[Daichi's point of view ]
The plane began its descent toward Barcelona, and Daichi pressed his nose against the window like he did every time since the start of the trip. Next to him, Kenji was reading quietly in his eternal notebook, unperturbed.
"Did you see? The sea!" Daichi exclaimed, watching the Mediterranean sparkle beneath the clouds. "We're arriving in Spain!"
Mom, sitting behind him, tapped his shoulder. "Daichi, you're going to leave a mark on the window."
"It's okay! It's Spain, Mom!"
Dad, as always, was checking his files. Daichi knew he had prepared itineraries for every day, with backup plans in case of rain, strikes, or tourist crowds. That was Dad, after all.
"Barcelona," Dad said, looking up. "We'll stay here for five days, then take the train to Madrid. After that, Seville and Granada. Fifteen days total before we leave for London."
Daichi counted on his fingers. "Fifteen days? That's HUGE."
"That's the planned schedule, yes."
"And soccer?" Daichi asked immediately.
Dad consulted his notes. "Camp Nou is scheduled for the day after tomorrow."
Daichi pumped his fist. "YES!"
Kenji looked up from his notebook. "You're going to see a stadium."
"NOT JUST A STADIUM. CAMP NOU."
"It's a stadium."
"It's THE stadium."
Kenji shrugged and went back to his notes. Daichi knew his brother would never understand his passion for soccer, but that was okay. Kenji was Kenji.
Barcelona's airport was modern, bright, and crowded. Daichi looked everywhere at once — signs in Catalan and Spanish, people speaking quickly, shops, cafes. His translation necklace, set to Spanish, buzzed softly in his ear whenever he heard conversations around him. Handy, he thought.
A car was waiting for them at the exit — another comfortable sedan, with a smiling driver who greeted them in English.
"Welcome to Barcelona, Tanaka family. My name is Carlos. I'll be your driver during your stay."
Daichi loved this kind of detail. Grandpa had really thought of everything. During the drive to the hotel, he watched Barcelona's streets pass by. Modern buildings stood next to ancient ones, palm trees grew on the sidewalks, and everywhere, there was a different energy from Rome. More relaxed, maybe. More colorful.
"Look, Kenji, bikes everywhere!"
Kenji looked out the window. "There are bike lanes. That's well thought out."
"EVERYTHING is well thought out in Spain!"
"You know, we just arrived."
"I ALREADY HAVE AN OPINION."
The hotel was located near Las Ramblas, Barcelona's main artery. Daichi dropped his stuff in two minutes flat and was already at the door.
"Are we going out? Are we going out? ARE WE GOING OUT?"
Mom looked at him with a tired smile. "Give us time to breathe, Daichi."
"WE'LL BREATHE OUTSIDE!"
Dad, methodically putting his things away in the closet, said calmly, "We'll go out in an hour. In the meantime, you can watch television."
Daichi pouted for a second, then remembered he was in Spain and nothing could ruin his good mood. He turned on the TV and landed on a sports channel showing match highlights. "PERFECT."
Exactly one hour later — Dad had timed it — they finally went out. Las Ramblas was packed. Tourists, flower sellers, street performers, people strolling while eating ice cream. Daichi walked ahead, absorbing everything.
"Kenji, look at that guy! He's breathing fire!"
A street performer was indeed breathing flames in front of an admiring crowd. His Quirk, probably. Daichi stopped to watch, fascinated.
"He controls fire," Kenji said, approaching. "Or generates it. Hard to tell."
"That's SO COOL."
"Could you do something like that with your Quirk?"
Daichi thought. "My shockwaves, if I concentrate them, I can create wind. But not fire."
"Too bad."
"Why too bad?"
Kenji shrugged. "It would have been impressive."
Daichi smiled. He admits it would be impressive. That's a compliment, from him.
Further on, they came across a bird market. Parrots, canaries, budgies in cages. A vendor was offering to let children hold a small parrot on their shoulder.
"I want to try!" Daichi said.
