"I wasn't aware this was an interrogation."
A new voice.
Deep. Even.
One that cut through the murmurs like a blade.
Dad had entered the room.
And with him, the conversation ended.
He wasn't loud.
He didn't have to be.
His presence alone was enough.
The whispers stopped.
The glances ceased.
The tension lingered.
But no one said another word.
Because no one wanted his attention on them.
"My daughter is human," father said, voice calm.
"That is the end of this discussion."
It was not a suggestion.
It was final.
After a long pause, someone forced a chuckle.
"O-of course! We were just curious. It's not every day you see a child with such… unique eyes."
Mother didn't smile.
Father didn't acknowledge them further.
And the gathering moved on.
As if nothing had happened.
Later, after the last guest had left, mother sat in a quiet room, holding me close.
Her fingers traced my cheek, slow and gentle.
"People are fools, little star."
I didn't understand the words yet.
But I understood her tone.
She was angry.
Not at me.
For me.
She pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
"They don't understand," she whispered.
"But one day, they will."
I didn't know what she meant.
But I knew this—
I was different.
And the world had already noticed.
A few days had passed since the welcoming party.
But I was still angry.
Not because of how they treated me.
Because of how they treated my parents.
I had seen mom's smile falter.
I had seen dad's silence turn cold.
They didn't deserve that.
They didn't deserve to be questioned, to be doubted—
Just because I wasn't normal.
The worst part?
I couldn't do anything about it.
Not yet.
I clenched my tiny hands, frustration buzzing beneath my skin.
Someday, I would make them regret their words.
But for now—
I could only wait.
Lelyah sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers absently tracing small circles against the fabric.
Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Across the room, Satoshi leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Then—
"She's not normal, Satoshi."
His gaze lifted slightly.
"I know."
Lelyah exhaled. "It's not just her eyes."
"I know."
"She's too quiet."
"Yes."
"Too aware."
"Yes."
Lelyah turned toward him. "She understands us. More than she should."
Satoshi finally pushed off the wall, walking toward her.
"That's what worries me."
Lelyah's brows furrowed. "You're worried?"
Satoshi was rarely unsettled.
"You don't find it strange?" he asked. "She never cries unless she needs something. She watches everything. Listens."
"She's just observant—"
"She understands," Satoshi interrupted. "I know that look. I've seen it in warriors—assessing a battlefield. That is not the look of an infant."
Lelyah bit her lip.
She couldn't deny it.
She had seen it too.
"What do we do?" she asked quietly.
Satoshi was silent.
Then, before he could answer—
A strange noise came from the other room.
Lelyah's head snapped up.
"Did you hear that?"
Satoshi was already moving.
The noise had been soft, like the flutter of cloth against the floor, but it had come from Chiori's room.
They stepped inside—
And froze.
Because Chiori was no longer alone in her crib.
Something moved behind her.
Something attached to her.
A tail.
Not a physical tail.
A construct.
A faint, mana-woven extension of herself, shifting ever so slightly, as if responding to her emotions.
Lelyah's breath caught in her throat.
"No…"
Satoshi's eyes darkened.
"That's impossible."
Because magic wasn't supposed to manifest until five years of age.
And yet—
Their six-month-old daughter had already broken that rule.
I felt it before I saw their faces.
A shift in the room.
A tension I didn't understand at first.
Then I looked down—
And saw the tail.
I froze.
No. No, no, no.
I had been too angry.
Too frustrated.
And now—
I had made a mistake.
I turned toward my parents.
Their expressions were shocked.
Silent.
Unmoving.
I felt a cold weight settle in my stomach.
I messed up.
Lelyah's hands trembled.
"Satoshi…"
He didn't respond.
Because he didn't know how.
There was no precedent for this.
No explanation.
No rule that could justify what they were seeing.
Satoshi slowly exhaled.
"Calm down."
Satoshi exhaled slowly.
Then, after a long pause—
"Lelyah."
She blinked at the shift in his tone.
"How long has it been?"
Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
He didn't look at her—his sharp gaze remained on Chiori, who was still asleep in her arms.
"Since a Summoner was born in either of our families."
The question hit like a weighted stone.
Lelyah opened her mouth—but no answer came.
Because the truth was—
"It's been generations," she whispered.
Satoshi nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer.
"So why now?"
Magic was predictable.
A child was born with a form of magic.
But that form would not manifest until age five.
That was the rule.
That was how it worked.
Yet here Chiori was, barely six months old—and she had already broken that rule.
But it wasn't just the timing that was unnatural.
It was the magic itself.
A tail.
A Summoner's construct.
Not a sword. Not a spell. Not a projectile.
A piece of herself, given form.
I tried to make the tail disappear.
Nothing happened.
I tried again.
Still there.
I clenched my tiny fists, willing my mana to pull back.
I didn't even know how I was doing it.
I just knew that if I didn't—
Something would change.
And then—
A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me.
My vision blurred.
And before I could process what was happening—
Everything went dark.
Lelyah rushed forward, catching Chiori before she slumped too far to the side.
"She's breathing," she whispered in relief.
Satoshi placed a hand on the crib's edge.
"Can you sense her element?" Satoshi asked.
Lelyah frowned, concentrating.
She let her mana drift around their daughter, reaching for a signature—
Nothing.
No Fire.
No Water.
No Wind.
No Earth.
No Light.
