...11/09/2009 Friday; Afternoon...
Hiro's body seemed to freeze — but not out of fear.
It was as if something inside him — maybe his soul — had finally heard what it needed to.
Mitsuru's words echoed deep within.
Simple.
But filled with something he couldn't quite name.
His cheeks began to flush, slowly turning the same vivid red as her hair.
He was still hunched over, but his posture was no longer one of despair — it was someone trying to breathe again.
And when he did, the air entered his lungs more easily.
"Y-Yeah... sorry," he muttered, unable to look at her at first. "It's just… I can't get it out of my head."
His voice still sounded tired, but now it carried less pain.
Mitsuru gave a gentle nod and removed her hand from his face. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize."
Hiro rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze distant.
"Like… Noir attacking Fuuka yesterday already had me worried. And then you almost died… I was scared that… something..."
"I know..." Mitsuru interrupted softly, her eyes never leaving his. "But don't blame yourself."
She tilted her head slightly, locking eyes with him.
"Every time we step into the Dark Hour, we're risking ourselves. To protect others. That's what we do, Hiro. It's what we became when we chose to fight."
Her words hit him hard.
But not like a blow — more like a warm embrace.
Hiro took a deep breath and looked away, a faint blush returning to his face.
"I'll try. And..."
The sentence hung in the air.
Something strange ran through his body — not pain, not a warning — but a light current, as if his nerves were heightened by the moment.
He lifted his eyes and met Mitsuru's gaze.
And there it was — that feeling.
As if his heart was beating too loudly. Loud enough for her to hear it.
For a moment, everything around them seemed to disappear.
The walls, the hospital, the noise outside.
There was only the slight tremble in his fingers… and Mitsuru's face in front of him.
"And not… for saving you," he said, stumbling over his words.
Mitsuru's smile grew just slightly, a soft pink rising in her cheeks.
Silence returned, but now it was different.
Not uncomfortable.
It was… pleasant.
They both looked down.
And without a word, their hands moved.
As if an invisible force pushed them toward each other.
Their fingers touched. Just the tips at first.
And then, as if their hands recognized each other, they intertwined.
Mitsuru's fingers gently squeezed Hiro's.
And his responded with the same care.
And in the warmth of that simple connection, there was something neither of them could name.
That moment between Hiro and Mitsuru, which had felt eternal… vanished like a dream interrupted.
The shrill sound of an electronic beep echoed through the room, cutting through the silence brutally.
The electronic lock on the door released with a metallic click.
The shock was mutual.
Mitsuru quickly pulled the comforter up to her chin and lay back down, as if she hadn't been sitting up just seconds ago.
Hiro took a step back, standing beside the bed, his body stiff.
Both of them averted their gazes and shook their heads, trying to shake off the heat rising in their faces.
The door opened with a soft hydraulic sound, and heavy footsteps echoed across the polished floor of the room.
The sound was firm, deliberate — as if each step said: I am in control.
Hiro glanced sideways, and a chill ran down his spine instantly.
The figure approaching radiated authority — not through words, but through presence alone.
A middle-aged man in a tailored gray suit with a black vest. The red tie contrasted with his austere demeanor, and the eyepatch over his right eye made him even more imposing.
His dark hair was perfectly combed. His steely gray eyes, hard as iron.
Hiro almost stepped back instinctively but remained where he was.
When he glanced quickly at Mitsuru, he saw the same shock in her eyes — but with something else. Recognition.
The man stopped a few steps from the bed. For a moment, his eyes widened slightly upon seeing his daughter awake. But the fleeting glimmer disappeared as quickly as it came.
"I apologize for the delay," he said with a firm, controlled voice, full of formality. "The meetings to explain the damage took longer than I expected."
Hiro frowned, still trying to grasp who this man was.
"Who are yo—"
"Father?" Mitsuru's voice came out soft, surprised, almost fragile.
Hiro turned to her, blinking as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"Wait… this is your father?"
She nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on the man before them.
"Yes… you joined S.E.E.S after the Yakushima trip. So you didn't get to meet him."
"You must be Hiro Mikoshi." Takeharu's voice cut through the room like a sharp blade. "A pleasure. I'm Takeharu Kirijo, president of the Kirijo Corporation."
