If someone asked Harumi exactly when things started going wrong, she would probably answer:
The exact moment she thought,
"I think everything's finally going to work out."
Because nothing—absolutely nothing—lasts long for anyone reckless enough to think that.
The following week became an almost artistic sequence of disasters, each one worse than the last, as if the universe had decided to test her patience with a smug smile on its face.
First: school.
Harumi quickly discovered that good intentions do not replace paperwork.
Without proper registration, without officially corrected records, without health insurance cards, without school records...
No school would accept them.
None.
Not even the ones that supposedly "might be able to work something out."
Then came the second problem.
The names.
To legally place the children under her care, she needed something simple and cruel:
The signatures of both parents.
And that was when reality decided to laugh.
Because while Takeru's father at least existed on paper—
Distant.
Absent.
But real.
Mei's father...
Well.
Mei's father was a carefully engineered piece of improvisation.
Her mother knew his first name.
So she invented the surname.
She knew the birthday.
So she made up the month and year.
Done.
A fictional father, officially registered.
That was where Harumi learned an important lesson:
The past always charges interest.
And it never accepts installment payments.
The third problem arrived shortly afterward.
Money.
Solving this mess required hiring a company specialized in tracking relatives, records, and connections that nobody wanted to remember anymore.
It was expensive.
Very expensive.
But necessary.
And while all of this was happening, the calendar kept moving without asking for permission.
Mei's birthday was only three days away.
Now then.
Let's get to the part where everything changed.
Again.
That night, Harumi returned home exhausted.
Not normal exhaustion.
The kind that leaves your body crooked, your soul several steps behind, and your thoughts running in slow motion.
She got off the bus and dragged her briefcase down the street.
Shoulders slumped.
Eyes half-closed.
That was when she saw him.
A man in a perfectly tailored suit standing in front of her house.
Harumi froze.
For half a second.
— ...Huh?
For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating.
Maybe it was the exhaustion.
Maybe she'd finally fallen asleep standing up.
But no.
The man was still there.
Motionless.
Far too elegant for this neighborhood.
— Miss Harumi? he asked.
His voice was much too serious for that time of night.
She blinked.
Confused.
— That's... me?
— I've been trying to contact you. I've called several times.
Oh.
Unknown number.
Of course she hadn't answered.
Before she could come up with a reasonable excuse, the man was already introducing himself formally.
Giving a slight bow.
As if he were in an office.
And not standing at the entrance of a chaotic house full of children.
Inside, the usual chaos continued.
Takeru was organizing things in the room he shared.
Mei was still outside, probably hunting an imaginary bug despite the fact that it was already late.
The contrast between the suited man and that house was almost comical.
He sat down.
Opened his folder.
And started talking.
Fast.
Far too fast.
Names.
Dates.
Documents.
Records.
Legal terms.
Everything piled on top of everything else as if Harumi had slept eight hours and consumed three cups of coffee.
She tried to follow.
She really did.
But her vision started getting slightly blurry.
— Wait.
She raised a hand.
— Slow down, please.
— Breathe with me.
— One topic at a time.
The man blinked.
Clearly surprised.
Then...
He sighed.
— My apologies.
— Occupational habit.
And then he explained everything properly.
Regarding Mei, they had successfully located her real father.
Her mother had cooperated.
The records had been confirmed.
Name.
Address.
Current residence.
Everything matched.
He even showed photographs and supporting documents.
One problem solved.
For the first time in days, Harumi felt her shoulders relax.
The relief lasted approximately five seconds.
— As for Takeru's father...
The man hesitated.
And that was when everything completely fell apart.
You could physically see the exact moment Harumi's face transformed.
Back into a dead fish.
Again.
The man explained carefully.
Takeru's father was a fugitive.
A false name.
A stolen identity.
Criminal connections.
The police knew he existed.
But they had no direct contact with him.
There was no way to simply call him.
Or schedule a meeting.
That was why they hadn't made any official approach in the first place.
— So we can't talk to him? Harumi asked, frowning.
— Not through conventional means.
Harumi thought about it.
For approximately half a second.
— That's fine.
— I'll just go talk to him myself.
Silence.
Immediate silence.
— ...Excuse me?
— That's easy.
— I'll go there.
— We'll talk.
— I'll get his signature.
— Problem solved.
The man stared at her as if she had just announced plans to step on a landmine out of curiosity.
— Miss Harumi, this is not—
— Morning would probably be best.
— I'll go in the morning.
The man rubbed a hand over his face.
Completely confused.
That was the moment he realized something important.
This woman was not exactly...
Normal.
Not even slightly.
In the end, he handed her a file.
A name.
Possibly fake.
An address.
No photograph.
Nothing else.
— Don't go alone, he said seriously.
Pause.
— And preferably...
— Don't go at all.
Harumi looked down at the paper.
Then smiled.
Tired.
But determined.
By now, she'd already done far too many ridiculous things to start worrying about common sense.
She had chased down hospital records.
Broken a door.
Attempted to climb a building.
Tracked down a missing mother.
Collected enough paperwork to build a second house.
Compared to all that...
Visiting a fugitive's home for a simple signature
didn't seem particularly concerning.
Not for a Thursday.
The man stared at her.
Still unconvinced.
— Miss Harumi—
— It'll be fine.
— That's what concerns me.
— Why?
— Because people who say that usually become official case reports.
Harumi blinked.
— That's oddly specific.
— Occupational habit.
She nodded as if that explanation made perfect sense.
It did not.
The man slowly stood.
Gathered his documents.
Closed the folder.
Then paused.
One last attempt.
— Please think this through carefully.
— He's a wanted criminal.
— This isn't something you should take lightly.
Harumi looked at the address one more time.
Then carefully folded the paper.
— Don't worry.
The confidence in her voice somehow made the situation worse.
The man could feel it.
— I am worried.
— Extremely worried.
— I'll bring snacks.
Silence.
The man stared.
Harumi stared back.
Neither moved.
Finally—
He gave up.
Not professionally.
Emotionally.
— ...Good luck.
— Thank you!
She smiled brightly.
The kind of smile people usually gave before making terrible decisions.
The door closed behind him.
The house grew quiet again.
Upstairs, laughter echoed through the hallway.
Mei's birthday was in three days.
The paperwork wasn't finished.
The school problem remained.
The money problem remained.
Everything remained.
But now there was something new.
A name.
An address.
And a father.
Somewhere.
Without realizing it...
At that exact moment...
Chaos 2.0 had already begun.