The small hand of the boy reached out and firmly stopped Kanao's father's hand from reaching her with surprising amount of strength one wouldn't expect from his hand.

“What… what do you think you’re doing? Who do you think you are to interfere with how I discipline my daughter?” Kanao’s father growled, his voice filled with anger and authority.

He glared at the boy standing before him, wearing a black bamboo hat. His eyes were filled with hostility as he tried to free his hand from the boy’s grip. He pulled and twisted, using all the strength he had, but it was of no use. The boy’s hand was like an iron clamp, holding him firmly in place.

Life in the slums was harsh. It didn’t provide comfort or luxury, but it sharpened instincts. It taught one to sense danger in silence, to interpret the weight of unsaid words and the intent behind them.

Kanao's father could sense it now—the boy before him was no ordinary child. There was a dangerous air about him, a quiet yet unmistakable warning. The father clenched his jaw, suppressing the impulse to lash out, for he instinctively knew that crossing this boy would invite consequences he could not afford.

With a slow, deliberate movement, the boy reached up and lifted the bamboo hat. His pale face was illuminated by the faint moonlight, revealing a pair of piercing golden eyes that gleamed with an eerie intensity.

It took Kanao’s father a moment to recognize him. When he did, his scowl turned into a confused sneer.

“So, it’s you… Haruto, isn’t it? My daughter’s ‘precious friend’.”

The father's shoulders relaxed slightly as he forced a sneer. Though surprised by Haruto’s boldness, he felt a strange relief. Haruto had always avoided Kanao as though she carried a curse—why would he change now?

But before the father could speak again, Haruto waved his hand sharply. A jolt of power surged through Kanao's father’s wrist, and he was shoved backward, stumbling several steps before barely regaining his balance.

“Take me to Kanao’s room,” Haruto said, his voice cold and emotionless.

Kanao’s father froze, his face turning a little pale. There was something about Haruto’s tone that sent a chill down his spine. He felt a strange and overwhelming sense of danger radiating from the boy, but he quickly tried to cover his fear with false bravado.

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“You little brat! How dare you talk to me like that? Show some respect to your elders!” he barked.

Boom!

The sound of Haruto’s fist smashing into the wall echoed through the house. The force of the blow left a large hole in the flimsy wooden structure, splinters scattering across the ground.

A sharp gasp escaped from Kanao’s father, echoed by Kanao’s mother, who had rushed over to investigate the commotion. Both of them froze, their faces pale as they stared at the boy who stood under the moonlight, his golden pupils glowing with a menacing light.

“Take me to Kanao’s room,” Haruto repeated, his voice even colder than before.

As his gaze swept over the two adults, they felt as though they were being pierced by the eyes of something inhuman. A primal fear gripped them, forcing them to comply. Without another word, they hurriedly led the way.

As they moved through the courtyard, a bald, middle-aged man emerged from the shadows. He appeared startled by the noise and approached, his sharp and calculating eyes surveying the scene.

“Master Ichiro…” Kanao’s father said quickly, his voice full of exaggerated respect.

Tamayo Ichiro’s gaze shifted between Kanao’s father, Haruto and finally Kanao herself. His eyes lingered on the girl, studying her with a glean in his eyes as if she was a piece of property. Than faint smile of satisfaction crossed his face.

“Is this your daughter?” he asked, his voice cold and calculating.

“Yes, Master Ichiro,” Kanao’s father replied with an eager smile, though his words faltered as Haruto’s golden eyes locked onto him again.

That unrelenting gaze sent a chill down the his spine. It wasn’t just intimidating—it was terrifying, primal, like the stare of a predator assessing its prey.

“Her room is on the right side of the courtyard,” Kanao’s father blurted hastily, pointing with trembling fingers.

Without sparing another glance at the so-called “Master Ichiro,” Haruto took Kanao’s hand and led her towards the room.

The sight that greeted him was more akin to a kennel than a bedroom. The walls were thin and riddled with cracks, the floor barely holding together. It was cramped, cold, and barren—devoid of even the simplest comforts.

Haruto’s eyes dimmed as he took in the bleak environment. He lowered his gaze to Kanao, his heart aching for the girl who had endured such cruelty.

“Is there anything here you want to take with you?” he asked softly, his voice losing its earlier edge.

But Kanao didn’t move. She didn’t look around or point to anything. She stood still, her expression blank.

Haruto frowned, glancing around the room. It wasn’t surprising—there was nothing of value here. No toys, no keepsakes, not even a blanket that looked worth keeping.

Still, the thought that Kanao had lived in this squalor filled him with quiet rage.

“Then will you come with me?” he asked, crouching down to meet her eyes. His golden pupils softened, searching her violet ones for a glimmer of response.

For the first time, his voice carried a warmth that seemed to melt the cold night air He wasn’t just offering to take her away from this place—he was offering her a chance at a better life.