A week had passed since the night Akira was supposed to be executed. He finally walked out of the clinic door, his steps slow and unsteady. He leaned his weight against Filippo without looking at him. Filippo didn't object. He simply steadied his arm and kept walking. Not a single word was exchanged between them the entire way.
After a short distance, they arrived at a small building on the outskirts of the capital, Noxar. An old building that drew no attention, surrounded by modest apartments that all looked alike. A place that left no mark on the memory, and that was exactly what they needed.
Filippo took out the key, opened the door quickly, let Akira enter first, then followed him inside and closed the door firmly behind them. Akira stopped in the middle of the room and looked around in silence. The place was simple: a small sofa, an old wooden table, a narrow kitchen, and a single window overlooking a side street.
He finally spoke:
"What is this place?"
Filippo placed the few bags he had brought on the floor and answered without turning around:
"We'll live here for a while. The police won't easily search a place like this."
Akira didn't comment. He only nodded slowly, then sat down on the sofa. Filippo sat beside him, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag.
The following month passed with a strange calm. It was the quietest month Akira had ever known. No chases, no shouting, no fear. The wound healed slowly, and his body recovered at its own pace. But what he didn't expect… was Filippo.
He was no longer that cold man who avoided looking at him. He didn't become affectionate, didn't smile, and didn't try to get close with words, but he changed in a way that needed no explanation.
He cooked every day. He placed the plate in front of Akira, then sat down and ate in silence. He changed his bandages without complaint, without remarks. He watched the wound more than he watched his face.
Sometimes he asked:
"Does it hurt?"
He wasn't trying to make up for the past. He wasn't asking for forgiveness. He was simply there.
One night, just before Akira turned off the light, Filippo stopped at the doorway.
He said in a low voice:
"Akira… tomorrow we're leaving this place."
Akira raised his head immediately.
"Where to?"
Filippo hesitated for only a second.
"I don't know yet. But we can't stay in the capital any longer. The police are tightening their control."
He stepped closer.
"We need to go somewhere more chaotic… less controlled… like Mercovia."
Akira's eyes widened slightly when he heard the name.
"Mercovia? Isn't that the city no one dares to enter?"
Filippo nodded.
"That's exactly why we're going."
He took a slow drag from his cigarette, then continued:
"Mercovia is under the control of Duchess Terracula. The laws there aren't like those of Darkova and the States. And the police don't like places where they have no authority."
Filippo suddenly moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He didn't speak at first. He just looked at Akira's face, which looked older than his age, carved with exhaustion and traces of pain. He slowly raised his hand and placed it on Akira's head, gently stroking his hair.
He said softly:
"Don't worry, Akira… this time I'll really be with you… I won't leave you to face everything alone again."
Akira's eyes widened against his will. His body stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. His heartbeat quickened in confusion. This touch… was unfamiliar. He didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't know how to respond. He let himself accept it. He felt heat gathering behind his eyes. He tried to swallow it, to ignore it, but it spilled over. His tears slid down silently.
He smiled faintly, mockingly, despite the tears, and said in a barely audible voice:
"Isn't this funny? That I feel happy just because you put your hand on my head? Am I really that pathetic? My life is just a bad joke."
Filippo's body stiffened slightly. He looked at Akira's face, at that smile trying to hide what couldn't be hidden. He suddenly stepped forward, wrapped his arms around him, and held him tightly. Akira was startled, his body tensed for a moment, then gave in. He didn't resist. He didn't try to hold himself together. This time, the tears burst out without resistance, without any attempt at control.
Filippo said in a low voice:
"You're right. Your life is a bad joke… and I'm the one who turned it into that."
He kept holding him. The room was quiet except for their breathing and the sound of the cigarette still burning in Filippo's hand. After a moment, Akira lifted his head slightly and looked at his father's face. He looked calmer than usual. He wiped his tears with his fingertips and smiled a pale, sarcastic smile.
"By the way, isn't it bad to smoke like this in front of a child? Don't you care about my health at all?"
Filippo raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. He looked at the cigarette between his fingers, then smiled faintly.
He said as he moved the smoke away from Akira's face:
"That's true. You're still a small child."
