●・○・●・○・●
CHAPTER NINE,
ob(li)vious

—

༇ HANA finds a piece of paper slid under her door. She groans when she sees the handwriting.

She unfolds it. It's not a note, it's a document.

HOUSE RULES — EXTENDED VERSION
Author: Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya
Reasoning: Hana & Kaoru Chishiya are entering puberty and already broke several ground rules.

Hana stares at it in disbelief. Kaoru finds her standing in the hallway. "Is that...?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

She flips to the second page. "I'm on rule twenty-three and it doesn't stop."

HOUSE RULES (EXTENDED VERSION)

No body modifications without prior written consent.
Written. Not verbal. Not 'you nodded vaguely.' I want a signature and a full explanation.

No homemade surgeries or procedures.
This includes piercings, tattoos, hair experiments, or challenges without your parents' approval.

Lying = grounding. Lying + sneaking = double grounding. Lying + sneaking + bodily harm = triple grounding.

No secrets from each other.
If Kaoru knows and I don't, you're both guilty. Same applies in reverse.

No threatening your siblings.
No "I'll tell Dad unless you give me your pudding." This is not a dictatorship unless I'm the dictator.

No experimenting with fire.
I am experienced with this.

No "it worked in anime" reasoning.
Jumping off rooftops, running away from home with a stick, or joining a gang = instant punishment and I will personally contact the show's creator to file a complaint.

Kuina is not your loophole.
If you try to use her to circumvent the rules, I will train her to rat you out.

Usagi is also not your loophole.
She's pregnant again. If you stress her out with your schemes, you'll be delivering that baby yourself.

If you're afraid to tell me something, tell me anyway.

If I'm wrong, you're allowed to tell me.

They sit in silence.

Then Kaoru stands. "Well. I'm gonna go complain to Mom."

"Good idea."

●・○・●・○・●

At dinner, Hana doesn't speak. She scoops soup aggressively. Kaoru slouches in his chair, hoodie up, earphones in, but not on.

Chishiya doesn't react. He eats, drinks tea, and reads an article like nothing's wrong.

Until finally, Hana slams her spoon down. "You've created a prison."

Chishiya doesn't look up. "Structured civilization," he corrects.

"Kaoru and I took a test online and apparently we're living under an authoritarian regime," she says.

"We had to lie about our location," Kaoru adds.

"Lying to the internet is one of the few lies I condone."

"I can't breathe in this house," Hana says dramatically.

"You have a balcony."

"Not the point."

"Look," Kaoru says, lowering his hood, "I get that we messed up. But now it's like... we can't do anything. It's all 'no this' and 'don't do that' and 'if you even think about freedom I'll make you write an essay'."

Hana folds her arms. "I feel like a snail. With no slime. Just... a dry snail."

Chishiya blinks once. "I'll pretend that made sense." He walks to the counter, opens a drawer, and returns with two crisp papers.

Hana's eyes narrow. "Oh no."

Chishiya places the papers in front of them. "Here."

They both stare.

In bold, centered text:

THINGS YOU MAY DO
Curated by Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya

You may ask questions.
Even hard ones. Even weird ones. Even questions you think will make me mad. I'd rather hear your truth than your silence.

You may make mistakes.
Big ones. Small ones. Repetitive ones. You're human. I expect it. I've done worse. But mistakes like accidentally setting a piercing is not tolerated.

You may disagree with me.
Respectfully. And if you change my mind, I'll say so.

You may tell me anything.
There is no subject I won't discuss. Fear, death, identity, sex, loneliness. I will listen.

You may explore.
Books, ideas, art, music, yourself. You may change your mind every year. Every month. Every week.

You may love whoever you love.
If they treat you well and you feel safe, you have my support (except for Kaede Sekichi Arisu).

You may set boundaries with anyone.
If something makes you uncomfortable, you can say no. Consent is not age-dependent.

Kaoru's jaw moves slightly. He doesn't say anything, just reads line by line, eyes softening. Hana tries to act unimpressed. She flips the page.

You may keep secrets—small ones.
Crushes. Stories. Feelings you're still processing.

You may tell me when I've hurt your feelings.

