Chapter Text
Xeno has a stepsister who’s almost the same age as him.
Even with the kind of parents nobody would call ideal, the two of them managed to get along effortlessly. Their interests couldn’t be more different. Xeno buried himself in the world of science, while Gina was deep in social sciences. But somehow, they fit together anyway.
Asagiri Gina eventually got close to Stanley, too.
At first, Xeno felt a sting of jealousy. But once he realized their bond was the same sibling-type connection he shared with Gina, the jealousy faded, leaving only happiness and fondness. He was genuinely happy that two people so important to him found comfort in each other.
Whenever Xeno needed to think but never wanted to be alone, Gina was always there even if she's silence throughout it. Whenever Stanley and Xeno argued with something stupid, Gina would always be the middleman. Whenever their parents disapproved of Xeno's choices in life, Gina would always be there to defend him. And whenever he was desperate for comfort, Gina’s hugs were the only ones that could ground him.
Xeno loves his stepsister—no, his sister.
Which is why he was shattered when his older sister died.
***
Xeno lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. The room felt too quiet like the world had been drained of color the moment Gina’s heartbeat stopped despite the fact his sister never even lived in this house in the first place. His chest ached in that familiar, suffocating way, grief curling through him like a vise that wouldn’t let go. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face: smiling, teasing, alive.
And every time he opened them, she was still gone.
A baby’s scream suddenly tore through the silence from the other room.
Xeno winced, squeezing his eyes shut. The sound wasn’t just loud, it was also sharp. Cutting through the fragile numbness he’d been trying to hold onto. Instinctively, he turned his head, ready to call out for Stanley to handle it.
But then it hit him. Stanley was out to get more baby supplies.
He was alone.
Xeno sank deeper into his mattress, telling himself the crying would stop soon.
But it didn’t.
The sound only grew more desperate, and more insistent. With every second passed, something twisted deeper in his chest. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to face anything. Not the baby, not the truth, not the gaping absence Gina left behind.
He didn’t want this.
Any of this.
But the crying kept going… and he knew she was waiting for someone.
Waiting for a mother who would never come.
Swallowing hard, Xeno forced himself to sit up, each breath feeling like shards of glass scraping his throat. He stepped out of his room, grief following him like a shadow he couldn’t peel off.
He walked toward the crib. It's the one he and Gina had picked out together, weeks before the delivery. He remembered her excitement, the way she held the tiny blankets up to her cheek, imagining her daughter wrapped in them. His hands trembled as he reached the crib.
Xeno stopped.
His body refused to move any closer, as if touching the crib would make Gina’s death real in a way it hadn’t been yet. So Xeno just stared at the baby motionlessly.
Then the baby’s cries softened.
She blinked up at him, her tiny face scrunched and curious, her eyes wide and unknowing, likely had no idea she’d entered the world at the cost of someone Xeno loved with his entire heart.
Gina’s baby girl.
Before he realized what he was doing, Xeno reached toward her. And the baby lifted her arms, small and trusting, expecting him to carry her.
He hesitated only a second before scooping her up.
And the moment she settled in his arms, she giggled an impossibly bright sound that cracked something open in him.
Come to think of it… this was the first time he’d truly looked at her.
“Xeno?”
Xeno flinched. He hadn’t even realized someone else was in the room until Stanley’s voice reached him.
How long had he been standing here? Minutes? An hour? Time felt slippery with the baby in his arms.
Turning around, his hold on her tightened instinctively.
Stanley stood in the doorway, something in his hands Xeno couldn’t quite register—baby supplies, it was said from the back of his mind—but all Xeno really saw was the softness in Stanley’s eyes.
“What should I do, Stan?” Xeno whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead as if she were some delicate invention he’d spent years perfecting. “I… ended up loving this baby.”
“Then let yourself,” Stanley said. His voice was tired but warm. “It’s not like it would be the first time Gina manipulated you into something like this.”
A quiet laugh escaped Xeno. “Even beyond the grave, that woman would make sure I loved her child.”
Stanley smiled at that, it’s small despite the worn around the edges. The kind of smile that said he was exhausted and grieving too, but still here. For both Xeno and for the baby.
“She looks like Gina,” he murmured.
And he was right. Despite the baby’s own quirks that came from her biological father like her soft hair and her chubby cheeks, the baby’s eyes and nose were unmistakably Gina’s.
Stanley slipped an arm around Xeno’s waist, and Xeno leaned into him without thinking, grounding himself in that familiar warmth.
Part of him wondered if he should hand this responsibility to Stanley. Stan had already stepped up, already taken charge of everything when their world fell apart. He was the adult, the stable one, the one who had decided to raise this child because there was no one else left.
But then Xeno looked down at the baby again.
This girl…
“Asagiri Gen, right?” he asked softly. “The name Gina chose.”
Stanley kissed the top of Xeno’s head, a slow, reassuring press of lips.
“Yes,” he breathed. “That’s her name. Gen.”
“Well then…” Xeno smiled down at the baby. “Welcome home, Gen Wingfield-Snyder.”
***
Time seemed to move strangely after Gina’s death. It’s too fast in some moments and agonizingly slow in others. And before Xeno could fully process it, Gen was already ten months old and pulling herself upright with wobbly determination. She wasn’t walking yet, but he and Stanley waited for it patiently, cheering every attempt like it was a scientific breakthrough.
It happened on a day Xeno felt like he was falling apart.
One of his seniors had dismissed his work again, speaking to him like he was an inexperienced assistant instead of someone who had proven himself ten times over. The frustration had been burning in him all afternoon, a familiar chemical reaction he couldn’t neutralize, irritation colliding with insecurity until it overflowed.
Stanley had tried everything to help.
He cooked Xeno’s favorite food, rubbing the tension out of his shoulders, sitting with him through the comfortable silence. But memories were like stubborn particles in suspension. No matter how long you let them settle, they found a way to drift back up. All Xeno could do was sit on the floor, watching Gen crawl around on her baby rug as he tried to breathe evenly.
As Stanley was about to stepped away to grab something—
That’s when Xeno noticed Gen was no longer crawling.
