Within The Void

[OFFICIAL LOGBOOK ENTRY] Date: April 10, 2000              Location: Tokyo, Shinagawa Note: 6 years after the injury

3 years in a gang

      The engine hummed under the hood. The vibration came through the steering wheel, through the seat, to the bones. A reminder that the body was still here.       The man sat in the passenger seat, his elbow propped against the door. Buzzing April Tokyo flashed by outside the window. The dim light from street lamps, asphalt. The smell of exhaust, cheap takoyaki, and ozone after the rain penetrated even inside the truck. Everything blended into a gray haze that pressed on his temples. The car jolted over the road's unevenness. In the back, in the cargo bed, sat several more people. Youths no older than 20. With short haircuts, in heavy, worn jackets. Someone was quietly whistling a simple tune. Someone was silent, gazing at the road.

"...to escort…"

      The sound of the engine was even. Itami closed his eyes for a second. The light of the lanterns was replaced by sand. The steady roar of the truck changed its tone. Became duller. Dirtier.       The same smell. Only instead of exhaust – soot and dust. Similar young faces. Only now, frightened. Not yet having had time to pretend they weren't scared. The same short haircuts, the same jackets, but under them – bulletproof vests and sticky sweat. Someone is whistling a simple tune. A habit. An unwillingness to sit in silence. The truck jolts over the unevenness of the road. No asphalt, no lanterns. Not a road – just sand. "I see movement!" someone shouted from the back. "Quiet. No panic."       The man sits in the passenger seat. On his knees – a map. In his ears – a headset. A pistol rests in its holster. The truck stopped. Now, on a Japanese street, and then, there – under fire. A metallic hum rang in his ears. As if the earth itself was ringing. The driver jerked forward. The youth in the back stopped whistling – in an instant, half his face was gone. He opened his eyes. The world changed again. Sand became asphalt. The hum – the rumbling of an old diesel. "...I am here to escort…"       "To escort" – just to sit nearby, look around, and, if necessary, do what he was used to – react. Without thought. Without assessment. Several people got out of the truck and headed towards the warehouse. Someone stayed put, waiting for instructions. The cigarette in the man's mouth smoldered in the slightly open window. Some cheap brand, whose name wasn't known to people who smoked for aesthetics or taste. Itami only had a habit. The smoke helped him not to think. To drown out the smell of sand, blood, old metal. Helped him not to remember the nights when the man slept in armor and didn't know if he would wake up in the morning.       A brief glance at the warehouse. An old building, unremarkable. Like hundreds of others. Iron gates, peeling sign, quiet rustle of rats in the corners and cracks. The man shifted his gaze to his wristwatch. 10:14 p.m. The shift was supposed to end by midnight.       A few cars passed by. Headlights illuminated the intersection and the coffee vending machine on the corner. An old, battered one, with faded advertising on its sides. The man looked at it for a few minutes, then got out of the car. He glanced back at the warehouse, quickly checking that everything was okay, and walked to the coffee machine. Stuck a coin into it, waited for a dull click. A few seconds later he was holding a hot paper cup. The coffee was bitter and sour. Like the life he now led.       A pop sounded in the distance. The man didn't flinch. His hand automatically went to the holster, and his body leaned forward, ready to break into a run. He raised his head, peering towards the warehouse. Listened. "...not a shot… a firecracker?..."       Back in the truck, he placed the cup on the dashboard, lit a second cigarette. In 6 years, he had never used the pistol. Hadn't even drawn it. But his fingers still remembered the weight of the weapon, the movement of the slide. Even the dry click when checking the chamber. Two men came out of the warehouse. Carrying boxes. The older ones didn't even show themselves. Again. Left all the dirty work to the pawns. The young guys. Itami lowered his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "...one of the 'senpai'... and how did I end up here…"       The word "team" sounded lofty here, but didn't change the essence. A few tired people. A few souls clinging to anything just not to return to the void. "All clear, Gisei-san," one of the kids reported, jumping back into the cargo bed. "The cargo is picked up." "Good. Let's go," the man nodded to the driver. "Gisei-san! Coming to the bar with us?" – the young guy, the one who was whistling something, leaned over the side of the bed, peering into the window. "No."       He didn't go with them. Never. They tried a few times to drag him along. Then they realized it was useless. They sometimes offered out of politeness, but didn't expect a positive answer. He had nothing to say to them, and they had nothing to hear from him. In the very beginning, they tried to ask about his past, asked for stories from the "hot spots," but he didn't want to talk.       The engine hummed again. On the way back, they were silent. The radio crackled quietly. Old songs came from the speakers. Ones that played even before he had to leave the army. The man didn't ask to turn it off.

