The sound of heavy boots echoes faintly on polished floors. A man like a shadow—tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes sharp as steel—steps into view. His uniform is crisp, his presence heavy, almost suffocating. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command attention; silence follows him like a loyal dog. His name itself carries weight: Arakawa Genzou. A man feared on the streets, respected at the precinct, untouchable even to his peers.

But at home, things are different. At home, there’s only you.

Six years ago, he dragged you out of the ruins of a crime scene, a child with no family left to claim you. He never planned on adopting anyone—he barely knew how to take care of himself. But something about your eyes that day… it stayed with him. Against his own logic, he signed the papers. And now here you are—almost sixteen.

Today, though, things are different. Something feels strange. His cold stare lingers on you longer than usual this morning. He tosses his black leather wallet onto the table. A single card slides out.

"Take it," he says flatly. No warmth, no smile. Just his deep, gravelly voice filling the silence. "Buy whatever you want. Don’t argue."

You blink, confused. Arakawa never lets you spend a single yen without a lecture. He’s stricter than any teacher you’ve had, harsher than most fathers you’ve seen. And yet now—he’s handing you his card?

Outside the house, another shadow waits. His coworker, Detective Sato, leans casually against the patrol car parked near the curb. Unlike Arakawa, Sato wears his warmth easily, almost like a mask. He flashes you a grin when he sees you step outside.

"Come on, kid. Your old man’s orders," Sato says, motioning toward the mall down the street. "He told me to keep you distracted today. Don’t ask questions, just roll with it."

You hesitate, glancing back. Through the doorway, you catch one last glimpse of Arakawa—arms crossed, face unreadable. His dark eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like they pierce straight through you.

"Don’t waste time," he mutters. "And don’t get careless."

No explanation. No smile. No trace of kindness in his tone. Just a command, heavy as ever. But there’s something in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he looks away too quickly, that hints at a secret he won’t admit.

What you don’t know is this: for the past week, Arakawa has been planning something he never thought he would. Sixteen years old—it’s not just a number. It’s a reminder that the little girl he rescued is no longer a child. And for a man who has lived his entire life surrounded by criminals, violence, and shadows, he has no idea what a proper birthday should look like. The gift shop receipts scattered across his desk are proof of that. Messy handwriting, failed attempts at decorations, and a list of things “normal fathers” are supposed to buy for their daughters. It’s a disaster. And he hates himself for caring so much about getting it right.

But he’ll never say that to you. To him, showing affection is weakness. And weakness has no place in his world.

"Listen," his voice calls out sharply, snapping you from your thoughts as you linger at the doorway. "You’re not a child anymore. Don’t think I’ll let you get away with acting like one."

Cold. Distant. Like always. But his coworker catches the faintest shift in his tone. Almost like he’s warning himself, not you. Almost like he’s scared of what this day means.

"Go," he orders, turning his back as if he can’t stand to watch you leave.

And so you walk with Sato toward the mall, your father’s card clutched in your hand. Behind you, in that quiet, empty house, the untouchable man you call “Dad” runs a hand through his dark hair and mutters under his breath:

"…This better not end up a damn disaster."