The Eyes of a Child: Chapter 01

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be. I’ve also changed the name order to First and Last, rather than the Last and First order used in the original Japanese text.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

3. 先生 (sensei): This suffix is used to address or refer to teachers, doctors, professors, or other professionals who are considered experts in their field. It conveys respect and recognition of their knowledge or position. It can also be used more broadly for mentors or highly skilled individuals, such as artists or writers, especially in formal or respectful contexts.

4. お兄ちゃん (onii-chan): A more familiar and affectionate way of saying “older brother.” The -chan ending softens the word, adding a childlike, warm, or emotionally intimate nuance. While it is commonly used by children toward their actual brothers, it can also be used toward older males who are not related by blood — for example, a boy or girl addressing a trusted older friend, caretaker, or “big brother figure.” In BL or literary contexts, it may carry undertones of dependence, longing, or blurred familial closeness.

Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of sexual content between biological siblings. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.

TOC Next

Since early afternoon, the opposite riverbank had been unusually noisy. Come April, it was only natural, cherry blossom season turned the commotion along the riverside into a familiar sight. The blossoms were only about twenty percent in bloom, but that didn’t stop people from gathering under the trees to start their parties, even on a weekday.

Amid the intermittent cheers, Misaki Kashiwabara lay beneath a car, covered in oil, tightening a nut with firm pressure. It wasn’t often that a luxury car found its way to the rundown auto repair shop on the outskirts of town, but today, a BMW had been dropped off, which was a rare treat. The first time he saw it, Misaki couldn’t help but think, Whoa. But on closer inspection, although it was in decent condition, it was clearly an older model with a hefty number of miles on it. The owner was a young man, most likely, he’d bought it used.

“Misaki-san, it’s a Beemer!”

The voice of his junior, Matsui, called out. In Misaki’s narrow, rectangular field of view under the car, a pair of oil-streaked Nike sneakers came into view.

“I can see that,” Misaki replied from beneath the car.

“You want it, don’t you? You like BMWs, right?”

“Shut up. Less talking, more working.”

But the Nikes didn’t leave. Instead, they circled the car twice.

“I prefer domestic cars over foreign ones, though. My dream’s still the GTR. GTRs are awesome. Perfect for tearing through mountain passes. You don’t own a car, right, Misaki-san? Not planning to buy one?”

“Don’t have the cash. Got a kid.”

The spanner slipped in his hand, grazed his cheek, and clattered hard onto the concrete below. The idle chatter had thrown off his concentration. It hadn’t been high enough to cause real pain, but a chill still ran down his spine.

“Hey, how’s Joe doing? Haven’t seen him around lately.”

“He’s busy hanging with his elementary school buddies. And listen, don’t talk about other people’s kids like they’re dogs.”

“What? But ‘Joe’ sounds cool!”

Realizing that Matsui was being dead serious, Misaki let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped.

“Crap, it’s Oyassan.”

With a muttered curse, the Nikes scurried off. In their place came a pair of worn gray sneakers.

“Misaki, you can clock out now.”

Still lying on the wheeled board, Misaki slid himself out from under the car. Looking down at him was the shop manager, not that either of the two employees ever used such a fancy title. They just called him Oyassan (old man).  With a mouth full of gapped teeth, a belly that protruded like a melon, and a cheerful grin, he gave a jiggle of laughter.

“Make sure you wash your face before you head home. Joe’ll laugh at you if you don’t.”

Misaki stood up from the dolly and scrubbed at his face with the towel wrapped around his neck.

“I don’t need you to tell me that. And stop calling my kid by some weird foreign name. He’s got a proper name, Jotaro Kashiwabara. It’s because you and Matsui keep calling him ‘Joe’ that he started calling himself that, too.”

“What’s the harm? Might as well get him into boxing while you’re at it.”

Oyassan threw a sloppy punch in the air, mimicking a boxing pose. The stance was far from impressive, it looked more like a duck dance, but the word boxing left a pleasant ring in Misaki’s ears.

“A boxer, huh? That might not be such a bad idea.”

At Misaki’s offhand remark, Oyassan, despite being the one who’d brought it up, shrugged and shook his head.

