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Yuzu soon grew bored with human conversation. She moved to the windowsill, curled up between the curtain and the glass, and continued watching the guest through one half-open eye.
Monica finished her tea, placed the cup on the table, and settled deeper into the corner of the sofa. After an entire day spent holding her back straight before her superiors, she finally allowed her shoulders to relax.
TNO remained beside her with his legs extended. There was noticeably less space between them than at the beginning of the conversation, and neither tried to reclaim it.
Tokyo burned beyond the window. The signs reflected in the glass, but only the moon's soft, cold glow reached the room.
— You offered me the victory, — Monica said. — I refused because I decided it was the right thing to do.
She paused, looking at the lights of the city.
— I was a fool. I should have accepted your offer.
— Yes.
Monica slowly turned her head toward him.
— Is that all?
— What else am I supposed to say? You're right.
— You could at least contradict me out of politeness.
— But what you did really was foolish.
She shoved him irritably in the shoulder.
— Sometimes you don't need to agree with people quite so eagerly.
TNO did not resist and fell back along the sofa. Monica still intended to say something, but after the day she had endured, she no longer had the strength for a proper argument. She exhaled tiredly, leaned after him, and dropped her head onto his chest.
— Insufferable.
— Honest.
— Be quiet.
He obeyed.
Within seconds, Monica had made herself more comfortable, partially lying on top of him. Her freshly washed hair spilled over his shirt. TNO felt its coolness beneath his chin and caught the clean, faintly sweet scent of shampoo, finally displacing the smoke, blood, and seawater burned into his memory.
Without raising her head, Monica continued.
— The worst part is that I really did almost nothing. Sato held the evacuation together. Quillshire blinded the mutant. You devised the plan, drew it out of the warehouse, and killed it. I allowed a seventeen-year-old boy to go where I was afraid to enter myself.
— You pulled me out of the water.
— That was my job. Any police officer would have done the same in my place.
— Perhaps. But you were the one on the pier. You saved my life.
She fell silent.
TNO looked at her fingers. Snip Clip had opened around those fingers on the pier. It was her Quirk he had copied to give the plan any chance of succeeding.
— Even if the police consider your contribution insignificant, remember this: you still saved my life. And I never thanked you properly.
A trace of mockery returned to TNO's voice.
— And then you had the nerve to refuse the only reward I could offer you—the victory over the Nomu. Shameless woman.
Monica lifted her head and glared at him in outrage, but did not argue with that final part.
— You went back into the warehouse and nearly died.
— That does not make what I said any less true.
— I saw you without an arm.
Monica's voice broke.
— I saw the blood and thought I had sent a person to his death who might not even know about his father yet. I was talking to you while you lay there smiling. Then the blood began to move, and I no longer knew which frightened me more: that you might die, or what you might actually be.
The tears returned without warning. Monica wiped angrily at her cheek with her palm.
— I hate you.
TNO did not look away.
— For lying?
— For making me that afraid.
He had no answer.
Monica gave a quiet laugh through her tears.
— There. You finally don't know what to say.
— It happens occasionally.
— I should record the date.
She wiped her face again, smearing the moisture. TNO gently caught her wrist and drew her hand away.
— That only makes it worse.
— Don't order me around.
He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
Monica went still.
So did TNO.
The touch suddenly proved more difficult than taking a Quirk. There was no foreign power here to read, dismantle, and subjugate. Only another person's warmth and the possibility of making the wrong movement at any moment.
Monica decided for him.
She raised herself, moved closer, and wrapped both arms around TNO again.
It was not graceful or careful. She simply held him tighter and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.
For the first few seconds, he lay motionless.
Nomura's body knew embraces. Taiko's memories did too. But TNO perceived them as someone else's instructions read far too long ago.
Then his violet-black hand settled on Monica's back.
The other arm tightened around her.
She flinched but did not pull away.
— I don't know who you are, — Monica whispered.
— I just spent an hour explaining.
— Shut up. I'm serious.
TNO obeyed.
