The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Ryouji stepped into the narrow side street. The glow of the lamps reflected in broken puddles, spreading faint halos across the cracked pavement. He kept his hands deep inside his coat pockets, his steps measured but cautious. Every sense told him this wasn't just another walk home. The silence was too heavy, the shadows too deliberate.
Then, from the darkness, a voice came. Low, smooth, but sharp enough to cut through the damp air.
"You've been quiet for too long, Hyūga."
Ryouji froze. He hadn't heard that name spoken aloud in years—not since he had buried his past beneath layers of false smiles and ordinary routines. Slowly, he turned, his eyes adjusting to the silhouette leaning against a lamppost at the end of the alley. A man, half-shrouded by the mist, cigarette burning faintly between his fingers.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ryouji said, his voice even, though his pulse quickened.
The man chuckled. It wasn't loud, but the sound carried a weight that made the rain itself seem to pause. "You can play the family man all you want. But you can't erase what you were. Men like us don't get to walk away."
Ryouji's jaw tightened. His fingers flexed inside his pockets, aching to close into fists. "If you came here looking for trouble, you should turn back now. I have nothing left for your world."
The man stepped forward into the light. His face was half-hidden by the brim of his hat, but his eyes—sharp, predatory—cut through the veil. He dragged on his cigarette, letting the ember flare before speaking again.
"You think they'll stay safe, living in your shadow? Your wife. Your children. What will happen when the past you keep buried claws its way to their door?"
The words struck deeper than any blade. Images flashed unbidden in Ryouji's mind—Hana folding laundry with her gentle smile, Ren practicing his writing by the window, little Sakura chasing fireflies in the garden. Innocent moments, fragile, so easily shattered.
"You leave them out of this," Ryouji growled, his voice a low rumble.
The man exhaled smoke, the tendrils curling like ghosts. "I'm not here to threaten them. I'm here to warn you. There are others… less forgiving than me. Men who haven't forgotten your name. The streets are already whispering, Hyūga. You can pretend to be someone else, but the blood on your hands still shines too brightly. It's only a matter of time."
Ryouji's breath came slower now, heavy. He studied the stranger, searching for cracks in his words, for deceit. But all he found was certainty. Dangerous certainty.
"Why tell me this?" he asked finally. "If you really believe I'm the man you say I am, you should be here with a knife, not words."
The stranger's lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer. "Because I want to see what you'll do. Will you keep hiding, pretending to be the loyal husband and doting father? Or will you face it, before it consumes everything you love?"
The drizzle picked up again, droplets tapping against the tin roofs and pooling on the ground. The sound filled the silence between them, pressing against Ryouji's ears like a relentless drum.
"Listen carefully," the man continued, his tone suddenly colder. "The past is moving toward you, faster than you realize. You can't keep both worlds forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to choose. And when that time comes…" He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. "Don't hesitate, Hyūga. Hesitation is death."
With that, he turned and melted back into the rain, his figure swallowed by the fog as though he had never been there at all.
Ryouji stood rooted in place, the echo of his words lingering long after the stranger had vanished. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. He clenched his fists tight enough for his nails to bite into his palms, grounding himself against the storm surging in his mind.
He hated it—the truth in those words. No matter how far he ran, no matter how carefully he constructed the illusion of peace, the shadow of who he once was had never truly left. It clung to him, it breathed with him. And now, it was circling closer.
As he walked home, every step heavier than the last, Ryouji's thoughts spiraled. Could Hana sense the storm behind his silence? Had Ren already noticed the unease he tried so desperately to mask? He remembered the boy's curious eyes, his innocent questions, his stubborn desire to understand the world. How long before those eyes saw too much?
By the time his home came into view, his shoulders felt burdened with stone. He paused outside the gate, staring at the faint glow of light spilling from the windows. Inside, laughter awaited—his sanctuary, his fragile fortress. But tonight, it no longer felt untouchable.
He whispered to himself, barely audible over the rain:
"No matter what comes… I will protect them. Even if it means becoming the monster again."
The promise clung to his lips, bitter and unshakable, as he pushed the gate open and stepped inside, carrying with him both the warmth of family and the chilling weight of the warning that would not leave his mind.