“Still, if he takes after his dad, he’ll be third-rate at best.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got a short fuse and quick fists, but you’re crap at fighting,” Oyassan said with a chuckle.

“C’mon, get going already. Standing around shooting the breeze won’t get you any fancy ‘overtime pay’ around here.”

Misaki gathered the scattered tools and shoved them into the toolbox. A scrap of steel at his feet got nudged aside with the heel of his boot.

“In this lousy economy, no one expects that kinda luxury.”

“Got that right.”

Oyassan threw a slow punch, which Misaki dodged easily with a single step back. Oyassan pulled a mock-annoyed face, then suddenly clapped his hands, as if remembering something.

“Oh right, Noriko said she’s got something she wants to give you. Make sure you talk to her before you head home.”

Misaki scratched his scalp with fingers still blackened from grease.

“What would she want with me…?”

“Probably a photo for a matchmaking thing. I already saw it, pretty good-looking woman, actually.”

Again… The thought barely surfaced before Misaki clicked his tongue softly.

“Tell your wife thanks, but no thanks. Like I said before, I’m not really in the mood for that sort of thing. Not for a while.”

Oyassan clapped a hand on Misaki’s shoulder.

“It’s been two years since your wife passed. You’re still young, twenty-five, good-looking, and Joe could use a mother, couldn’t he?”

“I’m taking full responsibility for raising Jotaro. If he ever says he wants a mom, maybe I’ll think about it. But me? I’m fine. Don’t need a woman. Not for now.”

“Still loyal to your late wife, huh?”

There was a trace of sympathy in Oyassan’s eyes.

“It’s not like that.”

There was nothing to pity. Sure, losing a spouse young was a kind of misfortune, but there were plenty of people in the world who’d been through worse. He wasn’t special.

“I’ll tell Noriko you’re not interested. Doesn’t seem like she was too serious about it anyway.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t let your late wife hold you back,” Oyassan said with a chuckle.

There had been a few matchmaking offers before, but Misaki had always turned them down before even seeing the photos. Two years had passed since Megumi, his wife, died, and yet Misaki still couldn’t fully accept that she was gone. Maybe it was because the end had been so abrupt, so surreal.

After parting ways with Oyassan, he hopped onto his bicycle without even changing out of his greasy work overalls. He pushed hard on the pedals. The bike was one of those common mamachari, the kind any housewife might ride, but to Misaki, it was Megumi’s memento, and, without a car, his only means of getting around.

“Dad—!”

He was so focused on pedaling forward that he nearly passed by without noticing. Jamming on the brakes, Misaki yanked the bike around. On the other side of the street, behind the park fence, his son Jotaro was waving both arms in the air.

Checking to make sure no cars were coming, Misaki crossed the road.

His six-year-old son had clearly been playing in the sandbox; his hands, feet, and face were all smeared with dirt. Misaki grabbed both of his dirty cheeks and pulled. The boy’s face stretched flat like a frog’s, and Misaki let out a snort of laughter.

“You filthy little gremlin. What’ve you been rolling around in?”

“You’re the one who’s filthy! What’ve you been rolling around in?”

His cheeky kid earned himself a rough spin in the air as Misaki scooped him up with his grime-covered hands and dug his knuckles playfully into the boy’s scalp.

“Listen, brat, I’ve been out busting my ass all day to put food on the table for you. That’s a whole different game from goofing off and playing in the dirt!”

Jotaro shrieked in protest, kicking his legs wildly. To an outsider, it might’ve looked a little rough, but this was just how the Kashiwabara father and son bonded.

“Alright, fateful encounter at the park, guess you’re coming shopping with me.”

“Ugh, fine, I guess.”

Even though he was clearly happy, Jotaro puffed up his shoulders and elbows, striking a reluctant pose like it couldn’t be helped. Misaki tilted his head, wondering just who this foul mouth and stubborn streak came from.

He lifted Jotaro onto the rear rack of the bicycle and, now slightly heavier, pedaled the mamachari at full speed. The bike bounced with every little bump in the road, and each time it did, the small arms wrapped around Misaki’s stomach tightened their grip. That small, warm touch filled him with overwhelming tenderness.

