Kanjuro stood not far away, watching Yukinoshita Yukino walk toward Tsurumi Rumi, a nearly imperceptible curve forming at the corners of his mouth. Having successfully diverted Yukinoshita's attention, he withdrew his gaze with satisfaction and looked back at Yuigahama, who was leaning dependently against him.
"See, Yuigahama, the world is still beautiful, isn't it?" he said pointedly, gently putting his arm around her shoulder.
Yuigahama leaned against him submissively, watching the flickering campfire. The light of the fire was reflected in her eyes, as was Kanjuro's figure. She murmured, "Mm... as long as you're here, anywhere is fine."
The flames crackled, reflecting the different thoughts of everyone. The camping trip continued, and the shadows hidden beneath the laughter seemed to spread quietly with the night. What role would Tsurumi Rumi, this newly appeared, lonely little figure, play in this complex story?
Yukinoshita Yukino tried to get Tsurumi Rumi to join everyone, handing her some simple ingredients and saying gently, "Rumi, can you help me prepare dinner?"
Tsurumi Rumi only glanced at her, her small mouth pouting slightly. She shook her head and turned her attention back to the phone screen, full of detachment.
Just as Yukinoshita was feeling a bit helpless, a figure loomed over. Kanjuro had walked over at some point and knelt down to eye level with Tsurumi Rumi. When his deep, smiling eyes focused on Rumi, the little girl was clearly stunned. She stared blankly at Kanjuro's face, which was handsome to the point of being surreal, and at the wicked yet incredibly attractive curve of his mouth. Her small cheeks turned red at a visible speed, and even the tips of her ears were dyed crimson. She subconsciously put down her phone, looking a bit flustered.
"Rumi, are you willing to help this big sister with me?" Kanjuro's voice was low and gentle, carrying an irresistible allure.
Tsurumi Rumi hardly hesitated and nodded vigorously, responding softly, "...Mm."
Seeing this scene, Yukinoshita Yukino couldn't help but palm her forehead and sigh softly, "Are kids these days... also this shallow?"
Hearing this, Kanjuro laughed. He actually reached out and easily picked up little Tsurumi Rumi, letting her sit on his arm. Rumi let out a small cry of surprise, and her small hands instinctively hugged Kanjuro's neck. Her large eyes were filled with surprise and a hint of secret joy, her worshipful gaze locked firmly on Kanjuro's face.
"It's not that kids are shallow," Kanjuro said, holding Rumi and looking at Yukinoshita with a playful tone. "It's that you, Little Yukino, are sometimes too naive." The deep meaning in his words made Yukinoshita frown.
Perhaps to further demonstrate his "approachability," or perhaps as a whim, Kanjuro lowered his head and gently kissed Tsurumi Rumi's smooth forehead.
This sudden intimate gesture made Tsurumi Rumi tremble all over. It wasn't rejection; rather, a deeper, instinctive quiver was touched. She looked up at Kanjuro's face so close to her own, her clear eyes churning with emotion. An indescribable feeling of dependence and adoration broke through her defenses. She opened her mouth, and a form of address that surprised everyone blurted out:
"Papa!!"
That call was crisp and loud, carrying a child's pure sense of confirmation, exploding like a thunderclap by the campfire.
"???"
The smile on Kanjuro's face froze instantly, and his arm holding Rumi tightened almost imperceptibly. He suddenly lowered his head and carefully scrutinized the girl's face in his arms. Those eyes, that silhouette... a long-buried memory fragment of a brief desk-mate from ten years ago, along with a vague impression that she had mentioned being pregnant, flooded into his mind like a tide. That woman's face actually overlapped significantly with this little girl's face!
(Could it be...?)
He covered his forehead, feeling that the development of things was exceeding expectations.
"What?!" Yuigahama, who was nearby, cried out in surprise, looking at Kanjuro and Tsurumi Rumi in disbelief. "Papa? Another one?!"
Yukinoshita Yukino was even more furious, her cheeks puffing out and her ice-blue eyes burning with anger as she glared at Kanjuro. "Kanjuro! You... you've gone too far! Even with such a small child..." She thought Kanjuro was playing some wicked trick again, not even sparing a child.
Kanjuro quickly regained his composure. He pulled out a somewhat helpless smile, trying to salvage the situation, and gently guided Rumi in his arms: "Rumi thinks I look familiar and wants to call me Papa, right? But I'm not really your papa, am I?" He hoped it was just an emotional projection from a little girl lacking fatherly love.
However, Tsurumi Rumi shook her head vigorously, and large tears rolled down from her eyes without warning. She sobbed and said in a tearful but exceptionally clear voice:
"I... I've never seen you... Mom said I haven't had a dad since I was little..."
"But... but I feel you're so kind... so familiar..."
"Just like... just like Papa!"
Her small hands tightly gripped Kanjuro's clothes, as if afraid he would disappear. That crying was filled with grievance, longing, and a child's intuitive, unquestionable conviction.
