November 17th — The Aizawa Household

  Kenji knocked on the door, standing firmly as he waited. The muffled sounds of conflict from within had ceased abruptly at his arrival. After a moment, Takeshi opened it, his breath reeking of alcohol, clothes disheveled. His disheveled appearance and the faint tension in the air were enough to put Kenji on alert immediately.

  "I was here to inform you that your house will be finished being built sometime this week," Kenji stated, though his focus quickly shifted as the scent of liquor filled his nostrils. His sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the underlying unease in both Naomi and Hinata—the mother's split lip, the daughter's clenched fists, the father's barely contained aggression.

  "Mr. Aizawa, is everything okay in the household?" Kenji asked, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of authority without being overtly threatening.

  Takeshi let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, of course! We were just roughhousing, got a little carried away. You know how it is." His casual tone was betrayed by the slight tremor in his hands, the excessive animation in his gestures.

  Kenji didn't look convinced, his gaze penetrating through the fa?ade. Takeshi glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Naomi, his stare an unspoken command that crackled with menace.

  "Yes, Mr. Kenji, everything was fine," Naomi said quickly, forcing a small, rehearsed laugh. Her fingers touched her wounded lip self-consciously, then fell away. "We just got a little too carried away. I'm not as young as I once was, playing around with my husband!"

  Hinata, standing beside her mother, whispered urgently, "Mom, what are you doing? This is the perfect time to tell him." Her voice was low but intense, desperation evident in every syllable.

  Naomi turned and embraced her daughter, the hug strained and weak. Even in that moment, Hinata could tell—her mother was in pain. The way she barely moved her arm, the way she seemed to suppress a wince when contact was made—something was broken. Maybe her rib, maybe more. The familiar rhythm of concealing injury was written in every careful movement.

  "Baby, please," Naomi whispered, her lips close to Hinata's ear. "Not now. Just go with it, and I'll find a way to protect us." Her breath carried the scent of fear, a metallic tang beneath her floral perfume.

  Kenji exhaled sharply, recognizing the signs from years of dealing with domestic situations. His gut instinct told him there was more to this, but pushing too hard might escalate the situation dangerously. Instead, he made a calculated move, choosing indirect intervention.

  "That was the news I had," Kenji said, his tone measured, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. "But I think it's in my best judgment to take Mrs. Aizawa to the hospital."

  He stepped forward with deliberate confidence. Takeshi, still standing in the doorway, subtly blocked his path, widening his stance without making the obstruction obvious.

  "There's no need for all that now, is there, old friend?" Takeshi said, attempting to keep his tone light while his eyes hardened. His hand gripped the doorframe tighter, knuckles whitening with pressure.

  Kenji's expression remained unreadable, years of practice keeping his contempt from showing. "I would like to believe you, Mr. Aizawa. But as an Academy official, housing you three in the Academy's quarters, my hands are tied. I must ensure the safety of our patrons."

  Kenji stepped past Takeshi with a subtle sidestep, approaching Naomi. Gently, he picked her up, his arms steady and unwavering. Naomi barely reacted, too weak to protest, her body tense at first then yielding to the inevitable. But as he glanced at Hinata, he saw it—the tears in her eyes, the relief mixed with fear, the silent plea for help.

  "There's more to this," Kenji thought to himself, taking in the room with a final sweep. "But for now, the safety of this woman is paramount."

  "I was actually heading to the hospital anyway," Kenji said aloud, adjusting Naomi's weight in his arms with practiced ease. "So I don't mind dropping her off. Have a good day, Mr. Aizawa."

  A tense pause filled the air as Kenji turned back toward the door. Before stepping out, he glanced over his shoulder, meeting Takeshi's gaze directly.

  "And please, ensure there are no more 'accidents' in the meantime, will you?" The warning in his voice was unmistakable, though his tone remained professional.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Takeshi's jaw tightened as he met Kenji's gaze, his eyes darkening in silent rage, muscles tensing visibly beneath his shirt. The door shut behind Kenji with finality, the soft click carrying more weight than a slam would have.

  Takeshi stood in the doorway for a long moment, the weight of Kenji's words sinking in. His fingers clenched at his sides, his jaw working as if chewing on bitter thoughts. Then, with a heavy sigh that carried the scent of stale beer, he staggered back toward the kitchen, pouring himself another drink, drowning whatever thoughts crept into his mind in more alcohol.

  Later That Night — The Drive to the Hospital

  The car ride was quiet save for the hum of the engine and the occasional whir of passing traffic. Streetlights cast intermittent golden glows across Naomi's face as she sat in the passenger seat, her hands clasped in her lap as she gazed out the window. The night city rolled past, a blur of neon and shadow.