She was standing. Her tiny face scrunched in determination and her eyes locked on Xeno, like she was studying him with a seriousness that didn’t belong on a baby’s face.
Something in Xeno cracked. He could even presumed Gen looked worried—Well, as much as a baby could. Even babies sensed when something in their world was off.
He started to get up, intending to reach for her. But Stanley’s hand gently pressed onto his shoulder, stopping him.
At first, Xeno was confused.
And then his eyes widened as he realized what was happening.
Gen wasn’t just standing.
She was taking her first steps.
Xeno dropped to his knees without thinking, arms open wide, breath caught in his throat. His eyes went soft and wide, wonder blooming in him like a new star igniting.
Gen giggled brightly and bubbly. She toddled toward him, each step deliberate and shaky, like she was testing the laws of physics one centimeter at a time.
Xeno felt something shift inside him rearrange.
The moment where grief, joy, and awe collided into something new—a strange emotional fusion he didn’t have a formula for.
If he had to describe it scientifically, it felt like… the first successful experiment after a hundred failed trials and the awe of watching scattered particles suddenly organize into something alive.
Then suddenly, Gen was in his arms.
He wrapped her up immediately, pressing kiss after kiss onto her chubby cheeks as she squealed in pure delight, kicking her tiny feet like she had just discovered locomotion itself.
And maybe she had.
Xeno spun toward Stanley, a huge, disbelieving grin stretching across his face. “She just walked, Stan!”
But he stopped short when he saw Stanley already holding up a camera, quietly recording the moment as if he’d known it was coming all along.
“She’s incredible,” Stanley said softly, his smile tired but glowing with pride.
Xeno pressed his cheek to Gen’s tiny head, nuzzling her gently. She gurgled in triumph, the sound like she was announcing her success to the world.
“I love you,” Xeno whispered to her.
Gen laughed, proud of herself and probably proud of him too.
Xeno pulled her a little closer, breathing her in, letting the moment sink into him like something permanent.
I promise, he thought, the words forming before he even realized he was speaking, I’ll be there for every step you take.
***
Xeno was buried in work when his phone suddenly rang. The sound cut through the silence of his lab like an alarm, instantly irritating him. He glanced at the screen.
Stan.
His first instinct was to ignore it. Stanley knew better than to call him while he was in the middle of a project, Xeno had drilled that boundary into him like a controlled variable in an experiment.
But then it hit him. Stanley wouldn’t call unless there was only one possible catalyst.
Gen.
Xeno snatched the phone and stepped out of his office in one quick motion.
“What happened?” he asked, feeling out of breath despite not even out of stamina.
But it wasn’t Stanley who answered.
“Papa!”
Xeno froze.
That voice, it’s bright, squeaky, excited was Gen’s.
His baby…. Calling him Papa.
Gen’s first words.
The world around him seemed to momentarily collapse into silence, like all external noise had cancelled out in a perfect destructive interference. His heart, however, felt like it was undergoing rapid combustion, heat blooming through him faster than he could process.
For nearly a year, Xeno had tried to regulate his emotions where Gen was concerned. He tried to think of her as Gina’s daughter, not his own as he tried to leave space for the mother who would never get to hear her child’s first word.
But grief wasn’t a perfect equation. Love wasn’t a controlled experiment.
And hearts didn’t follow logic.
Xeno wanted to be selfish.
He wanted her to be his daughter, not his niece. And he wanted to claim her the way she had unknowingly claimed him since the day she first looked up at him.
“What… what did you just call me?” Xeno asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud would break the fragile, miraculous moment.
Again, that bright little voice chimed through the speaker:
“Papa!”
A laugh broke out of Xen, the kind that felt like a chemical reaction finally reaching completion after months of unstable build-up. He could practically see his husband at the end of the line holding the phone and smiling at Xeno’s reaction.
This was the best phone call Stanley had ever given him.
***
Gen was five when she started noticing that Stanley always had to leave.
She was too young to understand why—that her dad had been in the military, that there was always a possibility he might not come back.
“No!”
Her tiny hands clutched at Stanley’s legs, eyes wide and teary as she looked up at him.
Even Xeno could see the strain in Stanley, the way his usually calm face softened with heartbreak. His jaw tightened slightly, his hands hovering for a moment before gently resting on Gen’s small shoulders.
“I’m sorry, princess,” Stanley said softly, voice breaking just a fraction. “But I have to go.”
“But I don’t want Daddy to go!” Gen cried, voice trembling.
Xeno’s chest tightened. He felt the same. He didn’t want Stanley to leave either. But he knew—selfishly asking him to stay wasn’t an option.
Finally, Xeno scooped Gen into his arms so Stanley could leave properly.
Her little face pressed against his shoulder, she kept her eyes trained on Stanley as he walked away, refusing to let him out of sight. Stanley’s eyes lingered on her too, glistening slightly as he forced a steadying breath, masking the pull in his chest. Xeno let Gen watch; it was important for her to see him go.
Then, Gen gave Stanley a sad little wave. Xeno could see that it almost broke Stanley’s heart, but fortunately Stanley was able to wave back.
Once they were alone, Gen’s lips pouted, and Xeno couldn’t help but smile, a little sadly.
“You know,” he said gently, “your daddy is one of the strongest people I know.”
Her wide eyes blinked up at him. “Like a knight to his princess?”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah. You could say that. And that knight… always comes back to his princess.”
Gen’s sadness lingered, but it softened, tucked away under the warmth of Xeno’s words.
A few weeks later, Stanley came back safely.
Gen bolted into his arms without hesitation, hugging him tightly. Stanley held her just as close, the usual calm he carried like armor now melting into relief and quiet emotion.
“Do you want some new toys?” Stanley asked Gen, a playful glint in his eyes. “We could go out now.”
“Really?” Gen gasped, her eyes lighting up.
Xeno raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re spoiling her too much.”
“I’m just doing what you always do, my dear,” Stanley said with a wink.
Xeno didn’t argue. He also didn’t mention that Stanley had just gotten back from work and was probably exhausted. Both of them knew that spending time with their daughter recharged their batteries more than anything else.
