….
[-Continuation-]
[-Third Person View-]
….
Hachiman Hikigaya, now in his mid-twenties, was sprawled across his living room couch.
On his stomach sat a small girl, no older than four, wielding a cat toy like it was Excalibur itself.
She swung it in lazy, satisfied arcs, watching the stuffed tail bounce off her father's chest with the kind of pure fascination that only children could muster for the simplest things.
Her twin brother sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over several sheets of paper with an intensity that suggested he was either drafting legislation or declaring war on someone.
His pencil moved with deliberate precision across what appeared to be... an essay?
He paused, reading over his work with a critical eye that belonged to someone at least twenty years older. Then he looked up.
"Sister."
The girl stopped mid-swing, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes.
"A hypothetical question for you." he began, his tone taking on the quality of a prosecutor building his case. "Who do you think is the head of the Hikigaya household?"
She tilted her head, processing the question with visible effort. Then her face lit up. "Ooh! Dada! It's definitely Dada!"
The boy straightened, and for a brief, shining moment, satisfaction bloomed across his face.
Finally.
Someone who understood.
Someone who could see past the deliberately cultivated image of the sleepy, unmotivated father and recognize the strategic genius beneath.
His twin had inherited their father's insight after all—
"Why do you think that?" He asked, unable to keep a note of pride from his voice.
"Because he is our papa!" She bounced slightly on Hachiman's stomach. "And he gives the warmest hugs in the whole world! Plus, he always knows when I am sad, and he lets me sit on him whenever I want, and he makes funny faces when Mama isn't looking, and—"
The boy's expression went through several stages of grief in rapid succession.
"That's it?" He looked pained. "Just... hugs?"
"Mmhm!" She nodded enthusiastically, completely missing his distress. "The best hugs! Onii-chan, you should try sitting on Papa more. It's super comfy!"
He stared at her like she had just told him the earth was flat.
She didn't get it.
Didn't know that their father had quietly revolutionized an entire gaming industry.
She didn't understand that their father is one of the richest people in the country and even amongst the richest in the world.
That he had chosen this life - the couch, the sweatpants, the careful obscurity - because he had figured out something most people never did.
And she thought the measure of his greatness was... hugs.
But she would learn.
Eventually, and hopefully.
Or she would charm her way through life like Aunt Komachi did, and honestly, that seemed to work out fine too.
He wasn't sure which outcome disturbed him more.
The boy sighed like he carried the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders.
"How did such a simple creature end up as my twin?" He muttered, shaking his head. "You've got Aunt Komachi's brain in the worst way possible."
Then he touched his chest, almost dramatically, as if pledging loyalty to some great cause.
"It's okay…" he said solemnly. "Even if you are easily fooled, I will protect you. From liars. From fakes. From cringe romance anime. All of it."
The boy sighed and returned to his essay.
….
Ding-dong!
Hachiman's eyes cracked open slightly.
The girl's response was immediate and visceral.
Her tiny hands flew up to cover his ears, her expression shifting into what could only be described as aggressive protectiveness.
"No!" she declared to the door with surprising authority. "Papa is sleeping! Come back never!"
Ding-dong!
Her glare intensified. If looks could kill, whoever was on the other side of that door would be filing for life insurance.
"Brother." she called out, not taking her eyes off the offensive door. "Brother, someone is being very rude right now."
The boy glanced up from his essay. "They are not gonna stop. They have rung it twice already."
Ding-dong!
Knock-knock-knock!
The girl's face crumpled slightly. "But Papa was up late last night..."
"I know." the boy replied, setting his pencil down with a quiet sigh. "He was up playing games again."
He stood up. "I will handle it."
"Really?" Her eyes widened with a spark of hope. "You will make them go away?"
"I will do what I can." He stood up, straightening his shirt with as much dignity as a four-year-old could muster. "Though I suspect I know who it is, and they are not known for taking hints. Or understanding social boundaries. Or possessing basic consideration for other people's time."
He walked toward the door like a tiny general marching into battle.
Meanwhile, the girl's arms were starting to shake. She had been holding them up over Hachiman's ears for what felt like forever, and they were beginning to ache.
She shifted forward, trying to get a better angle, trying to redistribute the weight—
Her balance tipped.
The world tilted sideways. The floor rushed up to meet her face.
"Eep!"
She stopped.
Suspended in mid-air.
Upside down.
Confused, she blinked at the ceiling-that-was-now-the-floor, her brain struggling to process this unexpected turn of events. Then her gaze tracked down to find Hachiman's hand wrapped firmly around her ankle, holding her in place like she weighed nothing at all.
His other hand was rubbing his temple, his expression somewhere between amused and resigned.
For a moment, she just hung there, processing.
Then—
"Ahaha!" Pure delight exploded across her features. "Papa! Papa, I am flying! I am upside-down flying!"
"That's one way to interpret a near-concussion, I guess." Hachiman pulled her back up and repositioned her cross-legged on his lap, where gravity was less likely to betray her. "You know, your mother is going to blame me for that. She's going to walk in, see you with a bump on your head, and immediately assume I was being negligent."
The girl wasn't listening. She was already wrapping her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug. "Papa's the best! You always catch me!"
"Yeah, well, someone has to." His hand came up automatically, patting her back. "Love you too, troublemaker."
She squeezed tighter, humming happily against his shoulder.
Before the moment could settle into something properly heartwarming, a voice cut through from the entryway.
"Hachiman. Hachiman. Are you seriously getting spoiled by your own children right now? I mean, I expected you to be a lazy father, but this is next-level pathetic even by your standards."
Hachiman's eyes slid toward the source without moving his head.
