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Shouto knew the rules.
He had always known them, since before he could write his own name.
Never talk back.
Always be the best at school.
Do what he was told.
Stay in his room after bedtime.
If he followed the rules, things stayed quiet. Quiet was good. Quiet meant his father wasn’t angry.
But tonight wasn’t quiet.
His futon felt like a cage, pressing down on his chest as he lay stiff under the covers. The walls of his room shuddered with every thud, every shout, every crash of something breaking. His mother’s voice rose high and thin, breaking apart like glass. His father’s voice was lower, rough, booming, impossible to ignore.
It wasn’t new. None of it was new. But it had been worse since Touya left. One day his brother was there, hair and heat and sharp words, and the next day he was gone. No explanations. No goodbye. Just gone. And his father’s fury grew until it filled every corner of the house.
Shouto pressed his palms to his ears, but it didn’t help. He could still hear his mother crying. Could still hear his father’s rage spilling down the hall.
It wasn’t fair.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the noise only grew louder. His mother’s voice cracked—pleading. Something hit the floor, hard enough that the vibration reached through the tatami. Shouto flinched. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
He couldn’t stay here.
Slowly, carefully, he pushed the futon aside and got to his feet. His legs trembled, but he crept to the sliding door, fingers shaking as they pulled it open just enough to see into the hallway. He couldn’t see them. They were further down. Kitchen? Living room? He wasn’t sure.
His socks muffled his footsteps as he slid across the floor. He held his breath, chest aching with the effort. Each sound of his father’s voice pulled him forward like a rope around his neck.
At the genkan, his eyes caught on something.
Boots. Big, black, scuffed. His father’s boots. And beside them—
The gun.
It sat heavy and black, metal gleaming faintly under the hallway light.
Shouto froze. His breath hitched. He stared at it, unable to move, unable to look away. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew the rules. Never touch it. Never go near it.
But his mother was crying.
And his father...
Shouto’s small hand reached out before he could stop himself. The grip was cold, heavier than he expected. He had to use both hands to lift it, his arms shaking under the weight. His heart hammered in his throat, so loud he thought it would give him away.
He turned and kept walking.
The living room light spilled across the hall. He edged closer, his breaths shallow and quick. And then he saw.
His father’s massive frame blocked most of the view, but Shouto saw enough. Enji had his mother pressed to the wall, one huge hand pinning her wrists high above her head. His other hand—Shouto’s stomach twisted. Rei’s face was streaked with tears, her mouth open in broken sobs. Enji’s mouth was against her skin, crushing, forceful.
Shouto didn’t know the words, but the thought burned in him. He wasn’t supposed to see this. He wasn’t supposed to know this existed.
“Stop—please, stop—” Rei’s voice cracked.
Something inside Shouto snapped. His hands tightened on the gun, knuckles white.
“Let her go.”
His own voice startled him. Thin, high, breaking, but it carried across the room.
Enji froze. His head turned slowly, like he couldn’t believe what he heard. Rei’s arms dropped as he released her. She crumpled to her knees, gasping, clutching herself.
Enji laughed. Low at first, then louder.
“Shouto,” he said, voice rumbling with something almost amused. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Shouto’s arms shook, but he raised the gun higher, holding it in both hands like he’d seen in movies. His eyes stung with tears. He couldn’t blink.
“Leave her alone!” His voice cracked.
Enji stepped forward, towering, shadow filling the room. His eyes glinted, sharp and cruel. “You? With my gun? Put it down before you hurt yourself.”
Shouto’s chest heaved. His vision blurred. His father’s footsteps thudded closer, closer, each step shaking through the floor.
“Shouto” Rei’s voice was raw, pleading. “Please don’t—”
Enji’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “You think you can threaten me? You’re a child. You’re nothing.”
He moved closer.
Something inside Shouto screamed. His finger squeezed without him even realizing.
The bang tore through the room, deafening, brighter than lightning, hotter than fire.
The recoil slammed him backward. His arms flung wide, the gun jolting out of his hands as he hit the floor hard, the air knocked from his lungs. He gasped soundlessly, chest burning, ears ringing.
The room erupted into chaos. Rei screamed. Enji roared. Shouto’s vision spun, the ceiling tilting above him. He tried to breathe but couldn’t catch it, panic flooding him. His hands were empty, tingling, his ears filled with high, endless ringing.
He blinked, saw his mother’s face blur above him, pale and streaked with tears. She was saying something—his name? He couldn’t hear.
He blinked again. His father’s voice bellowed like a monster in the dark, but Shouto couldn’t make out the words.
Everything slipped sideways. His chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow. His hands shook violently, as if the gun were still there, heavy and burning.
Shouto stared at them, at his trembling fingers, and thought distantly, What did I do?