The vendor, an old man with a toothless smile, placed a small green parrot on his shoulder. The bird tilted its head, looked at Daichi, then gently pecked his ear.
"He likes me!" Daichi exclaimed.
Kenji looked at him, a discreet smile on his lips. "You have a feather in your hair."
"It's a GIFT."
Mom took a picture. Dad jotted something in his notebook — probably the market's location, for future reference.
That evening, they dined at a typical restaurant with tapas to share. Daichi discovered patatas bravas, fried calamari, Iberian ham. He ate like he was starving.
"It's GOOD," he repeated between bites.
"You say that at every meal," Kenji said.
"Because it's TRUE at every meal."
Dad tasted each dish with the same method as for Italian pasta — eyes closed, chewing slowly. Mom just smiled, watching her two sons.
The next day, they visited the Sagrada Familia. Daichi had never seen anything like it. The church rose toward the sky like a stone forest, with pointed towers, strange sculptures, shapes that seemed almost alive. He stood gaping at the facade.
"It's... it's..."
"Impressive," Kenji completed.
"YES."
They went inside. Light filtered through colorful stained glass, casting red, blue, green patches on the columns and floor. Daichi looked up at the vertiginous ceiling.
"It looks like a forest," he murmured.
Kenji nodded. "That was Gaudí's intention. To create a stone forest."
Daichi fell silent. For once, he didn't feel like talking. He just wanted to look. Nearby, a group of tourists listened to a guide explaining the basilica's history. Daichi activated his necklace to understand.
"...Gaudí devoted the last years of his life to this project, sacrificing everything. When he died in 1926, the church was far from finished."
Sacrificing everything for a work, Daichi thought. Like a hero sacrificing themselves to save people.
He looked at Kenji, who was observing a stained glass window with an almost unsettling intensity. He sacrifices things too. Time, energy. To understand his Quirk.
"Kenji."
"What?"
"You're a bit like Gaudí, aren't you?"
Kenji blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You spend your time building something. Understanding. Learning. Even if it takes years."
Kenji thought. "It's different. He built for others. I build for myself."
"For yourself, and for later. For when you're a hero."
Kenji didn't answer. But Daichi saw that little smile at the corner of his lips — the one he had when he was happy without wanting to show it.
That afternoon, they visited Park Güell. More Gaudí. Curved benches covered in colorful mosaics, columns that looked like trees, breathtaking views of Barcelona. Daichi ran everywhere, touching everything, sitting on every bench.
"Kenji, come see! You can see the whole city!"
Kenji joined him on the terrace. The wind was blowing, ruffling his black hair.
"It's beautiful," he said simply.
"You say that about everything."
"Because everything is beautiful here."
Daichi looked at him. Sometimes, his brother said things that surprised him. Simple things, but profound.
"You're weird, Kenji."
"I know."
"But it's okay."
Kenji smiled — a real smile, this time. "I know too."
That evening, Dad took them to a restaurant specializing in paella. A huge dish of yellow rice, loaded with seafood, chicken, vegetables, arrived at their table. Daichi attacked it enthusiastically.
"It's GOOD!"
"You said that at lunch too," Kenji said.
"Because it was good at lunch too!"
Mom laughed. Dad tasted the paella with his usual method.
"The rice is slightly crunchy," he observed. "That's typical of Valencian paella."
Daichi looked at him, impressed. "You tasted it once and you already know where it's from?"
"I read."
Of course, Daichi thought. Dad read everything.
The following days flew by at a crazy pace.
They visited Camp Nou — Daichi almost cried with joy entering the stadium. He walked slowly through the tunnel leading to the field, imagining the players who passed through here before every match.
"They must be stressed," he said to Kenji.
"Probably."
"But once on the field, it must disappear."
Kenji thought. "Or transform. Into energy. Into focus."
Daichi looked at him. "You manage to turn everything into energy stuff."
"It's my Quirk."
"No, it's YOU."
Kenji didn't answer, but Daichi saw he was thinking about his words. On the field, Daichi crouched to touch the grass. It was soft, perfectly maintained.
