildings around him melted into vague shapes, as though the world itself had decided to dissolve. His vision wavered, the once-solid ground beneath his feet fading into an indistinct void. Panic rose, but his body kept moving forward, feet carrying him in a direction he no longer controlled.
His senses dulled. Sounds and colors dissolved into nothingness. Time seemed to stretch and fold, a distorted, endless corridor of disorientation. Arthur kept moving, though he no longer knew why. There was only motion, an instinctive pull toward some destination he could not perceive.
---
When he finally awoke, the world had changed. The sun hung low in the sky, a deep orange bleeding across the horizon, casting long shadows over a ruined building. Dust hung thick in the air, particles catching the last rays of light. He groaned softly, trying to take in the scene around him. The building was crumbling, walls fractured, ceilings partially collapsed. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating.
And then, moving into the corner of his vision, he saw them—Alia and Kaito's father Sui Hiroshi. Both of them were restrained, bound by the same oppressive Vantablack chains that seemed to drink in the light around them. The sight tightened his chest, dread crawling up his spine.
Arthur's gaze followed the edge of the building. Kuro was there, perched with an almost casual grace, backlit by the setting sun. The orange glow highlighted his figure, casting him as an ominous silhouette. His eyes, sharp and deliberate, met theirs, and then he smiled. A slow, deliberate smile that carried satisfaction, menace, and the unspoken promise of danger.
The chains binding them glinted faintly in the dimming light, unnaturally black, absorbing all the hope and warmth from the surroundings. The ruined building seemed to amplify the gravity of their situation, the world outside a distant memory. For a moment, time felt suspended. The wind whispered through the broken walls, carrying dust and the faint scent of decay, and in that silence, the tension became almost unbearable.
Arthur's heart pounded. Questions surged in his mind—Why here? How did he find us? What does he want? But no answers came. Only Kuro's gaze, unflinching, unyielding, and the slow curl of that unsettling smile.
As the sun sank lower, the shadows lengthened. The trio—Arthur included—remained immobilized by their bindings, while Kuro's presence dominated the horizon. There was no sound except the wind, no escape in sight, only the oppressive certainty that this confrontation was only beginning.
And then, with the sun just kissing the horizon, the scene froze in Arthur's mind: Kuro at the edge, watching, smiling, the three of them chained, and the ruined building surrounding them like a tomb.
The world held its breath.