The house should have been asleep.
Instead, it was wide awake with silence.
A small boy—no more than two years old—sat on the floor of his room, clumsily stacking wooden blocks. His name was Hitaro. He hummed softly, unaware that this night would carve itself into his soul forever.
Down the hallway, beyond a thick metal door, his father was still working.
Sataro Kanzaki.
Scientist. Researcher. Dreamer.
The laboratory lights burned deep into the night.
Then—
BOOM!
The world shattered.
Glass exploded. Metal screamed. The walls trembled.
Hitaro's blocks scattered across the floor as his body stiffened in fear. Before he could cry out, a deep, violent slash tore through the door separating his room from the laboratory.
The door burst open.
Smoke drifted in.
And then he saw his father.
Sataro Kanzaki lay on the floor, unmoving, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood covered the tiles—too much blood. Far too much.
Behind him stood something that did not belong in this world.
A towering beast with enormous claws and a grotesque body structure, as if nature itself had rejected its design. Thick brown fur covered its frame, but its eyes—those dark red eyes—burned with intelligence and cruelty.
The creature turned its head.
It saw Hitaro.
Step.
Step.
Its claws scraped the floor as it moved toward the child.
Hitaro could not scream.
He could not move.
He could not even breathe.
Then—
The creature stopped.
It stared at him.
For a long, terrifying moment, its red eyes searched the boy's face. Something unreadable flickered in its gaze.
And then, slowly, it backed away.
The beast turned and vanished into the night.
The maid arrived moments later, drawn by the sound of destruction. When she entered the laboratory, her knees gave out.
Sataro Kanzaki was dying.
The wounds were too deep. His organs were exposed. Even the ambulance, when it arrived, could do nothing.
Hitaro watched everything.
The blood.
The panic.
The moment his father stopped breathing.
His childhood ended that night.
With no family left to turn to, the maid carried the traumatized child to the only person she could think of—his grandfather.
Kenjiro Mori.
She rang the doorbell of a modest house on the edge of town.
An old man opened the door.
She told him everything.
"That monster killed your son," she said, her voice shaking. "But your grandson survived."
Kenjiro's expression twisted—not with grief, but with fury.
"Don't show me that child," he snapped. "Throw him in the trash if you want. I don't care. It's good news that his father is dead."
He slammed the door shut.
The maid stood frozen, anger burning in her chest.
"What did a two-year-old child ever do to you?!" she shouted. "You can't abandon him like this!"
But the door never opened again.
With nowhere else to go, she placed Hitaro—still silent, still broken—inside a basket and left him at the doorstep.
The night was cruel.
The temperature dropped below freezing.
Snow fell lightly.
A child cried without sound.
Morning came.
Kenjiro opened the door for his daily walk—and stopped.
The basket was still there.
The boy was still alive.
Rage surged through him. He bent down, hands trembling, ready to throw the child away—
And stopped.
Something inside him broke.
With a curse under his breath, he carried Hitaro inside.
"I don't want you," he muttered. "But I won't let you die."
Months passed.
Hitaro survived.
Kenjiro raised him with distance and fear, always watching, always alert—as if expecting something terrible to happen. The boy slowly recovered, but his eyes remained empty.
By the time Hitaro turned five, Kenjiro's fear faded into silence.
They moved to a quiet, less populated area. Life became peaceful. Almost normal.
Until the past returned.
One afternoon, a man arrived at their door.
Saburo Sato.
Former assistant to Sataro Kanzaki.
He had been out of town the night of the incident. When he returned, everything was already destroyed.
From that day on, he visited often.
As Hitaro grew, questions began to surface.
"What happened to my father?"
"What was that creature?"
"Where is my mother?"
Each question ignited anger in Kenjiro's eyes.
Eventually, Hitaro stopped asking.
Instead, he began searching on his own.
One night, the television showed a familiar silhouette.
Reports spoke of a strange beast. People had gone missing. Witnesses described red eyes and massive claws.
The moment Hitaro saw the screen—
His vision went dark.
He collapsed.
Kenjiro panicked and called Saburo. They rushed Hitaro to Saburo's laboratory.
When Hitaro woke up, he screamed.
"I know that thing! It killed my father! I'll kill it!"
For the first time, Kenjiro slapped him.
Silence followed.
The lab walls were filled with images of the creature.
"Enough," Kenjiro growled, gripping Hitaro's wrist. "Stay out of this."
He turned to Saburo, eyes burning.
"You were never here for the boy. Never come to my house again."
He left.
But the seed of truth had already been planted.
Hitaro could not sleep that night. His grandfather's warning echoed in his head again and again, but fear had already lost its power over him. If he stayed silent, his father would remain nothing more than a memory soaked in blood.
The next morning, Hitaro skipped school.
Without hesitation, he went straight to Saburo Sato's laboratory.
Saburo was waiting.
He did not look surprised. In fact, it felt as if he had known Hitaro would come.
He offered the boy a cup of coffee, motioning him toward a worn-out couch in the corner of the lab. The room smelled of chemicals and old paper. The walls were covered with photographs, diagrams, and handwritten notes—every single one showing the same terrifying creature.
Saburo sat across from him and let out a slow breath.
"You deserve the truth," he said.
He placed a thick folder on the table and opened it.
Inside were documents, sketches, autopsy reports, and research papers—most of them written in his father's handwriting.
Hitaro's chest tightened.
"That creature," Saburo continued, pointing to a large photograph, "is known as Kaimira."
Hitaro clenched his fists.
"Kaimira… those are just stories," he said. "They're not real."
Saburo shook his head.
"No. What you've heard in stories are Kaymora—divine beings said to control natural elements like fire, wind, and earth. They are peaceful by nature and avoid humans."
He paused, his voice darkening.
"But Kaimira are different."
He flipped to another page.
"Kaimira are not naturally born. According to your father's theory, they are created—artificial monsters formed using the blood of Kaymora."
Hitaro's breath caught.
"My father… was researching this?"
"Yes," Saburo replied quietly. "For years. He believed Kaimira blood could cure any disease… and even grant supernatural power to humans."
Saburo lowered his eyes.
"I was only an intern back then. I handled paperwork, minor experiments—nothing more. Most of what I know now comes from your father's research papers."
Hitaro's voice trembled.
"Then why did it kill him?"
Saburo hesitated.
"Because he was too close to the truth."
He turned to another page showing recent sightings.
"According to historical records, Kaimira cannot reproduce. They lack intelligence and require Kaymora blood to be created. And yet…"
He pointed to the screen displaying multiple reports.
"They're appearing everywhere. People are going missing. Sightings are increasing."
Hitaro's eyes widened.
"If they can't reproduce… then who's creating them?" he asked.
Saburo nodded grimly.
"That is the question your father died trying to answer."
Silence filled the lab.
Hitaro stared at the papers, his heart pounding.
"They killed my father," he whispered.
"Yes," Saburo replied. "And if you continue searching for the truth… you may walk the same path."
Hitaro lifted his head, his eyes burning with resolve.
"Then I'll walk it anyway."
That night, Hitaro returned home.
The house was dark.
Too dark.
Inside, a wet, tearing sound echoed.
The Kaimira was there.
It was feeding on his grandfather.
Rage and terror collided inside Hitaro's chest.
The creature froze.
It lifted its head.
Its red eyes locked onto Hitaro.
Then—
It screamed.
Not in anger.
In fear.
The Kaimira leapt backward, shattered the window, and fled into the night.
Kenjiro lay dying.
With his final breath, he grabbed Hitaro's hand.
"There's a reason I hated you," he whispered.
"A reason I feared your father…"
And as his life faded, the truth he had hidden for so long finally began to surface.