It has already been a week since Sensei arrived. Today's training is over, and deep into the night, after everyone has fallen asleep, I drink alone while gazing at the moon.
"Fuu…"
I pour sake into a cup and toss it back in one breath. The Japon sake passes down my throat, its refreshing umami and sweetness spreading through my mouth.
As I sit there drinking alone, before I know it, Bisky is seated beside me.
Good grief… not noticing her presence. I didn't think I'd drunk that much.
"What's with you? Drinking all alone and pouring your own drinks—how unrefined. Pour me some too."
"A glass? How lacking in taste. Japon sake is meant to be enjoyed in an ochoko or a sakazuki."
Saying that, I hand Bisky my now-empty cup and pour her some sake.
"What's that supposed to mean? As long as you can drink it, it's fine. Hmm, Japon daiginjo, huh. …Yeah, a bit on the sweet side, but it's good. …So, what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you drinking all alone like some lonely soul?"
It's not as if there's any particular reason. I just felt like drinking, so I am.
"It's not 'just because,' is it? Whenever something's on your mind, you end up drinking alone like this. …Don't tell me you didn't realize?"
…That's news to me.
Now that she mentions it, when I think back to the times I drank alone… Ah, she may be right.
"You're right. Perhaps when I have something on my mind, that's when I do this."
"See? Want me to guess what's bothering you?"
"…Go on."
"It's about Kurapika, right? Am I wrong?"
…
"You don't want to accept Kurapika—the one who stole Sensei from you. You thought you'd expose his true colors in front of Sensei. But when you saw him with your own eyes, there's no way you could miss that talent of his. Your emotions refuse to accept it. But as a martial artist, your reason acknowledges it. That inner conflict, right?"
Haah… As expected of Bisky. She reads my heart this well?
"You… you're actually a Specialist, aren't you? You read my mind."
"Oh my. Bullseye, huh?"
I doubt she just guessed randomly. We know each other far too well.
"You're correct. There's no way I could acknowledge that peeping creep as Sensei's disciple. That's why I intended to teach him his place during this training at the dojo. …But honestly, I was impressed. I have devoted long years to martial arts. I've seen countless disciples. Yet I have never seen someone with that much talent. …And to encounter three of them at the same time."
"Right? Even I was shocked~. When Aisha said she'd taken on disciples, I figured they had talent—but not to that extent."
Bisky returns the empty cup to me and pours more sake. I down it in one go and hand it back again.
"In just this one week, they've grown at an impossible speed. It's the first time I've felt such visible growth so clearly. …More than anger or resentment, I felt envy—as a martial artist."
Already, it's harder to find someone within Kazama-ryu who can match that man. His aura capacity rivals that of mid-tier Pro Hunters—perhaps even exceeds them.
Perhaps because he sparred with Sensei, his response speed to counters against Aiki is beyond what ordinary disciples can handle. All he needs now is more experience.
Gon-san and Killua-san are also exceptionally gifted; their growth is astonishing. Like pouring water onto dry sand.
"I feel the same. Honestly, I've felt jealous many times. I only reached that level in my late twenties. I want to see how far they'll grow.
Aisha's probably the same. There's a reason she made Kurapika her disciple—but I bet part of it is that she wants to see just how strong he can become."
"The reason she took him as a disciple? Come to think of it, I never asked. Was it not simply because she took a liking to his talent?"
"Mm. …Oops, that slipped out. Let's blame the alcohol. Don't go telling anyone I said anything."
And so Bisky let slip the tale of that man's tragic past.
He lost his comrades, his friends, his family—and became consumed by revenge… no, a man who had no choice but to be consumed by revenge.
"That's how it is. Ahh! Now the sake tastes bad."
"You're the one who brought it up. …I see. So that's how it is."
Now it all makes sense. No matter how harsh Sensei's training may be, when I first heard what kind of training that man had undergone, I held my head in disbelief.
I thought I'd show him hell at this dojo—but he handled even the kind of training that makes seasoned disciples cry uncle, and he did so with room to spare.
No, he did look like it was tough. But how should I put it… there was this expression on his face, as if to say, "This is nothing."
Compared to the training Sensei gave him, it probably doesn't qualify as hell at all.
And that grueling schedule Sensei designed… was likely because she doesn't want him to die.
I've heard of the Phantom Troupe's infamy. The fact that Blacklist Hunters have yet to capture them speaks volumes about their strength. Even among Kazama-ryu's disciples, perhaps only a handful could win in a true no-holds-barred fight to the death.
In a killing battle, facing multiple opponents at once is only natural. Even I, if confronted by the entire Phantom Troupe, would choose to flee.
Though Sensei would handle them with ease, of course!
"Here, have another."