"Players ran here," he murmured. "Messi. Ronaldinho. Cruyff."
"You want a moment of silence?" Kenji asked.
Daichi looked at him, saw the discreet smile, and laughed. "You're silly."
"That's new. Usually I'm weird."
"You're both."
They took the train to Madrid, crossing landscapes of hills and white villages clinging to mountainsides. Daichi watched out the window, fascinated by the country's beauty.
Sometimes, he saw people with obvious Quirks — a farmer making trees grow before his eyes, a worker lifting enormous loads effortlessly.
"In Spain, Quirks are everywhere too," he said to Kenji.
"Like in Japan. Like in Italy. It's the same everywhere."
"No, it's not the same. Here, people seem more... relaxed about it."
Kenji thought. "Maybe it's cultural."
"Maybe."
In Madrid, they visited the Royal Palace. Daichi was impressed by the luxury, the gold, the ceiling frescoes. But his favorite was El Retiro Park, where he rented a small boat to row on the lake.
"Have you ever rowed?" Kenji asked.
"No."
"You're going to sink."
"PESSIMIST."
They didn't sink. Daichi rowed clumsily, going in circles, but Kenji took the oars and guided them with calm precision.
"You're good at everything," Daichi said, admiring.
"No. I'm good at observing. Rowing is like energy. You have to feel the rhythm."
"You feel the water's rhythm?"
"I feel its resistance. Its movement." Kenji dipped the oar. "It's a form of energy, after all."
Daichi nodded. Sometimes, he forgot his brother lived in a different world than his own.
That evening, they ate churros with hot chocolate. Daichi got it all over his hands, his cheeks, his shirt. Kenji ate neatly, dipping his churros with almost manic precision.
"You're not human," Daichi said.
"You've told me that before."
"Because it's true."
Mom took a picture of Daichi covered in chocolate. Dad noted the restaurant's address for next time.
They visited Toledo, an ancient fortified city an hour from Madrid. Daichi ran along the ramparts, climbing everywhere for a better view.
"It's old," Kenji said, looking at an ancient door.
"Very old."
Kenji observed the details — an Arabic inscription, a church turned into a mosque then back into a church. "It's a mix of civilizations," he murmured.
Daichi didn't understand everything, but he could see Kenji was fascinated.
They visited Seville, with its cathedral and Giralda. Daichi ran up the steps, arriving at the top breathless but happy.
"You can see the whole city!" he shouted.
Kenji joined him more calmly, catching his breath.
"It's high," he said.
"You don't get vertigo?"
"No. I'm just tired. You run everywhere."
"It's more fun."
They stayed a moment, watching Seville spread beneath them. Ocher rooftops, green courtyards, the river shining in the distance.
"Kenji."
"What?"
"This is the best trip of my life."
Kenji looked at him. "You're thirteen."
"So?"
"You'll have other trips. More beautiful, maybe."
Daichi shook his head. "No. This one is the first. The first outside Japan. The first with the whole family. The first where we meet heroes." He paused. "Nothing can beat this."
Kenji didn't answer. But he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder — a rare, precious gesture.
Daichi smiled.
That evening, they attended a flamenco show. Daichi didn't know what to expect, but when the dancer entered the stage, dressed in a red and black ruffled dress, he was captivated. The clapping hands, the feet stamping the floor, the weeping guitar — everything was intense, passionate.
"It's like a fight," he murmured to Kenji.
"What do you mean?"
"The dancer, she's fighting against the rhythm. She defies it. She tames it."
Kenji watched the scene with fresh eyes.
"You're right," he said. "It's a form of combat."
Daichi swelled with pride. I impressed Kenji. For once.
They visited Granada and the Alhambra. Daichi ran through the gardens, touched the water in the pools despite the rules, explored every corner of the palace.
"It's beautiful," he said, out of breath.
Kenji observed the water features, how light reflected off them.
"Water energy," he murmured.
