Chapter 2: My Foolish Son
Shinji's resistance was like a stone thrown into a deep pond, creating only a negligible ripple that was instantly swallowed by the cold reality, sinking into deeper darkness.
Only two days had passed since he refused to accept that insulting "letter."
That evening, as Shinji dragged his exhausted body back to the familiar, perpetually gloomy street where Fujiwara-sensei's house stood, an unusual heaviness pressed down on him.
The warm yellow light symbolizing homecoming wasn't lit at the doorway; instead, an unsettling dead silence emanated from within.
He took out his key, but just as he inserted it into the lock, the door was violently pulled open from inside.
Standing there was Fujiwara-sensei's 12-year-old daughter.
The girl's eyes were swollen red like two peaches, her usual expression of sharp disdain completely replaced by a breakdown mixed with fear, anger, and immense grievance.
Seeing Shinji, she exploded like a ignited powder keg, screaming "It's all your fault!" as she charged forward and shoved him with all her might.
Caught off guard, Shinji staggered back, his back hitting the cold doorframe.
Before he could steady himself, the girl's fists began raining down on his thin chest with hysterical, childlike force.
"It's all your fault! You troublemaker! Jinx!"
She pounded on him while crying, her face smeared with tears and snot.
"If it weren't for you, my dad wouldn't have been taken away! Why should your family's disgusting affairs involve ours? Give me back my dad! Give him back!"
The punches weren't heavy, but each carried sharp accusations that pierced Shinji's numb heart like needles.
He stood frozen in place, neither resisting nor raising his arms to block, silently enduring this overwhelming resentment directed at him.
Just then, the doorbell rang urgently again, cutting through the crying and shouting inside.
Shinji turned mechanically and opened the door.
Standing outside was Aoi, the daughter of the owner of Uzakiya, the small restaurant where he worked.
Her face, usually wearing a shy smile, was now filled with panic. Her eyes were red, and she was breathing rapidly.
"Sh-Shinji-kun!" Seeing Shinji, Aoi seemed to grasp at a lifeline, her voice trembling with tears.
"It's terrible! This afternoon... this afternoon, a bunch of people in uniforms suddenly came to the shop! They said... they said our ingredients had serious quality issues, that a customer got food poisoning from our food and was hospitalized! And they said... they said we were evading taxes! They... they took Mom away! The shop's been sealed shut!" She spoke incoherently, her body trembling slightly from fear and agitation.
The double blow of information felt like ice water being poured over his head, instantly making Shinji understand the severity of the situation.
He whipped his head around to look inside the house.
Mrs. Fujiwara—the woman who was usually equally cold and distant toward him, hardly ever looking him in the eye—was now tightly holding her still-crying, punching daughter. The usual stiffness had vanished from her face, leaving only a pale, dazed expression of someone crushed by a great disaster.
Meeting Shinji's gaze, her lips trembled as she spoke in a dry, desperate voice: "The police... came directly to the house this afternoon... they took Fujiwara away... They said he... he's suspected of abusing students and... and molesting girls in his class... so many charges... They... they have 'evidence'..."
"Did you hear that! It's all because of your high-ranking official father!" Fujiwara-sensei's daughter suddenly lifted her head from her mother's embrace, screaming shrilly at Shinji with eyes full of hatred.
"Your father sent people to take my dad away! You jinx! Give me back my father!"
It was only then that Aoi noticed the tragic scene inside the room, covering her mouth in fright.
Flustered, she pulled out a thin manila envelope from her bag and shoved it into Shinji's hands, her voice trembling. "Those people... when they left, they told me to give this to you... said... said you'd know what to do..."
Shinji's heart sank to the bottom, his fingertips turning ice-cold.
He took the envelope, feeling it was light as a feather yet heavy as a thousand pounds.
The counterattack had come faster, harsher, and more precise than he had anticipated! His father, Gendo, couldn't even be bothered to speak directly with his "rebellious" son, instead immediately deployed the massive power apparatus under his control to ruthlessly crush the fragile social connections Shinji had left—his guardian and his workplace.
This wasn't just a warning. It was a blatant display of power, telling him:
"There's nowhere to run. Your resistance will only bring disaster to everyone around you."
He took a deep breath and tore open the seal.
What slid out was exactly as expected—the same white envelope he had personally returned two days ago, along with that crumpled document paper bearing the cold command "Come to me" and the ID card. Aside from these, there was only a single folded sheet of plain white paper.
Shinji unfolded the paper. There was no header, no signature, just a printed name and a phone number:
Kyoya Kenzaki
The moment he saw this name, a chill shot up Shinji's spine from his tailbone to the crown of his head, as if his blood had frozen instantly!