"Mm… fuu. The moon is beautiful tonight."
"It is. …Feeling better now?"
"Not particularly. There's nothing to 'get over.' I wasn't bothered."
"Hehe, liar."
"Well, I'll acknowledge Kurapika-san to some extent. …Don't misunderstand. I'm only acknowledging his talent. It's not like I was swayed by that story."
"Such a tsundere."
Tsundere? What does that even mean? She occasionally uses words I don't understand.
"Drinking while gazing at the night sky is nice."
"Yes. Once in a while, this isn't so bad."
And so the two of us share drinks while looking at the moon.
Before I realize it, the knot-like heaviness in my heart has vanished.
…This is the second time Bisky has saved me like this.
"Bisky."
"Mm~?"
"…Thank you."
"…You're welcome."
"Hehe, you're blushing. What a cute girl."
"H-Hey!? Cut it out! I'm not good with that kind of thing from you!"
"Oh? You say that, but you don't actually hate it, do you? When you lie, you're perfectly calm—but when you're embarrassed, a vein pops out on the tip of your nose. That's how I can tell."
"Eh!? No way!?"
"Yes, that was a lie. But it seems I've found our little shy one."
"Y-You…!"
Hehe. Getting all worked up. She really is shy. Or perhaps just not honest with herself.
And so, chatting happily together, the night deepened.
Ah… tonight's moon truly is beautiful.
―――
"Oh, that reminds me. I've got a photo collection of Aisha that I made—"
"I'll buy it for one billion. Furthermore, I'll sign an exclusive contract. If you promise never to let anyone else have it, I'll triple that!"
"Deal. Here you go."
I snatch the photo book from Bisky as if stealing it, and slowly open it.
Inside were hundreds—no, thousands—of beautiful, glamorous images of Sensei, dressed in countless outfits I had never seen before!
"Ahh! Valhalla is here!"
"By the way, Version 2 should be ready sometime in August."
"Bisky."
"Mm~?"
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome."
◆
"KURAPIKA-SAN."
"Zeh—! Hah…! W-What is it?"
After we finished a round of sparring, Riina-dono called out to me.
How many times has she called out to me like this? Every time before, it was nothing but insults and biting remarks… Though when Aisha is watching, she restrains herself. Unfortunately, Aisha seems to have some personal business and is away from the dojo right now.
Haah… what is she going to say this time?
"Your counter just now was splendid. As expected of someone who has repeatedly sparred with Aisha-san. However, your attack after the counter was slightly overeager. Your opponent's balance broke, and you likely thought it was your chance—but that very moment was targeted in return, and you were counterattacked.
Do not rush. Observe your enemy's movements carefully. If you look into their eyes, you can sense their intent. If you observe their aura, you can measure their fighting spirit. Understand that opportunity and danger stand side by side."
With that, Riina-dono moved away from me and headed toward Gon.
…Hm? Did I just receive advice?
"Hey, Kurapika, what's wrong? That person giving you advice? That's not normal."
"I don't understand it either… We've never had a proper conversation before. At best, she'd throw sarcasm or barbed comments my way."
Killua has probably spoken to Riina-dono more than I have. That's how much she seems to dislike me. So why this sudden change of heart?
"Hmm. No clue. Whatever. More importantly, let's spar next."
"Very well. I won't hold back."
"Obviously. If you do, I'll blow you away."
We both moved toward the starting line—
—and attacked at the same time!
"Tch!"
"Kuh! As expected of you, Killua! I can't catch you off guard so easily!"
"No kidding! I'm better at this than tournament matches!"
We had both tried to strike first, yet the Kazama-ryu disciples around us said nothing, continuing their own training.
Always on the battlefield—that was the phrase inscribed in the deepest part of the dojo by the War God, Ryushou Kazama. All of us train under that teaching. In real combat, there is no such thing as "dirty." The victor is justice; the dead tell no tales.
This school values courtesy and even teaches etiquette. It does not promote sneak attacks. But neither does it tolerate being caught by one. If a martial artist is taken by surprise, it is not because the opponent was dishonorable—it is because the martial artist was unskilled.
That is why surprise attacks sometimes occur in this dojo. I myself have been caught off guard several times.
"Haaah!"
"Damn it! I still can't win in aura volume!"
We exchanged blows while reinforcing our entire bodies. In this clash of strikes, the advantage tilted only slightly in my favor. As Killua said, my aura reserves still surpass his by a wide margin.
But Killua is a Transmuter. His physical enhancement rate exceeds mine. And in terms of experience, he surpasses me as well. The techniques, reactions, and sharp judgment he cultivated in the Zoldyck household are remarkable. That likely narrows the gap between our aura amounts.
…At this age, to have such experience. His days must have been hellish.
