Seimei Country, New World

The room buzzed with constant conversation, like a marketplace of ideas rather than a place of strict learning.

Students leaned toward one another, discussing assignments, sharing stories, or debating trivial things like who had the best lunch. Pens tapped against desks, chairs scraped the floor, and the occasional laugh broke through the steady hum.

Despite the noise, there was a sense of order. No one was misbehaving; everyone was just enjoying the class in their own way.

At the front, the teacher stood with arms crossed, waiting for the noise to settle on its own but it didn't.

The teacher raised her voice above the classroom's chatter.

"Silence, class!"

The room fell still.

She scanned the students before asking, "Who can define a Devil Fruit?"

A boy raised his hand. The teacher nodded, allowing him to answer.

"Devil Fruits are supernatural fruits scattered across the world. Anyone who eats one gains a unique ability but loses the ability to swim, becoming weakened in water," he explained confidently.

At that moment, two girls appeared at the doorway one noticeably taller than most boys in the class, the other shorter than the girls. The older girl watched the teacher, waiting, while the younger one fixed her gaze on the speaking boy.

He hesitated briefly before continuing, "Devil Fruits are classified into three types: Paramecia, Zoan, and Logia."

As he finished, he moved swiftly from his desk, heading for the door. But before he could pass, the teacher caught his arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

The boy turned to her. "Ma'am, my sisters are here."

The teacher's eyes narrowed. "Show me your hand."

He hesitated. "Ma'am, it's my father's birthday today."

"I said, show me your hand!" she snapped.

The boy slowly raised his hand.

The teacher picked up a bamboo stick from her desk and struck his palm. His sisters flinched at the sharp sound, while he clenched his eyes shut, swallowing the pain.

"Hand up!" she ordered.

He obeyed, lifting his trembling hand once more. Another strike.

Satisfied, she placed the stick back on the desk. "Go kneel over there until class is over."

In silence, the boy walked to the corner of the room, turned, and knelt with his arms raised, staring at the teacher.

She resumed the lesson. "Now, let's continue, Paramecia fruits grant 'superhuman' abilities. Zoan fruits allow transformations into animals. And Logia fruits…"

The school bell rang.

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"Understood?" the teacher asked the class.

The boy got to his feet.

"Yes, ma'am," came the chorus of voices.

Without hesitation, the boy ran past his teacher, overtaking his sisters as he disappeared down the corridor.

The teacher's gaze followed him until he was gone. Then her eyes drifted to his desk his schoolbag was still there.

The hallway echoed with the rapid thud of footsteps as the boy sprinted down the corridor, weaving through clusters of students. His breath came in short bursts.

Bursting through the exit, he was greeted by the fading warmth of the afternoon sun. The school gate loomed ahead, and just beyond it, a sleek car idled by the curb, its engine humming like an impatient heartbeat.

He enters the car and waits impatiently for his sister's

…

As the car passed through the grand iron gates, the mansion loomed ahead pillars standing tall, golden windows glowing against the darkening sky. The vehicle rolled to a smooth stop before the grand entrance.

The moment the door unlocked, Akira bolted out.

"Dad!" he called, racing inside.

His footsteps echoed through the vast halls. He peeked into the dining room empty. The long table stretched into the distance, chandeliers swaying gently overhead.

"Dad?"

He dashed through corridors, past towering paintings of ancestors frozen in time. He checked the library, its shelves stretching to the ceiling. The scent of old parchment filled the air. But no father.

His voice grew more urgent. "Dad?"

The house felt too big too empty.

A woman rose from the sofa, watching the boy's frantic search.

She sighed. "Akira."

Akira stopped. He turned to her and ran into her arms. "Mom!"

She held him close. "Akira..."

He pulled away slightly. "Where's Dad?"

She gently smoothed his hair. "You know he's a busy man. He had to rush to the factory."

Akira's face fell.

Trying to lift his spirits, she smiled. "Why don't we make a clone of your father? That way, one can stay at home while the other works."

He sighed. "Cloning takes too long, Mom."