At the mall, Stanley let Gen perch on his shoulder. She jabbered away in her own language and asked questions that didn’t always make sense.
Then she began to babble nonstop, pointing at things, occasionally squealing, and making faces that were all her own. Xeno and Stanley exchanged glances and nodded along, pretending to understand every little squeak.
Gen wriggled with excitement. “Daddy! Daddy!”
Finally, they made it to the toy store. Gen’s excitement faded slightly as she stared at the shelves, overwhelmed. She usually knew exactly what she wanted, so this indecision was unusual.
Stanley knelt down, holding out a dog plushie in one hand and a princess plushie in the other. “You can only pick one to take home, alright?”
Gen nodded solemnly.
Xeno smirked. “And here I thought you were going to buy both.”
Stanley sighed, shaking his head as he crouched in front of Gen. “Maybe you’re right. She’s got enough toys at home anyway.”
He rolled his eyes but he did agree with his husband.
“Go on. Pick only one,” Xeno said, crouching down to be at her level.
Gen shuffled toward the toys between Stanley’s hands. But then, unexpectedly, she didn’t look at them at all. Instead, she threw her tiny arms around Stanley’s stomach and beamed up at him.
“I want Daddy!”
Stanley froze for a moment, genuinely surprised. Xeno couldn’t blame him, he was just as caught off guard.
Then Stanley wrapped her in his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I’ll buy you both, my sweet princess,” he whispered.
Xeno said nothing or teased him. If he was in Stan’s position, he would definitely have done the same.
He just watched, quietly amused and full of love, as his two favorite people shared that perfect little moment.
Watching them… How elegant it was.
***
Years passed by, and before either of them could fully understand when it happened, Gen was suddenly ten.
One moment she was wobbling through her first steps, shrieking with laughter whenever Xeno caught her. The next, she was confidently walking into school with a backpack almost larger than she was, waving goodbye like she wasn’t the same child who used to cling to Stanley’s legs and cry whenever he left for work.
Time felt like it had slipped in the way sand does, no matter how tightly he shut his eyes.
Gen wasn’t just growing; she was thriving. Top of her grade. A natural at persuasion. Sharp, observant, just mischievous enough to make both her dads suspicious whenever she smiled too sweetly.
And lately, she had taken great pride in what she called her “magic.”
It had become Gen’s favorite hobby, and Xeno let her be.
***
One evening, Gen ran into the living room with the bright, dramatic energy of someone about to perform onstage.
“Daddy! Papa! Sit down!” she demanded, pointing at the couch with the authority of a seasoned performer.
Stanley actually obeyed instantly, which made Xeno raise a brow.
Gen reached into her pocket and pulled out a deck of cards—worn around the edges because she practiced whenever she thought no one was watching.
“Pick a card,” she commanded, fanning them out in front of Xeno.
Xeno sighed, because of course he was the test subject. He picked one, showed it to Stanley, and started to put it back on the deck.
Gen shuffled, cut, shuffled again, slammed the deck dramatically onto the table, then closed her eyes like she was summoning spirits.
Both men leaned forward.
Finally, Gen drew one card and held it up triumphantly.
“Is this your card?”
It wasn’t.
It definitely wasn’t.
Xeno slowly blinked. “Gen… that’s a four. I picked a queen.”
Stanley was already losing it, pressing a hand over his mouth.
Gen stared at the card… then back at Xeno… then straightened her posture with absolute confidence.
“It’s symbolic magic,” she declared.
Stanley burst out laughing.
Xeno pinched the bridge of his nose. “Symbolic… how?”
“Well,” Gen said, thinking fast, “the queen is older than the four. Papa is older than Daddy. That means I predicted the family hierarchy. Which means my magic is working perfectly!”
Stanley wheezed. “Princess, me and your papa are the same age.”
“Spiritually older than daddy!” Gen then held out her palm. “Applause, please.”
Stanley clapped like she had just solved world peace.
Xeno sighed but clapped too albeit with fondness and in disbelief as he watched his daughter shine like that, with that spark in her eyes, was magic enough.
Gen bowed deeply, then grinned at them.
“Next,” she announced, “I’m going to make Papa’s wallet disappear!”
Xeno snatched his wallet off the table immediately as if his life depended on it. Stanley coughed to hide the small laugh from his mouth.
***
Xeno rarely brought Gen to the lab.
Not because he didn’t want to—Gen loved science, and he loved watching her eyes widen as though the universe itself was opening in front of her, but because the lab was usually full of people, protocols, and supervisors who pretended not to panic when a child so much as breathed near expensive equipment.
But today, everyone was off-site for a cross-state conference.
And Xeno had a child with nowhere to stay and a job that couldn’t be ignored.
So Gen walked into NASA hand-in-hand with him, wearing a spare ID card clipped to her shirt that absolutely no one had approved, but also no one dared question because it was Xeno accompanying her.
The few people who were around nodded respectfully.
A couple even whispered,
“Ah, Dr. Houston’s kid—”
“She acts just like him—”
“No, she acts like Stanley—”
“Same difference, both terrifyingly clever.”
Gen blinked at them unsurely, but then her expression changed as if she was eating up the attention from the start. Or maybe he imagined it.
The moment they stepped into his lab, Gen gasped dramatically.
“Papa! It looks like a spaceship in here!”
Xeno snorted. “It’s a materials-engineering lab, Gen.”
“But it could be a spaceship,” Gen insisted, spinning slowly with arms out like she was welcoming an intergalactic audience. “You’ve got the lights, the shiny metal tables, the thingy that looks like a robot arm—”
“That is a robot arm.”
Gen paused. “So I’m not wrong.”
Xeno closed his eyes. “I walked right into that one.”
She wandered over to a tall insulated cylinder. “What’s this?”
“Nitrogen dewar. Don’t touch it.”
Gen pulled her hand back immediately. “Is it dangerous?”
“Yes,” Xeno said, then gently put a pair of safety goggles on her head. “Which is why you’re wearing these.”
Gen pushed the goggles up so they rested sideways in her hair. “Like this?”
Xeno sighed. “Absolutely not like that.”
