12 Chapter 12

Toji opened his eyes.

Instinctively, his senses sharpened as he scanned his surroundings. Beside him, a half-naked woman was curled up, softly asleep. In the gentle darkness, the patternless ceiling and the calm-colored wallpaper came into view. The light leaking through the curtains was crimson, indicating it was almost evening...

He noticed an aquarium in the corner. Inside was a single fluffy, round marimo. Seeing the marimo brought to mind the face of a child that resembled it.

...And the woman holding that child.

Frowning, Toji got up from the bed. The woman beside him woke up to his movements.

"Hmm... You're awake, Ryosuke?"

Toji gave a polite smile to the woman who casually used the false name he had given her last night.

"Sleep more."

"Mmm... Will you come again?"

Toji left an ambiguous "We'll see." and left the house.

He could feel the woman's longing gaze, but unfortunately, Toji had no intention of coming back. The place was decent enough, and the predictability of the woman had initially tempted him to consider seeing her again, but that inclination had now vanished.

If asked why, well.

He didn't want to stay in places that brought back memories.

He walked the streets. In the early morning, the bustling crowd didn't notice him at all. Using his nearly invisible presence like the drifting wind, Toji made his way through.

His destination was, as always, the race betting place.

Greeted by faces he saw almost daily, the betting office clerk mechanically took his money and handed him a betting slip. Toji didn't bother to look closely at the odds or even what race it was; he randomly marked the slip with the pen at the counter.

He was thirsty. Holding the betting slip, Toji went into the shop next to the counter as he always did. It was early, and the preparations were incomplete; a part-time worker was seen moving crates of beer bottles.

"..."

Maybe it's time for a drink.

After paying, Toji looked down at the large crate of beer bottles in his hand. He wondered why he suddenly felt like drinking. After all, it's not like he'd get drunk.

'...What day is it today?'

Around November 8th? Toji tilted his head as he glanced at the betting slip in his hand. As usual, today's date was printed on it.

November 11th.

"Ah."

It was that child's birthday.

"Happy Birthday, Zoro!"

"..."

Almost crumpling the betting slip in his hand absentmindedly, Toji headed to his usual spot as always.

As he slumped down, the plastic chair screeched as if in protest. The race was about to start.

—Ready, set, go!

He followed the movement of the boats starting off with his eyes, but his mind was not focused. Win or lose, it didn't matter. Although he always approached betting with that mindset, today was different.

November 11th. Birthday.

"Is he now 4 years old?"

He thought simultaneously that it was too soon and yet so late.

The thought of ordering a gift crossed his mind, then he felt foolish.

"...When have I ever bothered so much about the kid."

The nanny would take care of it.

Even if she didn't, well.

...What does it matter.

Bang!

Toji effortlessly popped the cap off a beer bottle and gulped down the large bottle in one go. He knew drinking wouldn't intoxicate him, yet there were moments he couldn't endure without it.

After emptying the large bottle in no time, he carelessly set it down and opened another to drink. Then another, and yet another.

The green-haired child in his memories turns to look at him. The child's usually stern face softens slightly, smiling faintly as he calls out.

"Dad."

Behind the child, a warm figure approaches. Spiky hair flutters, and a sunshine-like smile illuminates the scene.

Ah, that's why.

He tries not to think about it.

Crash!

The beer bottle shattered into pieces in Toji's hand.

A few glanced his way at the noise, but seeing people lose big and cause a scene was common in betting places, so interest quickly waned. Anyone at the race betting place at this time had likely had their share of similar outbursts. They wouldn't have imagined someone could smash a beer bottle with their hand.

'Betting, whatever.'

The thought of bolting crossed his mind, but there was nothing for him outside either. With this mood, he'd only dwell on similar thoughts outdoors.

Crunch.

Glass shards fell from Toji's hand. It reminded him of the time he had stared at his own hand after smashing a phone.

Toji lifted his arm to cover his eyes.

He didn't want to think, didn't want to remember.

Because memories of that child always led back to her.

That child was always with her, and she was always with that child.

Toji, too.

The memories he had been suppressing overflowed, leaving him reeling. It was absurd to think someone like him could feel dizzy from a few drinks.

In the past, yes, there were times he took care of that child.

'Because he'd get into trouble the moment I looked away.'

He had to stay close. The child would reach for knives or bottles, try to walk in haste and fall, or get lost and wander in circles in secluded places...

Apart from when he was a newborn and cried for attention, the child rarely expressed himself, requiring even closer observation.

'He wouldn't say if he got hurt or felt unwell.'

He had to ensure the child wouldn't get injured in the first place. So, Toji would preemptively eliminate any threats in the areas the child might visit when going out.

Of course, living in Tokyo, it was possible for a minor demon or a fourth-class spirit to appear in that short time...

Toji lowered his arm. With an emotionless face, he picked up another beer bottle and took a big gulp.

The child was high-maintenance.

Not that he minded.

Stroking the child's inexplicably green hair, the child would look up with a puzzled expression.

"What are you doing?"

"Trimming the grass."

"Who's head is grass!"

Even as he pretended to be angry, he couldn't genuinely hit him. A real hit from the child's soft fists wouldn't hurt Toji, a seasoned fighter.

His soft nature was amusing yet worrying.

He planned to stay by his side. As Toji saw it, the child was his, so he wouldn't exploit the child's gentle nature, but others might not refrain. Many would pounce like spirits, knowing of his softness.

"Just need to protect him until he can stand on his own without getting hurt."

He was a strong and fast-growing child, so maybe 10 years? If it took longer, maybe 12 years? By then, he should be able to distinguish those trying to use him.

"If not, well, I can step in."

As a father, he could do at least that much. And tease him a bit while at it.

He truly thought so.

...Until the day it all became meaningless.