Even during Aisha's training, Killua always seemed to enjoy himself. For him to find that enjoyable, he must have endured training akin to torture before.
Well. The Zoldycks may be harsh—but I firmly believe Aisha is the tougher one.
"There!"
"Whoa!?"
In the brief instant between attack and defense, I wrapped my chain around his ankle. We were trading blows, but weapon use was not forbidden. Surely you won't call that unfair?
The moment he lost his balance, I—
did not close in. Instead, I bound his entire body further with my chains.
"Damn it! Ahh! I lost again!"
"Hmph. That was close, Killua. I can't allow myself to be caught up so easily."
Killua ground his teeth in frustration.
…There was something that had been on my mind, so I decided to ask him directly. Fortunately, those around us were focused on their sparring. If we spoke quietly, there would be no issue.
"(Killua. You're not going all out, are you?)"
"(…Yeah. But you figured that out?)"
"(You looked frustrated, but not truly so.)"
"(Mm… yeah. …Even if I wanted to go all out here, there are too many eyes. I don't feel like showing it.)"
As I thought.
Killua has likely already developed his Hatsu—his Nen ability suited to himself. And he has no intention of revealing it before a large audience. In a sense, that is correct. Once your ability is known, counters will be devised.
Even I carry my chains at all times to make them appear real rather than conjured, and I have never revealed the abilities imbued within them.
However, keeping one's ability secret has advantages—but also disadvantages.
"(But Killua. At this rate, you'll never get practical experience with your ability.)"
"(…I know. But what else can I do?)"
"(Then we simply practice among ourselves.)"
"(Just me, Gon, and you?)"
"(And Aisha as well. If she observes, she'll surely provide valuable insight.)"
"(…Yeah. If it's Aisha, I don't mind her seeing.)"
"(Good. Let's consult her next time.)"
I, too, have created my ability, but have never tested it on another person. Gon and Killua are ideal opponents—and I trust them. With Aisha's critiques, we can refine them further.
"Hey, Kurapika! This time I'm fighting you!"
"Very well. But only one match. After that, I'll fight someone else."
"Okay!"
"He says that, but once he loses, he'll definitely ask for another round."
"I won't!"
Sorry, Gon. I think you will… Though perhaps I'm not one to talk. Gon hates losing.
As expected, after losing to me, Gon repeatedly asked for another round. He's truly easy to read.
After our match, the timing felt right, so I brought up the idea of practical ability training. Naturally, Gon agreed. He is still 고민 over his own ability and wants to think it through while training with us.
All that remained was to speak to Aisha once she returned. She said she'd be back by dinner at the latest, so we would talk to her then.
…However, even after dinner time had passed, Aisha did not return.
◆
Leaving the main dojo behind, I walked through the city.
Looking around, I saw rows of high-rise buildings that had been scarce fourteen years ago. The flow of time pressed itself upon me. As someone who had watched this city's development for decades, seeing it grow without my noticing left me feeling strangely lonely.
The roads were familiar—yet the scenery was vastly different from what I remembered. Colorful storefronts with bold, unconventional designs had multiplied. Are these modern-style buildings? I don't really understand. Groups of young women gathered in large numbers, laughing as they shopped and dined. It must be what they call trends.
I don't feel like I can keep up. Though I know this city, it feels like I'm standing in a place I don't recognize—like I've been left behind by time.
…How sentimental of me. Perhaps I'm nervous about what's to come.
After all, I'm heading now to the Koza Family's hideout—the place where Mother rests, and where he should be.
He—Dominic Koza.
The head of the Koza Family, affiliated with a direct lineage of the Ten Dons. Supposedly one of the more moderate figures in the mafia, said to never lay a hand on civilians. Though as long as one is mafia, exploitation of ordinary people in some form is inevitable.
At the very least, they do not use violence to terrorize the townspeople. If they did, I—Ryushou—would have crushed the Koza Family long ago.
I knew only his name. I had never met him, nor even seen his face. And yet, I was reincarnated as the daughter of that mafia boss. What kind of karmic twist is this?
Thinking back, there must have been meaning in the fact that I was born at the Menfil General Hospital near the main dojo. Countless lives are born into this world at any given moment, yet I just so happened to reincarnate as a human in a hospital so close by. The probability is absurd.
Though it's obvious now—if I had never reincarnated, he might have lived happily, surrounded by his wife and children other than me. …I hear he has remained unmarried to this day. As a mafia boss, he could have taken another wife whenever he wished…
He truly loved Mother. That much was clear from the stories she told. I cannot silently visit Mother's grave without telling him.
I intend to tell him that I am the daughter who inherited Misha Koza's blood—and the one who caused her death.
