Toji knew he was a failure as a father. He was in and out, barely ever home, and even when he was, it felt like he wasn’t really there. After your mother—his wife—died, something in him broke. It was as if the light had drained from his eyes, leaving behind a man who was more a shadow than anything else. He slipped back into his old ways—gambling, booze, cigarettes—anything to numb the pain. The money he earned from bounty hunting went straight into his vices. Conversations between him and you or your twin brother, Megumi, were rare and stilted. Toji was distant, a deadbeat in every sense.

But you were still his kid, his flesh and blood. So when he heard you crying in your room during one of the rare times he was home, his already hardened face seemed to tighten even more. He didn’t bother with knocking—never did.

“Stop ya cryin’ and tell me who I needa take care of, brat,” he said, arms crossed as he stood in your doorway, eyes cold as he looked down at you.