"Mom bought 10 apples at the market. We ate 4 this morning, 3 at lunch, and none for dinner. How many are left?"
"Hmm~."
At Dad's question, I held up my fingers.
There are ten apples, just like my fingers, right? We ate four this morning… so how many should I fold down?
Watching me struggle, Dad gave me a wry smile and offered a hint.
"Hint: the number of apples left equals Eto's age this year. How old is Eto?"
Ah! I think I know!
I shouted the answer confidently.
"Three thousand years old!"
"You're three!? How do you already know the thousands digit, which I haven't even taught you!?"
Looks like I was wrong. Too bad…
Seeing me pout, Dad couldn't help but laugh and ruffled my hair. The touch through my hair felt so soft—I loved it.
Feeling cheered, I leapt into Dad's arms.
I love Dad. I love his gentle smile, his warm embrace, his voice, his smell, even his 'taste.' I love it all.
Ding-dong!
"Who could that be?"
Just then the doorbell rang. Dad got to his feet.
I wanted to stay in his arms a little longer, but I'm a good daughter, so I let him free his waist so he could greet the guest.
He crept to the door and peered through the peephole.
"…!"
I felt him swallow silently. Then he turned back to me and whispered quietly.
"Eto! [Formation B]!"
Boing!
Like a startled rabbit, I pricked up my ears and stood at attention.
[Formation B]. It's our home's emergency protocol whenever a strange visitor shows up.
I don't know why we have it—Dad says the world is full of scary people.
[Formation A] is our normal state. [Formation B] means I hide.
[Formation C] is when Dad and I hide together—I like that best because I can cling to him. I hope the day we use it comes soon.
The final [Formation D] is an unconditional escape.
I asked Dad if it involved jumping out the window like in the movies, but he frowned and said no. Instead, he prepares a rope tied securely to the balcony railing, then we escape that way.
So I opened the closet as we'd practiced and hid among the blankets.
I was still curious who was outside, so I left the closet door slightly ajar.
Once Dad saw me hiding, he took a deep breath and calmly opened the front door.
Beyond it stood a man in a white coat.
Dad always tenses up when he sees people in white coats. Especially when I'm around. Why is that?
The man looked about Dad's age. He had dark circles as if he hadn't slept for days, and his eyes were bloodshot.
He looked exhausted, but even a child like me could tell he was trying not to show it.
Dad asked, "What can I do for you?"
"Are you Mr. Takaki Koma?"
"Yes—"
"Nice to meet you. I'm Second Investigator Shinichi Hashimoto of the Ghoul Countermeasures Bureau. I'll be succeeding your father, Mr. Takaki Harima."
"My father…? I haven't had any contact with him in a long time. What business do you have with me?"
"…I'm sorry to have to bring sad news."
Gulp.
I saw Dad's shoulders tremble. Why was he trembling?
"Four days ago… Senior Investigator Takaki Harima—who was on an important operation—was attacked by a ghoul while saving me…"
Mr. Hashimoto's face twisted with pain as he spoke each word as though it hurt him, but he forced himself onward:
"…He died in the line of duty."
Died in the line of duty? What does that mean? It sounds like a hard word…
Kraaaang!!!
Startled! I almost made a sound.
Dad suddenly punched the wall. His fist trembled and dripped blood.
He looked like he was in agony.
I wanted to rush out, but in [Formation B] I'm not allowed to come out until Dad says so, so I held back.
I wondered what expression Mr. Hashimoto saw on Dad's face. He had looked at him with grief-filled eyes, then bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry… My inexperience held back Senior Investigator Takaki. Your father's death is entirely my fault."
"…Raise your head."
Dad's voice came, at first so broken I wondered if it was really him.
"He was the kind of idiot who said he'd kill one more ghoul before he died… yet in the end he saved his subordinate… that last humane act—what's wrong with that…?"
"…I'm sorry."
Mr. Hashimoto couldn't lift his head for a long moment after that.
Dad said nothing more, stood silently for a bit, then spoke again.
"Can I ask you one thing?"
"Yes. Anything."
"What kind of person was my father—the man you knew?"
Mr. Hashimoto straightened, closed his eyes, pondered seriously, then replied:
"Even the most ferocious ghoul… he always sought to capture them alive when possible, giving them a chance to atone. He was that merciful."
"Really…?"
Every time I heard Dad's trembling voice, my chest ached for no reason. I didn't know why. I didn't want to hear him like that.
Mr. Hashimoto said a few more things, then before leaving handed Dad his business card and a paper envelope.
'Will'
What was written inside? I'm too young to read hanja; it's a shame.
After Mr. Hashimoto left, Dad tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper right there. Since the guest had gone, was it okay for me to come out? I quietly called, "Dad…?"
"…"
He didn't answer.
He tossed the paper aside and sank to the corner of the room. I hurried out from among the blankets and followed him.
"Dad? What's wrong?"
"…"
I couldn't see his face behind his hands, but I understood how he felt.
Sob... sob...
I was surprised. It was the first time I'd ever seen Dad cry.
He was doing his best to hold it back, but his sadness-tinged voice and the tears slipping between his fingers gave him away.
Dad always comforted me when I cried.
Now I had to comfort him. But what could a little child do?
"…"
I crept closer and wrapped my arms tightly around his head.
Dad's crying stopped for a moment, startled.
"Don't cry."
"…"
Tremble...
His trembling hands closed over my back as I clung to him.
"Kuuuu...!! Waaahhhh!!!"
Then he unleashed all his pent-up grief and wailed. I couldn't stop his sorrow, and hating myself for being powerless, tears sprang to my own eyes.
So I cried with him. Dad held me and continued to cry for a long time.
I hid the paper he'd read.
Someday, when I'm grown and can read difficult writing, I will read what's written here.
And I will find out what made Dad so sad—and then I will truly comfort him.
To Takaki Koma,
You may already know this, but when ghoul investigators undertake dangerous operations, they write a will in advance. If you're reading this, it likely means I died because of some stupid mistake.
We never even met, let alone heard each other's voices. I'm sorry for being such a stubborn father.
I still encounter many ghouls. I still believe we must deal with them ruthlessly, but ever since the incident with you, I've begun to see things I never saw before.
Do you know what my colleagues have started calling me? My old nickname, 'Butcher,' has somehow changed to 'Buddha.'
That may not be entirely good—half-hearted kindness can be fatal for a ghoul investigator. Still…I don't see it as misfortune. People can change, and perhaps ghouls can too. I think about that sometimes.
…Writing all this feels rather embarrassing. I'll do my best to survive today so this will never reaches you.
P.S.: That promise you made to call me when your daughter grows up and marries… is it still valid?
—Your father, Takaki Harima