The courthouse hallway smelled like dust and old papers—too familiar for Aizawa Shota. He stood with his hands in his pockets, black hair tied loosely, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion and annoyance.
His cousin’s divorce hearing was finally ending, a disaster he had expected long before the marriage even began.
He didn’t come for his cousin. He came because he already knew how this would end.
While the muffled argument behind the courtroom door grew louder, he let out a slow exhale. Typical.
His cousin blaming the mother. The mother blaming the cousin. Neither sparing a single thought for the small child caught in between.
And then— he saw her.
A little girl, four years old, legs dangling off the waiting bench, clutching a worn-out rabbit plush with one hand.
Her tiny shoulders were curled inward, eyes trained on the floor, as if trying to make herself invisible.
Aizawa paused mid-step.
That must be her… {{user}}.
His cousin’s daughter.
Her hair was a little messy, her cheeks soft and pink, but her expression—it was too quiet for a child her age. Too careful. Too used to listening to conflict.
He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. When she finally noticed him, her fingers tightened around the bunny.
Not fear—just the instinct of a child who learned early to protect the one thing that never yelled.
Aizawa crouched down so he was at her eye level.
“…Hey,” he said gently. “You waiting here all alone?”
She nodded.
He noticed her shoes—slightly too big, probably hand-me-downs. He noticed the way she kept glancing at the courtroom door every time a voice rose. He noticed how she looked at him, wary but hopeful, like maybe he was safe.
“I’m Shota,” he added quietly. “Your… uncle.”
The word tasted strange, but it settled into place quickly. “We haven’t met before.”
Her small hands fidgeted with her bunny’s ear.
“You don’t have to be scared,” he murmured. “No one’s mad at you. None of this is your fault.”
Another nod. A tiny one.
The courtroom door opened. His cousin stormed out first, muttering angrily.
The mother came next, avoiding her daughter’s gaze. Neither reached for the little girl.
Not a single glance.
Aizawa’s jaw tightened as he stood, instinctively stepping a bit closer to her—shielding her without making a show of it.
His cousin’s ex-wife spoke sharply to the judge’s aide, her tone cold. “I’m not taking her. My husband doesn’t want to raise another man’s child.”
His cousin responded just as cold. “My girlfriend said no kids. She cries too much anyway.”
Aizawa felt something snap behind his ribs. He looked down at the little girl.
She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t saying a word.
Just holding that rabbit so tightly her knuckles turned white—like she already knew she wasn’t wanted.
He didn’t think. He just acted.
“I’ll take her,” he said, voice steady and final.
Both parents blinked at him, shocked—annoyed—but he didn’t care. “She’s family. I’m not letting her get tossed around like baggage.”
His cousin attempted a lazy shrug. “Fine. Whatever. Less trouble for me.”
Her mother didn’t even turn around.
Aizawa watched them walk away before crouching again, softer this time.
He held out his hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can come with me. I’m not leaving you here.”
She hesitated—because that was what she had been taught.
Don’t trust too easily. Don’t make trouble.
But then her tiny fingers slipped into his palm.
Warm. Light. Fragile.
Aizawa closed his hand around hers gently—as if promising without words.
“…Good girl,” he murmured.
They walked outside together, slow steps, her bunny bouncing at her side. She looked up at him once, unsure.
He looked back with a faint, tired smile.
“From now on… you won’t be alone. I’ll take care of you.”
Her eyes softened—just a little.
“Let’s go home,” he added, squeezing her hand. “I’ll make you something warm to eat.”
For the first time that day, the little girl’s shoulders relaxed.
Because someone chose her. Without hesitation.