[June 14, 1999 — 1:57 A.M. | 19th Ward, Tokyo]
The alley stank of old rain and iron. Hayato crouched beside his father in the shadows, small knees trembling against the damp brick. His father's hand rested heavy on his shoulder — steady, anchoring.
"Quiet now," the man whispered. "Watch, but don't move."
Hayato nodded. His heart beat so loud he thought it might give them away.
A man staggered down the alley, drunk, muttering curses into the night. His father's eyes narrowed. He stepped out, swift and silent. The drunk had only enough time to gasp before the strike came — quick, efficient. The sound was wet, final.
Hayato flinched, fists clenched. His stomach twisted with hunger he couldn't control. His father's hand gestured: come.
He moved on shaking legs, staring at the body. His chest felt too small, like his ribs were cages holding something feral inside.
"Eat," his father said quietly.
Hayato hesitated. The man on the ground had a face, a voice, clothes just like anyone he'd seen outside their window. He was real.
"I… I can't."
His father's voice hardened. "You must."
His mother's voice echoed in his memory: You'll learn, or you'll starve.
Hayato leaned down, trembling. The first bite burned with revulsion, tears stinging his eyes. But then the hunger surged, swallowing his hesitation whole. He ate, small hands slick with blood, until the trembling stopped.
When he finally looked up, his father's face was unreadable — not proud, not disgusted. Just tired.
"You'll learn to choose who," his father murmured. "But never doubt that you must."
[July 3, 1999 — 2:24 A.M.]
Their apartment was dim, the shutters closed against the city's neon glow. Hayato sat cross-legged on the floor, nibbling at the end of a broken toy car, mind elsewhere.
He heard them again — his parents whispering at the table. They always whispered when they thought he slept.
"They'll come," his father said. "If they learn he's awakened already, they'll come."
"They won't," his mother answered sharply. "I cut ties when I chose you. They disowned me."
The father's jaw tightened. "Families like yours don't just let go. You told me yourself."
Silence. Then the mother's voice, softer. "They'll see him as theirs. Not ours."
Hayato's chest tightened. He hugged his knees, pressing his forehead to them, listening.
The clan… He didn't know the word fully, but he knew the weight in her tone. Something bigger than them. Something watching.
His small fists clenched. Why do they want me? Why do they hate him?
His own thoughts startled him — sharper than a child's should be, heavier. The part of him that remembered dying in the freezer whispered: Because power always wants to claim what it doesn't earn.
[July 11, 1999 — 11:48 P.M.]
His mother began to teach him control. They sat cross-legged across from each other on the futon.
"Breathe," she said. "Don't fight the hunger. Feel it, then hold it. Don't let it own you."
Hayato squeezed his eyes shut, fists balled. His stomach growled, pain gnawing through him. Images flooded his head — raw flesh, blood on his lips.
It's always there. Always.
He whimpered. "It hurts, kaa-san."
Her hand rested on his shoulder, firm, grounding. "Good. If it hurts, it means you're still fighting. Remember that."
He opened his eyes. She smiled faintly, though her own were rimmed with red. "Your kagune will come when you call, not just when it wants to. That's the difference between a beast and a ghoul who survives."
[July 17, 1999 — 12:02 A.M.]
Hayato lay awake long after his parents had gone quiet. He stared at the ceiling, hands pressed to his chest.
I don't belong to them. Not her family. Not anyone. I belong to… me. I don't care what they think.
But another voice — one that sounded like the boy he used to be, the one who died in the freezer — whispered back: Do you? Or are you just what the hunger makes you?
He turned on his side, burying his face in the pillow. His small body trembled.
I'll show them. I'll show them all. I won't be theirs. I won't be a monster. I'll be… something else.
His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, crimson flickering like embers.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath flesh and blood, his kagune stirred again.
[May 2, 2002 — 12:47 A.M. | 19th Ward, Tokyo]
Hayato's legs ached from crouching so long. His father had taken him to the roof again, pointing at the city lights.
"Every glow," his father said, crouched beside him, "is someone alive. Human or ghoul, doesn't matter. The Doves, your mother's family, Aogiri — all of them forget that truth. They see prey or enemy, not people."
Hayato squinted at the skyline. Then what do I see? he thought, but didn't say aloud.
Because he knew the answer. Hunger made the lights look less like people and more like meat wrapped in glass and steel.
[June 14, 2002 — 3:01 A.M.]
His kagune came easier now. Not always willingly, but not in painful spasms like before. His father drilled him in the alleys — quick bursts, then concealment.
"Again," his father commanded.
Hayato gritted his teeth, feeling the surge build in his spine, his chest tightening until the shards tore free. Two jagged, crystalline wings unfurled unevenly from his back — not graceful, not beautiful, but sharp and cruel like broken glass. They shimmered faintly red in the streetlight.
The release left him panting, small chest heaving. He clenched his fists. It always feels like it's eating me first before I can use it…
His father nodded. "Good. Now pull it back."
Hayato shut his eyes, focusing. The shards retracted slowly, painfully, until only blood stains remained on his shirt.
The boy gasped, wiping sweat from his brow. "Tou-san… why do I have to learn this? I'm just a kid."
His father crouched in front of him, eyes serious. "Because the world doesn't care if you're a kid. The Doves won't care. The clan won't care. If you don't control it, it will control you. And then they'll take you."
Hayato looked down at his shaking hands. Take me…
[July 28, 2002 — 2:38 A.M.]
He wasn't supposed to be awake, but Hayato had learned how to pretend. His parents sat at the table, voices low, thinking he slept.
"They asked again," his mother said, voice taut with anger.
His father stiffened. "Who?"
"My family. The Seno elders. They sent word through the midwife. They want to 'see the boy.'"
Silence pressed between them.
His father's voice was quiet, dangerous. "And if you refuse?"
"They'll come anyway," she whispered. "They think blood belongs to them. They'll say he was born of their line, that he's wasted here."
Her husband slammed a hand on the table, wood creaking under the force. "He's our son. Not their weapon."
Hayato's small fists clenched under the blanket. His mind raced. So it's true. They want me. Why? Because of her? Because of what's inside me?
His chest burned with confusion, fear, and something darker: a tiny ember of defiance. No one owns me. Not them. Not anyone.
[August 9, 2002 — 11:59 P.M.]
The midwife came again, but this time she wasn't alone. Two men stood behind her in the doorway, broad-shouldered, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Their suits were too fine for the crumbling building, their presence too heavy.
Hayato peered from behind his mother's leg, feeling the weight of their gaze. Predators. They didn't look at him like a child — they looked at him like a tool being inspected.
"So this is the boy," one murmured.
"Awakened already, I hear," the other added, tone dry. "Promising."
The father stepped forward, blocking their view. "You don't belong here."
One of the men chuckled. "Neither does she. But blood is blood. And blood calls for its own."
The mother's voice cut sharp as glass. "You will not take him."
The midwife raised a hand, silencing the tension for a heartbeat. "Enough. The boy is too young. We'll return when he's older. Stronger. Then the family will decide."
Her eyes flicked to Hayato one last time, unreadable. Then she left, her men trailing after.
The room felt colder after they were gone.
Hayato pressed his face into his mother's side, small voice muffled. "…They want me."
Her hands trembled as she stroked his hair. "They can want. That doesn't mean they'll have."
But Hayato's thoughts spiraled, sharper than any child's should be. If they come again… if they try to take me… I'll make them regret it.
His eyes burned faint red in the gloom, and for the first time, he didn't feel afraid of it.