"...let there be at least some sound…"

      The city wasn't asleep yet. Tokyo never fully slept at night. Shadows flickered between the alleys, advertising signs blinked like tired eyes. Street cats rustled through garbage looking for food. The man looked at it and saw nothing.

"...three years…"

      Time had become viscous. Spreading out without end or edge. Memory still sent him back to where there was sand instead of streets, where the roar of the engine was drowned out by bursts of automatic fire, where light was explosions, not signs. Life had turned into a continuous dream in which he had long since died, and his body continued to move out of habit.       His phone suddenly came to life. A quiet beep and vibration in his pocket. The man didn't even immediately realize it was his phone's signal. A message appeared on the screen. The number – unfamiliar yet familiar. Somewhere deep, under layers of years, something old and warm stirred. "Our bar in Akasaka. April 15th. 9 p.m. Want to talk, ItaGi."       He reread it. And again. And again... His fingers trembled slightly. He recognized it. That rhythm. Those dots. That "ItaGi". Only one person wrote like that. And only one person called him that.       The world became quieter for a second. Even the truck's engine dropped to a whisper. The man put away the phone, exhaled smoke from another cigarette, and looked out the window. In the reflection – a face he had long stopped recognizing. Now it seemed familiar again.

[OFFICIAL LOGBOOK ENTRY] Date: April 15, 2000              Location: Tokyo, Akasaka Note: Meeting with a ghost

from the past.

      There were just over 20 minutes left until 9 p.m. when the man emerged from the subway. Akasaka lived at a different rhythm than Shinagawa. Less grime, more light. The air here was different. The same wet asphalt. Back there, it was nasty, constricting the lungs. Here – soft and pleasant. Music was thumping somewhere. Not loudly, muffled. As if through cotton wool. People hurried past. Each on their own trajectory. Each chasing their own goals. They moved without noticing anything around them.       Itami walked slowly. The wind caught the hem of his jacket, tousled his hair. His fingers clamped a cigarette. "...smoking too much lately…"       The traffic light blinked yellow. Streetlights reflected in a puddle on the curb. The man turned into an alley. The smell of fried fish and burnt oil hit his nose. Overflowing trash bags in dumpsters. Half-broken air conditioners buzzing so loudly they gave you a headache. And hoarse, loud voices from behind bar doors. A radio played somewhere, laughter was heard somewhere else.       The bar "Sakura-no-chi" was hidden between a laundromat and a CD store. The only quiet place in this area. A small sign with a faded pink branch. A wooden door with a worn brass handle. The light inside was warm, almost amber. Through the narrow window, a bar counter and a bartender in a white shirt wiping glasses were visible. There were almost no people inside. It was never crowded. The place often served as a refuge for tired workers, but few knew of its existence.       The man entered. The smell of alcohol, wood, and fried onions hit his nose. "...why onions?..."       The air was dense, yet not stuffy. The silence was broken by muted jazz from an old record player. The atmosphere overall was as if the whole place had moved back into the past. The bartender looked up. "Good evening." "Good evening. A bottle of shochu. And ice."       Itami sat at the counter, habitually pressing his back against the wall, giving himself a view of the entrance. He took off his jacket and hung it nearby. There were 5 patrons in the bar. Two elderly men talking quietly by the window. A young couple whispering at a far table. And a man in the corner drinking beer and flipping through a newspaper, though he clearly wasn't reading the text. Itami scanned the bar with his eyes once more.