— I don't know whether you are Taiko, Nomura, or something born between them. I don't know how dangerous your real Quirk is. And I have no idea whether holding you right now is the right thing to do.
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt.
— But on the pier, you were someone I did not want to lose. For now, that is enough.
TNO closed his eyes.
For the first time, he did not need a name.
***
There was no need to let go of each other immediately.
They remained on the sofa. TNO turned on the television and muted it, but neither of them cared what was happening on the screen. The late hour gradually claimed its due: the apartment settled into silence, their movements grew slower, and the pauses between words grew longer.
Monica tucked her legs beneath herself and settled against his shoulder. TNO held her with one arm. For a while, they continued exchanging short remarks, but soon even maintaining a conversation felt like too much effort. The television cast silent, shifting light across the walls.
With his free hand, TNO took out his phone and messaged the driver that he could leave. TNO would return by taxi in the morning.
Monica opened her eyes sleepily, noticed the darkened screen, and asked nothing. She only moved closer against his shoulder, silently agreeing that he would not be going anywhere tonight.
They had almost drifted off when pain stretched from his temple to the back of his head. TNO winced, and his fingers rose toward it on their own.
Monica noticed immediately.
— I'm not letting you go anywhere with a headache like that.
— It's almost gone.
— That is the third time you've rubbed your temple in ten minutes.
TNO lowered his hand.
— Observant.
— Detective. Former detective.
The final word hurt more than the ones before it.
TNO turned fully toward her. Neither a smile nor his usual mockery remained on his face.
— The police will regret losing a detective like you, — he said. — They'll bring you back and restore your rank. There will be another case one day, and they will need you specifically.
Monica met his gaze. The corner of her mouth trembled as though she wanted to smile, but her eyes remained tired.
— Don't ruin the moment with optimism.
TNO looked at the sealed envelope containing the order on the table. Nezu's advice returned almost word for word: find someone capable of affirming his will rather than replacing it with their own.
Such a person was already lying beside him.
— We're only going to sleep, — Monica warned as she reached for a blanket. — If you try anything, I'll carve you into pieces.
She tried to make the threat convincing by spreading her index and middle fingers slightly. Almost at once, however, she grew embarrassed, closed them, and hid her hand in her sleeve.
— I have no desire to share that Nomu's fate, — TNO replied.
They lay down without undressing. TNO settled against the back of the sofa, Monica in front of him. For a while, she preserved several centimeters of space between them.
His tiger ears still rose above his dark hair. One turned almost imperceptibly at the rustle of the blanket.
Monica watched him longer than she should have.
— Can I scratch your ears? — she asked in a sleepy voice.
The meaning of her own words reached her with a delay.
— No. Forget it. That isn't what I meant, — she protested, primarily at herself.
Her heart treacherously accelerated.
TNO was already sinking into a half-sleep, but his enhanced hearing caught both the question and the altered rhythm in her chest.
— Yes, — he answered sleepily.
Monica froze.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
Retreating after receiving permission seemed even more foolish than asking. She slowly raised a hand and touched the fur at the base of the nearest ear.
Soft. Warm. Real.
The ear twitched beneath her fingers, but TNO did not pull away. Monica cautiously ran her nails through the fur, careful not to bring her fingertips any closer to the skin than necessary.
She continued for several minutes until TNO's breathing became even. Soon, exhaustion claimed her too.
In the middle of the night, Monica woke to no sound at all.
Something warm and soft moved in her hand.
The moonlight had shifted to the other side of the room. In its faint glow, Monica made out TNO's striped tail. Sometime during their sleep, it had traveled across the blanket, curled around her wrist, and tucked its soft tip between her fingers.
As though it had chosen her on its own. Claimed her and had no intention of letting go.
Monica carefully turned her head. TNO slept, entirely unaware of either his tail or the distance between them.
The touch itself was not what surprised her most.
Her fingers were dangerous. Snip Clip could cut living tissue faster than a person could feel pain. One criminal had nearly bled to death when Monica had merely tried to stop him.