Ryota stood at the entrance, ten years older and looking like he had earned every single day of it. His beard was neater now, his clothes better fitted, but his capacity for judgmental commentary remained impressively intact.
The boy just followed behind… and almost walked past him.
Ryota had one hand resting on his shoulder, preventing his escape.
"This one…" He continued, gesturing at the child. "Actually tried to stop me at the door. Told me, and I am quoting here, 'Excessive noise disrupts necessary rest cycles. Ringing the bell more than once demonstrates poor social awareness.' What kind of four-year-old talks like that?"
The boy stared up at him with complete indifference.
"Was I incorrect?" He asked, his tone flat.
"That's - that's not the point!" Ryota looked between the child and Hachiman. "What is this? What kind of household are you running here? Your daughter acts like a tiny enforcer, your son talks like he's writing a dissertation on social etiquette. Do you have them in some kind of training program?"
"He's not trained." Hachiman said, adjusting his daughter so she was more comfortable against his chest. "...and no. I have no idea where he gets it from."
"Can I return to my essay now?" the boy asked. "I was in the middle of my conclusion paragraph."
Ryota stared at him.
Then at Hachiman.
Then back at the boy.
"You're writing an essay. At four years old."
"It's about why people spend money on the wrong animals." The boy's expression stayed flat. "Conservation funding and stuff. It's three pages, but I might need two more."
Ryota looked like he needed to sit down.
"I give up." he muttered. "I absolutely give up. You have created tiny versions of yourself, and somehow that's both impressive and deeply concerning."
"Only one of them." Hachiman corrected. "The other one takes after Komachi."
At this, the little girl perked up from her position against Hachiman's chest. "Uncle Ryota! Did you bring snacks?"
And there it was - that megawatt smile, that slight tilt of the head, that perfect deployment of calculated adorableness that could probably negotiate international treaties if given the chance.
Ryota's expression softened immediately despite himself.
"I... yes, actually. I brought some - wait, no. No! I am not falling for this!" He pointed at her accusingly. "You are just like Komachi! That's the same face she makes when she wants something!"
The girl's smile widened.
"Man, I almost got trapped." Ryota breathed.
Hachiman closed his eyes. "Now, did you actually need something, or did you just come here to critique my life choices?"
"Can't it be both?"
The boy, still standing in the entryway, cleared his throat. "If you guys are done talking, I really need to finish my essay. Mama's gonna ask what I did today when she gets home."
Ryota looked at Hachiman.
Hachiman shrugged, his daughter still clinging to him like a very affectionate barnacle.
"Welcome to my life…" he said.
Ryota shook his head slowly. "You know what? I am going to need that couch space, and possibly something strong to drink."
"There is tea in the kitchen."
"I was thinking something stronger than tea, Hachiman."
"There's... really strong tea?"
"I hate you so much right now."
The little girl giggled, and the boy finally extracted himself from Ryota's grip to return to his essay.
Just another peaceful afternoon in the Hikigaya household.
….
Twenty minutes later, Hachiman and Ryota sat at the kitchen table with mugs of what Ryota had dubbed 'aggressively mediocre tea'.
The little girl had commandeered the couch, now deeply invested in building what appeared to be a castle out of cushions. Her brother had returned to his essay, sprawled on the floor with papers arranged around him in careful order.
They sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of friendship that had somehow survived Hachiman's entire personality. The girl's humming drifted from the living room, occasionally punctuated by her brother's quiet mutter as he crossed something out.
"You ever think about how weird this is?" Ryota asked after a moment.
"What, specifically?"
"All of it. You - you, Hikigaya Hachiman, chronic pessimist and professional cynic - ended up with a wife who's terrifyingly perfect, two genius kids, and enough money that you literally never have to work again." He gestured vaguely at the house. "And you spend your days getting used as furniture by a four-year-old."
"Your point?"
"I don't have one. I am just... observing. It's surreal."
Hachiman's lips twitched. "If it makes you feel better, Yukino still corrects my posture and the kids have definitely inherited the ability to see through every excuse I make."
"That does make me feel slightly better, yes."
A small voice piped up from the living room. "Onii-chan, can you help me with the tower? It keeps falling."
The boy didn't look up from his paper. "Structural instability. You need a wider base."
"I don't know what that means!"
He sighed - that same world-weary sigh Hachiman had perfected years ago - and got up to help her.
Ryota watched them, then turned back to Hachiman. "That's you. That's literally you as a child."
"He is more articulate and athletic than I was."
"That's not the compliment you think it is."
They watched as the boy carefully rearranged cushions, explaining something about weight distribution while his sister nodded enthusiastically without understanding a word. When the tower held, she threw her arms around him in celebration. He tolerated it with the patience of a saint.
Then the doorbell rang.
Both men looked at each other.
"You expecting someone?" Ryota asked.
"I am never expecting anyone. People just show up."
The boy had already moved toward the door, but his sister beat him to it, bouncing excitedly. "I will get it! I will get it!"
"Wait—" Hachiman started to stand.
The door opened.
"Ara." came a familiar voice. "What an enthusiastic greeting committee."
Yukino stood in the doorway, shopping bags in hand, with Hiratsuka Shizuka beside her carrying what appeared to be enough takeout containers to feed a small army.
"Mama!" The little girl launched herself at Yukino's legs.
….
.
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
Hey everyone!
Long time no see - hope you have all been doing great.
I am finally back with the last few epilogue chapters for this fic. It's been quite a journey, and I really appreciate everyone who has stayed along for the ride.
Also, a little heads-up - I will be starting a new fic within the week!
The synopsis is already up on my profile, so feel free to check it out in my book list.
Thank you all so much for the support!