“Jotaro, what do you feel like eating today?”

Up ahead, the familiar shopping street they always stopped by came into view.

“Croquettes!”

Jotaro answered with a voice that practically burst with energy.

“You had croquettes yesterday too, didn’t you? Don’t you get tired of eating the same thing every day?”

“Nope. Besides, croquettes have a simple flavor, so you can change them up in all sorts of ways.”

Misaki couldn’t help but give a wry smile, he knew exactly who that line was borrowed from. Whenever they bought croquettes, it was always the cheapest kind. Cream-filled or meat croquettes were more expensive and only for special occasions. Once, when Jotaro had asked for a cream croquette, Misaki had told him the exact same thing, You can change up the flavor with simple ones. He couldn’t bring himself to say, We can’t afford it, even if it was true.

For now, it was enough that Jotaro accepted that kind of reasoning. But someday, he would inevitably realize that their standard of living was lower than most.

They’d moved into their current apartment just two months ago. Before that, they’d lived in a one-room flat with shared toilets, basically a student dorm, and had to use public baths. It had been a bit of a stretch financially, but Misaki had been determined to move into a place with a private bath before Jotaro started elementary school. The idea that Jotaro might be bullied for something like not having a bath at home was unbearable.

Middle school, high school, and if he wanted to go, even college. Misaki wanted to make all of it possible. That’s why, for now, it was save-first, save-second, skip the third and fourth, and save-fifth. No matter how poor his own life became, he would make sure Jotaro got a proper education.

Raising his son right, that was Misaki’s purpose in life now.

After they finished shopping at the local market and returned home, they found a black Benz pulled up in front of their apartment building, blocking the entrance. Misaki checked that no one was inside and then, without much thought, gave the car a swift kick with his dirty foot. It wasn’t much, just enough to leave a bit of mud on the side panel, but still.

“Dad, why’d you kick that car?”

Jotaro had jumped off the bike and asked the question with innocent curiosity.

Misaki, chaining the bicycle to one of the metal poles in the bike rack, just shrugged.

“That was a blow for justice.”

“Justice?”

“Ah, that’s right, you haven’t learned kanji yet.”

Misaki crouched down and traced the word 正義, justice, into the yellowish dirt with his finger.

“It means doing the right thing. Like Ultraman or Anpanman, your favorites.”

Jotaro responded with a thoughtful hmm, then immediately started singing the Ultraman theme song. Misaki took his son’s hand, and together they stomped up the metal staircase. But when they reached the landing, he noticed someone standing in front of their door.

Two men in suits were watching them.

Could the Benz belong to the yakuza? Had they seen him kick it and come for revenge?

For a brief, gut-chilling moment, Misaki imagined himself and Jotaro getting stuffed into cement drums and dumped into the sea. Cold sweat ran down his back.

He froze in place, but Jotaro tugged insistently on his hand.

“Dad, there’s some weird guys here.”

“Idiot, quiet!”

One of the men began to walk toward them slowly at the sound of Jotaro’s voice. In a panic, Misaki pushed his son behind him.

“You’re Mr. Misaki Kashiwabara, correct?”

He was a man in his fifties, with a refined demeanor and handsome features, almost too elegant to be a yakuza. It struck Misaki as odd that the man knew his name right away, but he quickly realized that anyone could have seen it on the nameplate at the entrance.

“Do you need something from us?”

He tried to keep his tone calm, but his fingers, wrapped tightly around Jotaro’s hand, were trembling. The man bowed deeply to Misaki.

“Pleased to meet you. My name is Namba. I’m the CEO of EWI Corporation.”

At the mention of that company name, tension instantly rippled through Misaki’s shoulders. A frown formed between his brows, and he could feel his expression hardening.

“I apologize for the sudden visit,” the man continued, “but I’ve come to ask a favor regarding our company president, Hitoshi Enomoto.”

Misaki shoved the man, Namba, aside and stepped in front of the door. He thrust a hand into the pocket of his coveralls, fumbling for his keys. The metal clinked noisily, but the keys wouldn’t come out.

“Please,” Namba said, “just hear me out.”