At the port, TNO had shown her how powerful her Quirk could become if she ceased restraining it at every moment. There had not been an untouched place left on the Nomu; he had literally carved the monster apart with the power Monica herself had spent her whole life afraid to set free.
He knew what her fingers could do. And still, he had fallen asleep beside her and left one of the most sensitive parts of his new body in her hand.
"What kind of person are you, TNO? Have you grown so accustomed to danger that my Quirk feels like a toy to you?"
No. He did not consider it a toy. That was precisely why his trust flattered her more than Monica wanted to admit, even to herself.
She slowly ran her thumb along one dark stripe. In his sleep, the tail tightened a little more firmly around her wrist.
Monica smiled into the darkness and made no further attempt to free her hand.
Monica woke first in the morning.
For several seconds, she stared at the violet-black arm lying across her stomach. Then she felt his breath against the back of her head and fully remembered why she had not slept in her bedroom.
Her face burned.
She carefully covered it with both hands, as though blindness might undo the position in which she had awakened.
— I'm twenty-six, — Monica whispered to herself. — Why am I behaving like an idiot?
— Because you like me, — TNO drawled without opening his eyes.
He flexed into an effortless arch and stretched from head to toe, slowly surfacing from sleep.
One tiger ear turned toward Monica while the tip of his tail slid lazily between her fingers.
She went rigid.
— How much of that did you hear?
— Starting from the part where you're twenty-six.
— Forget what you heard.
— I don't intend to.
Monica pulled the blanket over her head.
For the first time in several days, TNO laughed without calculation.
She was older. More experienced. Capable of entering a burning port and arguing with armed men. Yet simple romantic attention unsettled her more thoroughly than an interrogation.
Apparently, work truly had left no room for such things.
The tablet vibrated on the table.
Kazuo had sent confirmation that he had begun preparing the sale of the unprofitable assets.
The material world demanded money, signatures, and decisions once again.
TNO did not reach for the tablet immediately.
For a few more minutes, the world could wait.
— My father's funeral is this morning, — he said after a brief pause. — Will you come with me?
Monica peered out from beneath the blanket. Sleep still lingered on her face, but the embarrassment disappeared. She studied him, understood what he was truly asking, and did not force him to explain.
"She really is adorable when she's sleepy."
TNO had enough sense to keep the observation to himself. That morning, he had already given her one reason to hide beneath the blanket.
— Give me half an hour to get ready.
***
Okutami Senior's funeral was held later that morning.
The cemetery was surrounded by bare trees and people in identical black clothes. Business partners, distant acquaintances, representatives of port companies. All six owners who had agreed to enter the new holding company were present. Port workers stood behind them—without expensive coats, some still wearing their work jackets. So many people had gathered that the final rows stretched along the fence.
Some had come to say goodbye to Okutami Senior. Others had come to see who now possessed the fortune he had left behind. Reporters were held beyond the gates, but camera flashes still slipped between the bars.
TNO stood before the grave and barely heard the eulogies.
He truly felt sorry for Okutami Senior. The man had seen potential in Nomura and given him a name, a home, and a future. In return, he received a son who never had time to justify his hopes. There was no correcting that now. All TNO could do was avoid squandering what the man had left and, at least once, turn his money toward something worthwhile.
Monica stood beside him. Not in front, pretending to be family, and not apart among strangers. Simply beside him—close enough for TNO to register her presence without feeling pitied.
When the master of ceremonies invited the heir to say a few words, a barely perceptible movement passed through the crowd.
TNO raised his eyes from the grave.
He knew those faces too well. Polite grief did not prevent them from judging his age, his expensive suit, and his composed expression. They saw Nomura—the spoiled heir who had become famous for scandal before accomplishing anything useful. Some were undoubtedly already estimating how many months the boy would need to squander the fortune he had inherited.
One speech could not repair a reputation like that.
But he had to begin somewhere.
TNO stepped forward. He had prepared no text. He stopped beside the fresh grave, held his gaze on his father's name for several seconds, and then turned toward those assembled.