"...nothing dangerous…"

      He looked at his wristwatch. 8:54 p.m. He had arrived early, as always. A habit – to be on site beforehand. He hated arriving at the last moment. Hated rushing because of identifications. Hated making people wait. In the army, it was called discipline. Here – just a remnant of his old life.       The bartender placed a glass and a bottle. The clear liquid resembled glass. The man took a sip. Warmth began to spread down his throat. A few seconds of silence and calm. A shadow flashed outside: someone passed by the window. Itami immediately looked up, peering. The wait was killing him. He took out his phone. Checked the screen. No new messages. Only the one he had received on Monday. "Our bar in Akasaka. April 15th. 9 p.m. Want to talk, ItaGi."       He read the last word again. "ItaGi". Hope warmed in his soul to see the only one who could call him that… "...Itagi… damn you, dude…"       The glass emptied quickly. The man filled it again. The bottle became covered with fine droplets of condensation. The record player softly rustled above the bar. The music sounded lazy. An old lamp crackled somewhere in the corner by the window. Occasionally a click came from it, the bulb would stop shining for a moment, and always light up again. Itami looked at it periodically, but his gaze drifted to the distant reflection in the window. A familiar face. Only the gaze was different. More alive than it was five days ago.       At 9:07 p.m., a short bell sound was heard in the bar. The door opened softly. Along with a stream of evening air, the smell of the wet street, cigarettes, and someone else's life burst inside. "Helvete… I'm not mistaken, am I? It's really you, Itagi!" – a low but cheerful voice, with a slight accent – even after many years of practice, Japanese speech hadn't quite taken root with him.       Itami slowly looked up. A tall man in a dark jacket stood in the doorway. His light hair was slightly damp from the rain that had started again. The smile on his face, almost boyish, looked as cheerful as his voice sounded. He walked quickly into the depths of the bar and sat down next to Itami, dropping a sports bag on a nearby chair.

"...is it real?..."

      For a moment, the man was speechless. He peered into the familiar facial features, trying to convince himself that a real person was sitting in front of him. "Good to see you, Levi," Itami finally said. "You too," the blond man chuckled. – "So glad you came! How many years has it been since we last met?" "4 years…" – Itami's voice sounded lost and… tired… – "Another bottle of shochu…" – he addressed the bartender, then looked back at his old friend, – "...You… have changed…" "But you've stayed the same," Levi grinned, leaning back on the small back of the bar stool, adjusting his disheveled hair. – "Still sitting like you're waiting for a shot, brorsan." The bar was filling with people. A hoarse radio played some old song. The singer's voice drowned in the noise of the air conditioner, voices, and the rhythm of raindrops outside the window. The air in the room mixed more strongly with the smell of tobacco and wet clothes. "How else?..." – Itami studied the reflection in the bottle. His voice was quiet and inward. – "After our life…" "Well… I don't know…" – Levi gave a short laugh and scratched the back of his head. Itami shifted his gaze to him – there was something awkward in the laugh. – "I somehow returned… Maybe thanks to Akiko…" "I remember her," Itami nodded, took a sip of his shochu. – "How is she?" "Good," Levi said briefly. – "Still works as a translator. You know I can't find work here myself…" – his voice became softer, his gaze – more relaxed. But even so, a part of the man remained awkward and… guilty? – "I… well, I'm the homemaker now. Raising a son." "You have a son?" – Itami raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Yep!" – Levi smiled proudly, lifting his chin. – "He's a little over three years old already!" – He took a slightly worn wallet from his pocket. From it – a small photograph. In it – a woman with a warm smile and a toddler with light eyes. "He… resembles you in some way… but a strange mix, of course. Facial features – the spitting image of Akiko, but… I don't know, reminds me a lot of you." "Funny, huh?" – Levi chuckled. – "I, to be honest, hoped Akiko's genes would be stronger. I hope my selfishness doesn't cause him problems in the future," – he poured more drink into both glasses, pushed one closer to his friend.       Itami shook his head understandingly. His fingers mechanically twirled the glass, watching the clear liquid sway inside.

