The street was lined with flashing red and blue lights, the distant hum of police radios blending with hushed murmurs from onlookers. Yellow caution tape cordoned off the entrance to the house, preventing anyone from stepping too close.
Whispers rippled through the gathered neighbors.
"David was robbed and killed..."
"Those bastards... Who would do something like this?"
Unnoticed by most, a girl no older than eighteen pushed her way through the growing crowd, her breath coming in panicked gasps. Her heart pounded in her chest, her legs burning from the sprint, but she didn't stop—not until she reached the barricade of police officers standing before her home.
"Let me through!" she cried, her voice raw with desperation. "That's where I live! My dad—where is my dad?!"
The officer closest to her turned, his expression tightening. "Michelle, is it?"
"Yes! Please, let me—"
She froze.
A pair of paramedics emerged from the house, carefully maneuvering a stretcher draped with a stark white sheet. The weight of that image hit her like a sledgehammer. Her breath hitched, her chest tightened, and the world around her seemed to blur.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the pavement, her fingers digging into the cold concrete. The air was thick, suffocating, and no matter how hard she tried to breathe, it felt like she was drowning.
No. No, this isn't real.
This was just a nightmare, a terrible, twisted dream she would wake up from any moment. Her father couldn't be gone. He was just at home this morning, just another regular day. They had plans—he always made time for her, even after long days at work. He was strong. He was alive.
"Dad... this has to be a dream, right?"
Tears spilled down her cheeks, her body shaking as she clutched her arms tightly around herself.
He was all she had.
Her mother had died bringing her into this world, and her father—her kind, stubborn, loving father—had been the only constant in her life. Every cherished moment, every lesson he taught her, every shared meal, every stupid joke that made them laugh until their stomachs hurt—it was all just... memories now.
A cruel past tense.
"No... this can't be true..."
"Michelle!"
A familiar voice cut through the haze of despair.
She turned, her tear-streaked face lifting to see a man pushing his way toward her—fair-skinned, with tired green eyes and blonde hair tousled by the night breeze.
"Uncle Daniel..." her voice trembled as she met his gaze, searching for reassurance, for anything to contradict the horror unfolding before her. "This has to be a dream, right?"
Daniel's expression twisted in anguish. His mouth opened, but no words came at first. What could he possibly say? He had known David since they were kids. He was his best friend, practically a brother. And now...
He swallowed thickly, crouching beside her as he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Michelle..."
That was all it took.
A choked sob escaped her lips as fresh tears fell. She collapsed against Daniel's chest, her cries muffled against his shirt as her body trembled with grief. Daniel held her tightly, his own eyes stinging, his grip steady even as his heart ached.
He wished he could tell her everything would be okay. That this was all some horrible mistake. That David would walk out of that house, alive and well.
But he couldn't.
Because David was gone.
And now, all he could do was be there for the daughter he left behind.
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Seijuro's eyes snapped open.
His breath was steady, but his mind raced. He looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings—the wooden porch, the peaceful garden, the quiet hum of the Gojo compound.
He was home.
Yet, something felt... off.
Leaning back, he let his head rest against the polished floorboards and gazed up at the sky. His crimson eyes flickered with lingering unease.
"Who were they...?"
The names echoed in his head. Michelle. Daniel. A father lost to violence. A girl crying in the streets. But who were they to him?
A sharp pain throbbed behind his temples.
"Ugh...!" Seijuro hissed, pressing his fingers against his forehead. His thoughts blurred as the headache intensified, an invisible pressure squeezing his skull.
"Seijuro-san, are you okay?"
His eyes snapped open again, and just like that, the pain vanished.
Jin knelt beside him, looking at him with concern.
Seijuro exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah... just a weird dream, I guess."
Jin studied him for a moment but chose not to pry. Instead, he shifted topics. "By the way, has our new guest arrived?"
Seijuro sat up and stretched. "Oh, right. I forgot to tell you—someone else is going to be staying here, just like you and Kaori. His name is Suguru Geto."
"I see..." Jin nodded, processing the information.
Before Seijuro could continue, a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Dad, has Suguru arrived yet?"
Satoru came running toward them, skidding to a stop just in front of his father. His bright blue eyes shimmered with excitement.
"I've been waiting for him forever!"
Seijuro chuckled, ruffling his son's white hair. "Satoru, it's only been two days since you last saw him."
"But it felt like forever," Satoru pouted, crossing his arms.
Seijuro smirked. "Relax, he should be here soon."
Before their conversation could continue, a voice rang from inside the house.
"Oi, Seijuro-san, your fridge is empty!"
Kaori's exasperated shout carried through the compound.
Seijuro sighed and turned toward the house. "Oh? Really? Then I'll just ask my servants to restock it..." He smirked. "Actually, how about you tell them?"
"What?!" Kaori scoffed, crossing her arms. "They're your servants, and this is your mansion. It's your job!"
Seijuro gave an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, fine..."
He knew she was just messing with him, but before he could say anything else, Satoru's irritation flared up.
"Hey, old hag, how about you shut up? Keep that up, and you'll grow old without a husband!" Satoru taunted, sticking out his tongue.
Kaori's eye twitched. "What did you just say, you little brat?!"
She rolled up her sleeves, ready to pounce.
Jin quickly stepped in, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Kaori-san, calm down. He's just a kid."
Kaori turned her head slightly, catching Jin's gaze. For some reason, her face burned red, and she instantly relaxed.
"O-Okay..." she muttered, crossing her arms.
Satoru smirked and stood proudly, hands on his hips, reveling in his victory.
Seijuro wasn't having it. He reached out and pulled Satoru's ear.
"Ow! Ow! Dad, stop!" Satoru whined, squirming in his grip.
Meanwhile, in the background, Satoru Junior—the little white kitten—sat lazily on a nearby shelf, watching the chaos unfold with half-lidded eyes.
Across the garden, Toji stood leaning against a wall, arms crossed as he observed the ridiculous scene before him.
"What a normal day in the Gojo family..." he muttered under his breath.
Seijuro, still tugging on his son's ear, let out a soft chuckle. The warmth of this place, the interactions, the sheer absurdity of it all—it made him happy.
But even as he laughed, a shadow lingered in the back of his mind.
Michelle. Daniel. The father who died. The grief. The loss.
The dream still clung to him, unsettling in its vividness.
And for the first time in a long while, a single thought gnawed at him.
'Do I even belong in this world?'