[September 15, 2002 — 2:14 A.M. | 19th Ward, Tokyo]
The rain hadn't stopped for three nights. It tapped against the roof and streamed down the cracked window, filling the room with the sound of running water. Hayato stood barefoot on the cold wooden floor, sweat dripping down his back, fists clenched as he faced his father.
"Again," his father said. His voice was calm but carried steel.
Hayato's lungs ached. He'd already pushed himself to the edge tonight, calling the shards again and again until his back throbbed. He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth. His chest tightened, the familiar ache blooming in his ribs.
With a sharp cry, jagged shards tore free from his shoulder blades — uneven, crooked, but unmistakably there. Two crystalline wings glimmered faintly red in the dark, their edges catching the dim light like shards of broken glass.
Hayato gasped, knees trembling. The kagune felt like fire beneath his skin, always threatening to consume him before he could wield it.
His father circled him slowly, eyes sharp. "Your body is small, but your kagune is not. That's dangerous. Control it, or it will tear you apart."
Hayato panted, trying to steady the trembling in his arms. "It… it hurts, tou-san."
"It's supposed to," his father said. He crouched, locking eyes with him. "Pain means you're alive. Pain means you're not letting the kagune own you."
I hate it, Hayato thought bitterly. Every time it feels like I'm being cut open from the inside. But when it's out… when I see the light on it… I don't hate it as much.
"Now retract," his father ordered.
Hayato focused, digging his nails into his palms. The shards shuddered, resisted, then slowly pulled back into his body. The skin sealed with a wet sound, leaving him trembling and pale.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping. His father didn't rush to help him — only stood over him, silent, until Hayato steadied himself enough to rise on his own.
"Better," his father said at last.
Hayato's chest swelled with a flicker of pride, though he kept his head down to hide it.
[Later that Night]
His mother dabbed at his back with a damp cloth, cleaning away the thin trickle of blood where the shards had torn free.
"You're pushing him too hard," she muttered, not looking at her husband.
"He has to be ready," his father said from the table, voice low. "They won't wait until he's grown. They'll come when they choose, and if he isn't ready—"
"Enough." Her voice cut sharp. She pressed the cloth harder than she meant to, making Hayato flinch. She softened her touch immediately, murmuring, "Sorry, Hayato. Sorry."
He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "…Kaa-san. Why do they want me?"
Her hands stilled. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, softly: "Because they think blood belongs to them. But you belong to me." She kissed the top of his head, but her eyes were haunted.
Hayato swallowed hard, clenching his small fists. They can want me all they like. I'm not theirs. I won't be.
[September 20, 2002 — 1:38 A.M.]
The knock came soft at first, then firmer. Three raps. Pause. Three more.
Hayato was awake instantly. He sat up on his futon, heart hammering, sensing something heavy in the air. His father was already by the door, blade in hand, motioning for silence.
The midwife's voice slipped through the wood. "It's only me."
The father hesitated, then opened the door a crack. The midwife stepped in, her shawl soaked from the rain. But she wasn't alone.
A tall man followed her — lean, sharp features, eyes glowing faintly red even in the dark. He wore a black coat that looked too fine for the ward, and when he smiled, it wasn't kind.
Hayato's stomach turned cold.
The midwife's eyes flicked to him. "The family sent a representative. They've heard whispers of his… awakening."
The man's gaze settled on Hayato, and in that moment the boy felt smaller than he had in years. The man didn't look at him like a child — he looked at him like prey being weighed, or a weapon being measured.
"So this is the boy," the man said softly. His Japanese was smooth, cultured. "Promising. Very promising."
His father stepped forward, blocking the view. "He's not yours to measure."
The man chuckled lightly, but it never reached his eyes. "We only came to see. To test. If he truly carries the Seno blood, he should prove it."
Hayato's breath caught. Test? His chest tightened.
His mother's voice was sharp. "He's a child."
"A ghoul," the man corrected smoothly. "Children in our family learn early. Or they don't survive." His eyes slid past the father, landing back on Hayato. "Come, boy. Show me what you've learned."
Hayato's body froze, but his mind screamed. I don't want to. I don't want to. But… if I don't…
His father's hand brushed his shoulder — firm, grounding. His eyes told him: Do not falter.
Hayato swallowed, throat dry. Slowly, trembling, he stood.
The man's smile widened. "Good. Call it. Call your kagune."
Hayato clenched his fists. His stomach twisted with hunger, pain flaring in his spine. The shards tore free again, uneven but burning with light. His back arched with the force, small body trembling.
The man's eyes gleamed. "Ah… beautiful. Koukaku density… but Ukaku sharpness. A rare mutation. Yes… you'll be valuable."
Hayato panted, his small fists trembling. He wanted to retract it, to hide it, but his pride — and the fire in his chest — wouldn't let him.
I'm not yours. I'll never be yours.
The man chuckled, low and approving. "You'll be tested again. Soon." He turned to the midwife. "Tell the elders he is real."
With that, he left, footsteps echoing down the hall.
The door shut, and silence swallowed the room. Hayato collapsed to his knees, kagune retracting painfully. His mother rushed to him, pulling him into her arms, whispering fierce promises he barely heard.
His father's hands trembled as he locked the door.
And Hayato, pressed against his mother's chest, thought bitterly: If they come for me again… I'll be ready. I'll make them regret it.
His eyes glowed faint red in the dark, burning with a resolve that was far too old for an eight-year-old boy.