He fixed them properly, and Gen grinned up at him as if safety gear alone was the coolest thing in the world.
After that, Xeno led her to a station where a microscope sat waiting.
“Come here,” he said.
Gen dragged a stool over, climbed up, and leaned in. Xeno adjusted the focus, then stepped aside so she could see.
“What am I looking at?” she asked.
“Crystallization of silica aerogel.”
“…Papa. That sounds fake.”
He smirked. “You’re looking at the internal structure of one of the lightest solid materials ever invented. It’s almost all air.”
Gen’s mouth fell open. “But how can something be solid and also mostly air?”
Xeno tapped her forehead gently. “That, my dear princess, is called science.”
Gen stared into the microscope again. “It looks like… cotton candy made of stars.”
That was unexpectedly accurate. Xeno blinked at her daughter.
“That’s actually a very good analogy,” he said. “It has a fractal structure, which is repeating patterns. Like a frozen cloud engineered to behave predictably.”
She lifted her head, beaming with pride. “I’m a genius, huh?”
“Mm,” Xeno said. “We’ll see.”
Gen gasped theatrically. “Papa!"
Xeno hid a smile.
A moment after, she tugged on his lab coat.
“Papa, can we do an experiment? A safe one?” She added quickly, “I promise I won’t make anything explode.”
Xeno raised a brow. “Why is that the first thing you brought up?”
“…No reason.”
Which meant absolutely there was a reason.
But he turned to a small side bench anyway. He took two beakers, a pipette, and a small container of pH indicator.
“We’re not doing anything dangerous,” Xeno warned.
Gen nodded rapidly. “Of course. Obviously. Definitely. Probably.”
Xeno shot her a look.
“Definitely!” she corrected.
He gestured to the beakers. “This will make the solution change color based on its acidity. Very simple.”
Gen held the pipette steady with surprising precision.
As the drop hit the liquid, it shifted from clear to vivid purple. How elegant, Xeno mused as he watched Gen’s eyes lit up.
Gen gasped. “Magic!”
“Science.”
“Magic.”
“Science,” Xeno repeated firmly.
Gen rested her chin in her palm, smirking. “Papa, all science is magic, just with extra steps.”
Xeno opened his mouth.
And closed it. Gen beamed at him as if she had won.
An hour later, she was scribbling drawings on a spare whiteboard. It’s diagrams of stars, robots, a sketch of the robot arm labeled Robot Stanly (he protecc) while Xeno worked beside her on his computer.
Every few minutes she’d ask, “Papa, what’s this formula?” or “Papa, is this why rockets don’t fall over?” or “Papa, do black holes feel sad because they’re so hungry?”
He answered every single one.
And for once, the lab felt warmer than its cold fluorescent lights could explain.
Because he wasn’t just teaching a child a lesson. He was teaching his daughter the universe.
And she was looking at it the same way Gina once had with wonder, curiosity, and that brilliant spark that made Xeno’s heart ache in a bittersweet way he’d long learned to live with.
***
When Gen was just shy of turning eleven, Xeno and Stanley came to an unavoidable conclusion:
They had spoiled their daughter absolutely rotten.
She was brilliant, sharp, funny, and confident but she also somehow believed snacks magically appeared in their kitchen through sheer parental willpower.
So the two of them decided. It was time Gen learned to run her first solo errand.
Just something simple like a small purchase. Nothing will go wrong with their teaching.
Except neither Xeno nor Stanley was normal, nor was their daughter.
The moment Gen walked into the convenience store alone, Xeno’s nerves went into absolute meltdown.
He gripped the steering wheel so tightly he looked like he was trying to fuse with it.
“She’s going to be fine,” Stanley said calmly.
Xeno gave him an unimpressed stare. “Tell me that again when you didn’t literally start smoking the second she stepped through the door.”
Stanley froze mid-exhale… then slowly lowered the cigarette out of view.
“…Irrelevant,” Stanley muttered.
So the two of them sat in total parental agony as they waited. Minutes ticked by. Each one felt like a geologic age.
Xeno’s foot tapped so violently it shook the entire car. Stanley stared at the store door like he was tracking an enemy combatant.
And then finally—
The door swung open.
Gen emerged triumphantly, holding a box of snacks over her head like it was holy treasure.
“Here! I got it!” She climbed into the back seat and proudly shoved the box between the seats.
Stanley raised a brow. “Did the clerk not wrap it up for you?”
She blinked, froze, then slowly lowered the box.
“…Wait. I was supposed to pay for it?”
Xeno didn’t breathe for three seconds.
Stanley didn’t blink for five.
They slowly turned to each other, something deeply parental and deeply immoral awakening in both of them.
Xeno’s voice dropped to a fascinated whisper, “…She walked out without paying.”
“She really just… took it.” Stanley’s jaw slackened in something suspiciously like fatherly awe.
Gen, proud as a peacock, asked with a grin, “Was that bad?”
Neither man answered.
Because they were both thinking the same thing.
This child. This daughter. This absolute natural disaster… had just committed her first crime with the confidence of a seasoned con artist.
“This can be… utilized.” Xeno adjusted his imaginary glasses, eyes alight with dangerous academic interest.
Stanley’s mouth twitched. “Extensively.”
Gen, completely oblivious, “So did I do a good job?”
“You did elegantly, sweetheart.” Xeno turned around in his seat, expression serious.
“You exceeded our expectations.” Stanley nodded firmly.
And neither of them—absolutely neither—made a move to turn the car around or pay for the snacks.
Instead, Stanley started the engine.
Gen munched happily in the backseat.
And Xeno muttered, “She’s a prodigy,” like this was the proudest moment of his life.
***
Gen flicked her wrist, and the card disappeared.
One second, it was between her fingers. The next, it was behind Xeno’s ear, which made absolutely no physical sense.
Xeno froze mid-sip of his coffee, nearly dropping it. “Since when did you know how to do that?”
Gen puffed her chest proudly. “A mentalist never tells a secret!”
“A what never tells a secret?” Xeno raised one skeptical brow.
“Mentalist,” she repeated, grinning like she was announcing a royal title.
