The living room was quiet.
Soft rays of sunlight stretched across the floor, bathing everything in a gentle warmth. Yamato sat across from Esther, his eyes filled with concern and curiosity. She seemed far away—gazing into a past only she could see.
"Baby," Esther said softly, folding her hands in her lap. "I'll try and explain everything… from the beginning."
Yamato nodded, leaning forward slightly. He could feel the weight of her words even before she spoke them.
"You see… when I was born, my mother died giving birth to me. And my father… he died months before that. I never saw either of them. I was alone before I even opened my eyes."
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling.
"When I was just two, my uncle took me in. He treated me kindly—like one of his own children. I lived with him for years… until I turned fourteen. But as time passed, his kindness became a curse."
Esther's hands gripped the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles whitening.
"My cousins hated me. They hated how he cared for me. They said I was stealing his love. So they made my life miserable. Always scheming. Always trying to get me into trouble."
She looked down. "My uncle never believed their lies. He always defended me. But that only made them angrier."
Her voice dropped.
"One day, we all went to the beach. It was supposed to be fun. But one of my cousins—out of pure malice—broke her own leg. She screamed and cried, claiming I pushed her."
Esther scoffed bitterly. "And this time… he believed her. Maybe he thought I finally snapped after everything."
She took a deep breath.
"So… he sold me. To a man named Mr. Mazin."
Yamato's eyes widened. "He sold you?"
"Yes," Esther said quietly, the pain threading her voice. "I was still a child. And just like that, I became a slave in Mr. Mazin's household. He was a rich man. Cold. Powerful. We worked day and night, with no room for mistakes."
She paused, then leaned in slightly, her tone turning darker.
"But one night, I overheard something. Not about Mr. Mazin… about someone else. A seventeen-year-old boy who had murdered his entire family. Not in anger. Not by accident. It was cold. Calculated. And people whispered about him because…"
She hesitated.
"My uncle had seen it happen."
Yamato sat straighter, a chill crawling up his spine.
"Yes," Esther said, locking eyes with him. "My uncle… saw it. And the boy found out. He didn't just kill my uncle. He erased everyone. Every cousin. Every relative. They were all murdered. Wiped from existence like they never mattered."
She stared at her hands.
"I never saw them again. Not the ones who hurt me… and not the man who once showed me kindness."
She slowly rubbed her arms, like trying to shake off a deep, buried cold.
"That was the first time I realized how cruel the world could be."
Silence stretched between them.
"A year passed," Esther continued, "and I was still working in Mr. Mazin's house. Then one day… he had a son. His name was Ozaki. Nobody ever talked about the mother."
Yamato blinked. "Wait… Master Ozaki? Brown hair, calm but scary when he's mad?"
Esther smiled softly. "That's him."
Yamato's jaw dropped. "You knew him as a kid?"
She laughed gently. "He was just a little boy back then. Sweet. Curious. He wanted to be a cook."
Yamato burst out laughing. "You're lying! Master Ozaki? A cook? I have to tell Lumei!"
They both laughed, a rare, genuine moment of joy breaking the heavy air.
"He really did," Esther said, wiping a tear. "He would sneak into the kitchen—even when he was sick. Watch us cook. Try to help. One day, we were short-staffed, and Ozaki helped make his father's favorite meal. But his tongue was weak from the illness. He couldn't taste properly. So… he added too much salt."
Yamato nodded, already bracing for what came next.
"That night, Mr. Mazin came home in a foul mood. When he tasted the food, he lost it. Called all of us into the kitchen. Accused us of ruining his meal."
Esther's smile faded.
"One of the girls told the truth. She said Ozaki had helped. But Mr. Mazin thought we were blaming his son. Thought we were lying."
Her voice turned sharp.
"He stormed into the kitchen. Grabbed a rolling pin. And beat us all. Then drove us out. No food. No clothes. Nothing."
She looked at Yamato with soft eyes. "That's how I ended up wandering… until I met your father."
Yamato's voice was quiet. "What was he like?"
Esther shifted, pulling her legs close and wrapping her arms around herself, as if hugging a memory.
"He was gentle. Always smiling. He loved to talk. Every night, he told me stories just to stop me from crying. I thought they were fairy tales."
Her face lit with a small smile.
"Stories about gods. About powers. About things that didn't make sense. But he made them feel real."
Yamato's heartbeat quickened.
"Then one night," she said slowly, "he looked me in the eye and said, I'm not just telling stories, Esther. I'm a god."
Yamato's breath caught.
"At first, I thought he was teasing me. But I started noticing things. He didn't move like other people. His presence… it felt larger than life. The way he spoke, the way he listened—like he knew more than anyone else ever could."
She reached out and took Yamato's hand gently.
"And then… you were born. My little miracle. My son. His blood runs through you."
Yamato sat frozen, lips parted, breath trembling.
"Mom…" he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me all this before?"
Esther gave a tired smile.
"Because I wanted you to live. Not carry the burden of my past. Or his. But now… now you need to know."
She held his hand tighter.
And for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
They just sat there—bound by the truth, by the memories, and by a quiet, unbreakable love between mother and son.