Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12863184.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Other, M/M
  Fandom:
      僕だけがいない街_|_ERASED
  Relationship:
      Fujinuma_Satoru_&_Yashiro_Gaku
  Character:
      Fujinuma_Satoru, Yashiro_Gaku, Kobayashi_Kenya, Hinazuki_Kayo, Various
      Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Father-Son_Relationship, Family_Secrets, Family_Dynamics, Alternate
      Universe_-_Dark, Epistolary, Parent-Child_Relationship, Child_Abuse,
      Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Emotional_Manipulation, Child_Murder,
      Brutal_Murder, Murder_Family, Blood_and_Gore, Serial_Killers, Killing,
      Canonical_Character_Death, Dubious_Morality, Morally_Ambiguous_Character
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-17 Updated: 2018-02-21 Chapters: 4/? Words: 8758
****** Only Human ******
by VampireGRose
Summary
     "My name is Satoru Yashiro. I’m ten years old, my birthday is March
     2nd, my favorite color is blue, and my favorite pastime is reading
     Wonder Guy. I also have two interesting facts about me instead of
     just one: First, I’m actually really good at sports even though I’m
     not on a sports team, and second, I know how to kill someone."
     AU where Yashiro is Satoru's father and teaches him how to keep
     secrets hidden well.
     Told in epistolary form.
***** Secrets *****
February 15th, 1988
My name is Satoru Yashiro. I'm ten years old, my birthday is March 2nd, my
favorite color is blue, and my favorite pastime is reading Wonder Guy. I also
have two interesting facts about me instead of just one: First, I'm actually
really good at sports even though I'm not on a sports team, and second, I know
how to kill someone.
That second one sounds a little weird but let me explain…
It began when I was about six years old. I noticed Dad wasn't in bed at the
time he normally would be. He liked to turn the light off at around eleven
o'clock, and I'd listen to his footsteps across the floor until a door opened
and they'd vanish like smoke. But one night the light had been left on, and Dad
wasn't in bed. I thought he might have gone out to buy extra groceries, but our
fridge had been filled a couple of days before, and Dad was a smart shopper—he
knew exactly what to get, never forgetting and backtracking.
I pushed the futon sheets off and crawled toward the sliding door, inching my
fingers through the small crack of light and opening it farther until the
kitchen came into view. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, but then
something moved in my peripheral vision. I turned sharply, prepared to scream,
when the shadow disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It came from outside.
I had spent my night staying up till then rereading the latest copy of Wonder
Guy. So, whether it was my comic book hero's influence or my own resolve, I got
right to my feet. I grabbed my socks, pulled them over my feet, grabbed my
pants, pulled them over my waist, grabbed my blue parka from the closet, zipped
it up to my chin, and finally pushed my feet into my sneakers before taking a
flashlight from the cubby, flicking it on, and opening the front door.
It was a cold day, and the night made the wind even stronger. My face went numb
as the chill bit at my nose, turning it as bright as Rudolph the reindeer's and
stuffed with snot. I fought through nearly a foot of snow with my flashlight as
my guide. It had been a bad winter, and more snow days than usual. But, through
my struggles, I had found a trail of tire tracks in the parking lot a few
lengths away from our house—or what should have been a parking lot but on that
night it looked more uncultivated than ever before.
I followed the tracks, shining my light on them with such intent that I worried
if my flashlight strayed, the trail would be blown away by the wind, and I'd
have to return home without Dad or answers. My footprints in the snow dissolved
the farther I went.
I didn't know how long I had been trudging through the elements until the tire
tracks finally came to an end at a pier. The looming structure creaked and
rocked as the wind attacked it. Waves hit its side with equally as much force
as the wind, and I stepped back, thinking home might be a better choice. No, I
had come so far, and Dad still wasn't home, and the light was still left on. I
needed to find out.
Taking a deep breath of courage, I recited a familiar mantra in my head as I
stepped onto the wooden structure: Wonder Guy wouldn't be afraid. Fear is the
enemy. You are not afraid.
I crossed the pier toward the sea, feeling its power vibrate the wood beneath
my feet. My pace slowed, thinking that I might fall over the pier and into the
sea and drown. There were many things I was good at, but swimming was not one
of them. My heart kicked against my chest each time a sprinkle of water touched
my face, chilling my already numbed skin. My flashlight beamed into nothing but
falling snow and blackness for a time.
And then, like a creature from the depths of fire, two great red eyes stared
back at me, glowing brighter than the artificial light in my trembling hand. I
nearly screamed again, but it got caught in my throat and swallowed when I
recognized the license plate in between the beast's eyes.
I came around the side of Dad's black SUV, trailing a line across its blanketed
white surface. It was a 1981 Grand Cherokee he had bought specifically to
withstand the elements during the winter season. He had gotten it practically
new, which I found both amazing and odd for a teacher. But Dad insisted he had
family money to spare so I trusted him.
I brushed some of the snow off the driver's side window and peered inside.
Nobody. Then I opened the driver's side door. The heat from the car's
ventilation system warmed me momentarily as I scoped the backseat for any signs
of movement.
Movement came, but it wasn't from inside the car. I heard it from within the
storm—splashing—gurgles—something strange that didn't feel natural. It didn't
come from the clouds or the air. It came from something forced. Almost
unhealthy. Like a sickness.
