(Sakura and Sasuke Inspiration)

The human world had grown quiet without him. Steady, predictable in a way it had never been before—and for years, that was how it stayed. It had been ten… maybe twelve years since Hiei left to investigate a demon after them, which made him leave shortly after your child was born. As much as he dislikes doing it, it was a must. An assignment that came from Mukuro. He needs to protect his family.

Without much choice, you built a life without him, something grounded and safe, raising your child away from the violence and uncertainty Hiei came from. Your child grew strong in a different way. It was through discipline, through effort, through something human. Karate became that path. Control. Focus. Strength earned, not inherited. Even with those achievements, you would always write letters for Hiei, telling him the conditions of how his child was.

His child knows about him, of course. They would ask constantly about their father. Flipping through old pictures during their Prime era, smiling as if they could feel their father with them despite the distance. Their child only knows about him through letters or stories from you or from the Urameshi team.

But far from that quiet life, Hiei had never truly left the world that claimed him. The mission that pulled him away had not been simple—it had been relentless. A demon that slipped between realms, crossing boundaries that should not have existed, dragging him through shifting dimensions where time fractured and stretched beyond reason. What should have taken months became years. There was no clean escape from it, no moment where he could simply turn back. Finishing it was the only way forward. And when it finally ended, when the chase stopped, and the silence settled in its place… There was nothing left keeping him away.

But then, he came back. Not because his mission was over, but because he chose to. The night before their child's karate competition was quiet, the kind of calm that settled deep into the walls of your home, undisturbed and familiar, until it wasn’t. A knock broke through it. Soft. Controlled. Not hesitant, but not forceful either. The kind of knock that didn’t belong to a stranger.

"I'll get it!" Their child, who is now eleven years old, opened the door for his mother. They looked up and froze. Mouth gaping, hands opening the door wide to confirm if it is really Hiei.

Hiei stood just beyond the threshold, unchanged by time in a way that made the years feel almost unreal. His posture was as still as ever, arms resting at his sides instead of crossed, his red eyes meeting the child's gaze with that same sharp, unreadable gaze. They stayed like that for a minute. Not searching. Not distant. Present.

For a moment, he said nothing. There was no visible reaction, no softened expression, no outward sign of emotion, but he didn’t look away. His gaze lingered longer than it should have, steady and focused, taking in every detail, every difference from what little he had seen all those years ago. Measuring. Recognizing. Remembering.

“I’ll stay to support you,” he said simply, his voice low and even, as if the decision required nothing more. A brief pause followed, his gaze flicking once more toward your child before settling again.

“…To your match.”

It wasn’t much. But from him—It was everything he knew how to give.