No Dark.
It was empty.
Not in the way that a child should be before their magic fully awakens.
But in a way that felt… wrong.
"I don't feel anything," Lelyah admitted.
"Neither do I." Satoshi's expression darkened.
It didn't make sense.
If Chiori was a Summoner, her elemental affinity should have still been present.
Even if it hadn't fully developed yet, there should have been something.
But there was nothing.
Not a trace.
Lelyah hugged Chiori closer.
"If we can't detect her element, does that mean she doesn't have one?"
Satoshi shook his head.
"No. It means her element isn't normal."
A chill ran down her spine.
Magic always followed a rule.
A Summoner could call forth monsters, spirits, or constructs—
But they were always bound by an element.
Fire Summoners wielded flame-beasts.
Water Summoners called forth serpents from the sea.
Earth Summoners shaped living stone.
Every Summoner had an affinity.
But Chiori's magic had no signature at all.
That shouldn't be possible.
And yet—
"It's happening," Satoshi murmured.
He was staring at Chiori again, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
"We need to decide what to do."
Lelyah looked up. "You mean if we tell anyone?"
Satoshi didn't answer right away.
The weight of something bigger than them pressing down on this moment.
Something they weren't meant to understand yet.
"Then what do we do?" she asked softly.
Satoshi was silent for a long time.
Then, finally—
"We protect her."
Lelyah nodded.
Her magic pulsed instinctively, a soft glow of healing mana surrounding her daughter's small body.
There was no other answer.
No other path.
Because no one else could know about this.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
I woke up to whispers.
Mother's heartbeat was a little too fast.
Father's breathing was a little too steady.
Something was wrong.
I didn't know what they had figured out.
I just knew—
They were looking at me differently.
Not with fear.
Not with anger.
But with something else.
Something that would change everything.
And that was when I realized—
I wasn't just different.
I was something they didn't understand.
The arrival of the Saegusa Clan's leader was never quiet.
Even when Hinata Saegusa came alone, his presence carried weight.
The guards at the entrance straightened instinctively, like they had just stepped into formation.
The estate was calm—but in the way a battlefield was before the first sword was drawn.
Hinata wasn't here for business.
He was here because of Satoshi.
And because he had questions.
"It's been a minute."
Satoshi stood at the entrance, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Hinata didn't smile. He never did.
But there was a flicker of familiarity in his gaze.
"Too long," Hinata replied. "I was beginning to think you finally crawled into a hole and died."
Satoshi sighed, shaking his head.
"A shame. Your grieving process would've been beautiful to watch."
"Oh, I'd give you a full ceremony," Hinata deadpanned. "Open casket. Flowers. A public reminder that even the 'great' Satoshi Tomaszewski wasn't immortal after all."
"Touching," Satoshi muttered. "Would you like a eulogy while you're at it?"
"I'd prefer an apology for the years of suffering you've inflicted on me with your existence."
"And I'd prefer for you to mind your own business," Satoshi countered. "Yet here you are."
A pause.
Then, Hinata exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Let's get to it, then. Where's the child?"
Satoshi didn't react outwardly.
But internally, something coiled tight.
"I heard the rumors," Hinata said smoothly as they walked through the halls.
"Rumors?"
"About your daughter."
The words hit like a blade.
Satoshi's pace did not slow.
"And what exactly are people saying?"
"That she's unusual."
Satoshi kept his expression neutral.
"All infants are unusual."
Hinata gave him a look.
"I don't believe in coincidences, Satoshi."
"And I don't believe in baseless speculation."
They stopped outside a sitting room.
The tension settled between them.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, finally—
"Show me the child."
I felt him before I saw him.
A presence.
Sharp. Unyielding. Controlled.
Even as an infant, I could sense the difference.
He wasn't like dad.
He wasn't like my mother.
He was something else.
Someone who missed nothing.
I was in mother's arms when he stepped inside.
A man dressed in black, his posture perfect, his eyes cold and calculating.
I didn't move.
I didn't cry.
I just stared at him.
And he stared back.
The room was silent.
Then—
"She's too quiet."
My mother tensed.
"She's a calm baby."
"No," Hinata murmured, his gaze not leaving mine.
"She's watching me."
No one else had noticed.
Not my caretakers.
Not the guests at the party.
Not even the servants who whispered behind closed doors.
But Hinata Saegusa saw me.
And he knew something was off.
Dad finally spoke.
"What are you implying?"
Hinata tilted his head slightly.
"I don't know yet."
Then, after a pause—
"But I intend to find out."
The silence was broken by an irritated rustle of feathers.
Then, from the folds of Hinata's cloak, something small and feathery popped out.
A child.
His son.
The little fledgling blinked sleepily, his small hands gripping onto his father's collar like a bird refusing to leave its nest.
Satoshi snorted. "Figures. Even your kid clings to you like an overgrown chick."
Hinata ignored him, his gaze still focused on Chiori.
"My son doesn't have strange rumors about him," he said casually.
"No, of course not," Satoshi drawled. "Because he's a Saegusa."
Hinata's eyes flickered.
Satoshi leaned against the doorframe.
"That's why no one questions him."
"And what's your point?" Hinata asked coolly.
"That the only reason your kid isn't facing scrutiny is because of the bloodline he was born into."
For the first time since arriving, Hinata didn't immediately respond.
Because they both knew—
Satoshi was right.