After a quick bath in the small upstairs bathroom, Toji slowly descended the stairs. His hair, black as the island's night, was still damp, small droplets sliding from the tips to the collar of his shirt.
The house was quiet, the only sound the soft creak of the wooden steps beneath his feet. Outside, the world was waking up: children laughing, a vendor's cart rattling over the stones, and the sea breeze occasionally rattling the open window frames.
Toji walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes lazily. His body still felt the heavy residue of his morning training, but the lingering scent of food was enough to shake off the last traces of fatigue.
Before he could even pull out a chair—
"Sooooo, when are we leaving, Toji-chan?"
He froze.
Why is this creature in my house?
Toji slowly looked up to find a girl with bluish-purple hair standing right beside his chair, as if she'd been lurking there for hours, just waiting for him to appear. He stared at her for two full seconds.
"…Why are you here? Don't tell me you're serious."
Her name was Sara. She lived directly across the street and was only a year older than him, but she'd already developed a supernatural talent for appearing at the most inconvenient moments possible. Usually, she followed him around like a shadow. This year, she'd started learning sewing at the tailoring shop with her mother, which Toji had viewed as a brief ceasefire from a natural disaster.
Apparently, the ceasefire was over.
"Didn't Mom say I could leave early as long as you were watching me?" Sara said, her eyes shining with that brand of excitement only a child can muster. "So… when are we leaving?"
She tilted her head, waiting.
Ah. Right.
He remembered now. He'd promised her mother he'd take her for a walk around town today. At the time, it had seemed like a quick way to stop her from trying to sneak after him into the forest during his training. He hadn't expected her to treat the promise like a sacred oath.
"Maybe later," Toji muttered.
"Why?" she asked instantly. "Don't we get more time to play if we go early?"
Toji fell silent. It was an annoyingly logical argument. He ran a hand through his damp hair. "If we go now, the park will be empty. You won't find anyone to play with."
Sara paused, humming thoughtfully as if this was a brand-new concept. She frowned, analyzing the logic with a serious pout, before finally nodding.
Toji was supposed to feel relieved. Instead, he just sighed and sat down.
In front of him was the spread his mother had left: a simple, steaming soup, fresh bread, and a plate of eggs and lightly fried meat. It was exactly what his body was screaming for after a morning in the trees. Azma wasn't in the kitchen; she was likely finishing some housework before heading to her small cafe.
Despite Toji calling this place a "village," it was more of a small town, bustling with shops and the constant noise of life. Everyone just called it a village to distinguish it from the larger city nearby that shared the "Fox" name.
Toji started eating.
"So, when are we leaving now?"
"Let me finish eating first." He glanced at her. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink, probably too wired with excitement. He looked at the clock in the hallway.
10:28 AM.
A short silence followed. Inside his head, a single thought echoed: Well. Goodbye, my day.
He exhaled softly. "After I pack us a lunch."
"Yay! How long will that take?"
"Soon."
"How long is soon?"
Toji rubbed his eyes, tired already. "Soon means… not long."
"Oh!" Sara nodded, then narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Like five-minutes soon? Or ten-minutes soon? Or grown-ups' soon… which means half an hour?"
It was slightly worrying how precise she was at five years old.
"Five minutes," Toji said, his expression blank.
"Okay!" Sara chirped, jumping off her chair only to immediately stand right back in front of him. "Should I time it? Out loud? Or quietly? Or remind you every minute so you don't forget?"
"I'll remember."
"Are you sure? Because a week ago—"
"I remember," Toji cut her off, already standing up.
Sara smiled as if nothing had happened. "Okay! I'll be right here!"
Why does that feel like a threat?
Toji looked at her for a moment. "Also, Sara… you're getting a finger flick when I'm done." He'd set a simple rule: if she bombarded him with too many questions at once, she got a light flick on the forehead.
"What?!"
"Four questions at once. Do you want three flicks or just one?"
Sara thought about it for two seconds. "…I'll take one."
...
A moment later, Azma appeared in the kitchen, drying her hands.
"Did you tell her I was home, Mom?" Toji asked.
Azma smiled with a hint of mischief. "Of course I did. She was so excited." She cast a sideways glance at her son. If Sara weren't around, this boy would never make a single friend. He'd just stay locked in his father's study all day.
He needed the social interaction. Sometimes, the way he watched people… it was exactly like his father.
She reached out and handed him an old flip phone. "I bought this yesterday. My number and Nohara's are saved. If anything happens, call us."
Toji took the phone, inspecting it.
"You know how it works?"
"Yes." He pressed a few buttons, checking the contacts.
"We think you're responsible enough for a real phone now," Azma added.
An achievement, apparently.
"Aww!" Sara complained. "My mom says I won't get a phone until middle school!"
"For good reason," Toji muttered.
Azma looked amused. She handed him some money. "A thousand jenny. Buy some snacks if you get hungry."
"Thanks, Mom." He didn't mention the lunchbox he'd already packed. That would have been a bit embarrassing.
"Have fun, okay?"
"Yeah."
As they headed for the door, Azma stopped them one last time, pressing a slice of bread with jam into each of their hands.
...
Getting to the park in the center of town was a simple bus ride. Toji sat by the window, watching the calm streets roll by—wooden houses, small shops, the distant hum of the sea. He still didn't get why there wasn't a park closer to their area, but then he realized most of the kids on their side of town were already in middle or high school. There just wasn't a demand for a playground.
The moment the bus doors hissed open, Sara exploded off the vehicle. Before Toji could even step onto the pavement, she'd already cornered a group of kids. She started talking a mile a minute, asking question after question as if they were lifelong friends.
Toji watched from a distance. As long as the questions aren't directed at me, I fully support this.
For most kids, having someone that excited to meet them makes them feel important. Within minutes, the group around Sara had doubled.
As for Toji, he had no interest in the playground. His job was to get her here and get her home. That was it. He found a shaded wooden bench and sat down, leaning back as the trees filtered the midday sun. The sounds of play and the rustle of leaves faded into the background.
Well, since I'm here anyway… might as well salvage the day.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. The amount of aura he could access was pathetic—barely a trickle. Still, he began moving it slowly through his limbs. From his hands to his feet, then back again.
The principle was simple, like moving a drop of water across his palm. But he wasn't just moving it; he was trying to increase the speed. How fast could he shift it? How much could he shave off the transition time?
He tried once, then again. Faster. Faster.
After a few minutes, he tried Gyo. He cracked his eyes open, focusing the aura toward them.
The fatigue hit him instantly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breathing turning heavy. It took several attempts just to hold the concentration for a heartbeat. Then it flickered and died.
He wiped his brow with a sigh. "I need more nodes open."
It was a bottleneck. The tiny pool of aura made even basic exercises exhausting. Still, he didn't stop. He sat there, looking like a resting child to any observer, while internally he was circulating his aura with grim determination. Every now and then, he'd glance at Sara to make sure she was still there.
With the crowd in the park, his weak aura perception picked up the vague presence of people around him. Nothing distinct, just a hazy sense of human energy. He'd occasionally look around, hoping—just maybe—he might spot a Nen user.
But there was nothing.
Statistically, 99.99% of people knew nothing of Nen. And of those who did, many never used it. The odds of finding a user in a coastal town's playground were basically zero.
"Toji-chaaaan!"
He looked up. Ah. Right. Reality.
He stood and walked toward the noise. As he got closer, he realized Sara had managed to assemble an entire army of children.
"Let's play tag!" she shouted, raising her hand with manic enthusiasm.
Toji stared at her. This stupid game again?