You may be dramatic.
Not forever. But a little. You got your mom's genes after all.

"This is... okay, this is kind of cool. I can live with this," Kaoru decides.

Hana is quiet for a long time. Then she says, "You should've just showed us this."

"I like structure."

"Since when does Kaede have a middle name?" Hana then asks, frowning. "I didn't know."

"Do we have middle names that we don't know about?"

"Yes," Chishiya says.

"Wait, really?"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I lied. You don't have middle names," Chishiya confirms. "Only Kaede."

"Why? What does it mean, anyway?"

"Sekichi is a mix of Segawa and Daikichi."

"Which means?"

Chishiya shrugs. "No idea."

"So Kaede got two full legacy names and we got nothing?"

"You got a father who didn't flee the country when you were born."

"Wow," Kaoru mutters. "Brutal."

Hana frowns. "So Kaede's name is like a mashup of honor and history and meaning and... what? My name just means flower and Kaoru's sounds like shampoo."

"I believe it is shampoo," Kaoru adds.

"Kaoru means fragrance," Chishiya corrects.

"Still shampoo."

Chishiya returns to his tea. Hana stares at her list again. "So... I'm allowed to love who I love. Unless it's Kaede."

"That clause is legally binding," Chishiya says without looking up.

"You're gonna snap the moment Kaede and Hana make eye contact for more than three seconds."

"It's not like that," Hana says too quickly.

"Mm-hm," Kaoru hums.

Chishiya lifts a brow. "It better not be."

"I'm twelve," she groans.

"You're the one who thinks you're a snail."

She throws a pillow at him. Chishiya catches it without blinking and continues drinking his tea.

"Anyway," Hana mutters, "this list doesn't fix everything."

"It's not meant to." Chishiya finally looks at her. "These rules have always been there, I just wanted to remind you of them. It's not a prison."

She folds the paper and slips it into her notebook. Kaoru copies her. They're quiet for a moment longer.

Then Hana says, softer, "What happens if I really mess up again?"

"You will," Chishiya says. "But you'll come tell me and we'll figure it out."

Kaoru leans back in his chair. "So does this mean we're ungrounded?"

"No."

"But we've grown. There was character development. I monologued. Hana cried—"

"I did not cry."

"Your eyes were watery," he says.

"Because you elbowed me." Hana groans and slumps over the table. "Mom would've ungrounded us by now."

"True. Mom's bad at punishing us."

Chishiya gives them both a glare. "She would've clipped trackers to your clothes by now."

"That's because I once vanished into a river for three hours during a field trip," Kaoru says. "It was a formative experience."

There's a beat of silence.

Then Kaoru asks, "When's she coming back?"

Chishiya checks the clock. "Her shift ends in twenty minutes. She'll be home in forty."

"It almost seems you're home more than Mom lately," Hana says, a sad edge to her voice. "Now I feel bad for begging her for a sibling every night. She looks tired. Like... all the time."

"She is tired," Chishiya says.

"From work?"

He shakes his head. "No. Work's only part of it."

"We've been kinda self-absorbed lately, haven't we?" Kaoru mutters.

"You've been self-absorbed since birth," Chishiya mutters. "She struggles," he then says. "Not just with her schedule, or the cafe, or how loud you two are. She's still dealing with things. Things that messed with how she sees herself, and the world. Things that are hard to explain."

Kaoru looks down. "But she never says anything. We could help."

"She doesn't ask for that sort of help unless she's desperate. That's just how she is."

Hana stares at the table. "So she works all the time so she doesn't have to think?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"Do we make it worse?" She whispers.

"No. Bur what you do affects her. You two are very important, which makes everything feel scarier."

"I want to help."

"You can. Show up. Be kind. Help without being asked. Let her rest when she needs it. And don't break the rules again."

Kaoru nods. "We should clean. Like, actually clean."

"And maybe cook something."

Chishiya stands. "Maybe Kuina should give you two gentleman lessons two."

"What lessons?"

"Kaede's been getting trained since he was eight. Now he's also taking fight lessons. From Kuina. By the time he's done with puberty, he probably has a chance against Aguni."

