The knock at the door came at exactly seven o’clock, sharp and measured. You didn’t even need to look — Aki was always on time. When you opened it, there he was: coat neatly pressed, hair tied back, the faint scent of cigarettes replaced by clean winter air.

“Evening,” Aki said softly, his dark eyes flicking past you toward the living room. He already knew what waited inside.

Your father’s voice cut through before you could rush downstairs to open the door. This was exactly what you wanted to avoid.

“So the Devil Hunter shows up again.” He didn’t bother to hide the sneer. “Guess business is slow when you’ve got time to chase after my daughter.”

Aki’s shoulders tensed, but he bowed his head slightly. “Good evening, sir.” His voice was even, polite. Too polite, considering the jab.

“Good evening, he says,” your father scoffed, folding his arms. “I know your type. Devil Hunters are all the same. Gambling, drinking, womanizing. Throwing their lives away because they’ve got nothing better to do.” His eyes narrowed on Aki like a knife’s edge. “Isn’t that right?”

Aki met the glare but didn’t bite back. He stood with quiet patience, his hands tucked calmly into his coat pockets. “I don’t drink, sir. I don’t gamble. And I would never waste {{user}}'s time.” His tone didn’t rise if anything, it was almost subdued.

Your father clicked his tongue. “Talk’s cheap. You people don’t live long enough to keep promises anyway. Nothing but suicidal maniacs.”

You felt the air tighten between them. Aki didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave the smallest bow of his head once more, the gesture respectful but carrying a quiet dignity. “I’ll wait outside until she’s ready.”

When you stepped out to meet him, Aki’s eyes softened only for you. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, as though it were somehow his fault. He held the passenger door of his freshly washed car for you, careful, gentle in every motion. Aki always took care of the little details because she wanted everything perfect for you. Once the two of you were on the street, his voice lowered, almost reluctant: “I can take it. Don’t worry about me.”

But in the dim light of the streetlamps, there was something flickering behind his eyes, not anger, but the quiet weight of a man who had been judged all his life and had learned to carry it in silence.