Night in the Hyūga household usually meant silence broken only by the sound of crickets outside and the steady rhythm of Hana's breathing as she put Sakura to bed. Yet tonight, silence felt heavier, not soothing but oppressive. Ryouji sat alone in the living room, the lights dimmed, his eyes fixed on the faint reflection in the window glass. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, followed by the low hum of an engine moving slowly along the street.
He could feel it again—eyes on him. The Watcher had not relented. Ryouji had grown up knowing when he was being followed; instincts sharpened by years of surviving in the underworld never truly left a man. He was certain the shadow had drawn closer.
The front door creaked open softly. Hana stepped into the room, her robe wrapped tightly around her. "You're awake again," she whispered, her gaze falling on the untouched tea in front of him.
"I couldn't sleep," Ryouji replied. His voice carried a weight she knew well—the one that meant he was not only awake but alert, prepared.
Hana studied him for a moment before sitting down. "Is it… happening again?"
Ryouji didn't answer immediately. He shifted his hand slightly toward the small drawer beneath the table where a weapon was hidden, a habit he never abandoned. His silence was answer enough. Hana's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't push further. She understood better than anyone that questions sometimes cut deeper than comfort.
The next morning, Ren noticed it too. As he left for school, his eyes scanned the quiet street, catching the flicker of a shadow slipping just beyond the row of houses. When he looked back at his father, he saw the same stiffness in Ryouji's shoulders that he had begun to recognize—an unspoken readiness for danger.
"Dad," Ren finally asked, his tone unusually serious for a boy his age. "If something bad happened… would you tell us?"
Ryouji knelt to tie his son's shoelace, buying time before answering. He looked up, meeting Ren's searching eyes. "I'd protect you before I told you," he said softly.
That day, Ryouji decided to test the Watcher's patience. Instead of heading directly to work, he took a detour through the narrow alleys of the old district. The path twisted between decaying buildings where the sun barely reached, a maze designed for ambushes. If someone was tailing him, this was where they would reveal themselves.
Halfway down the alley, he heard it—the faint scrape of shoes against gravel. His muscles tightened. Ryouji slowed, pretending to check his phone, and waited.
A shadow detached itself from the wall. It wasn't just a stranger; it was a man with a gaze too familiar, too sharp. His presence was not of a curious neighbor or harmless passerby. This was someone who belonged to the same world Ryouji had tried to bury.
"You've gotten soft," the man said, voice low but taunting. "Walking around like you're just another family man. Do you even remember what it's like to spill blood?"
Ryouji's jaw clenched, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Leave my family out of this."
The man chuckled, shaking his head. "That's the problem, Hyūga. You think you can have both—peace and your past. But the past doesn't forget."
In one swift motion, the man reached into his coat. Ryouji reacted instantly, his hand darting into the drawer of memory where reflex lived. He closed the distance, twisting the man's wrist before the weapon could clear its holster. The metallic clang of a knife hitting the ground echoed through the alley.
For a moment, time stilled. Ryouji pressed the man against the wall, his forearm pinning him in place. "If you ever come near them again," Ryouji growled, voice stripped of warmth, "I will not hesitate."
The man smirked even as pain flickered across his face. "So the edge of violence is still there. Good. That means they'll come for you soon."
Before Ryouji could demand more, the man shoved him back and disappeared into the twisting alleys, leaving behind only the glint of the fallen knife.
Ryouji stared at it for a long while before finally kicking it into a drain. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the reminder of how close he had come to letting go, to crossing a line he swore he would never cross again.
That night, Hana noticed the faint cut across his knuckle. She didn't ask. Instead, she gently took his hand, pressing a cloth against it. "Whatever happens," she whispered, "don't carry it alone."
Ryouji met her eyes, seeing both strength and fear mirrored there. For the first time in years, he felt the fragile balance of his world truly cracking. Violence wasn't just stalking the edges of their life anymore—it was pressing its way in.
And deep down, he knew this was only the beginning