The scene was silent. Yuigahama stood with her mouth open, not knowing how to react. Yukinoshita Yukino's anger froze on her face, turning into deep confusion and a hint of realization—if this were true, it would only further prove what a promiscuous and irresponsible person Kanjuro was.
Kanjuro looked at the crying little girl in his arms, feeling her unreserved dependence and that call originating from blood instinct. His gaze became complex and inscrutable. He gently patted Rumi's back, quietly comforting her, but his heart was already in turmoil.
(Tsurumi Rumi...)
(That woman from ten years ago...)
(It seems I need to properly 'recollect' and re-evaluate the impact of this 'accident'.)
The bonfire still burned, illuminating Kanjuro's profound and inscrutable face, and the tiny figure in his arms who had just found her 'daddy' but might soon be drawn into an even deeper vortex.
The threads of fate always seemed to entangle and tighten in the most 'beloved,' dramatic, and twisted ways.
Tsurumi Rumi's tearful 'Daddy' and her words about never having seen her father, like an invisible thread, instantly tugged at the softest and most secret strings in the hearts of Yui Yuigahama and Yukinoshita Yukino.
Yuigahama and Yukinoshita instinctively exchanged glances, both seeing a complex and unspeakable emotion in the other's eyes—a mutual understanding born of shared suffering, and a deep-seated regret that perhaps even they didn't want to touch too much.
They both understood that the process of growing up 'without a father' often came with unspeakable loneliness and a sense of alienation from the outside world.
"People without fathers tend to be very reclusive from childhood... I'm sorry."
Kanjuro's voice sounded, this time with less of his usual playfulness and calculation, and more of a rare, almost settled apology. His gaze fell on Yui Yuigahama, his deep eyes seeming to see through her feigned cheerfulness, straight to her heart. "Yui, when you were little... you must have been very lonely, too?"
These words were like a key, easily unlocking the floodgates of emotion that Yui Yuigahama had tried so hard to keep closed.
Having always feigned composure, even numbing herself with twisted affection, she now felt a rush of suppressed grievances and bitterness under Kanjuro's seemingly sincere concern. Her eyes quickly reddened, tears welling up. She blinked hard, trying to hold them back, her voice choked, yet still trying to maintain a smile:
"N-no... actually... actually, being alone is quite nice, really..."
Her words were so pale and powerless, and her forced smile was even more heartbreaking.
Kanjuro looked at her like this, and the pleasure of manipulating people in his heart seemed to fade a little, replaced by a more complex emotion that even he couldn't clearly define.
He took a step forward, extended his arms, and gently but firmly embraced Yui Yuigahama. This hug, unlike previous touches with lustful or controlling undertones, was more like a father's protection for a wronged child.
"It's alright," his voice was low and warm, whispered in her ear, "Daddy won't leave you again. You won't be alone anymore."
Yui Yuigahama's body stiffened for a moment, then completely softened. She buried her face deep in Kanjuro's chest, her hands tightly embracing him, as if to make up for all the hugs she had missed over the past decade or so.
The tears finally broke, silently soaking his clothes. In this embrace, the loneliness of sleepless nights, the awkwardness when classmates asked about her father, the envy at seeing others' complete families... all the pent-up emotions seemed to find an outlet.
She greedily absorbed this 'fatherly love' she had longed for for so long, even knowing that the source of this love was so twisted and unbearable, she was willing to drown in it at this moment.
Yukinoshita Yukino watched this scene quietly from the side.
She already knew Yuigahama was Kanjuro's daughter, and rationally understood this emotional flow of father-daughter reunion.
But watching Yuigahama lean so unreservedly into Kanjuro's arms, seeing Kanjuro's rare, seemingly genuine tenderness, an unavoidable subtle pang of bitterness, which even she was unwilling to admit, arose in her heart.
(If... if I also had the right to be like this...)
The moment this thought appeared, she forcibly suppressed it. How could Yukinoshita Yukino envy such a chaotic 'family affection' built upon countless lies and immoral relationships?
She forcefully turned her face away, casting her gaze towards the flickering bonfire, trying to use its scorching light to dispel that unwarranted ripple in her heart. But the embracing figures were like a brand, etched into her peripheral vision.
Kanjuro gently patted Yuigahama's back, but his gaze went over her head, noticing Yukinoshita's subtle awkwardness and her action of looking away. The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly.
(It seems that even the ice-cold Yukinoshita is not entirely unmoved deep down...)
He held a 'daughter' in his arms who had committed murder for him and was devoted to him, and before him was a little girl whose childhood was incomplete because of him and who had just recognized him as her father. Not far away stood a young woman who both rejected him and perhaps felt a strange concern for him.