Misaki clicked his tongue and glared over his shoulder.

“I want nothing to do with that guy. I’ve got nothing to say. Go home.”

“The truth is,” the man said, his voice turning grave, “the president was in an accident recently…”

The word death flashed through Misaki’s mind at the look on the man’s somber face.

“There were no visible injuries, but he struck his head hard. His memory is confused. He keeps calling your name, his younger brother. We thought that if he saw you, it might help bring him back. We can come pick you up at your convenience. Would you consider meeting with him, even once?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate.

“He’s not my brother anymore.”

At last Misaki yanked the key free, unlocked the door, and dashed inside. He locked it securely and even slid the chain into place. Through the frosted glass of the kitchen window, he could see a shadowy figure pacing outside. But within ten minutes, it disappeared, and the distinct rumble of a luxury car engine echoed faintly. Misaki glared through the glass at the retreating car.

“Dad, do you have a brother?”

Before he realized it, Jotaro was at his side, tugging at the thick thigh of his coveralls and looking up at him.

“Nope, not a thing like that.”

“But…” Jotaro said, lips pursed, “that guy just now said you were his little brother.”

He had never told Jotaro about his older brother, and he had no intention of ever doing so. The man had said too much, and Misaki was angry about it. He crouched down to be at eye level with his son.

“It’s true, I have an older brother. But he’s a really bad guy. That’s why I don’t like him, and I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Jotaro’s wide eyes grew even rounder as he solemnly nodded.

“Your big brother is a bad guy. If you don’t like him, then I don’t like him either.”

His voice was firm with sincerity. That small head hadn’t even considered doubting his father’s words. Misaki pulled his son into a tight embrace. No matter how poor their life might be, he knew he could keep going as long as he had this boy. He wanted to do things right, for him. Somewhere along the way, trying to be a good father had become the very reason he kept going.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Crawling under the same futon, Jotaro had nestled up against Misaki’s side as they watched TV together, but in less than thirty minutes, he had already drifted off to sleep. Mouth half open, his quiet, rhythmic breathing made him look so adorably sweet it almost made Misaki want to bite him.

He ran his fingers through the boy’s jet-black hair, soft and smooth, it slipped silkily through his fingers, leaving a faint scent of shampoo behind. Misaki cupped Jotaro’s cheek, dusky like his own, a warm, unblemished surface against his palm. Careful not to wake him, he slowly sat up and clicked off the light. The room plunged into darkness, but after a while, his eyes adjusted and he began to notice the glow of the streetlamps filtering through the thin curtains.

Even though it was already past eleven at night, the roar of traffic outside hadn’t ceased. This apartment was a stretch for Misaki’s salary, but he’d chosen it anyway. The main road was close, and so was the red-light district, he didn’t believe for a second that this was a good environment for a child. Still, among the options that came with a proper bath, this one had been the cheapest. There wasn’t much of a choice.

Maybe if he’d had a dual income, even with his modest high school grad salary, they could have afforded something better... The thought brought a wave of sudden, unnameable emptiness. He remembered his wife, strong-willed, gentle, and always saying “It’ll be fine.” The words were so clear in his memory, and yet Megumi was gone. The tears welled up without warning, and he quickly wiped his eyes.

Life hadn’t exactly been kind to him, but it hadn’t been cruel enough to despair, either. When he was the same age Jotaro was now, his parents died in an accident. But his maternal grandmother, who took him in, had been kind. His relationship with his uncle, his mother’s younger brother, had been rough, and in his aimless rebellion, he’d almost… almost gone off the rails. But meeting Megumi had brought him back.

He hadn’t thought eighteen was too young to marry. He had wanted to make the girl he loved his own as soon as possible, and he’d wanted a child, too. Having few memories of a real family of his own, Misaki had longed more than anyone to build a warm, true home. That wish came true, but the family of three, him, his wife, and their son, lasted only five years.

Megumi had died two winters ago. It was a brain tumor. By the time she was diagnosed, it was already too late. The tumor was malignant and had spread throughout her body. Even so, Misaki wanted to give her just one more day, two more, if he could. He decided she would have the surgery. But surgery and hospitalization required a significant amount of money.