Not some ordinary government official, not even a regular NERV employee!
Kyoya Kenzaki!
This name burned like an icy brand, instantly activating those chilling deep analyses about Neon Genesis Evangelion from his "dreams"!
He was Misato Katsuragi and Ryoji Kaji's university classmate, the head of NERV's Intelligence Department First Division, Gendo's absolutely loyal hound!
In the original work, it was he who, on a cold rooftop, had mercilessly ended Ryoji Kaji's life with a single bullet when Kaji tried to uncover the truth!
He was the grim reaper walking in shadows, Gendo's first choice for handling "dirty work"!
He was personally involved now!
What did this mean? It meant Gendo had elevated his "disobedience" to a level requiring the deployment of his most core, most dangerous forces!
It meant his so-called "refusal to accept" was no longer seen as childish willfulness in his father's eyes, but as a threat that must be immediately, thoroughly, and mercilessly suppressed!
Shinji's knuckles turned white from gripping the note too hard.
He looked at the Fujiwara mother and daughter crying together, at the panicked, distraught Aoi. Their helplessness and fear were all undeserved disasters brought about by his insignificant resistance.
He thought he was returning humiliation, but what he got in return was even more brutal crushing.
He had failed. Before Gendo Ikari's vast, merciless power, he was as insignificant as a speck of dust.
The silence lasted only a few seconds.
Shinji raised his head, all the emotions on his face—anger, fear, resentment—now covered by a near-dead stillness.
He no longer looked at the weeping mother and daughter, nor at the panicked Aoi, walking directly toward the old rotary phone in the corner of the living room.
Picking up the receiver, he dialed the number from the slip of paper—a number that seemed to carry the scent of blood—digit by digit.
"Beep... beep..."
The busy tone sounded twice before it was quickly answered. There was no greeting from the other end, only a cold, steady, and monotonous male voice, like a precise instrument: "Hello."
Shinji's throat tightened, but he forced his voice to remain steady, even carrying a hint of hollow resignation: "Mr. Kenzaki. I've received the item."
He paused, as if using all his strength to utter the next sentence, "Please tell my father... I'll go."
There was a moment of silence on the other end.
No questions, no mockery, no unnecessary emotions.
Only an equally cold, concise confirmation: "Understood."
Then, Kyoya Kenzaki's voice added without any fluctuation, as if stating an established fact: "I will take care of the rest."
With that, only the dial tone remained in the receiver.
"Click!"
Shinji gently placed the receiver back.
That soft sound seemed unusually sharp in the deathly quiet living room.
Mrs. Fujiwara, her daughter, and Aoi—three pairs of eyes stared at him tensely, clinging to a final shred of hope.
Shinji turned to face them.
His expression was blank, his voice as flat as if narrating something unrelated to him: "It's over."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Mrs. Fujiwara and the girl in her arms, "Fujiwara-sensei, and Boss Uzakiya... will be back soon."
No explanations, no comfort. He merely stated the outcome.
With that, he paid no further attention to the complex expressions on their faces—was it relief after a narrow escape? Lingering fear? Or deeper confusion and alienation toward him, the "source of trouble"? Shinji no longer cared.
He silently crossed the living room and headed toward the cramped storage room at the end of the hallway that belonged to him.
Pulling open the creaking door, a musty smell of dust and old items wafted out.
This small space was his temporary refuge in the world—a simple bed, a worn-out desk, and a pile of unused bedding and miscellaneous items in the corner.
The light was dim, the air stifling.
He walked to the bed and pulled out an old black travel bag from underneath.
His movements were slow but resolute. He began packing his meager belongings: a few pieces of clothing, some old textbooks, and the Walkman that had accompanied him through multiple "homes."
In the innermost compartment of the travel bag was a phone—a touchscreen device that stood in stark contrast to the common flip and keypad phones of this world. It was also evidence of his existence in that other world, containing cached episodes of the entire Neon Genesis Evangelion series.
His packing was mechanical and focused. Every fold, every placement, felt like a silent farewell.
A farewell to this "home" that had never given him warmth, a farewell to the days of humiliation and struggle in Kurayoshi, and a farewell to his brief, laughable fantasy of resistance.
Fujiwara-sensei and Boss Uzakiya would return soon.
He had fulfilled his "promise."
He had traded his own future freedom and destiny for their temporary safety.
Did this count as repaying their favor of providing "minimum subsistence"? Even if all they had given him was indifference, disdain, and the bare minimum of shelter.
From now on, they were even.
The zipper of the travel bag was slowly pulled shut, emitting a harsh grating sound—like a sluice gate firmly closing on his past in this place.