The car opened and dad stepped out.

He had a beard a few days old and his hair was longer than usual.

Carrying a black sports bag and wearing sweatpants, he looked like an athlete returning from a competition.

“Welcome Todoroki-sama !”

Our subordinates, lined up in two rows on either side of the stairs leading up to the house, bowed at a ninety degree angle.

His blue eyes swept calmly over the procession. I met his gaze.

He watched me for a few seconds, then came over to us.

“I see he's still alive”

“Enji. Hello to you as well”

Old Teka and my father looked each other straight in the eye, their faces devoid of the slightest emotion.

Even his eyes, the only window into who he was, reflected nothing. He looked down at me, unreadable.

“Shoto”

“Dad”

“Aren't you glad to see me ?”

“You're two weeks late”

An amused glint lit up his eyes.

“I expected a warm welcome...”

He picked me up with ease and carried me as if I was five years old again.

Blood rushed to my face as I looked around in shame.

“What are you doing ? Put me down right now !”

He held me tighter.

“I'm starving. Why don't you tell me what that crazy old hag made you do while I eat ?”

A four-inch stiletto tore through the air and embedded itself in the wall right next to us.

Teka, at the bottom of the stairs, bellowed like a bull about to charge.

“I'm not old”

The air over her hair caught fire.

My father dismissed her remark with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah, yeah”

He closed the door in time, the second stiletto poking a hole in it.

*

“And you like them ?”

I shrugged.

“Crespi is funny”

“Hmm”

My father finished a piece of bread covered in sauce, then put the dirty plate on the pile to his right.

The cook brought out the dessert - an assortment of fruit, cheese, and sliced meats - and to my amazement, my father gobbled it all up.

I would have thought that the half dozen dishes he had just devoured would have satisfied him, but the black hole that was his stomach proved otherwise.

“Isn't there some chocolate cake ?”

The chef blinked in confusion, then turned to my father. My father translated into Italian. Apparently, our henchmen were the only ones whom knew Japanese.

My father exchanged a few more words with him, and the cook took out a notebook and wrote down what I thought was a set of instructions.

“What did you told him ?”

“To prepare us food for tomorrow”

I straightened up, my attention caught.

“How about tomorrow? Are we going to do anything special ?”

“You'll see”

He swallowed a bunch of grapes in one gulp, drank the water straight from the pitcher, then jumped to his feet, scraping his chair against the floor.

I jumped from my seat, a little surprised at his sudden eagerness.

“I need to speak with your grandmother. Go to your room while I do it. I'll see you later”

And before I could open my mouth, he was already through the kitchen door.

*

“How's it going ?”

My clone, leaning over me, brush in hand, stepped back a few inches.

“Still as good as ten seconds ago, boss”

“No problems with the matrix ? No bad reactions ?”

“No, boss”

“Take a closer look”

The clone watched me silently.

“What ?”

And he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

I grunted as I stood up and ran my hand over the crumpled sheet.

No problem with the seal.

The bowl of black ink at the foot of the bed was still smoking, wisps of transparent blue swirling above it.

I met my own reflection in the full-length mirror. I was sitting shirtless, fuinjutsu lines painted on my torso, my arms, half of my face. I could feel the chakra inside vibrating gently against my skin.

I thought it was the matrix that was about to kill me last time, but it was only because of a bad reaction.

Apparently, I was allergic to ink.

The last time my clone smeared the Sharingan seal on my body, my skin had turned purple and I'd nearly suffocated.

I'd never been so glad to have learned some basis in iryo jutsus as I was that day.

It had taken me several days to send my clones out to find new, quality, ink and return with it.

A hand wave later, a new clone appeared. He took the brush, dipped it in the ink and said:

“At the first remark, I uninvoke myself”

I lay down on the bed without saying a word. My clones were way too much like me.

The cold brush rolled over my chin, my cheek, swirled around my eye, before sliding like a wave across my forehead.

My scar grew hot.

I imagined the ink seeping into my skin like a tear, staining my flesh and contaminating my blood.

“Stay calm”

The brush returned to its original lines. It branched out, wrapping around my elbows, running up my biceps.

My clone, without ever lifting the brush, drew three concentric circles on my torso, the tip barely touching my collarbones.

The brush slid into the hollow of my throat and coiled there like a snake in its nest before uncoiling and sliding over my mouth, my nose, and splitting into two distinct branches for my eyes.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“I'm almost done”

He drew three tomoe, three commas, into the circles on my torso. He connected each of them with a line drew to my eyes.

“Grit your teeth”

My clone waved hand signs over my chest. I felt the chakra, heavy and strong, concentrate over my heart.

The fuin lines vibrated.

In the mirror I saw the circles swirling against each other. The lines stretched across my arms snapped like whips, then folded back like rolled tape, sliding down to my chest.

A growl rose from my throat, as if someone other than me, someone hidden in my belly, was awakening to ponder its rage.

The bed shook.

The circles began to spin furiously, a searing heat spreading along the lines that led to my eyes.

