Taking my son’s advice to heart and deciding to connect more with my kids, I entered Kohaku’s room, hoping to have a casual chat.
Kohaku, though a bit hesitant, started talking cheerfully about things that happened at school recently.
I’d always thought it was normal for a teenage daughter to push her father away, so I kept my distance… but as Aoi pointed out, with a daughter I barely saw anymore, it seemed necessary to make an effort to communicate, even just a little.
While talking with Kohaku, a sudden shout from Kaori-chan came from the next room.
Kohaku and I instinctively stopped our conversation, listening to the voices coming from the adjacent room.
After a while, the constant chatter from the next room quietly faded.
Kohaku, sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up, stared silently at a single point.
I, too, couldn’t find a single word to say, leaning against the wall and gazing up at the ceiling.
Being at a loss for words—this must be exactly what that phrase means.
From the moment we learned Riri was pregnant and the baby’s gender was revealed, I knew this child would face hardships.
And when Aoi was born, he was never what you’d call an energetic kid, even from a young age.
From the moment he was born, as long as he was within sight, he was always calm and clever.
Perhaps out of first-time parenting anxiety, Riri once took Aoi to the doctor, worried because he didn’t even cry at night.
Aoi was that kind of quiet child, but with both Riri and me in demanding jobs that kept us busy day and night, we couldn’t always manage parenting.
In those times, we often left Aoi with Nanami-san, Riri’s classmate who was a stay-at-home mom and had a child about a year older.
Even Nanami and her husband praised Aoi as a smart and well-behaved child, and though I wasn’t heavily involved in his upbringing, I couldn’t help but feel a bit proud.
Plus, it didn’t take long for Nanami’s only daughter, Kaori-chan, to grow attached to Aoi, or so I heard.
By the time they started elementary school, it became routine to see Kaori-chan clinging to Aoi, who’d brush her off with an exasperated air but still look after her in his own way.
On the other hand, things changed a bit once school started. Aoi, who was already reserved, stopped smiling almost entirely.
I figured the stress of school, kagura dance lessons, and self-defense training had robbed him of any mental breathing room. For an elementary schooler, his schedule was undeniably packed.
There was one time I scolded Aoi harshly.
It was because he was slacking on his studies, which should’ve been manageable for an elementary schooler.
If Aoi had genuinely struggled with academics or couldn’t keep up with classes, I would’ve chosen to support him.
But, without any parental bias, Aoi was a kid who could do it if he tried. He wasn’t as quick as Kaori-chan, but he wasn’t slow to learn either.
In fact, after that, I never had a reason or need to comment on his academic performance again.
As schoolwork got tougher, his grades naturally fluctuated with subjects he was better or worse at, but that’s perfectly normal.
He didn’t have any standout strengths, but for Aoi, that was never an issue.
As he grew, I paid less attention to him. He rarely needed any extra care.
And so, I didn’t notice.
I didn’t even try to notice or understand.
Even if Aoi never showed it outwardly, there were things I should’ve picked up on.
At my new workplace, the topic of kids came up once.
I spoke proudly of my son, weaving in some flattery as part of socializing, but I meant every word.
It wasn’t uncommon for people to envy me when I talked about my kids in the past, and even at my age, hearing praise for my child still made me happy.
But if Aoi is a son I can boast about…
Am I a father Aoi could be proud of?
Can I confidently say, “I raised this son with my own hands”?
I never considered that his constant composure in front of the family might’ve been a sign something was wrong.
To say I only saw the surface of my own flesh-and-blood son, completely oblivious to any issues, would be beyond a laughing matter.
Overwhelmed by guilt and grappling with emotions that had nowhere to go, I clenched my fist.
“…Dad.”
Kohaku’s voice suddenly broke through, and the tension in my fist dissolved.
The taut atmosphere seemed to unravel instantly.
Still hugging her knees on the bed, Kohaku lifted her face slightly to look at me.
“…I knew. Back in elementary school, I knew Aoi-nii was being bullied, and that Kaori-chan liked him… I knew.”
Kohaku’s voice was hoarse. I could see her desperately trying to stay composed.
“But… I couldn’t say anything to anyone. I was always scared of Aoi-nii. Even when Kaori-chan was happily hanging around him, he’d act like it was nothing, and I could never tell what he was thinking…”
As she spoke, Kohaku’s shoulders trembled faintly, her gaze dropping.
“That’s why…”
I stayed silent, waiting for my daughter’s words.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Please don’t blame Aoi-nii or Kaori-chan.”
Her words, falling like tears, pierced my heart.
I quietly sat beside her and gently patted Kohaku’s head.
I thought she might pull away, but instead, she leaned closer.
Holding Kohaku like this for the first time, I finally realized how small she was.
“I’m sorry, Kohaku. You’ve been holding it in all this time.”
The moment I said it, a sharp pain gripped my chest.
I’d left Kohaku’s care to Aoi, assuming somewhere deep down that she’d be fine. Probably without even realizing it.
“…What’s going to happen to Aoi-nii?”
I couldn’t answer right away.
I still didn’t know what Aoi had gone through or how deep his wounds were.
But one thing was crystal clear.
“I don’t know. But… from now on, I’ll face it properly. You and Aoi both.”
At that, Kohaku gave a small nod. I couldn’t see her face, but it felt like her trembling eased just a bit.
I’d been complacent, thinking I was engaging with them.
That delusion had to end here.
“Kohaku, thank you for telling me.”
My daughter didn’t respond, just leaned against me. Feeling her warmth, I stood up.
I’d probably been coasting on the fact that I had a smart, strong kid.
I thought I understood something.
I assumed kids just grow up on their own, learning from the environment they’re given.
But that was nothing more than an excuse to shirk my responsibilities as a parent.
What kind of kid was I?
The one thing I remember is constantly rebelling against my overbearing parents.
I never realized how lucky I was to have that.
No matter how busy I was, no matter how little time I spent with them, I wanted to be someone who could notice my kids’ pain.
I had to be.
But I didn’t notice.
And now that I know, I have to face it here and now.
To simply accept whatever my son’s been carrying, whatever he couldn’t put into words.
I left Kohaku’s room and stood in front of Aoi’s door.
This hallway I’d walked countless times, this room that should be so close, felt impossibly far away.
I reached out and touched the doorknob. The cold sensation made me feel like I was being pushed away.
Slowly, I opened the door to Aoi’s room.
For now, I believed that handling this moment was what Aoi needed.
I steadied my voice, playing the part of a father who knew nothing.
“Toki-chan, it’s about time to head out… you ready to go?”
☆Afterword──────────────────
Thank you for reaching 9,000 followers.
This time, I wrote from Aoi’s father’s perspective to set up the next development.
The number of comments on the last chapter was about double the usual, and I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh first thing in the morning, but as expected, everyone was focused on Nanami-san’s actions, right?
This is a bit unrelated, but honestly, I never thought this story would grow to be read this much, so I took this chance to rewrite the synopsis too (lol).