Stanley straightened from his seat on the couch, brows furrowed. “Wait. Mentalist? What’s that?”
Gen gasped dramatically, as if he’d asked what “oxygen” was.
“It means I can do mind stuff,” she said, tapping her temple. “You know. Tricks. Illusions. Reading people.”
Xeno blinked. “At your age?”
Gen lifted another card from behind Stanley’s sleeve which made Xeno sit up straighter.
“Observation, Papa. People talk with their bodies.”
Stanley looked down at his sleeve. “How did that get there?”
Gen smiled sweetly. “I planted it before I sat down.”
Xeno stared at her like she was an evolving organism that had just learned a new, unexpected adaptation.
“That is… disturbingly efficient,” he muttered, mind moving in gear. “And slightly alarming.”
Stanley narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Who taught you this? A friend at school?”
Gen shook her head. “Nope.”
“…A YouTube video?” Stanley guessed.
She shook her head again.
“…Books?” Xeno asked, slightly hopeful.
Gen’s eyes sparkled. “I taught myself.”
The room fell silent.
Xeno’s fingers tightened around his mug. “How exactly does an eleven year old ‘teach herself’ professional sleight-of-hand and psychological misdirection?”
“I practiced on both of you.” Gen innocently shrugged.
Stanley stilled. “Right… You used us as test subjects…”
Gen nodded proudly. “Yup! You never notice when I slip things into your pockets. Daddy especially.” She pointed at Stanley. “You’re too easy.”
“I’m a highly trained soldier.” Stanley looked personally offended.
“And I’m small,” Gen replied simply, “and sneakier.”
Xeno was torn between pride and terror.
“You’ve been doing perceptual manipulation experiments,” he muttered, awe creeping into his tone. “Without supervision.”
Gen beamed. “I’m a natural!”
Stanley leaned back with a sigh. “Congratulations, Xeno. Your daughter is becoming a con artist.”
“I prefer the term mentalist, Stanley. It sounds more intellectually prestigious.” Xeno rolled his eyes.
“You realize she’s one step away from pickpocketing a politician.”
“That’s a great idea, Stan!”
Stanley gave him a look. “This is how villains get made.”
Xeno shrugged. “She has excellent role models.”
Gen climbed onto the couch between them, holding out two cards. “One for Papa. One for Daddy.”
Xeno took his card carefully. “What is this for?”
“A test.” Gen grinned.
Xeno frowned. “A test of—”
The card vanished from his hand.
He didn’t even see her move.
Stanley’s jaw dropped. “…See? She might kill us one day.”
Gen giggled.
***
Xeno had just closed his laptop, the soft click echoing in the quiet of his office. His latest email to Senku was in his mind—an impressive child, he admitted reluctantly. Brilliant and relentless like a younger version of himself, disturbingly so. The snapshots Senku sometimes attached—him and his childhood friend, both grinning with the reckless confidence of children who think time will never catch up to them.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
Xeno almost ignored it. NASA loved to interrupt geniuses. Then he saw the caller ID.
Gen’s school.
A spike of something cold ripped through his chest. A reaction so violent it felt chemical, not emotional, like an unstable compound suddenly exposed to heat.
He answered immediately.
And when the voice on the other end spoke, Xeno’s breath simply stopped.
His chair scraped back. Papers scattered. His mind, usually an organized galaxy of calculations, collapsed into a single point of catastrophic gravity.
Xeno ran.
He didn’t remember leaving the building. Didn’t remember swiping his badge, or the startled faces of his colleagues, or the elevator dinging past floors. He only knew he was running faster than his body should’ve been able to, lungs burning, heartbeat thundering like a malfunctioning engine.
He called Stanley.
“Stan,” he choked, the name raw. “It’s—Gen—her school—there was a shooting—she’s—she’s been—”
He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.
Stanley didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t need to.
“I’m coming,” Stan said immediately. Something slammed on his end. Maybe the door. Maybe a chair. Maybe his own self-control.
By the time Xeno reached the hospital, he was shaking.
“I need to see my daughter,” he snapped at the nearest staff member, voice cracking like a snapped bone. “Dr. Xeno Houston—my daughter—Gen Houston-Snyder—where is she?”
“In the emergency room—please, sir, just wait—”
Wait?
The word might as well have been detonated.
He could feel something clawing up his chest—fear so intense it threatened to overwrite rationality. He wanted to tear through the doors, grab whoever needed grabbing, perform the surgery himself if he had to—anything but stand there uselessly.
Stanley arrived seconds later, hair disheveled, still half in uniform, eyes burning. He looked at Xeno, and the look alone told him everything. Stan was one bad word away from storming the ER guns blazing.
“I should’ve taught her,” Stanley hissed, pacing like a caged predator. “I should’ve taught her basic shit—cover, awareness, how to move. I’m a soldier, Xeno. I train people every goddamn day. And my own daughter—”
Xeno stepped forward and grabbed him roughly but not enough to hurt. Just enough to stop him from shattering apart.
“Don’t,” Xeno whispered. “Stanley, don’t do that. Not now.”
Stan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped.
“What if we lose her?” Xeno said, softer this time. His voice wavered like an unstable orbit about to collapse. “Stan, what if—”
Stanley didn’t answer. His throat worked; his fists tightened until his knuckles went bloodless. Silence was the only thing he could manage and that silence said more than panic ever could.
Minutes stretched. Then stretched again. Hours folded on themselves until time felt meaningless.
After several hours, a doctor stepped out.
Both men stood at once.
“Gen Houston-Snyder’s guardians?”
Xeno felt Stan’s hand clamp onto the back of his lab coat in pure, primal bracing.
“She’s alive,” the doctor said gently. “She lost a lot of blood, but the bullet missed anything vital. She’s stable.”
Stable.
The word hit Xeno like oxygen after nearly drowning. His knees nearly buckled. Stan caught him without a word.
Xeno pressed a shaking hand over his eyes.
Stable.
Stan exhaled shakily, eyes watered a little but enough for Xeno to feel it.
And for the first time since the phone call, Xeno allowed himself to breathe.