"I didn't even know Kuina and Aguni could fight," Hana mutters. "Wow, we are indeed self-absorbed."

"Genes," Chishiya says below his breath. He stands up.

"Where are you going? And what do you mean, 'genes'—"

"Usagi will knock on the door in exactly one second."

They hear pounding at the door.

Chishiya walks to the door without urgency.

The next knock rattles the hinges.

He opens it.

Usagi stands there. Round belly, eyes blazing, hair pulled into a ponytail. "You," she says.

Chishiya steps aside. "Good evening."

She marches past him. Not even a greeting. "I want to talk to you about what you said to my son," she says, spinning to face him in the living room.

Chishiya shuts the door. "Be specific."

"You threatened my twelve-year-old son! He hasn't been able to sleep for two days."

"Not very functional of him."

"He told me you told him 'I will shove that same needle through the soft tissue between your ribs and watch you choke on your own blood while your lungs collapse'."

"I stand by it."

"He's twelve."

"He stuck a needle in my daughter."

"She asked him to."

"He said yes."

"You terrified him."

"Good."

Her voice rises. "No. Not good. He won't come out of his room. He's not a predator. He's a kid who happened to be manipulated by your daughter."

"He used sharp tools on another human being without training or permission."

"He tried to help someone he cares about."

"He tried to act like an adult without understanding consequences. I provide the consequences."

Usagi paces around. "You made sure he can't look himself in the mirror."

They stare at each other.

"You're unbelievable."

"I'm consistent."

"You're scaring children."

"I'm trying to stop children from dying."

"He's not a surgeon, Chishiya, I know. But he's not a monster either."

"I never said he was."

"You made him feel like one."

Silence. Chishiya rubs his temple. "I don't regret the warning," he says. "But I'll apologize to him for your sake."

"He's too scared to be in the same house as you!"

"As he should be—"

"Apologize to my son," Usagi commands. "Properly. Tomorrow." 

●・○・●・○・●

As if Chishiya hasn't been caught threatening a child a few hours ago, he walks to the bedroom, a book in one hand and a blanket in the other. He pushes open the bedroom door softly.

Baya is there by now, curled on her side with her back to the door, her shoulders tense beneath her shirt. Her breathing isn't quite steady yet. He places the book down on the nightstand and sets the blanket at the foot of the bed.

"You're not asleep," he says gently, not a question.

"Nope," Baya mumbles.

"How was your day?"

She exhales into the pillow. "Too long. Some guy yelled at me because we ran out of soy milk. I almost cried. Over soy milk."

He hums softly, brushing her hair back from her face. "Sit up."

Baya makes a noise of protest but does it anyway, groaning as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. "Why?"

Chishiya pulls a small, dark glass bottle from the nightstand drawer. He doesn't say anything, just unscrews the cap and rolls the bottle gently between his palms, warming the oil inside.

Baya turns slightly to glance over her shoulder. Her entire body stills before she Baya lights up. Her eyes go wide. "Wait. Like, really? You are? You're actually—"

"Yes."

"Like shoulders and back and maybe even, dare I dream, hands and feet?"

Chishiya glances up at her. "Whatever you want."

"Shuntarō," she breathes, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. "I feel like I just got proposed to again. I would marry you a second time."

He raises a brow. "For a massage?"

"No. For this exact moment." She spins fully to face him fully. "This is better than flowers. Better than a vacation. Better than—"

"You're being dramatic."

She's already pulling off her shirt. "Tell the others to take care of themselves for the next forty minutes."

Chishiya says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches, the closest he comes to a laugh unless he's actively mocking someone or for real alone with Baya. However, she still has never experienced him actually laughing. Like full on wheezing. Gasping for air. Clutching his stomach.

"Lie down," he instructs.

Baya practically dives into position. "This is the best day of my life and I cried over soy milk three hours ago."

He kneels beside her, sets the warmed oil on the nightstand, and folds the blanket neatly beside him. Then, he places one hand lightly between her shoulder blades. Her breath catches.

"I haven't even started."

"I'm preparing," she says, muffled against the pillow. "Preparing to ascend to heaven."

