The city felt warmer that day. Early autumn sunlight filtered through yellowing leaves, and the streets carried that crisp breeze that made jackets optional but comforting.
Renji was paid again.
But this time, he didn't spend recklessly. They made a grocery list the night before, Ichika drawing tiny doodles next to each item, insisting they get her favorite yogurt no matter what.
"And if they're out," she'd said, holding up a pen like a weapon, "we riot."
So here they were—shopping bags in hand, her half-hanging off the cart while he pushed it lazily down the block.
"You're seriously boring," she said, sipping from a carton of juice they hadn't even paid for yet.
"Says the girl who took fifteen minutes picking cereal."
"Those were high-stakes decisions. You wouldn't understand."
He rolled his eyes. She kicked at his shin playfully.
They laughed. They bickered. It felt like routine now. Something good.
The mail was stuffed in their box. Flyers. A fast food coupon. And one envelope, simple and pale.
Renji's name was handwritten on the front.
He froze.
No return address. Just the name: "Renji Kuroda."
Ichika noticed.
"What's that?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Just... something old, I think."
She tilted her head, curious but didn't press. "You gonna open it?"
"Later."
He tucked it into his jacket.
Back in the apartment, she helped put things away, still sneaking snacks. She talked about wanting to learn how to make curry from scratch. He nodded, not really hearing her.
That letter sat heavy in his chest, like it was pulsing.
That night, after Ichika went to bed—muttering something about dreams involving ice cream and flamethrowers—Renji sat at the kitchen table.
The letter was in front of him. Still unopened.
He stared at it for a long time before finally sliding a knife through the seal.
He pulled out the single page inside. The handwriting was neat. Unfamiliar. But the message was clear.
"Dear Renji,
I hope this reaches you well. Misaho gave me your address. She told me about the girl.
I'd like to meet her.
She deserves a family who can take care of her, provide everything she can need or want, but you're still a teenager, you're just starting your life, so I wrote this letter to offer you and that girl an opportunity: let me adopt her, me and my husband are ready to receive her in our lives
Please contact me if you're willing to meet.
– Rika Kanzaki."
Renji's hands trembled slightly.
Rika Kanzaki.
He hadn't seen that name in years.
He thought she was out of his life for good.
The name hit like a wave. That old, emotionless witch, the one who made his brother the emotionless bastard he is now, and the one who arranged his sister's marriage with a CEO that was 10 years older than her.
And now she wanted to meet Ichika?
He leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling.
Outside, the wind picked up. The letter stayed in his hand. Like a war declaration occurring right into his nose, and from the worst person Renji could think of…
To Be Continued…