This feeling of being needed, relied upon, and even secretly envied, greatly satisfied his bottomless desire for control and sense of existence. By the bonfire in the night, the web of emotions, with him at its center, spread wider and became more complex. And he, he was happy to be the sole weaver and master of this web. After dinner, Kanjuro indeed kept his promise, taking Tsurumi Rumi alone away from the noisy campsite to play by a clear stream nearby. He patiently accompanied her to pick up pebbles and skip them across the water, pointed out the fish in the water and told her their names, and even clumsily wove a somewhat loose flower crown for her to wear. The golden glow of the setting sun bathed them both, creating a warm and beautiful scene.
However, this'special treatment' was like a thorn, piercing the eyes of other elementary school students who also craved attention. When Kanjuro returned from the stream, holding Tsurumi Rumi's hand and passing the edge of the campsite, a few children who had previously isolated Rumi, emboldened by their numbers, began to loudly mock Tsurumi Rumi right in front of Kanjuro:
"Hmph! Tsurumi Rumi, what's so great about you!"
"Exactly! She's just an orphan no one wants!"
"Brother Kanjuro is only playing with you because he pities you!"
"You don't deserve to be with Brother Kanjuro!"
The childish voices uttered words that were like knives, cutting into Tsurumi Rumi's already sensitive and fragile heart. Her small body trembled violently, her eyes, which had just lit up from playing with 'Daddy,' instantly dimmed, and tears streamed out, even more miserably and aggrieved than when she had first recognized him. She lowered her head forcefully, her small hand clutching Kanjuro's clothes tightly, as if that were her only reliance.
Kanjuro's gentle smile instantly turned cold. He didn't immediately scold the children, but instead crouched down, gently embraced the crying Tsurumi Rumi, and used his broad back to shield her from those malicious gazes. He patted her back, his voice so gentle it could drip with water:
"Rumi, don't cry, we won't pay attention to them." He carefully wiped away her tears with a handkerchief. "They're jealous of how cute Rumi is, jealous of how good Daddy is to Rumi. Let's go, Daddy will take you to a quieter place."
He didn't choose to argue or punish them on the spot; that would be too boring, and too inconsistent with the image he was cultivating. He led the sobbing Rumi directly away from the troublesome area, leaving the children's laughter and discussions behind, heading towards the quieter grove next to the campsite.
Under a large tree, on a thick bed of fallen leaves, Kanjuro sat down with his knees hugged, letting Tsurumi Rumi sit beside him. The light in the forest was dim, with only the afterglow of the setting sun casting dappled light through the gaps in the branches.
Kanjuro looked at the little girl beside him, who was still gently sobbing, and displayed a perfectly appropriate expression of'self-reproach' and'sadness.' He sighed softly, his voice low:
"Rumi, I'm sorry... Daddy was useless, I didn't immediately help you teach those bad kids a lesson, and you were wronged."
Tsurumi Rumi lifted her tear-filled little face, looked at Kanjuro's 'annoyed' expression, and quickly shook her head vigorously. She reached out her small hand, grabbed Kanjuro's thumb, and said in a voice heavy with a nasal tone but unusually clear and firm:
"No, you weren't! Daddy wasn't useless at all!"
Her small face was slightly flushed with excitement, and in her big eyes, still glistening with tears, there was a cold glint of stubbornness that was extremely unbefitting her age.
"Daddy is the most amazing person in the world!"
"They... they bullied me, called me an orphan... I'll remember this!"
"Even if... even if I want to get revenge..." She paused, her voice lowered, but with a chilling seriousness, "It should be me helping Daddy get revenge! I can't always let Daddy protect me!"
A ten-year-old child saying something like "help Daddy get revenge" should have sounded naive and ridiculous. But at this moment, coming from Tsurumi Rumi, coupled with her unusually calm eyes and tone, it revealed a chilling coldness. The long-term suppression of isolation, the anger of being publicly humiliated, and a pathological dependence and worship of this 'father' combined into a dangerous thought.
Kanjuro was slightly stunned at her words, then a deeply pleased light flashed in the depths of his eyes. He reached out and gently stroked Tsurumi Rumi's hair, his movements full of 'fatherly love,' but the curve of his lips held appreciation and encouragement.
(What an... unexpected harvest.)
(At such a young age, she already understands how to bury resentment in her heart and has conceived thoughts of revenge?)
(Truly worthy of my bloodline... This dark sprout, nurtured in despair and malice, is truly... wonderful.)
He didn't deny her words, nor did he offer any positive guidance, he merely hugged her tighter and chuckled softly:
"Good, my Rumi is so sensible, so brave."
He didn't say "no" or "you should be tolerant"; his acquiescence and this ambiguous praise were undoubtedly watering and fertilizing the dark seedling in Tsurumi Rumi's heart.
The sun completely sank below the horizon, and the grove grew darker. Kanjuro held this 'daughter' in his arms, who he had just acknowledged and who seemed to be already inheriting some of his traits, feeling the negative emotions brewing in her small body, his smile in the shadows becoming increasingly profound and inscrutable.
He embraced a potential, tiny 'avenger.' And this, it seemed, was far more interesting than simply playing a benevolent father.
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