My body arched against my will, only the tips of my feet touching the floor. My clone pressed me against the bed, but continued to pour all his chakra into the seal.

In the reflection of his wide eyes, I saw the matrix on my face melt like water and embed itself in my skin, turning into inky petals.

My eyes burned as if lava had been poured into them. My eyelids fluttered wildly as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

I dug my nails into the mattress, the frame creaking.

My whole room was spinning around me as if I were in the center of a centrifuge.

Walls and floor merged, melting into a brown blur that spun and spun and spun.

Suddenly the pain disappeared.

My clone exploded in a cloud of white smoke.

I straightened up, trembling, unsure, and met Shoto's sweaty gaze in the mirror.

My scarlet eyes were those of the Sharingan.

Then I leaned forward and threw up on the carpet.

*

I watched the sea crash onto the white sand and looked uncertainly at the rock jetty.

“Wait, you were serious ?”

Dad, fishing rod slung over his shoulder, glanced at me warily.

“Why would I lie ?”

And without another word, he started off again, the cooler banging against his thigh.

I shuffled along, my own rod slung over my shoulder, hoping he'd leave me there.

“If you wanted fish, why didn't you tell me? I would have bought some for you”

At the very least, I would have sent a servant to buy some for me.

“We're not here for the fish”

I stopped, irritated.

“Then what are we doing here ?”

He ignored me and continued walking at a leisure pace. I kicked a pebble, hands in my pockets, and followed him.

There were pieces of wood and broken bottles half buried in the white dunes. The water was clear, but the no swimming sign told me enough about the place.

My thoughts drifted back to Group Three and their trip to Sicily. I'd give anything to be with them instead of playing Sponge Bob.

An older couple with wrinkled faces stood at the water's edge. They smiled when they saw me, the beer-bellied man pointing with his fingertip to my fishing rod:

“Bella canna da pesca, ragazzo !”

I shook my hand to silence him.

“Yeah, yeah”

“Shoto”

My father had climbed onto the rocks and was waving at me. I grunted and reluctantly followed him.

On the other side of the pier, a few vacationers had already arrived and planted their umbrellas in the sand.

A hotel employee was unfolding deck chairs and dusting off purple mattresses.

A few hundred yards away, a group of teenagers had gathered around a volleyball net to form teams.

I could hear bits and pieces of their conversation - apparently a certain Réo was the player to have.

My father sat down at the end of the pier, far from the beach and the men.

He unfolded the huge towel on some flat rocks and sat down, his fisherman's hat flapping gently in the sea breeze.

Behind him, a pink sun rose over the horizon.

I sat down heavily beside him and planted my fishing rod between two rocks.

“You don't look very happy to be here”

Angrily, I opened my arms wide:

“I'm fishing – fishing !”

The silence of the morning carried my voice to the shore.

The horizon, blue and calm, merged with the sea, as if the world became one.

“I hate fishing too”

I blinked in confusion.

“But it was something my father loved to do, right here”

He hit the rock we were sitting on.

“I used to do it, often, when I was a teenager and felt lonely - no matter how bad I was, and still am at it”

I imagined my father at 15, coming home from Yuei to a huge, cold house surrounded by men and women ready to throw themselves at his feet to serve as his mats.

I could see Teka, her sharp remarks and burning eyes, the respectful and hurtful distance she'd had to keep between them.

A bit like my Before progenitors.

“I hadn't been back in years”

The wind was picking up, and I knew I'd have to throw away my mask as soon as I got home, because it would have caught the moisture.

I muttered.

“If you die, don't count on me to fish in your memory”

He laughed, a free, joyful laugh.

The sound surprised me, forcing me to look curiously at this amazing outburst of happiness. It wasn't something he did often.

Silence engulfed us.

He leaned forward and reached into the cooler for the first of six sandwiches the chef had prepared for the day.

We were like bears when it came to food. He passed it to me, then took another for himself.

His line stirred in the water.

I hesitated for a second, not wanting to spoil his good mood, but patience was a quality I sorely lacked.

“The psychiatrist told me. About the agreement with Rei.

He tensed.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I tried”

I thought back to the Heroes Awards, the only time he'd ever mentioned it.

“Don't blame her. It was my idea”

“But she didn't fight, did she ? She just wanted to keep the other two”

I laughed contemptuously.

“Don't do that”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don't care”

My smile died on the corners of my lips.

I looked down at the space between the rocks where the sea crept in, leaving its foam as a sign of its journey.

A crab ran across a ledge of seaweed, then dived and disappeared with a splash.

“She didn't say anything," my father continued, "Because she knew I wouldn't let you go”

I didn't like Rei very much.

She was weird, clingy, too emotional.

She had spent her time ignoring me in favor of Touya. Forgiving him at every turn and ignoring the downward spiral I was in. But she was supposed to be my mother.

It hurt.

“She could have tried”

Dad rubbed my back in response.

My eyes were as dry as the warm wind.

I hadn't cried since a long time ago.

“And your mission? Did you do what you were supposed to do?”

He took so long to answer that I thought he wasn't going to say anything.