***
Gen was stable.
That word should have been enough to quiet the storm building in both men — but it didn’t. Not even close.
Xeno stood in the hallway outside the ICU, arms folded so tightly it looked like he was trying to hold his ribs in place. Stanley paced beside him, each step sharp enough to echo.
A pair of government agents approached. Suits, badges, and expressions are carefully neutral, Xeno could feel that it made Stanley’s blood pressure spike.
“Dr. Houston. Sergeant Snyder,” the taller one greeted them. “We’re here regarding the incident at—”
“Incident?” Stanley barked. “That wasn’t an incident. That was a thirteen year old getting shot.”
The agent didn’t flinch. “We understand your frustration, but the suspect is a minor. We cannot release details at this time.”
Xeno’s jaw clenched. “…You’re protecting him.”
“We’re following protocol, Dr. Houston.”
“You’re hiding him,” Xeno snapped, voice sharper than a scalpel. “A child brought a firearm to school and nearly killed my daughter. And you’re telling me I’m not even allowed to know his name?”
“Correct.”
Stanley made a sound. The kind of sound that meant someone in the room should start running.
He stepped forward. “If you think I’m going to just sit here and let this go—”
“Sergeant,” the agent said calmly, “you’re not in a combat zone. You have no authority in this matter.”
Stan’s fists curled. Xeno grabbed his sleeve, it’s a silent don’t. He felt the tremor in Stan’s arm.
Xeno forced his voice into something level, brittle. “As Gen’s guardians, what exactly are we allowed to know?”
“That she survived,” the agent replied.
Stanley let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, brilliant. Fantastic. Great job, everyone.”
The agent continued, tone unwavering. “The shooter is currently under protective custody. Until we determine intent and psychological state, details remain confidential.”
“Intent?” Xeno repeated, incredulous. “He shot my daughter. That seems fairly conclusive.”
“It may have been accidental. Or provoked. Or linked to external factors we cannot yet disclose.”
“External factors?” Stanley snapped. “What does that even—”
“Sergeant,” the agent warned.
There was a moment where Stanley looked like he wanted to take the man apart.
Xeno stepped between them, voice shaking with restrained fury. “So let me summarize: you’re protecting the shooter, silencing us, and asking us to be patient?”
“Yes,” the agent said. “Because that is the law.”
“Laws,” Xeno exhaled slowly, the sound brittle, “are supposed to protect children. Not the ones who shoot them.”
Neither agent responded.
After that, they simply walked away.
Leaving Xeno standing rigidly still and Stanley leaning both hands on the wall like he might break through it just to bleed out some of the rage.
“We’ll get answers,” Xeno murmured.
Stanley’s voice was gravel. “I don’t want answers, Xeno.”
Neither does Xeno is, Stanley knows that.
***
Gen hummed softly at the kitchen table, playing something with her hands and with her cards, tongue sticking out in concentration, she looked completely absorbed in her world.
Xeno and Stanley stood in the doorway silently.
“She’s… fine,” Xeno murmured, though his voice didn’t carry conviction.
Stanley’s jaw was tight. “She’s acting normal. That’s good.
“Yes,” Xeno agreed, his eyes never leaving Gen.
Maybe their daughter is strong like that. Happy and not minding what just happened in the school. They already had made her go to counseling but she was fast enough to heal there.
Gen looked up and grinned at them. “Daddy! Papa! Look at my card castle!”
Stanley forced a smile, though his fists twitched. Xeno noticed the tension in his husband’s shoulders. Both men exchanged a glance. The child laughed, completely oblivious to the storm outside the kitchen walls.
“We can’t let this go,” Xeno said softly. “I wanted to make someone pay but—”
Stanley’s voice was low, tight. “We can’t. The shooter is a minor. The law protects him, not our daughter.”
Xeno’s lips pressed into a thin line. He thought of every time someone in his field ignored logic, misused results, or manipulated data for their own benefit. Stanley, too, remembered the rigid hierarchies and endless red tape of the military, how procedure often shielded failure while punishing those who tried to act.
“And here we are,” Xeno whispered, voice heavy, “there is nothing we can do, as usual.”
Stanley’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm but also powerless. “We can’t break the system. Not this time.”
Xeno’s eyes lingered on Gen’s smile, and for a moment, he almost let himself breathe. Almost.
But the anger lingered, coiling tight in their chests, anger at the world, at the rules, at how life was unfair. At how those rules reminded them, painfully, of the failures and compromises in their own lives.
They could protect Gen in their arms. They could shield her with love, vigilance, and instinct.
But they could not make the world fair.
And that thought, more than anything, made them furious.
If only… I could rule—
***
Xeno leaned against the lab’s sliding glass door, arms crossed, observing. He rarely interfered when Stanley trained Gen, partly because he liked to study the method, partly because he trusted Stanley’s instincts implicitly. Either way, the precision in Stanley’s movements was mesmerizing.
“Keep your eyes up, Gen. Always assess your surroundings,” Stanley instructed, voice calm but firm. He crouched to her level, demonstrating a careful scan of the yard and tree line. “If something looks off, it probably is. Trust your instincts.”
Gen mirrored him, brows furrowed with focus. “Like this?”
“Yes. Perfect,” Stanley said, nodding. “Now, practice moving quietly. Think of it like a cat stalking its prey. One misstep, and you give yourself away.”
Xeno couldn’t help but notice how naturally Gen adapted. The control and focus were far beyond what most teenagers had based on the way Gen acted, and he felt a rush of pride laced with anxiety. She already had the posture control some adults never mastered.
“Next,” Stanley continued, picking up a small, weighted baton. “This is a tool, not a toy. Learn leverage, control, precision. It can protect you or get you hurt if used carelessly.”
Gen’s eyes sparkled as she took the baton, twisting it experimentally, weighing it, testing its balance. Xeno noted her analytical gaze, her methodical approach, it reminded him of himself in the lab, dissecting problems with cold efficiency.
“Good,” Stanley said softly, pride barely restrained in his tone. “If you ever find yourself alone or in danger, the first rule is: stay calm. Assess. Signal if you can. Never panic. Panic gets people killed."
