He stepped out of the bathroom, his hair damp leaving a few drops of water still dripping from it's ends. He'd already changed into clean clothes—doing that inside the cramped two-room apartment would've proved difficult so he compromised.
By now, the sun had reached its setting peak. Only faint orange rays slipped between the narrow buildings, painting their stone faces gold for a brief moment as the rest of the sky slowly surrendered to the coming dusk.
When Itsuki returned to their room, he found Adrien's father slumped on the worn sofa pushed against the wall, head tilted back, eyes half-closed from exhaustion. His roughened hands hung limply at his sides while René lay curled up beside him, her head resting on his lap.
She really is a clingy girl through and through huh…
Itsuki walked to the corner where a bag sat and tucked his old clothes into it. The movement stirred the man from his fatigue; he slowly raised his head, his weary eyes settling on Itsuki.
"Adrien, how are you?" His voice came out rough, tired, his face streaked with dirt and ash from work—but still, a small smile managed to find its place there.
"I'm good… Dad. Thanks for asking."
The man let out a low sigh, one hand absently brushing through René's hair.
"No trouble at the site today, I hope?"
"There wasn't. I already put today's pay in Mother's coat."
He nodded faintly, sinking back into the sofa with a deep exhale.
"That's good to hear… I'm glad to see you doing your best. Just a little longer, son. Once I find something more stable, things will ease up."
From Adrien's memories, the father's been saying that for as long as he could remember—always searching for a steadier job, always coming up short. It seemed like he really did try, but the world rarely gave him a chance. Between him and Adrien, they carried the weight of the whole family, and even then, it was barely enough to keep up.
"I'm sure you'll find something soon," Itsuki said quietly as he turned toward the door, twisting the worn metal handle before stepping out.
"Me too, son…" the man's voice followed him, soft and hopeful.
Outside, the streets were calmer now. He spotted André sitting on the curb, chatting with the last few of his friends.
"André," Itsuki called out, his voice steady, "go on in and get changed for dinner."
He continued walking forward as the boy turned, the sound of his footsteps fading down the cobblestone street. He didn't look back to see if André obeyed—somehow, he already knew he would.
By now, the sun had fully set—its glow and warmth erased from the streets, leaving only a faint trace of heat in the cooling evening air. The kind of chill that settled naturally over all of Auren at this hour.
When he reached the edge of the street, he turned down another lane, letting his legs carry him forward. His steps moved almost on their own, guided by the muscle memory and scattered fragments of Adrien's life etched into his mind.
After some distance, he came up on a quieter street—not too different from his own. And near a rusted lamp post that buzzed weakly with light stood two boys, barefoot and dressed in threadbare clothes, their faces pale from hunger but brightened by recognition as soon as they saw him.
Itsuki approached, and the older boy—who looked about fourteen or less, grinned wide.
"Sir, you came today…" he said, excitement slipping through his voice as he and his younger brother raised their fists for a bump.
Itsuki returned it with a faint smile. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the few coins left from buying bread earlier that day.
"Here. Go get something to eat before the vendors close up."
The boys' eyes lit up as they ran off toward a nearby stall where a tired trader was just about to pack away the last of his bread.
Raymond and Marcel. Two orphans he'd met some time ago and had made a habit of helping, giving spare change or food whenever he could.
Even though he cared, he never asked where or how they lived, or what they did to survive beyond the little he gave them. Maybe that was his way of keeping a safe distance—showing kindness without the burden of knowing he couldn't do anything to help while he fully knew what they were going through
When they returned, the younger boy—maybe twelve, clutched a piece of bread in one hand and his brother's palm in the other.
"Alright boys, I'll see you tomorrow.."
"Really, sir? You've never said you'd come the next day before," he said, his voice small but full of hope.
"Oh?" Itsuki let out a quiet chuckle. "Well, I am now. And I'll see you tomorrow for sure."
He turned and began to walk away, the faint sound of their innocent chatter following behind him. The boys stood side by side, waving with their bread still in hand.
"Unlucky piece of shit" … he muttered under his breath, not sure if the words were meant for Adrien, or himself.
***
His two siblings sat on either side of him, his father opposite, and his mother to his right. The four of them gathered around the small table that served as both dining and kitchen space.
Before eating, they all joined hands, closing their eyes in quiet unison. What followed wasn't quite a prayer in the way Itsuki knew it—no "Amen" or divine call for blessing—but rather a humble, almost ritualistic chant.
He kept one eye open as he watched their mother's lips move in rhythm as she led the prayer
"O True Light, flame above all shadows,
You who warm the cold and guide the lost,
We give thanks for the meal set before us,
For the grain of the field and the labor of hands.
Forgive our dim hearts where doubt may dwell,
Cleanse us in Your glow that we may walk in grace.
Let Your light guard us from harm in the coming hours,
Let it prosper our work and steady our spirit,
That we may live as mirrors of Your eternal flame.
In brightness and in faith, we partake.
May your everlasting Light watch over us all."
Huh, so the First Light's actually some divine being this world reverse and believes in. I really hit the jackpot with this transmigration...
When they began to eat, the table filled quickly with voices and warmth. René and André spoke eagerly about their day at the small church school nearby—their teacher, the lessons, and the games they'd played after class. Their mother chimed in between bites, telling funny stories about the market: customers who haggled too hard, gossip from other vendors, and the man with a weird limp who'd bought vegetables on credit again.
Itsuki smiled faintly, nodding at intervals, pretending familiarity with every detail. Across from him, their father sat quietly, his expression soft but weary. He never talked about his day and no one bothered to ask about it either. It was an unspoken rule, one born from love and respect—the kind of silence that said 'we know, and we're thankful'.
For Itsuki, though, there was a blank space where Adrien's memories of the day should've been. Everything from that day before the transmigration was non existence even with the memory fragment he had received.
Maybe I should try to make conversation about the man who got shot earlier today? His fork pausing mid-air. Nah, that's just going to make things awkward. Or worse—make them suspect something's off with me especially if they react like the adults did.
He forced a smile again, pushing the thought away.
The evening continued drifting on like a gentle current—soft laughter, clinking spoons, the scent of stew thick in the air. There was no music, yet somehow the moment had rhythm; no painter, yet the room brimmed with colour and life.
~ what if I murder you all and ruin this wholesome moment~
For a while, Itsuki stopped thinking. He simply sat there, soaking it in—the warmth, the chatter, the closeness.
Is this what it's like to have a family?
~then what if I dig all your eyeballs out as well and have some stew with it~
His gaze drifted across each face—René's bright grin, André's tired but satisfied eyes, their mother's worn smile, their father's quiet pride—and the words slipped into his mind like a whisper he didn't mean to think:
You really are an unlucky piece of shit, Adrien…