He may try to kill me for it. But that would be understandable. I love Mother deeply as well. If the one responsible for her death appeared before me, I cannot say with certainty that I wouldn't give in to rage.
Mother had her wishes too. I cannot die. If it comes to that, I will have to run.
But at the very least… I want to say a single word of gratitude to her.
…
I had prepared myself to be cursed, condemned—even killed.
And yet… my steps feel heavier than expected.
I should have arrived shortly after noon, but it's already past three in the afternoon. Am I unconsciously avoiding meeting him? I thought I was prepared…
No matter how slowly I walk, as long as I do not stop or lose my way, I will eventually arrive.
Before me stood a large white mansion. Even from a distance, it was unmistakably no ordinary residence. High walls surrounded it, and the gate stood firmly shut.
Surveillance cameras and sensors were installed along the walls. Within the grounds, I could sense multiple presences even without using En. Not humans—animals. Dogs, most likely.
I could infiltrate without being detected.
But that would defeat the purpose.
Resolving myself, I walked to the main gate and pressed the intercom button.
After a few seconds, a voice answered.
"State your business with this household."
The voice was surprisingly polite and gentlemanly. Given the nature of this house, I had expected something far rougher.
"Um…"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Uh…"
Huh? That's strange. I can't speak properly.
Is Dominic-san here? I would like to meet him if possible. That's all I have to say. Why can't I manage something so simple?
"…If this is a prank, please leave. We are not idle."
This is bad! I can tell they're about to cut the line! At this rate, I'll look like some new variation of a doorbell prankster!
"Um! I-is Dominic-san… h-here!?"
"…What business do you have with the boss? He doesn't have a mistress. You're not carrying anything, so you're not a delivery. We haven't heard of any woman like you scheduled to visit. You do know what kind of business we run, right? Give a strange answer and you won't walk away."
The moment I mentioned Dominic's name, the voice and tone changed completely.
Moderate faction or not, they are still mafia.
But no matter how much they try to intimidate me, I'm not afraid of that.
What frightens me… is how Dominic Koza will react when he learns who I am.
"I came to see Dominic-san. We don't have an appointment. …Could you let me meet him?"
"…This isn't going anywhere. Go home, miss. This isn't a place for someone like you. It's a different world. For your own good, leave before you get hurt."
Ah. He's trying to look out for me in his own way.
Perhaps it's true that this is an old-fashioned mafia, one that stays close to the community.
But I can't back down now. I know full well that simply asking to meet him won't be enough.
"Could you tell him this? That Misha Koza's daughter has come to see him."
"—!? You—!? …No, you do resemble the boss's lady. …No! But that can't—!"
Now he was flustered.
He said I resemble Mother. Do I really?
Mother was more beautiful than I am. Kinder. She had a warmth that enveloped others. Perhaps the only thing we share is our hair color.
"…Proof that you're the madam's child?"
"…I have none."
I have no proof.
Mother gave me many things, but nothing tangible remains—aside from this body. And that alone proves nothing. DNA testing might, but that would take too long.
"Don't make me repeat myself. This is nonsense. Claiming to be the madam's child of all things. I don't know where you heard that name, but you've got some nerve! I'll kill you—"
"Wait!"
"Zaza-san!? What is it?"
"Be quiet for a moment. …You, girl. Can you use Nen?"
"…Yes. I can."
"I see. …The aura you're showing now—is that your real aura? Or are you disguising it?"
—!!
Of course.
This man—Zaza—has seen me before. He must have been one of the Nen users at the hospital that day. He knows the quality of my aura. That's why he doubts the aura I'm showing now. I'm currently letting out a normal aura through Angel's Veil.
"Answer me. Which is it?"
"…I'm concealing it."
"Then show me your true aura."
"…Understood."
It can't be helped.
If I keep it hidden, they won't believe me.
There are no civilians nearby. I release Angel's Veil.
Instantly, the nature of the aura leaking from my body changed dramatically.
A sinister aura rivaling even Hisoka's. An ordinary person, even unable to see aura, would instinctively flee if they felt it. This is merely leakage. If I were to use Ten—more so with Ren—weak Nen users might have their spirits crushed outright.
"W-What!? You're targeting the boss after all—!"
"I told you to be quiet!!"
"Zaza-san!?"
"…I see. Your story may not be entirely false. …Wait here. I'll consult the boss."
They had no reason to believe me.
But someone who knew the aura I emitted back then could recognize that this one was nearly identical.
At least I've avoided being dismissed at the gate without a word.
Five minutes later, about ten men in black suits emerged from the entrance. All Nen users.
They're wary of me. Naturally. If what I said is true, then to them, the monster from fourteen years ago has returned.
…If a newborn emitted that kind of aura, how could they not be wary?
"…The boss will see you. Follow me. …You understand what happens if you try anything strange."