Shining my flashlight and gripping it firmly in hand, I closed the car door and
headed back into the storm. I shielded my eyes from the stinging cold with one
hand and followed the sounds blindly through Mother Nature's rage. Smoke from
my breath got swept away.
The gurgling sounds were closer, I could feel them. It was like an intense game
of Marco Polo, and I had no clue what I would find. A sharp pang expanded
inside my chest, sending a wary message to my brain that what I might find
would be neither believable nor ordinary.
And I was right.
The artificial light shined on a crouched mass at the edge of the pier that I
first mistook for a rock. But as I crept closer, the sounds died as if
realizing my presence. A head popped up and turned toward the light.
Dad squinted through the beam. His black eyes had a hint of discoloration,
giving them a red-eye effect. He blocked the intensity with his hand, shadowing
part of his face. "Satoru?" he asked through the storm.
"Dad?" I nearly fell onto him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Dad! I was so
scared! Why didn't you come home?"
"Satoru," he said as surprise lingered on his tongue. "What are you doing out
of bed so late?"
"I came to find you," I squeaked, teary-eyed. "I thought you were hurt. Why are
you out here?" As if answering my own question, my eyes fell to something in
front of him that was steadily making its way underwater, but the crashing
waves kept it afloat long enough for me to notice the outline of a face against
the flashlight's gleam. Something like bile started to rise into my throat. My
gaze slowly made its way back to Dad's. The pounding wind and sprinkles of salt
water seemed far less threatening all of a sudden.
He paused. "Satoru." His tone was sharp and steady, like he was about to give
me a lecture. "Can you keep a secret?"
I nodded slowly, but then replied, "Yes" when I realized he might not have seen
my response in the thick darkness. A chill ran down my spine, and I knew it
wasn't from the winter air.
"I have to tell you something. Come. Let's head back to the car first." He
picked me up into his arms, pulling me close to his chest to protect me from
the wind's wrath. His black leather gloves dug into my parka, keeping the
elements from blowing me away. My cheek rested against the hollow of his neck,
which was oddly warm, as he backtracked to our Grand Cherokee.
He lowered me into the passenger's seat, which was odd because I was too small
to be allowed to sit there. Whatever he had to say, he wanted us to sit side-
by-side, eye-to-eye, with as little distance between us as possible, but just
enough to give me space should I need it.
Dad closed the driver's door behind him and turned the heat on so high, it made
my parka billow out. He lowered it before finally speaking, "Satoru, do you
remember the pet wren you had?"
I blinked.
In the summer before that winter, there had been a huge rainstorm that had
caused many power outages in our town. The day after, I had found a dead wren
and a nest filled with two dead babies and a third with a broken wing. Its
chirping had alerted me to the nest's location. I picked it up and cradled it
in my hands. It teetered on its twiggy legs, using its one remaining wing as
extra leverage. Its broken wing had been bent awkwardly upward, and it had a
small cut around its wrist.
I took the baby wren home and put it in a box with a towel because I had no
clue what else to put it in. When Dad got home, I begged him for us to keep it,
but he told me that without the gift of flight or its mother's support, the
poor thing had no chance of surviving.
"You shouldn't let it suffer," Dad had said. "It's in a lot of pain right now."
"Then what can we do?" My face had been so wet and red that even snot had
started clogging my nose. "I don't wanna leave it outside alone and hurt, Dad.
Please. I don't!"
He patted me on the head and gave a warm smile. It was the kind of smile that
every father should have. But it was also Dad's smile that he saved specially
for me when I was afraid or sad. "It's all right, Satoru. I can fix it."
"Y-you can?" My heart skipped.
He nodded and then pressed a finger to his lips. "But promise me you won't tell
anyone. Okay?"
I nodded. My first thought was Dad would perform a secret magical ritual and
mend the broken bones in the tiny bird's wing. But when he took the little
thing out of the box and ran a thumb over its chirping beak, silencing it, a
sting pierced my gut. Without any hesitation, Dad quietly and swiftly twisted
the little bird's neck. A sharp pop hit my eardrums. And, in the next moment,
the little thing lay limp in his palm.
I wanted to cry, but my shock had kept my voice in. I looked back to Dad, whose
expression hadn't left that warm smile.
"Now it's out of its misery," he said.
Once I remembered the incident with the baby wren, I looked back to Dad sitting
in the driver's seat beside me and answered, "Y-yes."
Dad tapped a finger on the wheel. It was a habit he had picked up some time
after he tried to quit smoking—at least that's when I first noticed it. "This
is a similar situation to the wren, son. I know it doesn't seem ordinary, but
I'm doing someone a favor."
"Favor?"
"Yes, it means I'm helping someone out," Dad explained. "You see, some families
aren't like us, Satoru. Some parents don't treat their children fairly. In
fact, they can treat them horribly. But, because children depend entirely on
their parents for the duration of their youth, they don't have many
opportunities to escape the kinds of parents who mistreat them. They may run
away, they may hide, they may even fight back, but, for the vast majority of
them, their reprieve never lasts. One way or another, they find themselves back
in their parents' grasp and feeling just as beaten and broken as before. But
they are too afraid to do anything else so they give up and endure the pain."
Dad tilted his head and gave me a sidelong stare. "Are you following any of
this?"
I nodded.
His eyes flickered back to the outside, staring straight for what felt like an
eternity—his finger tapping alone in the silence. "So that's where I come in. I
give these children what they can't have—mercy. Do you know what I mean by
mercy, Satoru?"