The world tilted. Sound faded, and he let the dark take him.
The next thing Shouto knew, his mother was holding him.
Her hands were shaking as they touched him, gathering him into her arms as best she could. He was small, but the gun had knocked him back hard, and he felt every bone in his body vibrating. Rei’s voice was broken but soft, desperate but steady as she pressed him close.
“Shouto. Shouto, listen to me.” Her hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his damp cheeks. “Look at me. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He blinked at her, eyes wide, the world blurring in and out. His ears still rang with the gunshot. His chest heaved, stuttered breaths spilling from his mouth.
There was no screaming now. No footsteps stomping across the floor. No voice roaring down at him.
The silence was louder than anything.
“Sit up,” Rei whispered, tugging him gently. “Come here. Come on, my love.”
She pulled him upright and wrapped her arms around him, rocking him against her chest like when he was little. He clutched at her clothes, his hands twisting into the fabric so tightly his knuckles hurt. His face pressed into her shoulder, damp with his tears.
“It’s okay,” she murmured again and again, her lips in his hair. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. Do you hear me? You’re not in trouble.”
Something cracked open inside him then, and he started crying. Loud, messy, shaking sobs that he couldn’t stop.
“Mama.” His voice broke, words spilling without control. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean— I was scared—”
“I know, baby, I know. You were protecting me.” Rei’s arms tightened around him, rocking him as if she could erase the sound of the gunshot, the smell of smoke, the weight of the weapon. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Do you understand? Nothing wrong.”
But Shouto couldn’t believe her. His body shook violently, as if it wanted to tear itself apart. He had seen his father hurt his mother before. He had seen him hurt Touya. But Shouto…he had hurt him back. He had pulled the trigger.
He was old enough to know. Old enough to understand that hurting people was bad.
That killing was worse.
And his father wasn’t just anyone. He was a police officer. Police were supposed to help people. But his father hurt people all the time. He hurt them every day.
Then why? Why did it feel like Shouto was the one who had done something unforgivable?
Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Shouto stiffened in his mother’s arms, his crying choking into a gasp.
Before he could breathe, voices filled the doorway.
“Mom?!” Fuyumi’s voice shrieked, high and panicked. “What happened?!”
“Shouto—oh my God—” Natsuo’s voice cracked, breaking.
They were both there, pale and wide-eyed. Fuyumi, seventeen, in her pajamas, her hands flying to her mouth. Natsuo, fourteen, his hair messy from bed, his eyes darting between his mother, his brother, and the floor.
Then Fuyumi screamed.
Her eyes locked past Rei, to where Enji had fallen.
“Dad—” Her voice rose, hysterical. “Dad!”
She rushed across the room, slipping on the tatami, dropping to her knees beside his body. Her hands shook as she reached for him, pressing against the blood spreading across his chest.
“Natsuo!” she cried. “Call an ambulance! There’s so much blood—he’s bleeding so much—”
Shouto tried to turn his head, tried to look, but his mother’s hand pressed gently against his cheek, holding him still.
“No, Shouto. Don’t look. Stay with me.”
Her voice was steady, but her arms were trembling. She rocked him harder, faster, as if she could drown out the rest of the world.
He couldn't see. But he could hear.
He could hear Fuyumi sobbing, her voice raw as she pleaded.
“Dad, please—please stay with me—don’t—don’t leave—”
He could hear Natsuo, his words stumbling, panicked.
“I—I don’t know what to—there’s so much blood—”
“Call the ambulance!” Fuyumi shouted, voice breaking. “Natsuo, call them now!”
Shouto squeezed his eyes shut, tears soaking into his mother’s shoulder. His body wouldn’t stop shaking. His chest hurt from crying. He wanted it all to go away.
He clung to Rei like she was the only thing keeping him from falling into the dark.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, over and over. “It’s okay, my love. Just hold me. Don’t listen. Just hold me.”
But the voices wouldn’t stop.
Natsuo’s voice cracked. “He’s not—he’s not—Fuyumi—he’s not breathing!”
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
And then Fuyumi’s scream shattered it.
“No! No, no, no—”
Shouto’s fingers clenched into his mother’s sleeve. His breath hitched painfully in his throat.
Dead. His father was dead.
And Shouto had killed him.
Everything after that was muddy.
Shouto stayed in his mother’s arms, buried against her chest, her heartbeat fluttering too fast beneath his ear. She rocked him still, back and forth, whispering words that slipped into each other until they sounded more like a lullaby than sentences.
He blocked out the rest. Fuyumi sobbing. Natsuo pacing, his voice too high, too panicked. The stillness that had fallen over his father’s body.
He didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to know.
Then the front door slid open.
Loud footsteps filled the genkan, careless of shoes. Heavy, sharp sounds on wood and tatami. More than one pair. Deep voices calling out, clipped and authoritative.