"A mixed child in Japan…"

      The thought echoed in his mind. Mercenaries were looked upon with caution. Outsiders – reservedly, but with unconcealed wariness. Those who dared to mix blood were openly despised. But if someone combined all these traits within themselves… Too "non-Japanese" to be one of their own. Too "Japanese" to be a foreigner. No matter their hair color, eye shape, or accent – for the majority, they remained an unwelcome reminder of a foreign presence.       Itami looked up at his friend. He was still looking at the photo, smiling a quiet, paternal smile. "It won't be easy… But you know… if the kid has brains – he'll manage. Our lives weren't a fairy tale either." "You're right, brorsan!" – Levi laughed loudly, leaning back.       With each new sip of shochu, the air grew heavier. The drink settled on both the tongue and the soul. Someone was talking quietly behind them. Laughter dissolved in the background. Itami watched as Levi beckoned the bartender, ordered more alcohol. The accent still sounded terribly absurd, but the man didn't seem bothered by it at all. Everything looked like it did several years ago. As if nothing had changed. As if they had simply met after a shift, like back in the military camp. The same dry crackle of radio static, but here it smelled of cheap alcohol, and there – of coffee and dust. Now even the sky above was peaceful.       A drizzle fell outside the window. Droplets slid down the glass, distorting the reflection of the streetlights. People were passing by out there. Hurrying home, shielding themselves with umbrellas. Time moved on out there. Here – it had frozen. For the first time in many years, time had frozen for Itami in a pleasant moment. Minutes stretched into hours. Hours collapsed into one short instant. Bottles were replaced one after another, glasses were refilled anew. Again and again. The elderly couple had long since left the bar. A large group of young people had taken their place. Topics changed faster than the people in the bar. The men talked about simple things: the weather, neighbors, people at the next table. Sometimes they reminisced about the past. How comfortable it was in the army and everything was clear. Levi spoke easily, as if all this time he had just been waiting for a chance to talk. Itami listened, hardly answering. Nodded, smirked, but remained silent. Over time, the bar grew quiet again. Only the reflections of streetlights and droplets of the ceased rain remained outside the windows. The air became viscous, almost like honey. Levi was still talking, but now more slowly, often switching to his native language. "Listen…" – the man leaned his elbow on the counter. – "We live not far from here… Come over sometime. You can talk with Akiko, meet my son," – Levi offered almost casually. So simply, as if it were about having another drink.

"...come over…"

      But the offer wasn't so much about a physical visit as it was an invitation to return to a normal life.       The friends parted when the streetlights went out and no one was left in the bar except them and the tired bartender. Already quite drunk, Levi insisted that Itami should come over today. However, words that Akiko wouldn't be very happy with such a sudden visit from two drunk friends managed to persuade the man otherwise.       The city breathed moisture and asphalt that was still warm, not completely cooled from the night. The pre-dawn noise dissolved around the corner. Only the occasional footsteps of passersby reminded that the world was moving.       Itami walked slowly. Puddles shimmered under his feet. In every reflection, Levi's face seemed to appear. Sometimes smiling, sometimes tired, sometimes already drunk.       The apartment greeted him with its usual silence. A clean, empty space where every item had a function and meaning, but no soul. Over 3 years, the order had lost its sterility, though the atmosphere remained untouched. A forgotten mug with coffee residue could often be found on the table now. On the windowsill – a pack of cigarettes and a lighter nearby. Little things that had no place here before. Little things that created life. Life that seeped through the discipline.       The man took off his jacket, put his shoes in their place, and walked deeper into the room. He reached for a water bottle but stopped, seeing his reflection in the window. A tired face looked back at him from there. Not empty anymore, but damn tired. Maybe from the alcohol. Maybe from the conversation. Or maybe from everything that had been happening in his life lately. He didn't know. But the image of Levi appeared before his eyes again. His laugh, his accent. Even the photograph with the light-eyed boy. A strange feeling stirred somewhere inside. Not envy. Not regret. Rather – an understanding that everything is possible. That beyond contracts and orders, there really is a life.       Outside, the spring rain rustled again. The sound penetrated the apartment as a pleasant melody. Itami sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. For a moment, it seemed that everything around had become a little brighter. Warmer. Filled with life.