I shook my head. "No."
"It means…" He inhaled. "I'm setting them free," he said beneath a strong sigh.
"I'm helping them escape their misfortunate lives. I'm giving them what they
want but can't do themselves. I'm saving them."
"You mean, like a superhero?"
Dad's finger stopped tapping, and he looked back down at me with his signature
smile. "Yeah, like a superhero." He turned the heat down once again. "Your wren
was in a lot of pain when we found it. Had we found him sooner, before the
storm, we might have been able to keep him alive. The kids I save are like your
wren, Satoru. They're too far-gone to want to stay alive. So I'm the one they
ask for to help end their suffering."
A chill ran down my spine. "But…aren't you afraid you'll get caught?"
Dad stilled but his expression didn't waver. "I've been doing favors for a long
time, Satoru. I started years before you were born. I've perfected my craft
enough to know that'll never happen so long as we both keep it that way." There
was a low hum in his tone that made me tense.
"We?" I asked.
"Yes, as long as you keep this between us, we have nothing to worry about," he
said, but seemed to notice the discomfort lingering on my face. "Let me ask you
something, does Wonder Guy reveal his true identity to the people he saves?"
"No."
"And why's that?"
I swallowed hard. "Because he doesn't want the people he cares about to be in
danger. He needs to protect them."
"Exactly," Dad said with a slight sigh of relief. "So, imagine I'm Wonder Guy.
If other people know what I do, do you really think that we'll be able to live
like normal for much longer?"
I shook my head.
"Of course not," he agreed. "So, Satoru, it's your job to keep this secret. If
anyone finds out, very bad things will happen not only to me but to you, too."
My stomach churned. "Like what?" I had to ask the question before it devoured
me like some monster.
Dad's gaze wandered back to the outside, his smile erased. The low humming of
the SUV was all that separated the silence between us. "You'll be taken away
for me," he revealed in a deep voice. His hands clenched the wheel. "For good."
When he looked back at me, the darkness in his eyes thickened. "Is that what
you want, Satoru?"
"No!" I cried before he even finished the sentence. I reached over and wrapped
my arms around his arm. "No. I don't want us to be apart, Daddy!" I started
sobbing into his sleeve.
"Satoru," he said in his calm, understanding tone, stroking my hair through
with a gloved hand. "It's up to you to protect our family. Can you do that for
me, son? Can you be like Wonder Guy?"
I nodded into his sleeve. "Uh-huh."
"Promise me."
"I promise," I said, sniffing.
"Good boy."
He gave me time to wipe the tears and snot away. When I did, Dad's smile
returned to his face.
"Say, why don't we go home and I'll make you some warm miso soup?" he said.
"Does that sound good?"
I reflected his smile and hugged his arm. "Yeah. I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, son. Always."
And with that, he reversed the car off the pier and started toward home.
Three days later, a six-year-old girl was reported missing. The cops didn't
find her body until it had washed ashore two days after that.
***** Family *****
February 16th, 1988
For as long as I can remember, it’s just been Dad and me.
I know I did have a mom at some point in my life. Dad mentions her in quiet
moments when he already senses I want to ask about her but can’t muster up the
courage to. I think they had a bad breakup since we have no pictures of her
anywhere in the house. I like to imagine what she looks like—draw her face with
blue eyes, white skin, and black hair, like mine. I read somewhere that boys
tend to take after their mothers more than their fathers physically, but I
can’t determine how true that statement is. All I can do is believe that my mom
didn’t leave me because she didn’t want me, but because she wasn’t as
financially stable as Dad is. 
I used to ask him if she’d come back for my birthday or for Christmas. But
every year we have a reason to celebrate, the third chair at our dining table
remains empty. And Dad always says the same thing:
“I’m sorry, son. Maybe next time.”
When I was little, I’d see other kids’ moms come into my daycare during naptime
and wake their children up to bring them home. There was this one mom who
always had a warm feeling about her that made me wish, more times than I should
have, that I could steal her away from her child and turn her into my mom.
That, or have Dad do it for me.
I’d think about the way she’d come through the door, brushing her black hair
out of the way, flashing her wide smile until her eyes would squint, and
carefully stepping over sleeping children to reach her daughter. I’d keep one
eye open, hoping that somehow she’d accidentally take me instead.
One day, as I watched her kneel down and shake her daughter awake, she looked
over at me.
I swiftly shut my eye, feeling my face grow hot. 
And then, something beautiful happened…
She touched me. Not in an uncomfortable or selfish way, but very considerate.
Motherly. Her fingers traced my forehead, brushing the bangs from my eyes. Her
touch sent goosebumps up and down my body, like fireworks in a night sky. I
didn’t want the feeling to end. But, as soon as she had done that thoughtful
gesture, she was gone.
I waited to see if she’d come back the next day and do the same thing. She
never did. I stopped seeing her daughter there, too. No matter how much I
wished for her return, it never happened. Another mother gone and out of my
life. I found out later that their family had moved away somewhere into the
countryside. The moment I learned that, I started sobbing, and it took Dad a
lot longer than usual to dry my tears. I’d like to think that she was my mother
and had been given that brief window of opportunity to make a connection to me
that hadn’t been there since my birth.