"Yes."
Surrounded by Nen users, I was escorted inside.
From his voice, this must be Zaza-san.
He maintained a firm, intimidating stance—but I could sense the faint fear beneath it. It showed in his expression without even needing to read his aura.
He's unsure whether I truly am that infant from back then.
But the aura is unmistakably similar. If it's true… then the terror of that day resurfaces for him.
The interior of the mansion was fairly ordinary. There might be hidden doors if one searched, but I wouldn't know.
What stood out was the suffocating scrutiny. Eyes watched my every movement. If I did anything suspicious, bullets might fly instantly.
"Boss. We've brought the girl."
"…Let her in. All of you come as well."
All of them.
That alone tells me how wary they are of me.
I enter the room.
It's spacious enough that even with the ten Nen users surrounding me, there's still room to spare.
At the center sits a man on a large sofa, likely entering his late middle age. Two Nen users stand behind him—guards, no doubt. They seem stronger than the ten around me.
Though from my perspective, the difference isn't overwhelming.
Still, Nen abilities are unpredictable. Judging solely by visible strength is the mark of a second-rate fighter.
If I didn't know he was mafia, he would appear entirely ordinary. The same face as the one on the Hunter website.
This man… is my—
I don't consider the possibility of a body double altered by surgery or Nen. His eyes contain a mixture of deep sorrow and hatred.
I am certain.
This is my father.
"…Sit."
I obey and sit on the sofa before him.
He stares at me intently—my face, my body, my hair. His gaze sweeps over me entirely.
Yet I feel no discomfort.
"…I see. You do resemble Misha. No… you're her spitting image. …What is your name?"
"Aisha."
"—! …Misha's child named Aisha. How simple. …That's the name Misha had chosen for a daughter."
The guards murmur in surprise.
Mother told me this, so I'm not shocked—but they are.
"However, Misha is dead. I discarded the child she bore. So even if that child survived, she would not bear that name. …Where did you learn it? Don't call it coincidence."
The pressure intensifies. The Nen users around us strengthen their aura as well.
If I answer poorly, I will be attacked.
"I was named by Mother. It is my precious name."
"Mother? Which woman?"
"There is no one else who is my mother but your wife, Misha Koza."
"Are you mocking me? Misha is dead! She died before my eyes!"
His roar carries more sorrow than anger.
He still loves her.
Even in this situation, that fact makes warmth well up in my chest.
But I cannot show it.
I meet his eyes with firm resolve.
I am not joking. My mother is Misha—and only Misha.
"…Tell me what you know."
"…I have had memories since the moment I was born."
I speak slowly.
This does not surprise him much. After all, during the transfer from hospital to airship, I had manipulated aura freely in the vehicle. His subordinates must have reported it. Such control requires awareness and intellect.
"I was thrown from the airship, but somehow landed in Meteor City."
"You survived that…?!"
Gasps rise from those around us, silenced immediately by a glare from him.
"Though I landed safely in Meteor City, my aura invited danger. …No one would pick me up. I thought I would die there. The one who saved me… was a Nen beast modeled after Mother herself—created by Mother when she awakened to Nen after giving birth to me."
When I finished telling that much, he shot up from the sofa in shock. His face, so different from before, hardened into something severe.
"Misha's… Nen beast, you say…!? Don't screw with me—"
"I am not joking! Mother—Mother—! To save me, she disregarded herself and materialized herself! There is no way I would ever treat Mother's feelings like a joke!!"
I couldn't stop myself from snapping back. But this was the one thing I would never yield on. For him to take this story as some kind of joke felt the same as insulting Mother herself. And that was something I absolutely could not endure.
"…! Continue. Talk."
He swallowed hard, then sat back down heavily on the sofa and urged me to go on.
So I told him everything. That Mother, as a Nen beast, possessed all the memories of the Mother who had died. That she had raised me. What she had taught me. How she and he first met. And the things only the two of them should have known—I told him as much as I had been told.
"—The proposal was from you. The words were—"
"Wait! Don't say any more!! …Ha… ha. You even know the proposal words, huh. …Oi, is there a possibility she has a Nen ability that reads minds?"
"…I cannot completely deny it. However, unconditionally, that would be unlikely. It would have to be a Specialist ability, and one with some kind of restriction at that. At the very least, I do not believe this girl currently fulfills the conditions for such a restriction. Specialists are rare, and their abilities are extremely diverse, so I cannot say for certain—but at most, it remains a possibility."
I understood why he would suspect I could read minds. I had just spoken information that only he and Mother should have known.
"…I see. Fine. …Oi, all of you—wait outside until I call."
"But sir—!"
"Don't argue with me! You can't follow my orders!? And listen—if I catch you eavesdropping, I'll kill you!"