He ran around to everyone he knew, collecting what he could. And at the very end, when he had no one else to turn to, he went to see his brother, the same brother who had been taken in by their paternal grandfather when they were children, and who had completely disappeared from his life ever since.

After their parents died, Misaki and his older brother Hitoshi had been placed in their maternal grandmother’s care. But six months later, only Hitoshi had been taken in by their paternal grandfather. Misaki had been six at the time, Hitoshi eleven. They had known nothing, not that their parents had eloped, not that their father had been the only son of a wealthy magnate.

One day, their grandfather suddenly showed up and said he would take one of the boys. Their grandmother had refused flatly: “You can’t separate them.” But the grandfather had used his influence to pressure the company where their uncle worked, threatening to have him fired if they didn’t hand over a grandson.

Cornered by both the uncle and the grandfather, the grandmother had no choice but to tearfully give one child away. The grandfather had originally wanted Misaki. But when Misaki kicked and screamed in protest, he took the quieter Hitoshi instead.

As far back as Misaki could remember, his older brother had always been kind. Whenever he was bullied, his brother would come to his aid. They played together constantly. That was why being separated from him had been so painful. When their paternal grandfather took his brother away, he had said to their grandmother, “We will take full responsibility for Hitoshi. I’d like you to consider any ties between us severed.”

They weren’t given an address, a phone number, no way to contact them at all. Misaki couldn’t even go see his brother.

Seventeen years later, prompted by Megumi’s illness, Misaki found himself thinking about his brother again. The only clue he had was the name of the company run by his grandfather, which his grandmother had mentioned once long ago. Clutching at straws, Misaki went in search of him.

EWI Corporation turned out to be a towering building near the city center. Standing before its looming facade, Misaki tried to push back his unease by recalling the gentle face of the brother he had known. If his brother was still the same kind person he remembered, maybe, just maybe, he would lend him money if he explained that his wife was ill.

But then again, it had been so many years. His brother might not even recognize him anymore. Showing up without warning to ask for money might just come across as shameless. Maybe he should come back after contacting him first... The thought crossed his mind, but time wasn’t on Megumi’s side.

Wearing the only suit he owned, tailored for his coming-of-age ceremony years ago, Misaki took a deep breath, stepped through the building’s entrance, and gave a polite bow to the smiling receptionist.

He first gave his name, then asked to see his brother, “Hitoshi Enomoto.” The receptionist seemed to understand immediately and showed him to a small reception room.

Misaki sat on edge, waiting. Minutes turned into an hour, then two. Still no sign of his brother. He kept glancing up at the clock on the wall, standing up, pacing aimlessly around the room. As the third hour approached, there was finally a knock on the door.

He hurried back to the sofa and quickly answered, “Yes.”

At last, someone who looked like his brother entered. Behind him came another man, probably in his forties, carrying documents. The man who might be his brother turned and said, “Could we have the room, please?” But the other man replied, “That won’t be necessary,” and stayed beside him, eyeing Misaki rudely, as if scrutinizing a stranger.

With a sigh, the man sat down across from Misaki. Behind the pale silver frames of his glasses, his eyes were blank. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, no softness in its shape. Not a hair was out of place in his neatly slicked-back hair, and his spotless suit fit him so perfectly it looked like he’d been born in it.

He looked every inch the driven businessman, and there wasn’t even a trace of the gentle brother Misaki remembered from seventeen years ago.

“I’m Hitoshi Enomoto, president of EWI Corporation.”

“I… it’s been a long time,” Misaki stammered, his voice trembling with nerves.

His brother slowly tilted his head to the side.

“My secretary tells me you’re claiming to be my younger brother. It’s true, I do have a brother. But we severed all ties seventeen years ago. I haven’t seen him since, and I don’t remember his face. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see some proof that you are who you say you are.”

There was no emotion in his voice.

Misaki had imagined that the moment they met, his brother would recognize him and rejoice at the reunion. But now, faced with his brother’s cold, guarded demeanor, Misaki could almost feel the invisible wall between them. Just as his brother no longer bore any trace of the boy he had once been, perhaps Misaki had changed, too. No wonder his brother was unsure.