On the fourteenth day, they returned to Barcelona. Daichi absolutely wanted to go back to Las Ramblas to buy souvenirs. He chose a Barça jersey for himself, a small leather notebook for Kenji ("for your notes"), a fan for Mom, and a book on Spanish architecture for Dad.
"Did you spend all your savings?" Kenji asked.
"Almost. But it's worth it."
Kenji looked at the leather notebook. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
Daichi smiled, happy.
On the last evening, they dined one last time at their favorite restaurant. Daichi ordered a huge paella, tapas, churros.
"You're going to explode," Kenji said.
"I can handle it."
Mom laughed. Dad noted something in his notebook.
"Tomorrow," Dad said, "we leave for London."
Daichi felt a wave of excitement mixed with nostalgia. Spain had been incredible. But England awaited.
"Big Ben," he said. "The London Eye. The guards with their big hats."
"And the English heroes," Kenji added.
Daichi looked at him. "You didn't forget, did you?"
"No."
"You never forget anything."
"No."
The car took them to the airport in the morning coolness. Daichi watched Barcelona recede through the window, the palm trees, the buildings, the streets he was starting to know.
"Are you going to miss it?" Kenji asked.
Daichi thought.
"Yes. But it's okay. We'll come back."
"How do you know?"
"Because that's how it is. You always come back to the places you loved."
Kenji looked at him for a long moment.
"You're less dumb than you seem."
Daichi laughed. "You're less weird than you seem."
They smiled.
The plane took off, carrying with it the memories of a land of sun, rhythm, and passion.
[Hiroshi's viewpoints ]
Hiroshi Tanaka watched his sons settle into the plane. Daichi already had his nose pressed to the window, as always. Kenji was quietly reading his notebook, unperturbed.
Fifteen days in Spain.
Hiroshi thought back to everything they had seen, done, experienced. To the sparkle in Daichi's eyes at every discovery. To the way Kenji observed everything in silence, recording every detail in his prodigious memory. To Akari, who had laughed more during this trip than in the entire past year.
They are happy, he thought. Truly happy.
He himself was too. In a quiet, silent, but profound way.
He thought of his own father. Of Takeshi, his father-in-law, who had organized this trip. Who had made phone calls, mobilized connections, given this priceless gift to his grandchildren.
He didn't have to, Hiroshi thought. He could have kept his money, his connections, his time. But he chose to give all of that to my children.
He felt a wave of gratitude, mixed with something else — a quiet admiration for this man who had traveled so much, woven so many bonds, built so much.
Akari, beside him, placed her hand on his.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"About your father. About everything he's done for us."
Akari smiled. "He loves his grandchildren. That's all."
"It's more than that. He built bridges his whole life. Bridges between people, between countries. And now, he's giving those bridges to our children."
Akari looked at him for a long time.
"You're a good father, Hiroshi."
He blinked, surprised. "Why do you say that?"
"Because you understand these things. Because you see what truly matters."
Hiroshi didn't answer. But he held her hand a little tighter.
He thought back over the past fifteen days. Their arrival in Barcelona, Daichi bursting with energy, Kenji observing everything with his usual calm.
Daichi lives each moment as if it might disappear tomorrow, he thought. Kenji lives each moment as if it will last forever.
Two ways of being in the world. Two ways of learning, growing, becoming.
He wondered which one would have the easier life. Which one would suffer more. Which one would find the most lasting happiness.
Then he pushed the thoughts away. It wasn't for him to decide. His role was simply to be there. To accompany them. To protect them, as much as he could.
He thought of the Sagrada Familia, that stone forest Daichi had stared at with wide eyes. Of how Kenji had observed the stained glass, the light, the shapes.
Gaudí spent his life building something he would never see finished, he thought. That's what being a father is. Building for the future, even if you won't see the final result.
He looked at his sons. Daichi had fallen asleep, head against the window, mouth slightly open. Kenji was still reading, his notebook clutched to his chest.
They are my work, Hiroshi thought. My only truly important work.
The plane continued its journey toward London, carrying with it the memories of a land of sun, rhythm, and passion — and a father who had just understood something essential about himself.