  Kenji glanced at her, noting how she limped as she walked earlier. The blood at the edge of her lip. The exhaustion in her eyes. The way she held herself, protecting her right side. All signs he'd seen too many times in his career.

  "Thank you so much, Mr. Kenji," Naomi finally spoke, breaking the silence. "But please, this is all unnecessary. I am fine, trust me!" She forced a strained chuckle, hoping to dispel the tension that hung between them like smoke.

  Kenji sighed, shaking his head. "This is just protocol, ma'am. If you're fine, I'm sure the doctors will take note and release you shortly so that you may go back to your family." He gave her a small smile, though there was little warmth behind it, only professional courtesy.

  Naomi's fingers tightened slightly against her lap. Back to her family. The words hung in the air, weighted with unspoken implications.

  Shortly after, Kenji pulled into the hospital parking lot, the tires crunching softly on the pavement. The building loomed before them, windows glowing with sterile light against the night sky. He helped Naomi out of the car, his steadying hand gentle but firm. She winced as she stood, the movement confirming his suspicions about her injuries.

  He flashed his badge at the front desk, and a receptionist quickly escorted Naomi to the waiting room. As she walked away, her shoulders hunched slightly, making herself smaller out of habit. Kenji turned to another receptionist, his demeanor shifting from compassionate to authoritative.

  "I need access to your hospital footage," Kenji said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. "This is for official Academy business regarding Mrs. Inosuke."

  The receptionist hesitated, her fingers pausing over her keyboard, before nodding, leading him to the control room. The small, windowless space was lined with monitors, each showing different areas of the hospital in crisp black and white.

  Kenji sat before a series of screens as security footage began playing at his request. His eyes narrowed in concentration, missing nothing as the images flickered before him.

  The film rolled, showing the moment Mrs. Inosuke was admitted. Kenji saw himself, Haikito, and Shoto in the room with her. Then, something strange happened. The footage abruptly cut, a split-second of static interrupting the timeline.

  Suddenly, Mrs. Inosuke was alone in the room.

  Kenji's eyebrows furrowed. "Pause it."

  The receptionist froze the frame, just as another segment of footage glitched out and was replaced by static, the timeline jumping forward inexplicably.

  "Did you redact this?" Kenji asked, his voice sharper now, an edge of suspicion creeping in.

  "No, I didn't," the receptionist replied, confusion evident in her widening eyes. "I wouldn't even know how to do that."

  Kenji exhaled through his nose, the pieces falling into place. Someone was tampering with the evidence. Someone with access and technical skill—or the authority to command it.

  "Has anyone else from the Academy come regarding Mrs. Inosuke?" Kenji asked in a commanding tone that demanded honesty.

  "I'm not sure! I would have to ask my colleagues," the receptionist said quickly, intimidated by his intensity.

  Kenji leaned back, crossing his arms. Someone was pulling strings behind the scenes. Someone powerful enough to alter hospital security footage without raising alarms. The implications were disturbing, pointing to corruption at levels he hadn't wanted to consider.

  Elsewhere in the Hospital — Naomi's Exam Room

  A doctor approached the receptionist's desk, collecting Naomi's information with practiced efficiency. He was tall, well-groomed, and wore a sharp suit beneath his impeccable white coat. His sleek green hair was slicked back, and a thin scar ran over his left eye, adding character to what would otherwise be almost inhumanly perfect features. Despite this small imperfection, his smile was warm, inviting... perfect.

  One of the nurses leaned toward another, whispering with barely contained admiration. "That's Dr. Malveau, one of our newest hires. One of the best in the country. He recently moved to Osaka!"

  Dr. Malveau walked with confidence, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. He approached Naomi with a polished charm that immediately put her at ease despite her situation.

  "Excuse me, where are my manners? I'm Dr. Malveau." He extended his hand for a handshake, his grip firm but gentle.

  Naomi shook it, noting how soft and well-kept his hands were, unlike the calloused grip of her husband.

  "I'll take it from here," Dr. Malveau said, flashing a pleasant smile at the nurse before turning back to Naomi. "Please, follow me. Don't be shy."

  Naomi hesitated but stood, following him down the hall. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the fluorescent lights creating a tunnel effect that made her slightly dizzy. Naomi swallowed, suddenly aware of how quiet the hallway felt, how their footsteps echoed against the sterile walls. Something about the doctor's smile felt too perfect. Too polished. But what choice did she have?

  Just as they reached the entrance of his office, his smile widened ever so slightly.

  His eye twitched, a barely perceptible movement.

  And for the briefest moment, a devilish grin flashed across his face—something hungry and predatory, there and gone so quickly Naomi wondered if she had imagined it.