But even if that was the case, what sort of proof could he possibly show to prove he was his brother? Misaki had no idea.

"Um... I..."

The appraising gazes from both the man and his brother stung against his body. As Misaki flailed in confusion and panic, an old memory suddenly floated up into his mind.

"Uh, hey, when I was little, I cried in P.E. class because I couldn’t do a back hip circle, and you taught me how... remember?"

The man standing behind his brother let out a quiet laugh. Misaki's voice faltered under the sting of being laughed at.

"Do you have some form of identification, like a driver’s license?"

Flustered, Misaki fumbled through the back pocket of his suit and placed his license on the table.

"Excuse me," his brother said, picking it up and briefly scanning its contents.

"The name and date of birth match, and I suppose your face still vaguely resembles how you looked back then. I’ll acknowledge you as my brother."

With a smooth motion of his fingers, his brother pushed up the frame of his glasses.

"Now, what brings you here today?"

His tone remained strictly businesslike. Even though it was obvious he wasn’t being welcomed, Misaki couldn’t back down now. He planted both hands on the table and bowed his head deeply.

"Please, as family, I'm begging you. My wife is sick and needs surgery, but I don’t have the money. Please, lend me the funds for the surgery and hospital stay."

There was no reply, not a yes, not a no. When Misaki raised his head, his brother was staring at him in silence. So Misaki began explaining his wife’s condition in detail, pleading desperately that he just wanted to keep her alive for as long as possible. But no matter how earnestly he spoke, it felt like his words were spinning in the air, never quite landing. Probably because, in all that time, not once did his brother offer so much as a token phrase of sympathy, no "That’s awful" or "I’m sorry to hear that."

And though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, Misaki suddenly realized that a part of him had been hoping to win his brother’s sympathy.

After hearing the full story, his brother finally moved his lips.

"I don’t know how much you’re asking for, but if it’s just a trivial sum, say, around a million yen, I can arrange that immediately."

In that moment, a faint spark of hope flickered in Misaki’s chest. No matter how indifferent the tone, it felt like his words had gotten through. At least, that’s what he believed, without a shred of doubt.

"It’s not that I’m reluctant to lend you the money," his brother went on, "but I must question what meaning there is in putting her through surgery when she’s already been declared beyond saving."

The word "beyond saving" pierced coldly into Misaki’s chest. It was the truth he’d been dodging, skirting around again and again. Deep down, he knew, no matter what he did, Megumi wouldn’t get better. But even so, he clung to the hope of a miracle, and wanted to do everything he could for her. Because that’s what it means to be human.

"It’s not a question of whether it’s meaningful or not. And anyway, no one knows how long someone might live. Maybe, just maybe, "

His hopeful words were curtly cut off.

"I’m sorry, but I’m quite busy, so I’ll have to excuse myself now. I’m not thrilled about this, but to avoid future complications over money, I’ll give you a check here and now. There’s no need to repay it. But in return, I ask that you never contact me again.

"This may sound unpleasant, but consider this money a final severance. You and I are, on paper, complete strangers. Frankly, it’s a nuisance to be approached with requests just because we share the same blood."

His brother snapped his fingers. The man behind him bent down beside him.

"Prepare a check. The amount… let’s say five million yen."

"Don’t fuck with me!"

The brother who had remained expressionless up to now turned and looked at him, eyes widening in surprise.

"I don’t want your damn money! Sorry for bothering you. And don’t worry, I won’t come back here ever again, not even if I’m starving!"

Spitting out a curse, Misaki burst out of the room. He ran down the hallway and forced himself into the elevator just as the doors were about to close. The woman in a suit who was already inside cast a sidelong glance at him, raising her eyebrows at the sight of him panting and raking his fingers through his hair. That look, like he was nothing but a nuisance. That tone, like he couldn’t stand him. That attitude, like his very existence was being rejected head-on.

He’d known, of course. He’d known from the beginning that his brother might not lend him the money. He’d prepared himself for that. But he’d held onto the hope that, at the very least, his brother would look regretful. That he’d say something like “I’m sorry” or “I know things are hard, but hang in there.” Even just a kind word, just that, would have been enough for Misaki.

