"Home"

February 4th, 2026

In Tokyo, Haneda Airport - 11:43 AM

As expected, Ray had filed a vacation from his chain of command to visit his dying father.

Not for forgiveness..

But for closure.

The rhythmic hum of the aircraft engine faded as the plane touched down on the runway at Haneda Airport.

Ray Shigeyoshi opened his eyes slowly, a quiet exhale escaping his lips. The intercom crackled to life, announcing their arrival in Tokyo. Ray gathered his duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder with the fluid precision of a man used to carrying weight - physical and otherwise.

It had been five years.

Five years since he walked these streets.

Five years since he breathed this air.

Ray stepped through the airport doors, the automatic glass sliding open as he was met with the familiar, humid air of Tokyo. He paused for a moment at the threshold, letting it all wash over him - the sound of the crowds, the neon signs outside the glass, the distant echoes of train announcements. He inhaled deeply. The scent was still the same. Home, but not quite.

He reached for his phone and texted the doctor who had called him days ago.

"This is Ray Shigeyoshi, Shinjo's son. I just landed. What's the hospital's address again?"

A reply came swiftly.

"Sankai Private Medical. Here's the pin. Room 317. He's stable for now."

Ray saved the address but didn't hail a cab just yet. He stared at the screen, unmoving. Before seeing the man who had cast a shadow over half his life, Ray needed to visit the place where it all began.

The old house.

He hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address. The ride was quiet, the city outside buzzing with life, but Ray remained still, his eyes fixed on the passing streets.

The closer they got, the more his stomach churned. The buildings became smaller, the roads quieter, until they reached the neighborhood - a peaceful, almost sleepy part of Tokyo with neatly trimmed hedges and polished mailboxes. Time had barely touched this place.

"Here we are," the driver said.

Ray stepped out and looked up.

There it was.

The Shigeyoshi home.

Still intact. Still alive.

The house stood like a silent monument, steeped in personal history. Cream-colored walls, brown tiled roof, a small garden out front - everything looked exactly as he remembered. He slowly walked toward the gate, each step tugging at long-forgotten emotions. He placed his hand on the old wooden gate and pushed it open.

The hinges creaked just like they used to.

Ray stood in the yard, his boots crunching lightly against the stone path. He gazed at the grass. He used to train here. A flash of memory came unbidden: a younger version of himself doing pushups, sweat dripping from his brow.

Then, his mother's voice calling from the door.

"Ray, honey, how's school?"

Then, he heard his voice, the voice of his when he was a child.

"It's good, mom. I've made new friends!"

"Awww, it's good that you had fun. Come, let's eat. I've made your favorite meal."

"Heck yeah!!! Thanks, mom. You're the best!"

Then he heard his mother's laugh.

He blinked and sighed deeply, shaking the memory away.

The front door loomed before him.

He placed a hand on the knob and hesitated.

It felt sacred, like a relic. Opening it was like opening a time capsule that had been sealed too long.

He twisted the knob and slowly stepped inside.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, overwhelmed.

The interior was... untouched. The same wooden floors. The same faint scent of incense. Pictures still hung on the wall. One of them was of him as a child, standing between Risa and Shinjo, both smiling as if they were whole.

He swallowed.

His boots thudded softly against the floor as he walked deeper into the house. With every room he passed, memories surged. The hallway where he used to run barefoot.

The kitchen where his mom used to hum softly while making breakfast. The living room where they sat as a family before everything crumbled.

Then a sharp ding shattered the silence.

A phone notification.

Ray's body tensed.

His head snapped toward the sound - the living room.

Slowly, cautiously, he approached. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

His heart stopped.

There, sitting calmly on the old family sofa, were four women.

They looked... unreal.

Each one of them beautiful beyond reason. Model-like. Angelic. As if airbrushed by a divine hand. Long legs, porcelain skin, flawless features. But they weren't clones of each other—they were distinct, individualized in style and aura.

Ray's hand instinctively hovered near his waist—no weapon, just caution.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked sharply, eyes narrowing.