“Police! What’s the situation?”
Shouto stiffened, pressing his face harder into Rei’s shoulder. His mother stroked his hair, soft and steady, though her own breathing was shallow.
“In here,” Fuyumi choked out.
The footsteps came closer. Shouto could smell the leather of their uniforms, the faint tang of cigarettes, the metallic rattle of gear.
More voices filled the house. Questions overlapping, urgent.
“Male, forties, unconscious—no pulse.”
“Gunshot wound, center mass. Who fired?”
“Secure the scene. Get forensics in.”
Shouto’s hands tightened in his mother’s clothes. He felt like he was shrinking, smaller and smaller, trying to vanish into her arms.
“Ma’am,” one of the officers said firmly, his voice directed at Rei. “Step aside. We need to tend to him.”
Her arms only curled tighter around Shouto. “No. My son—he needs me.”
“We’ll check him in a moment. First—your husband—”
Another voice cut in, brisk. “He’s gone. Focus on the kid.”
There was movement, rustling. Shouto didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see. His mother’s hand slipped over his eyes, shielding him completely.
“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “Don’t look. Just stay with me.”
He heard them lift the body. The scrape of weight against the floor. The soft thud of boots repositioning. The metallic sound of equipment.
And then, sudden and cold, a new hand touched his arm.
“Kid needs to be checked. Ma’am, please.”
Rei’s arms loosened reluctantly. “Careful. He’s frightened.”
“I’m fine,” Shouto whispered, though his voice cracked. He wasn’t fine.
The officer knelt in front of him. Shouto caught only flashes: a badge, dark eyes under the brim of a cap, gloves snapping into place.
“Son, we just need to check you over.” His tone was brisk, not unkind, but not soft either.
Shouto flinched when they took his hands, turning them over. The gloves squeaked faintly against his skin.
“There’s residue,” the officer muttered. “Bag them.”
Another officer approached with plastic. They gently pressed Shouto’s hands into clear pouches, sealing them away. He stared at his own fingers, distorted behind the plastic, as if they didn’t belong to him anymore.
“Don’t be scared,” Rei said quickly. “It’s procedure. They just want to know what happened.”
“What happened,” another officer repeated. “Ma’am, can you explain?”
Rei’s voice wavered, but she lifted her chin. “It was me. I did it.”
Shouto’s breath hitched. He jerked his head up to stare at her. Her eyes were steady, calm in their lie.
“I pulled the trigger,” she continued. “He was hurting me. I defended myself.”
“Mom—” Shouto’s voice cracked, tiny and broken.
She hushed him, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay. Just let me talk.”
But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t fair. She was already hurt. Already crying. He couldn’t let her take this too.
“No.” His voice came louder this time, sharp enough that everyone turned. His chest heaved. His throat burned. “No! It was me.”
“Shouto—” Rei’s voice trembled, urgent.
“I did it!” Tears poured down his face as he clutched at her sleeve. “It was me! I took the gun! I shot him!”
The room went still. Fuyumi gasped. Natsuo’s head snapped toward him, his face pale and stricken.
The officers exchanged quick glances. One crouched closer.
“Son, you’re saying you fired the weapon?”
Rei shook her head furiously. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying—he’s just a child—”
“I’m not lying!” Shouto sobbed. “It was me! Don’t blame her! She didn’t—she didn’t do anything wrong!”
Rei cupped his face, desperate. “Shouto, listen to me. You don’t have to—”
He shook his head wildly, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re already hurt! You’re already hurt, I saw— I won’t let you—” His words broke into hiccupping sobs.
The officer straightened slowly, muttering to his colleague. “Gunshot residue on the kid. Fits his statement.”
Rei’s arms tightened around him again, shaking. “He’s ten years old. Ten. He doesn’t understand.”
“I do!” Shouto shouted, his small voice raw. “I do! I know hurting people is bad. I know it! But he—he wouldn’t stop hurting you—” His words dissolved into sobs. “I was scared—I had to—”
Fuyumi was crying harder now, her hands clamped over her mouth. Natsuo’s fists trembled at his sides, his face twisted with fear.
“Shouto…” Natsuo’s voice cracked. “Why… why did you take the...”
“Because he was hurting her!” Shouto screamed, his throat shredding. “He wouldn’t stop—he never stops—”
Rei rocked him again, desperate to calm him, pressing his face to her shoulder. “Shhh, my love. Enough. Enough.”
The officers exchanged another look, one scribbling notes quickly. Another spoke into a radio.
“We’ll need statements. All of them.”
“Notify Family Court. He’s under fourteen.”
Shouto didn’t understand all the words. He only understood that his mother was trembling, his siblings were crying, and his father’s footsteps would never shake the floor again.
And it was because of him.