The morning sun slipped gently through the curtains, painting the Hyūga household in pale gold. Hana was already in the kitchen, her hands moving with quiet precision as she prepared breakfast. The aroma of miso soup and grilled fish filled the air, yet Ryouji's thoughts remained elsewhere. He sat at the table, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup of tea before him, though his mind lingered on the conversation from the night before.
Ren's words had cut deeper than he cared to admit. "We're your present. Doesn't that count for more?" The innocence and weight of that single truth had shaken him, but it had also forced him to see just how much his children were beginning to notice. The past he tried to bury was no longer just his burden—it was bleeding into their lives.
"Dad?"
The voice startled him. Ren stood in the doorway, his hair messy from sleep, his small hands rubbing at his eyes. He looked older somehow—less like a child waking from a dream and more like someone who had questions that wouldn't let him rest.
"Morning," Ryouji replied with forced warmth. "Come, sit. Breakfast is almost ready."
Ren sat down slowly, his gaze lingering on his father. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the gentle clatter of Hana's utensils in the kitchen. Finally, Ren spoke.
"Dad… can I ask you something?"
Ryouji's chest tightened. He had expected this. "Of course," he said carefully, though dread coiled in his stomach.
Ren hesitated, his small fingers drumming nervously on the table. "The man who came here… who was he? Why did he talk to you like that?"
The air in the room grew heavier. Ryouji's jaw clenched, the memories from that encounter flashing vividly. The stranger's cold eyes, the mocking tone, the way he had hinted at debts unpaid and ghosts unburied. He wanted to shield Ren from all of it, yet he knew too much silence would only breed fear.
"He was…" Ryouji paused, searching for words that balanced truth with protection. "…someone from a life I don't live anymore. A life I left behind before you were even born."
Ren frowned. "But if you left it, why is he still looking for you? Why does he sound like you owe him something?"
The sharpness of the question struck Ryouji like a blade. Ren was no longer asking out of childish curiosity; he was demanding to understand the world that threatened his family.
"Because some people," Ryouji said slowly, his voice low, "don't let go easily. They cling to the past, even when it should stay buried. And sometimes, they want to pull others back into it."
Ren's eyes darkened with thought. He leaned forward. "Did you… do bad things, Dad?"
The question froze Ryouji. His hands tightened around the cup until the porcelain threatened to crack. He had never wanted his son to ask him that. He had never wanted his children to look at him and wonder if the father who tucked them in at night had blood on his hands.
"Yes," Ryouji admitted finally, the word tasting like iron. "I did things I regret. Things I'll carry for the rest of my life. But I walked away from it—for you, for your mother, for Sakura. That's why we live here, quietly. That's why I chose this life."
Ren didn't respond at once. His eyes searched his father's face, studying every flicker of expression. After a long silence, he whispered, "Will they come after us?"
Ryouji leaned forward, his voice steady, unshaken. "They might try. But listen to me, Ren—I won't let anyone hurt you. Or Sakura. Or Mom. I'll protect this family no matter what."
For the first time, Ren seemed to believe it. His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his gaze remained serious. "Then… can I help?"
The words caught Ryouji completely off guard. He blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. "Help?"
Ren nodded firmly. "You said the past follows you. If it's going to try and hurt us, then I don't want to just hide. I want to stand with you."
Ryouji's throat tightened. Ren was still so young, yet already his spirit reflected a strength that was both admirable and terrifying. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, gripping it firmly.
"Ren," he said quietly, "your job is to live. To grow up, to laugh, to protect your sister when I'm not around. That's how you help me. Leave the rest to me."
Ren lowered his eyes, conflicted but unwilling to argue. Finally, he gave a small nod.
At that moment, Hana entered the room, carrying the tray of breakfast. She glanced between the two of them, sensing the weight in the air, but said nothing. Instead, she set the dishes down gently and offered them a smile—a fragile bridge to normalcy.
"Eat before it gets cold," she said softly.
As the family gathered around the table, Ryouji realized something had shifted. The veil of innocence was thinning. His son was beginning to understand the darkness that shadowed their lives, and no amount of denial could turn back time.
Ren's question had opened a wound that could never fully close. But in that wound, Ryouji also saw something unexpected—a bond forged not in ignorance, but in shared truth.
He knew the path ahead would only grow darker. Yet, as he watched Ren take his sister's hand to say the morning prayer before eating, he felt a flicker of hope. His children were stronger than he realized. Perhaps strong enough to endure the shadows with him.
Still, he whispered silently to himself, a vow etched into his heart: "No matter what questions you ask, no matter what truths you uncover—I will carry the weight, not you."