Farewell Father

Eri's words lingered in the room long after she left, but Akira couldn't shake the doubt gnawing at his mind.

"I can't just trust her," - He thought, his gaze fixed on the closed door.

"She says she was close to my father, but I don't know her."

"What if this is just another ploy to use me—or worse, my father's legacy? Better to ask someone who'd know."

Resolute, he picked up his phone and dialed Hiroshi's number. The call connected quickly.

"Hiroshi-san i have something to ask you"

Akira began without preamble,

"What do you know about a person called Eri she is an A-Rank Star?"

There was a brief pause on the other end before Hiroshi responded, his tone calm but thoughtful.

"Not much," Hiroshi admitted.

"But I do know one thing—your father saved her life once."

"Ever since then, she's been... close to him. Trustworthy."

Akira absorbed the words in silence, the pieces of a puzzle he hadn't realized existed slowly coming together.

"That's all I know and tell you," Hiroshi added.

"But if your father trusted her, so can you."

"Alright," - Akira replied, ending the call.

He set the phone down, his mind heavy with the weight of unanswered questions—but for now, he decided to trust in his father's judgment.

The sun was low in the sky, its orange light extending long shadows across the hills. Akira stood motionless alongside Eri on a distant ridge, his body rigid and immovable. Below, the funeral ceremony went on like a dismal drama on an open stage.

The throng was massive. Individuals from all walks of society had turned out to pay their respects to Shiro Shoto, the individual whose brilliance had touched so many.

Akira's eyes identified dignitaries, corporate executives, and STARS of all grades. They blended with somber faces, offering flowers and tributes that rang hollow from afar.

At the very center was his father's funeral pyre—a towering, intricately carved structure covered in white lilies and golden ribbons, its beauty belied by the sorrow it symbolized. And seeing it struck Akira like a knife to the heart.

"He deserved better than this," - Akira whispered, his voice heavy with emotions.

Eri stayed beside him, arms folded, her presence still but reassuring.

"He deserved peace," - She said softly.

"Not the conflict that ripped him from you."

Akira's fists were clenched tightly against his sides, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. He was barely able to breathe as the fire was ignited, its orange flames reaching down to caress the base of the pyre. The blaze spread quickly, its boisterous voice claiming the stillness, as well as his father.

Akira observed as the fire consumed the body of the man who was everything to him. This depressed and infuriated him. His eyes welled up with tears, but he would not shed them. His chest rose and fell as he steeled himself to hold strong, his eyes on the flames.

"I should be down there," - He said through gritted teeth.

"I should be standing by his side, sending him off like a son should."

"Instead, I'm up here...hiding."

"You're not hiding,"

Eri whispered, yet her tone was resolute.

"You're protecting yourself."

"You're giving yourself an opportunity to retaliate another day."

Your father would never want you to buckle beneath the vultures and opportunists.

"He'd want you to live."

Akira's head shook, and his tone turned bitter.

"Strong?"

"I'm not strong, Eri."

"I'm disgusting weak."

"I couldn't prevent any of this from occurring."

"Now all I can do is stand here and let them burn his dead body like this."

His voice cracked, but he forced himself to swallow hard.

Eri placed her hand on his shoulder.

Her hand was firm, but soft.

"You could not have prevented it, Akira."

"But you can ensure that it not to end here."

"You can ensure that they pay."

Her words resonated in him, turning his rage into a raging fire.

Akira's eyes hardened as he looked at the flames consuming the remaining pieces of his father's body. His grief turned into something harder and more precise—a resolve made from pain and wrath.

"I promise," - He breathed, his voice barely above a whisper and trembling with strong emotions,

"I will bring them down."

"All of them who had a hand in this."

Eri nodded, her expression one of tranquil comprehension.

"Then hold onto that resolve, Akira."

"Let it guide you, but not control your life."

"Your father would not wish for you to lose yourself."

Akira did not utter a single word.

He stared into the fire, his heart pounding due to his vow. When the fire engulfed the last vestiges of his father's existence, Akira sensed something within him shift—a shift from grief to unyielding determination.

He had a plan, a way to avenge his family, and a trusted ally to help him through the perils that lay ahead.

Akira finally found himself at the hospital once more.

Standing beside the glass window of his mother's room, he stood motionless, his eyes intently fixed on her frail form stretched out on the cold white sheets.

The monotonous beep of the heart monitor was the sole witness to her presence, but to him, it was a heartless mockery—a failing, mournful reminder that she was still with him, yet so far removed from the vibrant, loving woman she once had been.

His chest constricted in a searing clutch, and he clamped down on his lip, attempting to suppress the wave of feelings that threatened to consume him.

"This is my fault," Akira's mind went, his hands shaking at his sides.

"If I had arrived early maybe to see or call someone i could prevented it maybe , none of this would have happened."

Memories of her warmth swirled in his mind—her smile that could illuminate their entire home, her gentle touch when she brushed his hair out of his face, her unwavering support on those days when the world felt like it was crushing him.

All of that was now lost and substituted with this icy, frail silence.

His knees buckled, and he fell onto the icy floor, his forehead on the glass. The tears came before he could check them—hot and bitter, flowing down his face in unbroken torrents.

"I failed you," - He got out, his voice cracking into a sob.

"I failed Dad."

"I failed everyone."

The crushing weight of his helplessness descended on him, and he cried like a child—just as the boy had once cried, believing his parents were invincible. Underneath the grief, there was fury, a smoldering volcano of anger aimed at the world, at those who had done this to him, and most of all, at himself.

"I swear." - His voice shook, a thin blend of sorrow and unyielding rage flowing through him.

"They'll pay for this."

"All of them."

Akira continued to cry, but with every second, he became more resolute.

His rage hardened in him, turning into a tool he would use against the men who had taken everything he cherished from him. He looked at his mother behind the glass, seeing her frail chest move up and down in a slow rhythm, and he swore again.

"I'll make it right, Mom," - He whispered, his voice a rasp yet filled with determination. "No matter what it takes."

The tears kept streaming down, but they were no longer merely tears of despair. They had transformed into a vow.

There was no going back now.