How I wish I could’ve gone with them. As much as I love our small town, where
you can see the ocean and smell the salty air during a snowfall, I’ve secretly
yearned to leave and travel somewhere where the closest house is miles beyond
an endless forest—so far that you can’t even see it from a mountaintop. I think
about asking Dad if we could take a tour of the world. Maybe along the way I’ll
see that mom again, and she’ll kindly brush my bangs away from my face as she
had on that day. 
I’ve asked Dad before if he plans to remarry, or even wants to have a
girlfriend. The first time I asked him, he was drinking warm coffee and nearly
choked.
“I-if I find myself a girlfriend, what’ll happen to you, Satoru?” he asked. 
“That’s okay. I’m a big boy.” I flexed my tiny arm muscles for emphasis and
then bit into my egg like a lion bites into an antelope. “See?” I said with a
mouthful. “I cwan twake qare of myshelf.”
Dad hummed. “Wow, I didn’t realize.” Then he gestured with a nod, and I
promptly swallowed my food. “Very soon, you’ll be getting a job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And going to college.”
“Yup.”
He took a cleaner sip of his coffee and stared at the wall behind my head. “And
then moving out forever.”
The way in which he said the final word gave me chills. At first it sounded
humorous, but, beneath the mask of comedy, I sensed cold fear. 
I cocked my head to the side and then grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t go far.
I’ll make sure to live nearby.”
The darkness in his features was cast away by a new smile. “That’s good. I’d
hate for my son to leave me all alone while he moves on with his life and gets
big and rich and famous.” He rubbed his eye like he was about to cry.
I’d never seen Dad cry, and still to this day haven’t. I’ve seen what might be
tears, but never full-out crying.
“Oh, Dad. Don’t be sad.”
He straightened himself and rested his elbows on the dining table. “My little
boy is growing up. Feels just like yesterday I was cradling you in my arms and
taking your home from the hospital. You were such a cute baby.”
I scrunched my nose in disgust. “Ugh, Dad. I don’t wanna hear thatstory again.”
“Oh, come on,” he teased. “You were so pudgy and wrinkly, like a little old
man—”
I slapped my palms over my ears and began humming loudly, blocking out his
chummy story from my brain.
He burst out into unapologetic laughter. It startled me at first because when
Dad laughs sometimes, he can literally shake the entire house, and I worry he
might actually destroy it.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to change topics, “I won’t be going anywhere for a
very long time. I need to work on getting my dream together. It’s just like
you’ve told me: dreams don’t happen unless you first believe in them and then
learn to chase them.” I scraped a few extra pieces of sausage and egg off the
plate and shoved any stragglers into my mouth. 
Dad’s eyebrow rose. “Indeed. And what dream would that be, son?”
I put my fork down, slid off the chair, and ran out of the room. When I
returned, I pushed the latest issue of Wonder Guy into his face. “I wanna be a
superhero.”
Dad took the issue from me and sifted through its pages. He paused on one of
the later pages. 
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I like this picture, here.”
I rose up to my tippy-toes to see over the table. “Which?”
Dad folded the pages back and turned them around to show me. He tapped his
finger on the picture in the lowest panel. 
The drawing was of Wonder Guy kneeling in front of a young boy and telling him
all the reasons why he saves people. Wonder Guy had his hand resting on top of
the boy’s head.
“It kind of reminds me of us,” Dad said fondly.
My smile widened, and I nodded.
Dad lifted a hand and placed it softly on the top of my head. His hand was warm
as he tangled his fingers into my hair and scratched my scalp. I shook my head
playfully.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
His tone made my heart stutter, and I froze. Dad’s fingers continued to get
lost in my hair’s thickness until he seemed to give up and lowered his hand to
trace my jawline. He thumbed my cheek. Dad was always loving. When I wanted a
hug, he’d open his arms out wide to accept. When I wanted a kiss, he’d pull me
in and peck my forehead. Dad never denied me affection.
But this one time felt different. His thumb reached my lips.
And slowly but surely, he kissed me. The kiss lasted longer than any other one
to my forehead. I tried jerking away, but he wrapped an arm around me to keep
me from escaping. Our chests collided, and my heart thundered out of rhythm
with his slow one.  
When Dad finally broke away, he smiled and said, “Time to get ready for
school.”
I nodded slowly, still taken aback by the forceful kiss. I slid off my chair
again, collected both my dirty plate and my glass, and cleaned them off in the
sink before drying them with a washcloth and placing them back into their
respective drawers. Then I started toward my bedroom to change my clothes.
“Satoru.”
I turned to face Dad.
He dangled the issue of Wonder Guy in front of him. “Aren’t you forgetting
something?”
I quietly accepted it from him, unable to make eye contact. As I headed for my
bedroom, the taste of coffee lingered in my mouth.
***** Loyalty *****
February 18th, 1988
Even though I’m really good at remembering people’s faces, I’m really bad at
keeping track of their owners’ names. It’s like a bad habit I have that’s also
a blessing. Dad says we should count our blessings because they are more
important than our failures. I consider myself blessed to have a strong visual
memory. If only I had been born with photographic memory like Dad. One of the
few things I didn’t inherit from him—apart from my eye color, of course. But
Dad says he likes my eyes, so I guess they’re a bonus blessing.