— Many of you knew my father longer than I did, and probably better. So I will not stand here and tell you what kind of man he was. You came to say goodbye to him, not to hear a beautiful lie from a son who too rarely lived up to his expectations while he was alive.
Someone in the first row lowered their head. Beyond the fence, cameras continued to flash.
— My father once saw more in me than I showed the people around me. I did not have time to prove that he was right. Now I will have to prove it without him.
TNO paused. His gaze moved across the business partners and terminal owners before settling on the workers by the fence.
— Along with money, companies, and a share of the port, I inherited obligations to the people whose lives depend upon the decisions of our family. The port lies in ruins. People died. Neither insurance nor a favorable report can bring them back. But I will not allow their deaths to become an excuse for those who intend to spend years arguing over who should pay first.
Tension appeared among the company representatives. The workers, by contrast, were no longer listening merely out of politeness.
— Hosu will work. People will not have to tell their families they lost their jobs simply because the owners failed to reach an agreement. I will make mistakes. Perhaps many. But I will not run from what I inherited, and I will not hide behind someone else's signature.
He looked at the grave again.
— I am not asking you to believe in me today. Watch what I do tomorrow. If I have inherited the ruins of the old world, then upon them I will build a new one.
The speech lasted less than three minutes.
No one applauded in a cemetery. For several moments, no one moved at all. Then one of the port workers removed his company cap and pressed it to his chest. The young owner of the shipyard bowed not only to the grave of TNO's father, but to TNO himself.
Even some of the appraising looks had changed. The distrust remained, but for the first time, expectation had joined it.
Much later, those final two sentences would be repeated apart from everything else. Some would call them the first public declaration of the future hero Faust. Others would call them the words that began the legend of the Dark Prince, whom the world would one day name the bloodiest hero on the planet.
That morning, TNO saw only people to whom he still had to prove that Nomura could become something more than a spoiled heir.
When the ceremony ended, people began to leave in small groups. Others continued approaching the grave to bow, but for the first time several meters of silence opened around the two of them.
TNO looked at the fresh earth.
— Nezu refused to become my guardian. UA will not take responsibility for me either.
Monica turned toward him. The wind stirred a red strand that had escaped from beneath her dark hat.
— This is hardly the best place to discuss paperwork.
— It was here that I finally understood whom I wanted to ask.
She grew wary.
— Then become my guardian.
For several seconds, Monica only stared at him, as though checking whether the wind had distorted what she heard.
— Your what?
— My guardian. Kaito is still recovering, and the state-appointed representative can delay any transaction for three days with a single expression. I need a permanent guardian who will affirm my decisions instead of replacing them with her own.
— And for that, you chose a suspended detective from Osaka?
— You aren't working for the time being anyway. This way, you'll be with me.
Monica's eyebrows rose slowly.
TNO repeated his own words internally and discovered considerably more meanings in them than he had intended.
— As my guardian, — he clarified. — That sounded worse than I expected.
— That sounded like the worst proposal to move in together in the history of Japan.
The corner of her mouth twitched, but her expression quickly became serious again.
— You understand that a guardian will have access to medical decisions, documents, and some of your financial affairs? I will not automatically sign everything you place in front of me.
— I don't need an automatic signature. I need someone who will first ask what I want.
— Why me?
— Because I trust you.
Monica looked toward the grave. This time, her silence did not come from confusion. She was considering the consequences—for him, for herself, and for the court to which she would have to explain why a suspended police officer had decided to become guardian to a wealthy UA student six months before his eighteenth birthday.
— All right, — she said at last. — I'll agree to put myself forward. But the court makes the decision, and before then, the two of us are going to discuss the rules separately.
— Which rules?
— All of them. And we will begin with the rule that "you aren't working anyway" will never again be used as an argument.
— I can already feel the benefits of private guardianship.
— Too late to change your mind.
This time, her smile remained a little longer.
TNO looked once more at Okutami Senior's grave.
He had come there to say goodbye to the man who had once given Nomura a family. He left having chosen for himself, for the first time, whom he was willing to trust with that place beside him.