He pours a little oil into his hand. Then, he starts with slow pressure at her shoulders. His thumbs knead into the tight muscles, working methodically.

Baya groans. "Never stop. I think I blacked out for a second."

He says nothing, but his hands rightfully don't pause. She melts under his touch as he moves to the base of her neck, gently working down her spine. His fingers find the places where stress pools. Every time she exhales, her muscles surrender a little more.

He switches to her arms; long, slow pulls from shoulder to wrist. She's nearly purring now. "You could do this professionally," she mutters. "You'd make millions. Ruin marriages. I'm going to owe you so much."

"You already do."

She doesn't argue. She's too blissed out.

"Turn over."

Baya slowly rolls onto her back. Her hair's slightly tangled where it stuck to her neck. She offers her hands out.

He takes it gently, as if it's made of glass. Not because it's fragile, but because he understands what hands carry. The hours they've poured into others. The labor of motherhood, the shaking they've done when panic creeps in, the things they've held: children, grief, him.

He begins with her palm, pressing slowly into the thickest part near her thumb.

"I take back every bad thing I ever said about you."

His thumbs trace slow circles into the heel of her palm, then move to her knuckles, rubbing warmth into each one. Then her fingers. He slides down each gently. He repeats the process on her other hand.

When he finishes, she doesn't move right away. Just lays there, absorbing. Her eyes open slowly. "Okay," she says after a long pause, hesitant. "If I ask for one more thing, will you say no?"

"Possibly."

She taps her head. "Please do my scalp."

He doesn't seem to be bothered at all. "Sit up."

She does, slow and awkward, crossing her legs on the bed. He moves behind her, settles comfortably, and rests his hands at the base of her skull. When he begins, her whole body shifts. She lets out a sound that's half laugh, half whimper. "You're scraping the anxiety out of my head."

It's quiet for a while. The room is filled with only their breath and the faint sound of skin and hair shifting. After several more minutes, she leans back into him, her head coming to rest on his chest.

"I'm going to sleep right here," she murmurs.

"That's not good for your spine."

"Shh. I'm still ascending."

He rests his chin gently against the top of her head. They sit in silence for a minute.

"You okay?" she murmurs.

"I'm fine," he says. "Worried about you."

"You don't need to be," Baya says quickly, almost reflexively. She glances at him. His expression is unreadable as always. "I had a moment today," she admits. "In the back room. After the soy milk guy. I just stood there. For like ten minutes. Doing nothing."

Chishiya nods. "That's okay." He kisses the top of her head. "You want to lie down?"

She nods. He helps her settle again. Pulls the blanket up. Climbs in beside her. She's quiet for a long time. Long enough that he thinks she might've drifted off.

Then, "Don't judge me, okay?"

"Go on."

"I've been thinking about quitting work."

His chest doesn't rise or fall any faster. She waits, but there's no immediate answer. Just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat behind her. "Okay," he says simply.

"I love it," she whispers. "I love people. I love making pretty drinks. I love my coworkers. But it's just..."

"Too much," he finishes.

She nods. "I'm tired before I even walk in. And when I walk out, I feel like I've used up everything I have just trying to be normal. To be friendly. Even years later, my brain still gets tired so easily. I walk past loud noises and flinch. If someone raises their voice, I can't hear what they're saying, just the tone. Some days it's fine. Other days, it's like I'm trying to hold myself together with... I don't know, washi tape." There's a long pause. Then, almost ashamed, Baya murmurs, "I was thinking... maybe I just want to be home again. A housewife. For a while. I know that sounds—"

"It doesn't sound like anything except what you want," Chishiya cuts in gently.

She blinks against his collarbone. "Really?"

"You think I married you for your latte art?"

"No. You never even drink the pretty ones."

"They taste the same," he says. "Just do whatever makes you happy."

"But you work so hard," she says. "I don't want to be a burden."

"I make more than enough, and even if I didn't, I wouldn't mind. I like to work. I work because I can. Because I like it. Because it's stable. That's enough. You don't owe me your energy just to match mine. You enjoy it a little less. So you stay home while I work.

Her eyes shimmer faintly in the dim light. "Thank you," she whispers.