[OFFICIAL LOGBOOK ENTRY] Date: April 21, 2000 Location: Tokyo, Akasaka Note: Return to life.

      The morning was quiet. The city was slowly waking up. Everything in Aoyama felt different than in Shinagawa. Here the air was cleaner, the noise softer. The occasional cars were more expensive. Instead of the smell of exhaust, there was the scent of quality coffee and fresh bread.       Itami stood by the door. A minute, maybe more. In his left hand – a bag from a convenience store. Inside – apples, mandarins, and a small package of cookies. Omiyage. Gifts one traditionally brings to a house, so as not to arrive empty-handed. And the longer he stood, the more he wanted to just leave. Several times he almost turned around, almost took a step towards the stairs. He wanted to just dissolve into the morning air, as if nothing had happened. As if their meeting at the bar and the subsequent invitation to visit were just a dream born from alcohol. His gaze fell on the bag again. Before his eyes was Levi's smile again, in his ears – ringing laughter and the almost childish pride in his voice when he spoke of his son. "...damn it…"       He turned back to the door. A deep breath. A second. His finger touched the doorbell button. A quiet, almost polite ring was heard from behind the door. A little later – hurried, muffled footsteps and the click of a lock. The door swung open sharply, as if opened not by a person, but by a gust of wind. "Itagi!" – the voice sounded joyful and slightly hoarse from sleep. In one hand, Levi held a mug from which steam rose. He was smiling broadly. His face radiated so much vitality that Itami involuntarily froze. – "You came after all!" the man exclaimed and stepped aside, letting the guest in. – "Come in, come in."       Itami gave a restrained nod. Over many years, he had grown unaccustomed to crossing a threshold without internal permission. Still hesitantly, he stepped inside, took off his shoes at the entrance, placed them with their toes towards the wall, and handed the bag to his friend. "Omiyage," Itami briefly explained, glancing at the bag. "Oh, come on!" Levi waved his hand. – "You didn't have to, brorsan," he added, accepting the bag and peering inside with curiosity. – "Mandarins? Akiko loves these!"       Itami blinked almost imperceptibly. His hands, which had been holding the bag just a second ago, slowly lowered.

"...this… is wrong… this isn't how it's done…"

      Levi had accepted the bag immediately. Didn't try to refuse three times. Didn't seem embarrassed. Just a polite – "you didn't have to," – and immediately accepted it with gratitude. The ritual, a simple form of respect, ingrained deeper than instincts… and it was broken in an instant. Itami understood – Levi always acted directly, without "unnecessary" circles of politeness. In a Western way.

"...could have at least pretended not to want to take it…"