Hiro scratched his cheek, still trying to process the sudden presence of such authority in the room.
"Ah… pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kirijo."
The room, which had been quiet, now felt heavier — like the air itself had grown denser.
Mitsuru, even still covered to her shoulders, adjusted herself slightly on the bed.
Her gaze fixed on her father, not hiding the doubt. He rarely appeared like this, unannounced.
"Father… what are you doing here?"
Takeharu didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a few steps to the side of the bed and, in a gesture that surprised even Mitsuru, leaned forward slightly and raised a hand to her face.
His fingers gently touched Mitsuru's bandaged cheek, tracing the edge of the gauze with his fingertips.
He said nothing. He simply observed.
Mitsuru's eyes widened slightly — not from fear or pain, but from surprise.
She knew her father. Gestures like that were rare. Nearly impossible.
For a moment, she saw something in his eyes he always tried to hide: concern.
"I came to see you," he said, his voice a bit softer. "Are you feeling better?"
Mitsuru's gaze remained locked on her father's face. There was something there… a strange discomfort she rarely saw in him.
She took his hand gently and moved it away.
"Yes… I'm feeling better now. Just a little tired."
Her voice was calm, but there was tension in her words — as if she wasn't sure how to feel.
Takeharu took a deep breath. He stood upright again and adjusted his tie with a methodical, almost automatic gesture.
But the relief on his face didn't go unnoticed.
"That's good. I couldn't sleep well when Giyu informed me you had been hospitalized after overusing your Persona."
"Ah…" Mitsuru closed her eyes for a moment, her expression growing more downcast. "I'm sorry for worrying you. But I… I had to use Diamond Dust twice."
"It's alright."
Takeharu's tone softened slightly. "What matters is that you're alive."
Then, as if slipping back into the role the world demanded of him, his voice grew firmer.
"But I also came for another reason."
The words seemed to reverberate in the air. The mood in the room shifted.
His eyes turned to Hiro — and the boy felt as though something sharper than a blade had pierced through him.
Hiro straightened his posture, nodding, now with a more serious tone:
"Ah, right… I forgot you wanted to speak with me, Mr. Kirijo."
Mitsuru blinked a few times, surprised. She looked from Hiro to her father, trying to understand.
Hiro noticed and scratched his head, forcing a crooked smile.
"Well… When we got back to the dorm in the early morning, I called the Kirijo Group to request help. Then… a bodyguard of your father came and said he wanted to meet me. He also gave me a clearance card to visit you."
"Hm…" Mitsuru brought a hand to her chin, thoughtful. "That explains how you got in here."
Takeharu nodded, his eyes still fixed on Hiro.
"Exactly. For a moment, I thought you might decline, Hiro-san."
"I had no reason to." Hiro crossed his arms. "But… what exactly did you want to talk about?"
Silence settled in. Thick.
Takeharu's gaze grew sharper. He took a step forward and stopped right in front of Hiro.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied him in silence.
His eyes moved from Hiro's bandaged shoulders, down the bruises on his arm, then back to his face.
There was something there. Something he recognized.
In the back of his mind, a memory began to form — blurry, distant, but oddly vivid.
For a moment, it wasn't Hiro's face he saw.
It was a woman's.
Long black hair, deep dark eyes. A gentle smile he hadn't seen in… how many years?
The vision flashed by in an instant, but it left a deep impact.
His eye widened, and his rigid posture faltered.
A man like Takeharu rarely showed surprise — but this time, he couldn't hide it.
Mitsuru noticed the change.
"Father?" Her voice broke the moment. "Are you alright?"
Takeharu shook his head slightly, bringing his fingers to his temple. He quickly regained his composure.
"Forgive me. I had a… déjà vu."
He then looked at Hiro, this time with a different air — graver. More personal.
"So… you really are her son."
Hiro's eyes widened, confused.
"What do you mean?"
Takeharu adjusted his sleeve, as if preparing himself for something important.
"Years ago… I knew your mother. Sophia Mikoshi."
The name dropped like a blade in the air.
Hiro's heart seemed to stop for a second.
His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face.
For as long as he could remember, all he knew was…
That his mother had died during childbirth.
And all he had of her… was a single old photo.
"W-what do you mean?"
...TO BE CONTINUED...