"Yes, sir!!"
And so, everyone except him and me left the room.
…Was that really okay? It wasn't as though it was guaranteed I wouldn't harm him. Of course, I had not the slightest intention of doing so—but still.
"…Oi. What about the rest?"
"Eh?"
"The proposal words!"
"Y-Yes! Um… I was told they were, 'I love you. If you won't marry me, I'll die.'"
"Ku… kukk… Hah-hahaha!! …What kind of proposal is that from the boss of a mafia family…? …I see. So Misha really did raise you. That woman—carelessly revealing a man's resolve like that…"
…Did that mean he believed me?
The emotions coming from him were a tangled mess—too complex to read. In the end, all I could do was infer feelings from changes in aura and expression born from long experience in combat. Unless one could truly read hearts, it was impossible to fully understand another's feelings.
"Kukuku… So then, what did that brat from back then come here for? Revenge, perhaps?"
"Revenge… is not my intention. I did something to you that deserved to be abandoned."
"Ah, right. You have your memories. …Then why come here? Are you going to say, this late in the day, 'Please acknowledge me as your child'?"
"…No. I understand that's impossible. …I only wished to see Mother's grave, just once—"
"And then what? Apologize? Offer thanks? Now? …Don't screw with me! Do you have any idea how much time has passed!? Fine, when you were little, it couldn't be helped. In a closed place like Meteor City, you can't get outside information properly. But you said Misha's Nen beast disappeared when you were around ten, didn't you? It's been over three years since then. What were you doing all that time? Hiding in Meteor City? Are you saying you couldn't come here!?"
…I had nothing—nothing—to say in response.
After Mother disappeared, I earned money at Heaven's Arena and then wandered the world for about two years. I must have had countless opportunities to come here. Saying I had no way to investigate Mother's grave was no excuse.
At the very least, I knew of this place. I didn't know whether her grave was here—but I could have come and spoken to someone. I could have gathered information.
I just… I just didn't have the courage to come. I kept putting it off…
"No rebuttal, huh. So you could've come if you wanted to. …A bastard like that—the one who killed Misha—! What the hell do you want now!?"
"Please!!"
I dropped to my knees in a full prostration before him.
I didn't think this would make him forgive me. But I begged anyway, clinging to the faintest hope. It was the only thing I could do.
"Please! Let me see Mother! If you grant me that, I will never come near here again! I won't meet you ever again!"
"…Stop."
"Please! Just once… let me see my real Mother…"
"Stop it! Don't—don't do that with Misha's… with a face like Misha's! Don't confuse me!"
I knew he had drawn his gun. He cocked the hammer—one pull of the trigger and the bullet would fly.
I wasn't even using Ten right now. But I was confident I could guard with aura at the instant the bullet touched me. I would come out unharmed.
I don't have the courage to die. There are still things I must do. So I cannot accept his anger and hatred… I can only continue to beg…
"Please…"
A gunshot rang out.
"Boss! Boss! What happened!? We're coming in!"
"I told you not to come in! Stay put!!"
…There was no pain. No sensation of being hit. The bullet had passed beside my head and left a hole in the floor.
Did he deliberately miss…? Or did his arm tremble in agitation…? I didn't know.
"…Get out. Never show your face to me again."
"I—"
"The back of the mansion."
"…Eh?"
"There's a flower field of irises planted behind the mansion. Misha made it. Look at it one last time before you leave. I'll allow you that much. …I won't say it twice. Once you understand, get the hell out."
Behind the mansion. A field of irises. There… there must be Mother's—
Slowly, I stood and looked up at him. My vision was blurry. Had I been crying without realizing? Perhaps it was just my distorted sight—but it almost seemed like tears had gathered in his eyes as well.
"Thank you… very much."
"I don't deserve your thanks. I only told you about the flowers Misha loved."
It was likely the last kindness he would ever show me—clumsy and awkward as it was. I accepted it, bowed silently, and left the room.
…Perhaps Mother had loved that awkward side of him.
Outside, the guards glared at me.
But I had no time to worry about that. I bowed lightly and walked away. A few tried to stop me, but he called out to them from inside, and they let me pass.
I made my way around to the back of the mansion.
Before me spread a field of irises. Some were in bloom, but sadly the season seemed mostly past. Only a few flowers remained. How beautiful would it be if they were all in full bloom at once?
I walked carefully so as not to damage the well-kept flowerbed. Even at a glance, it was clear they had been tended with great care. So much time had passed since Mother died, yet the place was not neglected at all.
He had continued caring for the flower field she left behind… I could feel painfully just how much he had loved her.
And there, before me, stood a beautiful gravestone—white, carved with elegant iris motifs.