"We'll have to find a body double. But no matter how many lookalikes we find, no one can compare to Dad."

…

The car rumbled down a winding road as trees gave way to towering smokestacks. The scent of oil and metal thickened the air.

As they approached, the factory's massive machines hummed, and steam hissed from unseen vents. The car came to a halt.

Akira wasted no time. He leaped out and ran inside.

"Dad!"

His voice rang through the cavernous space. One by one, workers paused, turning toward the source of the sound. The rhythmic clang of machinery softened as silence spread.

"Dad!"

"Dad!"

Only his voice remained, carrying a longing too deep for words.

…

The Man bore the weight of years in the silver streaks of his hair and the furrow of his brow. His hands, calloused from experience, moved steadily over stacks of papers.

He sat at the grand dining table, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through three massive windows. Shadows stretched long across the polished wood, flickering with each movement of the curtains.

Yuri approached quietly.

"The kids made a cake for you," she said softly. "They waited… but they got tired and went to bed."

He remained silent, his gaze still on the documents.

She exhaled. "You didn't even meet them after calling them back from school today."

He sighed. "I'll make it up to them."

Yuri shook her head. "They notice everything, Zenjiro. And it bothers them."

She took the cigarette from his hand, pressing it into the ashtray.

"You know what he said yesterday?" she asked. "He wants to change his name… to Zenjiro II."

Zenjiro looked up.

"I tried to argue, but do you know what he said?" Yuri continued. "If there can be a Kento II and a Hiroki V, then why not Zenjiro II?"

Her voice softened. "You're his superhero. Can't you spare just ten minutes of your day for your son?"

…

Zenjiro entered Akira's room.

The space was a battlefield of adventure posters of pirates, scattered books, and wooden swords left in the chaos of play. Moonlight stretched across the floor, casting long shadows.

He walked over and gently took a letter from Akira's sleeping hand. His gaze flickered to the faint red mark still on the boy's palm.

Then, he read the letter.

'Dad, in my next life, I want you to be my son.

I want you to see how much I love you.

You can learn from it.

Because in the life after that,

I will once again be your son, and you will be my dad.

Then you can express your love in your own unique way.

Instead of how I do it.

I hope you understand, dad.

If you do, that would be more than enough for me.'

Zenjiro's hand tightened around the paper. His gaze lingered on Akira, rising and falling softly in sleep.

…

Next Day at School

Akira stood before his classmates, handing out Sakuramochi a delicate mochi cake made of Sweet pink-colored rice cake, red bean paste, and pickled cherry blossom leaf. His classmates eagerly took the sweets, their chatter filling the air.

A boy with glasses took one and grinned. "Happy birthday to your father!"

Akira nodded. "Thank you."

A chubby boy followed. "Happy birthday to your dad!"

"Thank you."

Then, a girl chimed in. "Happy birthday to your dad!"

"Thank you."

The boy with glasses adjusted his frames. "By the way, how could you forget your bag at school?"

A lean boy leaned in. "Do you guys even know who his father is?"

The chubby boy scoffed. "He could buy a new bag every day if he wanted."

Akira handed the last mochi to a student, who also said, "Happy birthday to your dad!"

Turning back, he met the glasses boy's gaze.

Akira answered calmly. "I was finally going to meet my father after his trip overseas."

A girl tilted her head. "Do you love your father?"

Akira's expression softened. "I love my father more than anything in the whole wide world."

Another student raised an eyebrow. "Everyone loves their parents. What makes yours so special?"

The boy with glasses smirked. "Yeah. And what do you mean by 'more than anything'?"

"How do you even measure love?"

Akira smiled. "The same way you measure effort by how much time you give to it."

"How?"

He thought for a moment, then explained. "It's like studying all year and then getting grades that tell the difference between…"

He pointed at the chubby boy. "Who failed."

Then at the glasses boy. "Who passed."

And finally, at himself. "And who came first."

The class fell silent.

Akira let his words settle before adding, "In the same way, time will show if my love for my father… fails, passes, or comes out on top."