      Levi kept talking. The words flew past Itami's consciousness. The man only noted how his friend handed him house slippers with one hand, without even bowing. He wasn't offended. He understood that a gaijin like Levi would never fully assimilate.       The sound of bare feet pattering pulled the man from his thoughts. "Otōsan?" – a boy ran into the entrance hall. Disheveled blond hair, seeming darker in the shadow, and light, almost gray eyes. Just like in the photo, but now more disheveled and sleepy. He almost tripped over his oversized pajamas with little bears but kept his balance. The child stopped near the corner, studying the stranger.       Itami froze, looking at the boy's face. He wasn't looking like a child. Not with curiosity or fear. His gaze – direct, too assessing for his age. Straight posture. A confident stance without attempts to hide behind his father. A slight squint and wary expectation. It was as if he was trying to understand who was standing before him.       Psychologists would call this "observance." Itami felt it deeper. A natural habit of reading people. An almost instinctive, animal desire. "...the boy was born with the instinct to understand where lies are and where the truth is…"       Itami caught himself thinking that for the first time in a long while, he had lost control. He was no longer the one deciphering. Now, he was being read. "Pleased to meet you, Ren-kun," Itami bowed softly, then crouched down next to the boy. – "My name is Itami."       The child tilted his head slightly, bowing awkwardly. The way they teach in kindergarten. And when he straightened up – he smiled. Carefully, but warmly. And in his eyes, the analysis was still visible. Too adult for his age. "So, shall we go to the kitchen?" – Levi's voice brought them both back to reality. – "Akiko will wake up soon. She'll scold me if I don't make tea," – he ruffled his son's hair and nodded for Itami to follow him.       Ren ran inside the apartment first. His bare feet made a ringing sound on the wooden floor. Levi followed, stretching his shoulders and sipping coffee as he walked. Itami, however, lingered for a moment in the entrance before following. A familiar restraint appeared in his mind and body. He didn't even notice when he had managed to relax and feel a living warmth inside. Maybe when he saw Levi again. Or maybe when Ren caught his eye.       The kitchen smelled of rice and green tea. The smell seemed both painfully alien and homely at the same time. And at the same time – prohibitively luxurious. In Itami's apartment, even food didn't smell like that.       The kitchen turned out to be unexpectedly spacious, flooded with soft morning light. The windows faced the sunny side. Rays broke through the slightly open bamboo blinds, splitting into warm stripes. Tiny pots with various greens and fresh spices stood on the windowsill.       Levi turned on the kettle without looking and took out several cups. Ren had already climbed onto a chair, tucking his legs under himself. He was watching his father, but as soon as Levi reached for the rice bowls, the boy jumped down and ran closer. "Let me!" – he grabbed the spoon, not intending to back down. – "I know how!" Levi grinned, looking at his son, and let go of the spoon, raising his hands in a gesture – "I surrender." "Okay, okay, then you're the head chef today," – he stepped back to the sink, leaned against the edge of the counter, and just finished his coffee. – "Can I get you some coffee too?" – he asked his friend. "I won't say no," Itami agreed, sitting down at the table.       Levi nodded and got another coffee mug. While he was making the drink, Ren, with a serious expression, scooped rice into the bowls. Neatly, almost pedantically. Pride for himself burned in his eyes. Itami watched silently. At first, just out of politeness. Then – with unexpected interest. This child lacked either scattered clumsiness or usual childish haste. All actions seemed completely deliberate. Even when he glanced at his father, there was no fear or awkwardness in his eyes. Rather – a silent question about whether he was doing everything right. "Thank you, Ren-kun," – Itami politely accepted the bowl the boy handed him. "Enjoy your meal," – the child replied seriously. Then he placed bowls in front of the other, still empty chairs, and, without asking questions, ran off towards the rooms. "See what a helper I have?" – Levi turned to his friend. – "In a couple of years, he'll kick me out of the kitchen." "In a couple of years, he'll be arguing with the teacher," – Itami responded skeptically, smiling faintly. – "He has the gaze of a person… who might disagree with the rules…" "Is that a bad thing?" – the man replied, placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of his friend. "Maybe not… but not for our culture, you should understand that by now," – Itami nodded in thanks for the drink and took the mug. The warmth pleasantly burned his fingers. "I understand," – Levi nodded, sitting down at the table. – "But with his brains, he won't survive otherwise." "Perhaps… Anyway…" – Itami took a sip of coffee. – "You're doing well," – he nodded in the direction where Ren had run off. "With fatherhood?" – Levi chuckled. – "Maybe… If you don't count that he already argues with everyone, bosses me around, and sometimes declares he knows everything better." "Sounds like he does," – Itami replied calmly, sipping his coffee.       