The few names I do grasp are Kenya Kobayashi, Kazu, Hiromi Sugita, and Osamu. I
guess, in some form of the word, I can call them my friends. We hang out after
school when I don’t have too much homework to do, and we talk about our
favorite comics, movies, foods, et cetera, until the sun begins to set and I
can already hear the lecture Dad will give me once I open the front door. I
guess calling them my friends is cutting it a bit close because I certainly
can’t trust any of them. 
Based on what Dad has told me, friends are people you can surround yourself
with, laugh with, share ideas, interests, passions, and even toys with. But
what you cannot do with friends is share your deepest, darkest secrets
with—because friends aren’t family. They don’t have that same attachment that
one has to his parents or siblings. They don’t have to worry about any
additional repercussions other than ending a friendship and never speaking to
the other person again. And once that tie has been severed, your ex-friends
have all the opportunity in the world to spread your deepest, darkest secrets
out to the rest of the world. And when that happens, everyone hates you. 
I don’t want people to hate me. I don’t want people to think of me any less
than they clearly do. 
Some of the kids in my class don’t even speak to me because they think I get
special attention since our teacher is also my father. Normally schools
wouldn’t allow a parent to teach a class that their kid is in. However, Dad is
well liked in our school, and our town is small, so he easily persuaded the
principal to let me into his class instead of having me take private tutoring.
In exchange, I must do all of my homework in the school’s library and under the
close eye of a proctor to ensure I’m not using Dad as a cheat sheet. But, even
though I follow the rules as carefully as can be, some of my classmates still
gossip about my straight As.   
The only people who don’t question my grades are my “friends.” And that’s why I
maintain a facade around them so other classmates don’t think that I’m some
lonely, privileged, know-it-all. It’s hard to keep a mask on without going
overboard though. There are times we are discussing deeper subjects, including
our family lives, and I want to contribute but can’t. I’ll open my mouth to say
something and then close it shut before the secret spills out, and I’m forced
to recover with a new, safer topic. 
Wonder Guy doesn’t confide in anybody about his true nature. He has friends to
talk to and laugh with, but he also has an advantage over me—he has a costume—a
way to hide his identity when he’s fighting crime. I don’t. My mask is my own
face. If something were to go wrong, I’d be ousted.
While I’ve always wanted to have friends, Dad says there’s a fine line between
wanting and needing. I can want company over for dinner, but do I need the
extra annoyance? I can want to share toys, but do I need to worry about getting
my action figures back? I can want to spend my off-days going to the movies or
the science center, but do I need to take time off from studying? I use my time
with my “friends” wisely without distracting myself too much from necessities.
Still, they are good people. I know because I’ve always been able to read
people very well, even from a young age. Kazu and Osamu are quite playful and
talkative, while Hiromi is pretty girly but just as social. That leaves Kenya,
who complements our group. Out of the four, he’s the closest to an equal. He’s
quiet and observant, like me. Sometimes I wonder if he can read my mind. The
way he looks at me has my heart skipping and my guard up. His face rarely
shifts from a soft smile or a relaxed frown. If he can see into my heart, why
doesn’t he tell anyone about Dad? Does he truly believe I love my friends more
than I love my father? That I’d choose them over family? 
I thought about that yesterday when I came home. If Kenya were to ask me about
Dad, if he knew him as I know him, would I have a good enough excuse to make
sure he doesn’t separate Dad and me? Kenya’s father is a lawyer, who’s been
searching for Dad ever since I can remember. But Dad is smarter than him, so I
should be okay. Despite his style, Dad is doing good not evil.
He normally stays after school to clean up and prepare lesson plans for the
next day. As I waited for him, I scanned through a few Wonder Guyvolumes and
listened to music on one of Dad’s fancy cassette players. I’ve grown up
listening to Dad’s music, which is primarily comprised of jazz, rock, or the
blues. Music is one of the few things that makes me feel connected to another
world. Jazz originated somewhere in the United States, so, whenever I listen, I
feel like I’m learning another language. Someone’s performing on stage, and I
close my eyes and envision myself in the audience. One of the places I’d love
to go to with Dad is New York City. He says the music scene doesn’t end even
when the rest of the world sleeps.  
I put on one song by Simon and Garfunkel that I practically grew up to. Dad was
whistling it the night I first found out what he likes to do besides being my
dad and a teacher. It’s a song that connects us. 
Just like that kiss…
I paused and wiped the heel of my hand against my lips, as if he had just done
it. Even after I had brushed my teeth that morning after breakfast, I couldn’t
focus on anything but his firm grip against my back and the taste of coffee.
I changed the song to calm my nerves and turned my attention onto Wonder Guy.
When I read, I like to sprawl myself out on the floor of my room on my stomach
and kick my feet through open air as I sift through the pages. It’s hard to
choose one volume. It’s like choosing between brands of chocolate—they’re all
different in their own way but still sooo good! I chose to reread the first
volume, which is probably my favorite because it’s when Wonder Guy discovers
his powers and decides to become a superhero. I always smile big at the last
page where he takes off after proclaiming himself as the city’s protector. What
I would give to be in his place or even just meet him. 
I closed the volume, turned off my cassette player, and thought: How can I
prove myself as a superhero? I first considered Dad, but I’d rather not copy
him. I want to do something for myself—I want to be special. I considered my
group of “friends.” They each have something about them that makes them unique,
but the only one besides myself who has superhero potential is Kenya. If we
were to collide, it would be like Wonder Guy meeting his greatest enemy. Kenya
would be a tough rival to beat. I feel like I’m always stepping on eggshells
around him. I have to be mindful of what I say. One slip-up and I’m done for.
