The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still glistened under the dim light of the lamps, puddles reflecting the glow like cracked mirrors. From the outside, the Hyūga home appeared as peaceful as any other house on the block—a warm place where children slept and laughter lived. Yet inside, silence ruled the night, heavy and suffocating.
Ryouji sat by the window, the curtain drawn back just enough for him to watch the street. He had done this countless times before, in a different life, in different cities. Old instincts returned too easily, settling into his body like a second skin.
He saw it again. A figure lingering where the lamplight didn't reach. Not moving, not speaking—just there. Patient, deliberate. The kind of patience only men who lived in shadows could afford.
Behind him, Hana's footsteps approached softly. She carried a blanket, draping it over his shoulders without a word. But when her hand lingered, her composure cracked.
"You're certain?" she whispered.
Ryouji's jaw clenched. "Yes."
Her breath caught. She sat down beside him, eyes fixed on the same darkness he was watching. "It's the same man I saw near the market," she said, her voice trembling. "I thought—maybe I imagined it. But I didn't."
Ryouji didn't answer. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. The warmth of her skin against his own was a reminder of what he was protecting.
---
Upstairs, Ren lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The walls were too thin to block out the hushed tones of his parents. He had heard his mother's unease, his father's silence. At ten years old, he didn't understand everything, but he understood enough: something dangerous was coming.
He rolled onto his side, watching Sakura sleep peacefully with her stuffed rabbit. For a moment, he envied her innocence. But the question gnawed at him—why did his parents look so afraid?
Ren whispered to himself, "What's happening to us?" But no answer came.
---
Downstairs, Hana finally broke the silence. "Ryouji… if this is the past, if they've found us—"
"They haven't found us yet," he cut in, though his tone betrayed little comfort.
Her eyes glistened. "And when they do? What then? You promised me we could live normal lives. That our children wouldn't—"
"I remember," Ryouji interrupted, his voice low, steady, but edged with steel. "And I intend to keep that promise. No matter what it takes."
She turned to him, searching his face. "But what if keeping that promise means you go back to being who you once were?"
The silence between them was heavier than the night outside. He didn't deny it. He couldn't. The man she had fallen in love with was not only a father and husband, but also a weapon once wielded in the dark.
---
The hours stretched. Midnight passed. Hana dozed fitfully on the couch, but Ryouji stayed awake, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the street. Every flicker of shadow made his muscles tense, every rustle of leaves pulled him to the edge of action.
And then it happened.
A faint scrape. A shift in the darkness. The figure moved—not closer, but enough to reveal intention. Ryouji caught the glint of something metallic beneath the dim glow, quick and sharp before it vanished again.
His body stilled, breath controlled. He knew that kind of posture, that kind of patience. Whoever it was, they were trained. This wasn't a lost stranger or a curious neighbor. This was deliberate surveillance.
He shut the curtain slowly, hiding his expression from Hana. But his heart had already settled on the truth: the shadow wasn't going away. It was waiting. Testing.
---
The next morning, the illusion of peace returned. Sunlight streamed in, breakfast was served, and Sakura giggled as she played with her food. Ren, however, sat quietly, his fork unmoving. His eyes shifted between his parents, sharp and suspicious.
Finally, he spoke. "Who was outside last night?"
Hana froze, nearly dropping her spoon. Ryouji's gaze hardened. Ren's question pierced the fragile calm they had been holding onto.
"Ren," Hana said quickly, forcing a smile, "you must have dreamed it. Nothing happened."
But Ren didn't believe her. He looked at his father instead. "You saw him too, didn't you?"
The boy's voice was steady, not accusing, just searching for truth. For a long moment, Ryouji didn't reply. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His eyes locked with Ren's, steady and unflinching.
"Your job," Ryouji said, "is to protect your sister. Mine is to protect all of you. That's all you need to know right now."
Ren didn't look away. He wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but something in his father's tone silenced him. The boy nodded, though unease lingered in his chest.
---
That night, as the house quieted again, Hana whispered to Ryouji in the dark. "Ren knows more than we think. If this continues…"
Ryouji's hand found hers beneath the blanket. "Then we'll tell him. But not yet. Not until I know who's standing in that street."
Hana closed her eyes, holding onto his hand as though it was the only anchor she had.
Outside, the shadow lingered still—silent, patient, relentless.
And though the Hyūga family tried to carry on with their days, their nights belonged to the watcher.