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Daichi looks over the paperwork one more time as Hana, the first of his new batch of free Jyamato, rounds their siblings up. 17. That’s how many have grown up enough for him to reach out to the department of nonhuman services and not get sent back the way he came. More still growing but doing so good.
He’s always understood humans but not their emotions. His deepest flaw. That is no longer the case.
The Jyamato have names and unique thoughts and ideas. They have a language that comes naturally to them. They listen to him.
They listen to him, and they grow, and Daichi thinks he never saw it before he consumed the feelings of humans with brains that could function right.
But now…
“[Papa, is something wrong?]” Daichi turns to find a smoothe head, topped with a bud, peaking at his desk.
“Of course not,” he says. “I’m writing an email.”
“[Aren’t those bad?]”
“This one will let your big siblings go to real kindergarten.”
“[REALLY???]”
“Of course,” Daichi replies. This is his wish. His Sunflower Jyamato will grow up like anyone else, sped up to age 5 or so. Then one day in the future, they’ll be…
They’ll live among humans.
If he can pass these stupid tests and send in the right paperwork and use the godawful site and—
…No. No frustrations, no anger. He refuses to go back to being petty .
“Go play outside.”
“[I want to read another encyclopedia.]”
“You know you can.”
“[Still wanted to ask Papa.]”
Daichi smiles. This one… oh, Kon. He’s a smart one.
“What a good child you are,” he says softly.
He collects evidence. Across time, easy to match which myths are Jyamato. He’s a planner, an encyclopedia of knowledge for everything unimportant. That gap is still frustrating, but he’s learning that human knowledge comes naturally to the monster he is.
Human knowledge is his kids handing him macaroni art, and some of them have styles , and Sakura’s is photorealistic, and they are all…
Human knowledge is love , an emotion he is still learning to understand, much less mimic. It’s an ache in his heart when he thinks of the Sakurai siblings, an unfamiliar guilt that is slowly leaving him. It is the bright emotions which fill his chest as he finally gets a response back.
A promise for his creations to not risk murder in the streets for the half forgotten crimes of their kin no.
Probationary access.
The kindergarten which accepts the Jyamato that failed elementary exams (most of them) is bright and decorated in flowers. It’s one of four Daichi has carefully selected, knowing he needs to pick alien schools, and enough of them that his children do well and have space in them at.
It’s an odd and warm sensation to see more humanoid children befriend his new kind.
It feels like…
He still has some of her memories. And those of a few others. Even if he undid it, they still died . He still took just a tiny piece of them.
Sara’s is just an odd form of distinctive.
She bring a picnic basket once a week with food she made herself. Half of it isn’t particularly edible.
Daichi eats it anyways and tells her how to improve. She takes the criticism in good grace.
He thinks he’s attracted to her, but it’s different from what is familiar. She lights up talking about Neon, or a new face mask, or how broad she is of her brother. She’s bright . Happiness and love that he knows is genuine.
She starts turning it on him, on the Jyamato who she doesn’t know call her a mix of Mom and big sister , because how can he tell her that after what he once did to her?
He doesn’t know how to love her brightness he cannot help but covet, yet.
He still hates not knowing.
His kids all get paperwork, eventually. The process goes unnaturally smoothly, and the caseworker grins and says Daichi must’ve blessed by god.
Maybe he is.
This is all he could ever want, after all.