But I’ve had a feeling ever since the school year started he’s been on to me.
Waiting for said slip-up.
I needed a distraction. A way to throw him off. To protect Dad.
Dad got home an hour later than he usually would. 
“Hey there, sport,” he said, wiggling his feet out of his shoes before stepping
into the house. He had a plastic bag in his hand and his briefcase’s strap hung
over his opposite shoulder. He sighed as he placed both down on the third
dining table chair. “Sorry about that. We had a meeting today after class.
Forgot to tell you before you left school. However…” He rummaged around in the
plastic bag and removed something. “Look what I've got.”
I came closer and noticed the wrapped ground beef in his hand. A smile crawled
up my face. “Hamburgers?”
Dad nodded with a wink. 
Nobody can make hamburgers like Dad can. Not even the restaurants that revolve
around their specially-made hamburgers. Dad’s recipe is so simple yet
delicious. My mouth instantly starts watering whenever he brings the
ingredients home. 
The anticipation of having hamburgers for dinner almost distracted me from what
I wanted to tell him.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, sitting down at the table.
He was busy rolling up his sleeves and starting the stove. “What’s up?”
“Sooo,” I drawled it out longer than intended, and I knew by his cocked brow he
had an idea of what I was about to say, “you know how my birthday’s on the
second, right?”
Dad rubbed his fingers on his chin and pursed his lips. “Oh, is it?”
He was teasing me. “Yeah, I’m going to be eleven. Remember?”
“Oh, right,” he said, half-listening as he unwrapped the beef from its
container and eyed the warming stove. 
“Well, I was wondering if I could have a birthday party.”
He clicked another dial on the stove to heat it up quicker. “A birthday
party?” 
“Yeah.”
“Who would you invite?”
“My friends from school.”
He picked up a pot to pour the beef in and tapped a finger against the handle.
“This is a first. I didn’t realize you were so close with those boys.”
I notice Dad’s sideways glances whenever I talk to Kenya and the others during
free period. The first few times he did it, a chill ran down my spine, as if
sensing the haunting animosity. Dad’s not the type to show emotion. I can count
the number of times I’ve seen him angry or heard him yell on one hand. And
those times weren’t pretty. Nowadays, when I have a feeling that he’s mad at
me, I always talk to him about it so I can explain myself.
“I’m not that close to them. But they know my birthday, and I’ve never invited
anyone over before so I thought this could be a good chance.” I lifted my hands
up. “B-but this can count as my birthday gift. You don’t have to give me
presents or anything. All I need is a couple of hours. That’s it.”
Dad continued fixing dinner. I started wondering if he had either disregarded
my wish or ignored it altogether. 
“Okay,” he finally answered.
My eyes widened. “Really?”
Dad looked over his shoulder at me. A smile on his face. “But only for a couple
of hours. Deal?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. I love you, Dad.”
He chuckled and returned his attention onto dinner. “Love you, too, Satoru.”
Now I can forgive our kiss.
Dad’s not evil.
He’s a good person.
And I can ignore many other things in my life—like having real friends. There’s
nothing stronger than the bond between a parent and his child.
Dad needs me.
I’m the only one who understands him.
That’s why when Kenya confronted me earlier today after school in front of our
group about whether I had something to hide, I lied straight to his face by
shoving an envelope into his chest and saying, “I wanted to tell you guys about
this sooner, but I didn’t have time to make the invitations look cool.” I
cleared my throat. “Will you all come to my birthday party on the second?”
Kenya blinked and then accepted the envelope with his name on it. I handed off
three more envelopes to the other boys.
They all said yes.
***** Hideout *****
February 20th, 1988
It’s always nice to have some place to go to that’s beyond your home—like
entering another dimension but still remaining in the real world. Home is where
the heart is, but a hideout is where the fun is. Hideouts are called such so
you don’t have to tell anybody except the people you share the location with.
My group has turned an abandoned warehouse into our hideout since it’s big
enough to move but subtle enough to blend in with other surrounding buildings.
But the thing that makes this place most special is that not even Dad knows
about it. I know that’s bad because Dad and I are supposed to share everything
with each other, but whenever I have the chance to tell him where my gang likes
to hang out after school, I say either in the park or at the arcade or
somewhere else that most kids like to go to. The hideout is a hideout for a
reason—to remain secret. Even from Dad. Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to
tell him. But, for now, I like being one of those kids who can keep at least
one thing hidden from his parent.
Today, we all playedDungeons & Dragons, a game from overseas that somehow found
its way into our hideout. Well, part of that was thanks to Osamu’s influence.
He’s been telling us for weeks about how he and his brothers play it until all
hours of the night. But he could never bring it to school because there were so
many pieces attached to the board set, so we agreed to wait until a weekend so
he could bring it directly to the hideout. Today, he had managed to finally
prove to our gang that all that talk for weeks wasn’t just talk.
At first, I didn’t understand how the game worked, so I watched the other boys
play a round, which took an absurdly long time to finish that I almost said no
to participating. But Kazu and Osamu ganged up on me to convince me to try it,
promising I’d get addicted the moment I’d start.
And they were right.
What drew me into the game wasn’t the idea of winning it, but the adventure,
the journey through a fantasy world that can be anything you set your mind to.
The moment I created my character’s attributes, my real self started to fade
away. 
