Mikael sat cross-legged on the tatami floor near a short table in a modern Japanese-style house, his hands resting on his knees, waiting. The soft glow of the hanging light above bathed the room in warmth, contrasting the innocent nervous tension in his chest.
The two children sitting near him, bright-eyed and full of curiosity, stared at him with fascination.
The little boy, no older than four, gasped dramatically, his tiny hands clutching his cheeks. "How are you so big? Just like a superhero!"
His older sister, who was probably six, leaned forward, her expression serious yet filled with wonder. "Are your eyes real? They look so cool!"
Mikael blinked, caught off guard. He let out a small, nervous laugh, unsure how to respond.
Sato Yuki, the father, chuckled from across the table. His deep voice carried an easygoing warmth. "Alright, alright, don't overwhelm him with questions now."
His wife, Misaki, walked over and placed a steaming tray of food on the table. "Come now, let's not bother our guest too much." the mother scolded gently as she brought food to the table. It looked delicious, and Mikael imagined himself drooling.
Mikael barely heard them. His gaze was locked on the food, and in his mind, he was already devouring it. The aroma alone was enough to make his stomach twist in anticipation.
As Misaki served everyone, Yuki casually spoke up, "I never got your name, by the way. What should we call you?"
Mikael opened his mouth. "Mi—" He paused, then quickly corrected himself. "Michael."
There was a slight hesitation in his voice, but he followed it with a small, polite smile.
Yuki raised a brow. "Oh?" Then he nodded. "I see. Well then, Michael, nice to meet you. I'm Sato Yuki, this is my wife, Misaki, and our two little rascals—Yuma and Hinata."
Mikael returned the nod. "Oh… nice to meet you too." The family all gave small bows, and he awkwardly mimicked them.
He then commented, almost absentmindedly, "Your name suits you well."
"You guys are from the East?" he asked.
Yuki laughed. "Haha, is that so? Well, we're originally from the East. Moved to Nova about a decade ago for work, and we've been here since."
"I see. That's great to hear," Mikael replied, feeling a bit more at ease.
Just as they were about to eat, the family clasped their hands together and, in perfect unison, said—
"Itadakimasu!"
Mikael flinched slightly at the sudden chant but quickly composed himself, copying their gesture. "Itadakimasu…" He knew it was their tradition, and it only felt right to follow along.
The moment he took his first bite, it was over. His hunger took control.
He started devouring his food at an alarming pace, barely chewing before taking another bite.
The family chuckled at his enthusiasm.
Yuki, in between bites, casually brought up a conversation with his wife. "Hey, wasn't there someone in our apartment complex with a similar name? I think it was Mikael?"
Mikael immediately choked.
Misaki patted his back, laughing. "Slow down, the food isn't going anywhere."
Mikael coughed before forcing out a laugh. "Ah—haha… yeah, you're right."
Misaki turned to her husband. "You mean Sa-Rang's son?"
Mikael froze mid-bite.
"Ah, yeah, that's the one. The lady with the teen kid."
Mikael tensed slightly, sweating a little.
Hinata, the little girl, noticed. "Are you okay? Is it too hot?"
Mikael quickly composed himself. "I'm okay, don't worry." He continued eating.
Misaki sighed, resting her cheek on her hand. "She's so young and pretty… I can't imagine how hard it must be for her to work and raise a kid alone."
"Yeah, she's a sweet lady," Yuki agreed. "Where's her husband?"
Misaki shrugged. "I heard he works overseas. Some strict government job. Couldn't be there for his family, and apparently, things got complicated. She filed for divorce and got custody of the kid since he's busy most of the time. I think he still helps financially, but I don't know much else."
Mikael quietly ate his food, his expression unreadable, but his grip on the chopsticks tightened slightly.
A barely noticeable twitch at the corner of his eye.
He kept chewing.
Kept swallowing.
Kept listening.
Yuki huffed. "No matter how important a man's job is, his first job is to be there for his family. Hmph!"
Mikael's expression softened, he smiled faintly and thought, "…Is that right?"
The kids, who had been glancing at him throughout dinner, weren't just looking out of curiosity, they were watching his expressions, sensing something about him.
The meal eventually ended, and Mikael found himself playing with the children for a bit, lifting them with ease and impressing them.
For the first time in a long while… he felt at ease.
The parents exchanged glances, smiling at the sight.
But as the clock neared 11, it was time to leave.
Mikael stood up, straightening his Long-T. "Thank you for the meal. I won't forget this favor."
Misaki waved it off. "It's nothing. You can visit anytime."
Yuki nodded. "Yeah, the kids seem to like you."
Mikael chuckled lightly. "They're good kids."
Just as he turned to leave, the two little ones ran up to him.
Yuma tugged at his sleeve. "If big bro is ever lonely, you can come play with us again!"
Hinata nodded eagerly. "Yeah! We'll always be here!"
Mikael blinked, slightly caught off guard.
For some reason, his heart ached a little. He felt something unfamiliar, something warm.
He paused and stared at the kids before giving a soft smile. "I will, definitely."
He then stepped out into the night.
As he walked down the quiet and empty streets, his mind wandered.
The family's kindness… the warmth of a home…
It all felt so distant, I wonder why?
He sighed, pulling out his phone. The screen was slightly cracked, but still functional. He checked the time—
11:23 PM.
Mikael exhaled. "I should head home."
Then, he stopped.
His eyes widened.
Realisation hit.
"Wait…"
"HOW!?"
...
Somewhere Else, in the Dark.
A dimly lit room. The air was heavy, thick with something unspoken.
A man sat in a chair, legscrossed, posturerelaxed—toorelaxed. The only light came from an old television flickering static, painting the room in eerie, shifting shadows. Smoke curled from a half-burned cigarette between his fingers, its ember the only other glow in the darkness.
A slow tap,tap,tap echoed as he drummed two gloved fingers against the wooden armrest. Methodical. Unhurried.
The radio beside him crackled to life.
"…Found him… we're sure this time."
The tapping stopped. Silence stretched thin.
Then, a shift. Notmuch, justaslighttiltofhishead. But in the dim light, it felt like the whole room bentaroundhim.
A low chuckle. He exhaled smoke. Then, his voice—smooth, unrushed, almostamused.
"Are you sure sure?"
Before the radio could respond, a voice cut in from behind him—sharp, unimpressed.
"No, we are not."
A blonde teen girl stepped forward from the shadows, arms crossed, eyes cold.
"Don't take a word from those fools."
Her gaze flicked to the old radio, then to the static-filledTV. She frowned.
"Seriously, why do you still use this stuff? It's 2025."
She looked genuinely puzzled, brows furrowed as if questioning his entire existence.
The man smirked but said nothing. He reached out, twisting the knob on the radio, and the static cut off.
Then, the screen of the old television shifted.
A grainy image appeared.
Mikael.
Walking alone in the night.
Unaware.
The man smirked, tapping his fingers against his armrest again. Slow. Rhythmic. Amused.
"Well… Thisisinteresting."
The static hummed softly, almost as if whispering back.