Eventually, she falls asleep against him, her breath deep and even for the first time in days.

●・○・●・○・●

Kaoru is splayed across the living room floor with his cards, tugging at his shirt every few minutes because it doesn't fit right. Hana is curled in a blanket on the armchair.

Baya walks in. "Okay! Family meeting!"

"I didn't do it."

"I'm not apologizing."

Chishiya appears behind her.

"No one's in trouble," Baya reassures, taking a seat. "In fact, we have good news. We're going on a vacation."

Kaoru tilts his head. "Like... for a day?"

"No," Chishiya says.

"A weekend?"

"No."

"...A whole week?" Hana asks.

"Longer," Baya smiles.

Kaoru frowns, suspicious. "You mean, like, a real vacation? Like people in movies?"

"Yes."

Hana blinks. "But we've never done that."

"You always say vacations are 'for people who hate their house.'."

"I've evolved," Chishiya decides.

"But what about work?" Kaoru asks. "Aren't you always doing emergency surgeries?"

"I scheduled time off."

"You can do that?" Hana gasps.

"I'm technically in charge of my department."

The kids exchange a look like their whole view at the world just changed.

Baya leans in. "So... we want to hear your ideas."

"Oh!" Hana perks up instantly. "Okay, um, maybe we could go to Nara. I could pack snacks, we'd need like, one hotel night, maybe one by the train station—"

"Or Nikko," Kaoru jumps in. "There's a bridge with a nice view. We could do it in a weekend if we leave early and take trains—"

"You can suggest anything," Chishiya says, setting down his tea.

Kaoru pauses. "Anything in Japan?"

"Anything in the world."

Both kids freeze. "What?"

Chishiya steeples his fingers. "Your mother and I will consider any destination. Price is not your concern."

Hana whispers, "Wait. Are we being kidnapped?"

"Are you dying?" Kaoru says to Chishiya. "This is bucket list behavior."

"I'm not dying."

"Are we dying?" Hana asks.

"No," Chishiya says, completely calm. "We've just decided you're old enough to remember the vacation and not throw tantrums on a plane."

"Plane tickets are expensive—"

"Why are you worrying about this?" Baya wonders. "First of all, finances are not your problem. Secondly, it sounds like you don't want to go."

"I do!" Hana yelps. "Anywhere is fine! Please!"

"How much do you make?" Kaoru asks his father.

"That's private."

"That means it's a lot."

"Mom cuts your hair," Hana accuses.

"You reuse tea bags!" Kaoru adds.

"I enjoy subtlety of flavor."

"Wait." Kaoru sits back slowly. "Is that why we live in the suburbs with three different bathrooms and a gigantic kitchen?"

"I assumed you'd notice eventually," Chishiya says mildly.

"I thought we were barely holding on!" Hana cries. "We eat leftovers!"

"You like leftovers."

"I do but I thought it was because we were struggling! I wore cheap sneakers to school today!"

"I've had this hoodie since I was ten!"

"And we thought this was luxury," Hana gestures vaguely around the room. She blows out a breath. "If we can go anywhere, I pick Greece."

"I vote Iceland."

"We're writing these down," Baya says, pulling out a notebook.

"Also, Spain," Hana adds.

"And Norway," Kaoru says.

They talk for over an hour, suggesting everything from Brazil to South Korea to Nigeria. Eventually, Baya closes the notebook, smiling warmly. "Okay," she says. "We'll handle the rest."

Kaoru stands and stares out the window. "We're going to leave the country. Like... literally get on a plane. That's insane."

Baya nudges Chishiya in the side, grinning.

"They should've figured it out earlier," he mutters. "We have a chandelier— unfortunately."

"You should've told us you had the money!"

"We didn't want you to become spoiled brats."

Hana rolls her eyes. "How long are we going? Can Kaede come? Can Kuina? What about Heiya?"

"Probably for about three weeks," Baya explains.

"And you're bringing nobody."

"What about Cinnamon?" Hana points at the bunny, who's sleeping on the couch, far too old to hop around playfully.

"She'll die if she breathes fresh air."

"Dad—! You can't say that!"