Osamu acted as the Dungeon Master, who would narrate the story and guide our
characters around each hurdle. He asked me who I had evolved into. Yes, he used
the word evolved.
I sat upright in my sitting position on the floor of the hideout and announced,
“Satoru Yashiro has become Saiga, a hunter from the nomadic tribe, the
Warlocks.” I almost put on a weird accent.
“The Warlocks?” Kazu mocked, stifling a laugh.
Osamu waved him off. “Just go with it.” He turned to Kenya. “Now, Sir Kenya.
Who are you to become on this grand journey?” Osamu likes putting on a weird
fantasy voice whenever he’s playing an adventure game, regardless of what role
he’s playing as.
Kenya smiled subtly as he looked at his character sheet. “On this journey, I am
Mamoru, a ranger from the same tribe.” He looked over at me, his eyes watching
me for longer than felt comfortable. “And Saiga’s brother.”
I blinked, feeling my heart stutter, but kept playing along.
Osamu turned to Hiromi. “And you, Sir Hiromi?”
Hiromi giggled as he read off his character sheet. “My name’s Hiro, and I’m a
druid who lives alone in the nearby woods.”
Osamu nodded and finally turned to Kazu.
Kazu flashed his crooked grin as he read off his character sheet. “I’m Kaito,
first of his name, barbarian sorcerer, slayer of dragons and raiders and women,
who hails from the kingdom of Tokyomia!” He capped his character’s bio off with
a wink.
The rest of us exchanged glances.
“Dude,” Osamu said, pushing up his glasses on his nose. “Too much.”
“Seriously,” Kenya agreed.
Hiromi chuckled nervously. 
Some red blotched across Kazu’s cheeks. “No it’s not!”
“Why not make him a barbarian from the same tribe as us?” Kenya suggested,
nodding to the campfire that his and my characters had been placed around. 
“No way,” Kazu argued. “That’s boring.”
I considered a more exciting but also practical route. “Well then, why not from
a rival tribe?” 
Kazu rubbed his chin. “Huh, I guess that’ll work.”
“Perfect!” Osamu beamed and clapped his hands together. “Nice suggestion,
Satoru…erm, I mean, Saiga.” He cleared his throat and put up a determined
front. “Now, our story begins in the tribe of the Warlocks, where Saiga and his
brother Mamoru are sitting amongst the flames discussing something. You see, in
their tribe, whenever someone comes of age, he must go into the woods and kill
the most fearsome creature he can find before the day ends.” Osamu started
waving his hands around, as if he were an actor on stage performing a
monologue. I couldn’t help but smile at his movements and noticed a few others
in our group did as well. “It appears Mamoru has already completed this rite of
passage, and he warns his brother about the dangers of the wilderness.” Osamu
nodded to Kenya, as if it were his cue.
Kenya didn’t miss a beat and looked right at me. “Saiga, whatever you decide to
do out there, you need to remember to always trust your gut first. The
wilderness is a hostile place. Keep your wits about you.”
Wow, if he weren’t already thinking about becoming a lawyer, I’d say Kenya
should be a professional actor. Even more so than Osamu, because sometimes it’s
hard to tell whether Kenya’s acting or being serious. Reading people usually
comes easily to me. But Kenya has had his guard up ever since we first started
talking. Understandably, I’ve had mine up ever since noticing his.
“O-okay,” I stuttered and felt like kicking myself for such a stupid and simple
response. But Kenya’s impressive acting and gaze were on a whole other level.
In some strange way, his expressions remind me of Dad—cold and calculating but
also patient and observant. As if everything is an investigation to him. Even
his friends.
Osamu continued our story in his exaggerated accent, “Despite his brother’s
warning, Saiga knows he must fulfill his rite of passage if he is to become a
true member of the Warlocks. He gathers his hunting gear and sets out into the
deep forest in search of the fiercest prey he can find.” He instructed me on
where to place my character on the board. “But what he doesn’t know is that he
isn’t the only one out hunting in the forest.” He nodded to Kazu. “For you see,
another young tribesman, Kaito, is searching for food to bring back to his
struggling tribe due to the cold and merciless winter.” He pointed to cue Kazu
on where to move to. 
Kazu picked up his barbarian character and weaved him through a few trees until
it stood only a couple of trees away from my character. According to Osamu’s
narration, we hadn’t spotted each other yet. Also unbeknownst to both of our
characters was that Kenya’s character was secretly following mine. 
“As Saiga searches in the deep forest for a fearsome adversary, something
catches his eye,” Osamu explained. “Nervous but alert, he drew his bow and
careful approached what seemed like a fox at first, but he quickly realized it
was actually a bear cub.” Osamu started making bear-like noises that sounded
more like a dying cat, but I had to give him credit for his effort. “And thus,
he ran into a mother bear and her cubs!” He placed a bear character down in
front of my character. “Saiga has found a formidable foe, but one that may be
too strong. What do you intend to do. Run or fight?”
I thought about what Wonder Guy would do in such a situation. Then I puffed my
chest out and sat up straighter. “I’m going to fight!”
Osamu smirked, impressed. The dim light from the setting sun shined off his
glasses. “Very well, roll your dice.”
I rolled and ultimately hit the bear with eleven points of damage. 