“I sent a message. We won't have problems like this again”

His voice was hard as stone again.

I tried to imagine what kind of message he could be talking about.

Violent, for sure.

Maybe even bloody.

The only image I could conjure was of him watching me, arms folded, eyes patient, ready to catch me if I screwed up my life.

“Good”

“Yeah”

A pair of seagulls flew overhead, their cries echoing around us.

I tossed them pieces of sandwich and they gulped them down.

“You're strong now. And you'll be even stronger in the years to come. Why ?”

Meat in hand, I turned to my father, overcome by a vague sense of déjà-vu.

“You asked me a similar question a long time ago.”

The seagulls cried out for my attention, hesitating to approach.

“You are older, wiser. Your answer must be different.

I took a few seconds to think.

“Why do I want to be strong?”

I thought of the three men I had roasted in the Tokyo Tower because they were too arrogant to see me as a threat.

I thought of Kenzei and how I'd only survived because no one knew about my chakra.

I thought of Crespi, Ataleo and group three and their companionship, closeness, as if they shared the same blood.

I thought of our family, of the great-grandfather who had built our dynasty in difficult times.

“To do as I please”

My father nodded, as if to acknowledge my motive as legitimate.

“That's better. But you're still young”

We spent the day at the beach and decided to go swimming not far from our fishing spot.

Time flew.

When we returned home that evening, neither of us had caught anything.

*

BONUS :

Enji looked at Teka's huge mahogany desk.

He hadn't set foot in the family home since his father's death almost twenty years before, but nothing had changed.

Teka sat down in the office chair and folded her hands in front of her face.

“I take it you managed to pick up their trail ?”

Enji knew she knew, but she just wanted to hear him tell her.

“Agresti succeeded, yes”

A bitter taste crept into Enji's mouth at the thought of what he was about to say.

“Thank you. For lending me your men”

Teka sank back into her chair and pretended to wave away his gratitude.

“You are a Todoroki. These men are as much my soldiers as they are yours”

Maybe twenty years ago, when he should have succeeded his mother as planned.

But he'd decided to leave this bloody world long ago.

Teka added - because she wouldn't have been herself if she hadn't found something to criticize her son about :

“I find it ironic that you gave up everything that made you a Todoroki because you were tired of 'sowing' death, only to come back years later and ask for my help in killing”

Enji's expression hardened.

“I had no choice”

Not when the life of his son was at stake.

“Everything I do is for the good of our family”

That was her favorite sentence.

Enji had believed it when he was younger.

But then his father had died and he'd realized that the Todoroki, despite all their influence and power, were not as untouchable as they would like to believe.

“Your son is the last of our lineage”

“And Elisa ?”

She was his cousin at second degree, still a child when he left the family.

“She died in delivery room five years ago. So did the child”

Enji nodded without real concern.

She'd been a child when helast saw her and back then, Enji had better things to do with his time than to take care of her.

“I still appreciate that you didn't come and took your son as fast to disappear again to play the hero”

Enji had not missed the usual small dose of contempt mixed with feigned indifference.

“That was the original plan”

“Has something changed your mind ?”

“I need your men. Again”

Teka examined him carefully.

“You didn't limit yourself to the assault group, did you ?” Teka smiled “Of course not. You've never been one to cut corners”

Enji didn't like the hint of pride in her voice.

“You'll have to clean the bases for me”

“Where?”

“Korea. Taiwan. Singapore”

Enji slid a sheet of paper across the table with two fingers. Teka unfolded it and read it.

She cocked an eyebrow.

“God Mode is not to be used with impunity, Enji. I thought I had at least taught you that”

“It was a necessary evil”

“Was the slaughter of more than” she looked down at the page “two thousand men necessary?”

Enji didn't like to hear the number out loud.

As long as it remained on paper, Enji was able to ignore the atrocity of the murders he'd committed.

“I wanted to set an example. So that no one would think of doing it again”

Teka raised an eyebrow.

She put the sheet back on her desk.

“When you say you want the bases cleaned... you mean you want them to know you did it, right ?”

Enji nodded.

“I want that to be the unofficial word. Officially, however, nothing must bind me to it”

If it was proven that Enji had wiped an entire organization - even a criminal one - from the face of the earth, he would be entitled to a one-way ticket to Tartarus.

If Teka didn't get him out of the country first, of course.

“Am I to understand that you're coming home?”

There was hope in her voice.

Enji suddenly became aware of his mother's age.

Although she looked extremely young, this woman had ruled the Todoroki Empire with an iron fist for over forty years.

She had lost a husband, a son and had no one else at her side for over twenty years.

Despite everything that had happened between them, Enji felt sorry for her.

“I don't want to expose my son to all that”

“He already has been”

Enji knew that she was right.

But it was easier for him to live in denial than to admit that he was a failure as a father and had failed to protect his son.

Again.

“I can see it in his eyes. This boy knows exactly what it takes to survive”

“We'll leave on Sunday”

He left the office, Teka's flashing eyes following his retreating silhouette.