“I understand. Stay calm. Assess. Signal. Got it,” Gen replied, voice firm, determined.
Xeno’s chest tightened slightly. Watching Stanley pass on lessons that could save her life filled him with relief and fear. Relief that she could handle herself; fear that the world was cruel enough that she would need these skills.
Stanley crouched beside her, eyes scanning the horizon. “And remember: protect yourself first. Help others if possible, but never sacrifice yourself recklessly. Understood?”
“Yes, daddy,” Gen said confidently.
Xeno almost relaxed, proud of her composure until Gen tilted her head, eyes gleaming with that familiar mixture of curiosity and mischief.
“Dad… can you teach me how to use a real gun?”
Both men froze for a heartbeat.
Xeno’s mind instantly calculated: safety, responsibility, maturity, legality. But Stanley crouched down, calm as ever, meeting her gaze with steady, unshakable assurance.
“Only when you’re ready, sweetie,” he said. “And only under supervision. But yes… I’ll teach you.”
Xeno’s initial alarm gave way to cautious approval. At thirteen, she was disciplined, intelligent, and careful enough to understand the responsibility of the request.
“Fine,” Xeno murmured, folding his arms tighter. “No mistakes. Every action has consequences.”
Gen smiled, unbothered by the lecture. “I’ll be careful, Papa. I promise.”
His daughter… growing up elegantly.
Like how Xeno guides his daughter, he knows Stanley would do the same. Both of them would be there for their child in every step of her way, holding her hand and watching her feet so she won’t step to any dangerous sharp objects. That’s a promise.
Stanley’s lips curved into a faint, proud smile. Xeno caught the look in his husband’s eyes, the same thought mirrored in his own: this girl… she was more capable than the world had any right to expect.
Later on, Xeno’s project was denied by the higherups. At the same time, Stanley has become more and more busy.
Something snapped inside him at that moment.
Years after that have become a blur.
***
“We need to talk about your grades,” Xeno said during dinner, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made Gen freeze mid-bite.
“What about?” Gen asked cautiously, eyes flicking between her parents.
She was now in her third year of junior high. Her grades had been slipping for the past few years, a slow decline that neither Xeno nor Stanley could ignore.
“We’ve been worried about you,” Stanley added, placing his fork down. “It’s not that you’re not… capable. You’ve always been sharp.”
Gen swallowed, the familiar mix of guilt and defensiveness washing over her. “I… I like psychology more than… everything else.”
Xeno’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Gen, you’re growing up. You need to balance your interests with your responsibilities. Your studies come first.”
There was a long silence. Gen toyed with her spoon, twisting it between her fingers. Then, carefully, she nodded.
“That’s good,” Xeno said, the tight line of his lips softening just slightly. He remembered her fascination with science when she was younger, how she had once devoured experiments and theories with the same precision he brought to his lab. The thought that she barely passed these days unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to think the conversation had done its work that Gen understood that things would improve.
But the next semester brought the same disappointment. Despite encouragement, reminders, and even a few stern lectures, her grades barely budged.
***
Xeno sat at the kitchen counter, eyes scanning Gen’s latest report card. The numbers screamed at him, it’s a potential slipping through her fingers.
“Gen, we need to talk about these again,” he said, calm but unyielding.
Gen stilted for a bit, and Xeno didn’t notice how her small movements seemed carefully measured.
“They’re slipping again,” he continued, tapping the paper. “I thought you understood the importance of staying focused. You’re capable… and yet these results are disappointing.”
Stanley sat in the corner calmly. But Xeno caught the slight tension in his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw. Even before anything else happened, he knew Stanley was just as agreed as he was.
There’s a small pause.
Then Gen tilted her head slightly, a small spark glinting in her eyes.
“Actually… I have something more important to ring-bay up.”
Xeno sighed. That’s also a new thing for Gen. At fifteen, she’s speaking some new pig latin. At first, Xeno tried to stop it but it’s unfortunate his daughter is as stubborn as he was.
“And what is more important than your grade?”
“We have the school ance-day coming up. And I… might need some tips. Dancing with boys.”
Xeno froze mid-thought. Boys? Boys?! Her?
And then Stanley’s reaction hit him like a second punch. The man in the corner straightened so fast he practically leapt, eyes wide, jaw tightening. He had the same realization. Their little girl, the one they still saw as a child was thinking about… boys.
“Yes… boys, Papa,” Gen said, calm as if discussing the weather. “I need to know how to dance properly. And… not step on their feet. I might get made fun of.”
Xeno felt his chest tighten. “Boys?” he repeated, voice a notch higher than intended.
Stanley’s face mirrored the panic he felt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, muttered something incomprehensible, and just shook his head, as if the universe had just shoved them into a new, terrifying equation.
Xeno ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, “You’re only fifteen… boys… dancing… this is happening.”
Stanley leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his nose, tense but wordless. He gave Xeno a look that said: We’re in trouble. And it’s your fault.
He then caught the smallest, imperceptible smirk on Gen’s face. A glint in her eye. She knew exactly what she was doing, but he didn’t let himself think about that. Instead, he focused on the undeniable, terrifying fact: their baby was growing up. And suddenly, boys were part of the experiment.
Xeno crossed his arms and sighed slowly. “Fine. We’ll… handle this systematically,” he muttered, though his mind was already racing with calculations of probabilities, risks, and most importantly, how to keep their daughter away from anything remotely resembling a boyfriend.
Stanley’s tense nod beside him confirmed that they were united in panic.
***
Xeno watched from the edge of the living room as Stanley took the lead, moving gracefully across the floor. How elegant of his husband.
“Okay, Gen, step here… and spin,” Stanley instructed, demonstrating with precision. His posture was perfect, his movements smooth. Xeno couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he made it look like he’d been born dancing.
Gen mirrored Stanley’s steps with a grin, stumbling only slightly, and then blurted out, “Daddy… There's this boy in my class. I kind of… like him.”
Xeno froze. He could see Stanley tense beside their daughter, subtle but unmistakable.
“And he’s… nice! Sweet! Smart! He helps eople-pay!” Gen continued, her eyes bright with excitement.