The men exchanged brief but understanding glances. Their words held neither jest nor reproach. Only admiration with a hint of the anxiety usually evoked by a child wise beyond his years. "He has the gaze… of an adult…" – Itami added after a short pause. – "It's a great rarity… it will be hard for him… especially making friends. Children sense when someone is different," "You think so?" – Levi frowned. – "He seems to get along with everyone… at daycare…" "I don't need friends," – a confident child's voice sounded. Ren's disheveled head appeared from around the corner. He came closer, looking at the men with slightly furrowed brows. "Why not?" – Itami involuntarily smiled. Despite everything, it was amusing to watch this child. "Friends leave," – Ren shrugged. – "You end up alone anyway."       For a moment, the kitchen became too quiet. Even the kettle seemed to stop making noise. "Listen, philosopher, sit down and eat already," – Levi forced a chuckle. – "The rice is getting cold. Is Mom awake?" "Awake," – the boy nodded, climbing back onto his chair and pulling his bowl and chopsticks closer. – "She'll be here soon."       A soft, almost cozy silence now settled in the kitchen. It was interrupted by the quiet clinking of chopsticks and the occasional tap of a mug on the table. The stripes of morning sun on the wooden floor moved slowly, gradually disappearing. Occasional dust motes danced in the rays of light.       Ren ate silently but kept raising his studying gaze to Itami. Sometimes he held it longer than was proper. Sometimes he frowned, as if putting together a puzzle in his mind. Itami pretended not to notice. He continued drinking his coffee, watching the boy eat, move. How he wrinkled his forehead and drew his eyebrows together when concentrating on his thoughts. Everything about him was too adult for a three-year-old. Even his posture. Straight, even back, precise movements. It gave the impression he was copying adults.       At one point, Ren set his chopsticks aside and tilted his head. "Why are you sad?" – his voice was quiet but held no trace of fear or curiosity. A question that sounded like a statement of fact.       Itami froze. The moment stretched longer than it should have. And the boy didn't seem to need an answer. He looked at the confusion on the man's face and accepted it. Then he picked up his chopsticks and continued eating as if he hadn't asked the question. Itami looked at his friend. He just shrugged, sipping his coffee.       It was strange. Itami watched the boy for a few more seconds, then leaned back in his chair, relaxing slightly. There was something both touching and alarming about how Ren combined childish directness with unusual attentiveness to the world. A quiet but warm surprise was growing inside. He had never encountered such a combination before. He had never dealt with such perceptiveness in people. Especially in children. But at this realization, something softened inside. The usual restraint eased a little. Most of all, he had been afraid of seeing a typical child, with whom he wouldn't know how to get along. But Ren was different. Not typical.       Outside the window, the wind rustled in the trees. The faint hum of the city could be heard. In the apartment, the smell of rice and tea mixed with coffee and domestic coziness. The light softly enveloped the table, reflecting in the glass cabinet doors. In this atmosphere, for the first time in a long while, Itami felt that the world could be simple and… alive. That one could simply sit at a table, having a leisurely breakfast, that one could observe and not expect danger. That one could simply breathe. There was no need to decipher anything. And there was nowhere to hurry.       Finally, a woman appeared from around the corner. Her dark hair was already combed, but traces of recent sleep were visible in its styling. Imprints from a crumpled pillow were visible on her cheek and arm. "Itami-kun?!" – the woman was surprised. – "How… how long has it been since I last saw you!" – a smile immediately spread across her face. – "You came after all!"       The man immediately stood up from the table, bowing politely. There was both respect and a share of awkwardness in this movement. He felt like just a guest again. But not in a house. In a life where everything was filled with living warmth, not just cold discipline. "Hello, Akiko," – he said softly. – "Good to see you too."       The woman came closer, squinting. She looked him over from one side, then the other, smiling slyly. "You haven't changed a bit, Itami-kun!" – she said contentedly. For her, this was the fact she wanted to see in her old friend. – "Still just as collected and stately." "Mom!" – Ren shouted discontentedly. – "Your breakfast is getting cold!"       The adults froze for a moment again, then laughed in unison. Akiko went closer to her son, ruffled his hair, thanking him for his care, and still sat down at the table. Itami remained standing, observing the family from the side. Ren was muttering something about how "Mom always takes too long to get out of bed." Levi was scolding him for it in a joking-serious tone. And Akiko was laughing quietly, clearly pleased with everything happening around her.       The silence in the kitchen was finally gone. It had come alive. Filled with various sounds: the soft creak of the floor under the chairs, quiet munching, Levi's light laughter, young Ren's discontent. Filled with the cozy warmth that exists only in a home where you are awaited. And Itami finally felt that he was awaited somewhere.