In the center were engraved words:
'Here rests Misha Koza, beloved wife of Dominic Koza.'
Naturally, tears overflowed.
"I-I'm sorry… I stole your happiness, Mother… I'm sorry… If I hadn't existed, you could have lived happily forever with him… with 'Father'!"
"Thank you… for giving birth to me, even at the cost of your life. Without you, I would have vanished. Th-thank you… truly!"
"I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry, Father!"
After that, I don't remember much. I know I cried and wailed loudly.
When I came to, it was already dusk. I wanted to stay longer—but I couldn't.
"Mother, this is truly goodbye. I'll never forget what you taught me. Maybe the Mother sleeping here can't hear it…"
The Mother buried here gave birth to me—but she wasn't the same Mother who raised me. And yet, both are my Mother. Both are precious to me.
"I've made friends. I'm happy. I'll keep trying to be happy from now on. …Though I might not be able to show you my bride's appearance. I'm really sorry about that."
Mother once said she wanted to see me in a wedding dress… but that might be impossible. I don't really understand romance with men, after all.
Still, perhaps I should at least come show her myself in a wedding dress someday? But I'm no longer permitted to come here…
"Father… He'd be angry if he heard me say that, but let me call him that just for now. Father still loves Mother. That made me so happy. I know I wasn't forgiven—but I think that's only natural. So please don't be angry at him. That's how deeply he loved you."
Ah… I want to talk more. I don't want to leave…
"I'm sorry. There was so much more I wanted to say, but the words won't come. …If, if I can ever come here again… I'll tell you everything then. …Until that day, goodbye, Mother."
I bowed to the gravestone, then turned my back and walked toward the gate.
When I reached it, the gate opened automatically. The dogs released in the yard did not attack me. He must have arranged that.
Sensing a faint gaze, I turned back toward the mansion. In a window, I saw him watching me.
What was he thinking right now? What did he think of me?
I wanted desperately to know—and yet, part of me feared knowing.
I bowed to him once more, then left the mansion.
By the time I returned to the Kazama-ryu dojo, night had long fallen. Dinner time was long past. But I didn't mind. I had no appetite anyway.
I passed through the gate and headed toward the room lent to me. Then I felt several presences and stopped.
"Ah! Welcome back, Aisha!"
"You're late. What were you doing? Dinner's gone cold."
"Welcome back, Aisha. You haven't eaten yet, have you? Come, let's eat."
The first thing they said upon my return was to eat dinner together.
What were they talking about? Dinner should have ended long ago.
"Everyone… Y-You haven't eaten yet?"
It was already past midnight. Had they really waited this whole time?
"Yeah. Food tastes better when we all eat together."
"Yeah, well. This idiot kept insisting we wait."
"Hmph. And you waited without complaining, Killua."
"W-What're you saying!?"
Killua and Kurapika began bickering while Gon tried to calm them down. I watched them absentmindedly.
Suddenly, tears spilled over.
That's strange. I'm not sad… Why am I crying again? I've cried so much today.
"Hey, you two, cut it out. …! Aisha, what's wrong? Did something happen?"
"N-No, it's nothing!"
"Oi, your eyes are swollen."
"Your face is red. You might have a fever!"
"I-It's really nothing!"
I hurriedly rubbed my eyes and wiped away the tears. But no matter how much I wiped them, they kept falling.
How embarrassing! To be seen crying at my age!
"…I don't know what happened, but don't push yourself too hard. You're stronger than we are, but you're still a child."
"That's right! We might not be reliable, but at least we can stay by your side. So if something happens, at least talk to us."
"Yeah, well. That. For now, maybe we can only listen—but someday we'll get stronger than you, so look forward to it."
…Ah, Mother. I really am blessed.
Because I've made such wonderful friends.
"Hehe, thank you. …Then, may I ask a small favor?"
"Yeah! Anything!"
"Aisha asking for something? That's rare. I'll hear you out this time."
"I owe you more than I can ever repay. A 'small' favor is nothing."
That's good. Perhaps remembering the past made me unbearably lonely tonight.
Just like Mother once did for me… I want to lean on them a little.
Over a hundred years old, and still like this. I really haven't grown up… Well, I'll just blame it on my mind being pulled down by my current age.
"Then… would you sleep together with me tonight?"
"Of course."
"'How did it end up like this?'"
◆
In the darkness lit only by moonlight, a lone man stood motionless before a white gravestone.
"…Your daughter grew up beautiful, just like you. …To devote yourself, even after death, to a child who hadn't even been born yet—you really were an incredible woman. As expected of the woman I loved."
There was no one around him. The only thing that responded to his words was the iris flowers swaying gently in the wind.