“The mother bear swipes at you, and she won’t go down without a fight. Saiga,
it looks like you might be cornered. But wait!” Osamu turned to Kazu. “Kaito
comes running, having heard the commotion. At the same time, Saiga’s brother,
Mamoru jumps down from a nearby tree to protect his brother from another
swipe.”
“What about me?” Hiromi interrupted briefly, but Osamu hushed him.
As the three of us gathered together to fight the fearsome adversary, I started
getting so into the game that I lost track of time. Before I knew it, my
watch’s alarm went off, taking me out of the adventure with its sharp beeping.
“Crap! Sorry guys, I gotta get going.” 
“Aww man, really?” Kazu pouted. “This was just getting good.”
“Yeah, and I still haven’t appeared,” Hiromi added. 
“Sorry, but my dad’s going to be wondering where I’m at if I don’t get home
soon,” I said, bowing apologetically to them and then standing up and brushing
myself off. “You guys can keep playing without me.”
“Nah, we’ll just continue it next weekend,” Osamu said with a smile. “See you
tomorrow, Satoru.”
“Okay, later guys.”
I started for the door.
“Satoru.”
I turned around. “What’s up, Kenya?”
He looked at me up and down, as if for the first time. He licked his lips, a
new expression, and seemed prepared to say something that I wasn’t sure I would
be ready to hear. But then he sighed. “It’s nothing. See you tomorrow.”
I blinked and then nodded. As I opened the door and headed toward home, Kenya’s
face sat vividly in my mind as I walked.
 
 
10:34 PM
I haven’t had a nightmare in so long. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I
had one that felt so real. 
I was fighting the bear as my character. Not over a board game, but literally
as my character, Saiga, wielding only a bow against a wall of teeth and claws
and anger. Kenya and Kazu were nowhere in sight. I was completely alone against
this beast. It swiped and roared at me, and no matter how many arrows I plunged
into its fur, it refused to fall. 
All of a sudden, I was on the ground, my bow slipping from my grasp. The bear’s
unimaginable weight stood on top of me, pinning me against the earth. Its black
eyes glared with every intention their gaze implied. Hot, smelly breath tickled
my skin. Foaming at the mouth, the beast opened its mouth to reveal large
fangs. They came down upon me like a thousand knives, and I lied there unable
to stop them. 
I woke up, stifling a scream and gasping for air as if I had run a marathon. My
heart beat a mile a minute. Sweat stuck to the back of my shirt. 
As I wiped away sweat from my forehead and thought about the bear’s incredible
weight and its death stare, I realized my covers felt heavier than usual. I
pushed the duvet off but the weight remained. When I sat up, something slid
down my chest and landed in my lap.
I carefully ran my fingers across the heavy object and felt a sea of tiny
hairs. Beneath the hairs came warmth. A sharp snore hit my eardrums. Something,
no someone was sleeping next to me.
As I turned my head to investigate the mass lying beside me, a sickness built
in my throat, as if my body already knew before my mind could catch up.
“Dad?” I whispered loudly, shaking him awake. 
He groaned. “Satoru?”
“W-what are you doing in my bed?”
He raised his head from my pillow, and the sheets slid off of him, revealing
his bare back in the thin moonlight. Something in my chest squeezed. “Oh. Sorry
about that, son. I just took a shower and then had a couple of drinks.” That
explained both the fresh fragrance in the air and his horrible breath. “I
thought I was in my own bed.” As he rose to a sitting position, I noticed he
was completely naked. “Is something wrong?” He reached up to press his palm
against my forehead. “Hmm, doesn’t feel like a fever.”
I jerked my head away from his touch. “Y-you’re…” I almost let the obvious
slip. “Just a bad dream.”
Dad grabbed a fistful of sheets, slid more off of him, and planted his feet
onto the floor. “Anything you want to talk about?” 
I looked away from his nude silhouette. “No,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m
fine now.”
“Okay,” he said and leaned toward me.
I shut my eyes and felt his lips land right between my brows. When he recoiled,
I still felt his eyes on me. “Hey, Satoru. Do you want to know something?”
I tensed, squinting my eyes open. “Wha—?”
Even before finishing, his hand wrapped around my neck. He pressed his
fingertips against my skin just enough that goosebumps ran up and down my body.
“If you apply the right amount of pressure to someone’s neck, you can knock
them out rather than kill them, you know.” He traced a finger down my throat.
“There’s a large vein called the common carotid artery that runs through your
neck. Compress it, and you don’t have to worry about any pressure on the
airwaves.”
I nodded slowly, but then remembered he might not have seen my response in this
darkness. “O-okay.”
“However, if you apply pressure for a prolonged period of time, let’s say more
than four minutes, it can cause potential brain damage,” he warned.
Right then, I would have rather returned to that nightmare with the bear.
“Okay,” I said again because that’s all I knew to say in that kind of
situation. In the past, Dad spilling some of his secrets didn’t bother me quite
as much as it did then. And, before I knew it, he stood up and headed for the
door.
I heard his hand grasp the doorknob. “Good night, Satoru.”
“Good night, Dad. I love you.” The second half came out naturally. But I felt a
cold chill run up my spine after those three words came out of my mouth. Half
of me wanted to take them back.
Dad opened the door, and parts of his naked form appeared against the hallway
light, including his dark eyes and a soft smile. “Love you, too, son. Always.” 
He closed the door behind him, and my head fell back into my pillow.
It took him leaving for me to notice my body was trembling.
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