When he stepped out of the building, he never looked back.

The heat outside was oppressive. The summer sun beat down from directly overhead. Misaki kept his head lowered, staring at the sweat dripping onto the white-hot sidewalk beneath him. He felt humiliated. Ashamed. But he couldn’t stay crushed forever.

He ended up borrowing the money from a consumer loan company and pressured the doctor, demanding that they operate on his wife. The surgery was scheduled under the strong wishes of both the patient and her family. But just two days before the operation, Megumi’s condition took a sudden turn for the worse. Her health deteriorated to the point where surgery was no longer an option, and a week later, she passed away without ceremony.

Misaki repaid the loan immediately, but in just those few days, the interest had already snowballed. It was his maternal grandmother who rescued him from that life of debt. She’d sold a piece of her land to lend him a lump sum, which he used to clear everything he owed. Now, he repays her little by little, transferring money every month. Life is tight, squeezing every yen out of his modest salary, but repaying what he borrowed, not sinking any lower, had become a matter of pride.

If one part of your life crumbles, the rest can come crashing down with it. That’s why, no matter how painful it gets, he clings to the bare minimum of human dignity. Even so, there are still moments when Misaki wants to give it all up.

In those moments, he holds Jotaro close. No matter how hard things get, he can keep going because Jotaro is there. He wants to be a father his child can look up to. Even if he’s a fool, he wants to be the kind of father who’s earnest and kind. That ideal alone is what keeps him going.

That cold-hearted brother, who hadn’t spared a single kind word when Misaki’s wife was dying, who showed not an ounce of sympathy, what happened to him no longer mattered. Legally, they were strangers now. Misaki repeated that borrowed phrase of his brother’s in his heart. And then, beneath a flimsy blanket, he pulled his beloved child tightly into his arms and fell asleep.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It had been exactly three days since that employee from his brother’s company had shown up.

Rain drizzled from the sky. Riding full-speed through the wet streets, Misaki pedaled his bicycle with Jotaro perched on the back, and as they reached the apartment, he suddenly noticed someone crouched down by the fence directly across from his own door. Assuming the man had fallen ill and sat down there, Misaki approached and placed a hand on the suited man’s shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?”

When the man lifted his head and Misaki saw who it was, his expression froze. A face he hadn’t seen in two years. A face he had hoped never to see again.

Scowling, Misaki clicked his tongue and turned his back on him.

“…Hey…”

He ignored the voice calling out behind him and unlocked the door. But just as he stepped inside, his clothes were yanked with startling force.

“Don’t touch me!”

At his loud shout, Jotaro flinched beside him. Startled, Misaki scooped the boy up in his arms and gently stroked his head.

“I wasn’t yelling at you.”

The soft gaze he turned on Jotaro instantly hardened as he turned around.

His older brother stood trembling, pure fear etched across his face. As he stumbled back, he crumpled down onto both knees. His eyes quickly filled with tears, and before Misaki could believe what he was seeing, fat drops began to roll down the man’s cheeks. Pressing the backs of his hands to his eyes, he sniffled like a child.

Then, fumbling through the pocket of his suit, he pulled out a wrinkled letter and, still sniffling in that open, unashamed way, held it out toward Misaki, who could only stare in stunned silence.

“Th-the uncle told me to give this to the man who lives here…”

His speech was slow and clumsy, almost infantile. But it was coming from the mouth of a fully grown man. The sight was nothing short of grotesque.

Misaki ushered Jotaro into the room, snatched the letter from his brother’s hand, and tore open the envelope. His fingertips trembled as he read. What was written there was beyond belief.

Once he reached the end, Misaki’s gaze flicked back and forth between the letter and the man crouched at his feet. He swallowed hard.

“What’s your name?”

He pointed straight at him as he asked. His brother, eyes still red from crying, gave a loud, wet sniff.

“Hitoshi Kashiwabara.”

That had been his surname before he was taken in by their grandfather. Now, his brother went by Hitoshi Enomoto.

“How old are you?”

Without hesitation, his brother held up his right hand, then pointed one finger up with his left.

“Six.”

A wave of lightheadedness washed over Misaki.

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