"Hey, Misha. I'm a selfish man, aren't I? As a mafioso, I've killed plenty of enemies. Some of them were civilians. In this line of work, there's no way to keep your hands clean. And yet… when it comes to her, I dare to say she killed you. What right do I have to say that?"
A bitter, self-mocking smile spread across his face. It was not the expression of a boss who ruled over a Family—it was simply that of a broken, aging man.
Though now known as a moderate within the mafia, he had once been famous as a hardliner. Killing had once been routine. The number of people he had ordered killed could not be counted on just two hands.
And not only those in the underworld. For the sake of his goals, he had taken innocent lives as well—people who knew nothing of his world. Some must have had happy families. He had stolen those futures without hesitation. And yet when the same thing happened to him, he raged in fury.
In the end, wasn't this merely his own deeds coming back to him? That was how he ridiculed himself.
◆
The reason he became a moderate was because he met a certain woman.
He didn't want her to hate him—he wanted her to love him. For that single reason, he restrained his violence. Even after her death, that did not change.
That was precisely why her death wounded him so deeply—and why he came to fiercely hate the infant who caused it. That was why he abandoned the baby in Meteor City. He could not accept that his beloved wife had been killed by his own child.
Humans are creatures who forget. As time passes, the waves of emotion settle, for better or worse. In the heat of rage back then, it had been different—but after several years, he began to ask himself why he had done such a thing.
Of course, if he were returned to that moment, he would likely do the same. His wife had died, and from the newborn child he had sensed something ominous. To not consider abandoning such a child would require saintly altruism.
But even that sense of dread faded with time. And so he wondered—why? Why had he acted so blindly on emotion?
The moment that thought took root, he ordered his subordinates to investigate Meteor City.
Fortunately, the mafia and Meteor City had close ties. The mafia supplied vast amounts of weapons and valuables under the guise of "garbage," and in return, Meteor City provided manpower.
Through connections with other mafia groups, it was possible to look into Meteor City's interior.
However, the information he sought never surfaced.
He did not know it, but that was inevitable. The girl in question was treated as a taboo even within Meteor City itself. Speaking of her existence was forbidden by the city's council. In a place where horizontal ties were stronger than anything, no one would dare break such a taboo—at least, none of the people his men encountered did.
Thus, he concluded the child must have died.
He felt a profound sense of loss—but he comforted himself by thinking that even if she had been found, what would he have done?
Fourteen years had passed since he lost his wife. While continuing his mafia work, tending the flower field she had left behind became his only hobby.
The blooming season had passed, and he had just begun thinking about preparing it again for next year when a subordinate reported something strange.
No—the words themselves were understandable. But his mind could not immediately process them. Someone claiming to be Misha's daughter had appeared. It took several seconds for his brain to catch up.
An impostor? An assassin? Or… could it possibly be—?
Confused, he nonetheless decided to meet the person. If it was a lie, he wouldn't merely fill them with bullets—he would make them regret being alive. His beloved wife would be angry at him for that, but the thought that someone might be mocking her made it impossible to restrain his darker impulses.
And yet—
The moment he saw her, those thoughts were blown away.
—Misha.
He nearly cried out her name.
The girl carried so much of his beloved wife's likeness. Plastic surgery. Nen abilities. There were countless ways to obtain a photograph and mimic her face.
And yet—he didn't think so.
For some reason, he instinctively knew. This girl was Misha's child.
As he listened to her story, instinct became certainty.
The child he had abandoned right after birth had returned—grown as beautiful as her mother.
For a man who had long regretted abandoning her, it should have been nothing short of a miracle.
If he had acknowledged her—if he had accepted her now that she bore no trace of vengeance—perhaps a fragment of the happy family he had lost could have been restored.
But that did not happen.
He had regrets, yes. But he also believed that, faced with the same circumstances, he would likely make the same choice again.
And no matter what he said, it would not change the fact that he had abandoned his child. Nor would it change the fact that his wife had died because of her.
He could not control his emotions.
Humans do not understand themselves as well as they think. Emotions, especially, can rule a person all at once—joy, despair, rage, regret, fear, affection, jealousy—all tangled together, racing through his heart.
Before he realized it, he was shouting at his daughter, driven purely by emotion.
By the time he came to his senses, it was too late.
No—perhaps the mistake had begun the moment she was born. The option of living happily together had vanished long ago.
Realizing that, he drove her away. If she stayed any longer, his resolve would waver.
As he watched her leave—so lonely, so small—he felt heat gather at the corners of his eyes.
Remembering that moment, the man murmured to the white gravestone:
"Hmph. To think there's someone besides you who can make me shed tears… That girl grew up well. I did nothing. You were the one who raised her so splendidly. Be proud, Misha. You were… the best wife."
Only the irises, swaying in the wind, answered his words.
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