Akira replied with mild sarcasm:
"And you're only noticing that now?"
A short laugh escaped Filippo, then he said calmly, smiling:
"I think I'm very late in noticing many things."
The smoke continued to rise slowly, then faded into the air.
The next morning, Akira finished packing his belongings into his backpack. He put on winter clothes and a raincoat, then stood near the door. Filippo was there, holding a travel bag in one hand. They stood side by side in silence. Before Filippo reached for the handle, he took one step toward Akira. He looked at him for a few seconds, then took something out of his pocket and handed it to him.
He said seriously:
"Take this."
Akira looked at his father's hand holding a small red cap. He took it slowly, then raised his eyes in clear confusion.
"A cap? Why?"
The answer came in a slightly firm tone:
"To cover your ears. We can't risk anyone discovering your identity."
Akira nodded without argument. He put the cap on his head and pulled it down until it completely covered his ears. Filippo watched him in silence, then gestured downward with his eyes.
He said:
"And your tail too. Make sure it stays hidden inside your pants at all times."
Akira sighed lightly, showing slight annoyance:
"I know… it's annoying."
He said nothing more. He tucked his tail inside his pants and secured it properly. Filippo looked at him again, examined him carefully, then nodded.
He said as he opened the door:
"Alright, let's go. We have a long journey ahead of us to Mercovia."
They left the apartment quietly, and Filippo closed the door behind them. The rain was pouring heavily. Filippo took out his umbrella and opened it above their heads. They walked side by side along the wet sidewalk.
Filippo walked in silence, his mind far away. His steps moved automatically, but his thoughts collided without order.
'When a father goes out with his son, how is he supposed to act?'
He looked at the street around him… the gray storefronts, the wet pavement, people passing by quickly, each lost in their own life. Then his eyes stopped on a small, passing scene that struck something sensitive inside him.
A woman holding her child's hand. She wasn't dragging him, and the child wasn't clinging to her in fear. They were walking close together and talking. Her hand rested over his, surrounding it without pressure, naturally. Filippo felt a slight tightness in his chest.
'So that's how it is?'
He suddenly remembered his own childhood. How many times he walked alone in the rain. How many times he wished someone would hold his hand to protect him.
He lowered his gaze to Akira.
'If I don't know how to be a father… maybe I should start with the simplest things.'
A moment later, Akira felt something wrap around his hand. Filippo had taken his hand in a sudden motion. Akira raised his head slightly and looked at his father in silent surprise. He didn't pull his hand away. He didn't say anything. He just kept walking, surrendering to that strange feeling… a sense of safety he had never known before.
After a few minutes of quiet walking, the street widened, the noise grew louder, and more faces filled the area. Filippo tightened his grip slightly around Akira's hand. Akira felt tension creep into his chest. This many people were no longer familiar. He pulled the cap down further, making sure his ears were completely hidden, then checked again that his tail was tightly concealed beneath the long coat.
Filippo's voice came low:
"Stay calm and don't draw attention."
Akira nodded silently. He said nothing. He just kept walking, trying to make his steps normal, to breathe steadily, to look… ordinary.
Then the calm shattered. A body rushed toward him at speed and collided with him directly. Akira lost his balance, his feet slipped on the wet ground, and he fell hard.
"Ah!"
Filippo stopped instantly and turned around in terror. The small cap had flown away, and in full view of everyone, the wolf ears were exposed. Movement around them froze. Whispers turned into heavy silence. Eyes locked onto them with fear, shock, and disgust.
A trembling voice rose from the crowd:
"He's… the werewolf wanted by the police!"
Murmurs exploded. Some people stepped back, others screamed. In the background, police officers moved quickly, weapons raised, their eyes fixed on Akira.
A harsh voice cut through the air:
"Don't move!"
Filippo rushed toward Akira at once, his voice was sharp and tense:
"Get up, now!"
But Akira didn't move. His body was frozen, his eyes caught between the gun barrels and the faces staring at him like he was something that needed to be erased.
Filippo shouted:
"Akira! Get up, now!"
The police closed in. The distance shrank. Fingers tightened on triggers.
One of them said:
"Kill him immediately!"