Xeno scoffed, crossing his arms. “He’s a boy.”
Gen tilted her head, frowning slightly, but pressed on, undeterred. “Yes, but he’s a good person! And he’s fun! And… he listens!”
Stanley stopped mid-step, one hand on Gen’s waist for balance, and gave Xeno a deadpan look. “Xeno… she is not allowed to have a boyfriend until she’s thirty.”
“Thirty… ?” Xeno blinked. “Let’s move it to forty.”
“irty-thay?!” Gen giggled nervously but clearly enjoyed the panic she’d caused. “But Papa… he’s so smart!”
“He’s a boy,” Xeno said, flopping dramatically onto the sofa. “That’s enough for me.”
“Boys can be stupid.” Stanley returned to the dance steps, guiding Gen through another spin. “Forty should be when you get married.”
Gen spun under Stanley’s arm, laughing, while Xeno muttered something about genetic variables and teenage unpredictability.
“But he’s also smart!” Gen exclaimed again. “Maybe as smart as papa.”
“Definitely not.” Stanley frowned at her. “There’s no one as smart as your papa.”
Gen opened her mouth before closing it. “I do have to admit… he’s not as art-smay as papa…” Just as Stanley was about to look smug, Gen’s eyes lit up. “What if I found someone as smart as papa, would you let me marry him before I turned forty or thirty?”
Stanley snorted softly. “Sure. As if there’s anyone who’s smart as your papa.”
Xeno nodded in agreement.
And for the first time, Xeno realized: they might survive the dance lessons… but boys? That was a variable he might never control.
***
Gen graduated with no awards, no honors. Just a student who barely passed.
Xeno and Stanley had eventually come to accept that Gen didn’t want to push herself in school. What they couldn’t accept, however, was the thought of her not going to college.
“You have to go to college, Gen,” Xeno said, his voice almost shaking with urgency. “This is your future we’re talking about.”
“I don’t want to go to ollege-cay,” Gen replied flatly, her eyes unflinching.
Stanley exhaled through his nose, a measured sigh that didn’t quite hide the tension in his chest. “College means more opportunities for you. Just… listen to us, Gen.”
“That’s not what I want, Dad!”
“Then what do you want?” Xeno asked, precision and panic both in his tone.
“I want to become a mentalist!”
Silence. Xeno felt his chest tighten, as if all the laws of probability he trusted so thoroughly had just collapsed in on themselves. His daughter’s words struck like an untested hypothesis gone violently wrong.
“This childish dream again…” Xeno muttered, almost automatically.
“It’s not childish!” Gen’s voice snapped back, sharp as glass. “It’s a dream I’ve always wanted!”
Xeno opened his mouth. “But you used to love science—why wouldn’t you—”
“I never loved science the way you love it!” Gen shouted, the words like sparks from a misfiring circuit. “I loved it because I loved watching you talk about it, Papa!”
Xeno froze, his mind trying to calculate the variables he had never accounted for. “What—”
“And I was pretending to be the daughter you wanted,” Gen continued, voice dark but eerily calm, “Why wouldn’t I pretend? I am the daughter of the genius NASA scientist and the genius soldier.”
Stanley frowned, his military precision failing to contain the unease creeping up his spine. “We would never want you to feel burdened—”
“But I am burdened!” Gen shouted, her words colliding with the air like rogue particles in a chaotic experiment. “And now you’re forcing me to go to college.”
“Because it’s for your own good,” Xeno interjected, his tone tight, almost mechanical, like a controlled experiment gone haywire.
“Why would you even care what I do anyway?” Gen snapped, eyes flashing, voice trembling with a fury she’d bottled up too long. “I’m just the child who murdered your friend and sister.”
The room went still. Xeno felt the ground shift beneath him, like a miscalculated gravitational pull. Gen looked horrified at her own words, realization dawning—but it didn’t stop her. She pivoted toward her bedroom.
“Gen, come back here!” Stanley’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
“I don’t ant-way to!” came the defiant reply.
Xeno bolted after her. “Why would you even think that—”
“Oh, I don’t know, but I can think of a lot of things,” Gen shot back, sarcasm as precise as any laser measurement. “And one of those is spending my birthday like we’re going to a funeral.”
The door slammed shut.
Xeno stood there, frozen, staring at the empty space that now seemed to stretch between them like a vacuum. He felt the laws of cause and effect twist in front of him; this wasn’t something he could measure, predict, or control.
Stanley remained near the counter, equally still, silent but heavy with unspoken panic. This was the eruption of a pressure he didn’t realize had been building in their daughter.
“Let’s… go to bed,” Stanley said finally, voice quiet.
Xeno nodded, too numb to argue.
Morning came. And Gen was gone. The only evidence left behind was a single letter, neatly folded on her bed. A goodbye.
Xeno stared at it, heart oscillating like an unstable particle, trying to map her absence onto some formula he could understand but there was none. Life had just proved, with brutal efficiency, that some variables could never be contained.
It felt like his whole world just ended at that moment.
***
Ultimately, Xeno and Stanley had decided to let Gen be. She was in Japan now, making a name for herself, and immediately gaining fame. They were content with that but not happy.
Xeno knew he might have lashed out at one or two colleagues in frustration. Maybe even at Senku through the emails, though the kid seemed as patient as a saint, as if human temperaments were just variables to observe.
Two years passed. And then came the mystery swirl of birds—an anomaly that defied all prediction, an event that made every equation, every calculation, every hypothesis feel fragile, insufficient.
Before they—or anyone—could even announce the phenomenon, humanity itself was struck. Every human being, everywhere, frozen mid-motion, petrified into stone.
And Gen… Gen was out there somewhere. He could only hope, clinging to a fragment of hope, that she had somehow been spared but deep down, he knew the truth was absolute: no one had survived.
For the first time in his life, Xeno felt the universe as it truly was: indifferent, unrelenting, and cruelly absolute. The constants he had always relied on—his genius, his precision, even his love—could not bend reality.
And in that frozen world, all he could do was wait, immobile, trapped with the knowledge of what he had lost.