“Then I’m off.”
“Okay. Take care~!”
As I stood up after tying my shoelaces at the entrance, Eto gave a spirited wave to see me off.
It was time to head to my part-time job—the most dreaded part of my day.
It wasn't that I hated working; it was the thought of leaving Eto alone at home that bothered me.
Regardless of whether she was a Ghoul or not, she was still just a five-year-old girl. Leaving her behind made my heart heavy and my footsteps sluggish. Yet, if I didn't work, we couldn't eat. It was a constant dilemma.
It wasn't that I was completely destitute. In fact, if I truly wanted to, I wouldn't have to bother with this kind of tedious labor at all.
My bank account held more than enough to do more than just scrape by; there was enough to venture into my own business if I so desired.
But I refused to touch that money. I didn't want to.
It's the inheritance my father left me. I can't just spend it carelessly.
I intended to save that money for Eto's education once she reached school age. Until then, it had to remain untouched.
Consequently, I was forced to maintain a frugal, almost impoverished lifestyle.
The work itself wasn't the hard part, but the feeling of my heart shrinking every time my wallet grew thinner was truly miserable.
Anyway, that was why I had started this part-time job a few months ago.
Originally, I had planned to focus on side jobs from home, but Eto had grown into a far more sensible girl than I expected, allowing me to trust her with the house to some extent.
Fortunately, no major accidents had occurred while she was home alone so far... but my heart still sank whenever I imagined her playing by herself in her room, at an age when she should be running wild outside.
But Eto, as if sensing my worries and wanting to blow them away, was smiling brightly.
A small chuckle escaped me, and the lingering discomfort faded. I looked at her and spoke.
“I’m reminding you again, but if a stranger comes to the door?”
“I absolutely do not open it!”
“And if they force their way inside?”
“I scream or call the police! The number is 110!”
Mm, she had it memorized perfectly.
I crouched down to meet Eto's eyes and asked one more thing.
“And if that person tries to do something bad to our Eto?”
“I'll smash them in the crotch!”
“With how much force?”
“Enough to rupture it! Enough to tear it off! Enough so it can never be fixed! With all my might!”
Okay, we're good.
The image of a Ghoul's monstrous strength landing a direct hit to the groin was a terrifying prospect for any man, but anyone who tried to harm Eto deserved it. In fact, I felt like smashing them myself.
“Don't forget to call me immediately if anything happens, okay?”
“Yes~!”
I gave Eto one last worried glance before stepping out the front door.
Once I closed the door and heard the lock click from the inside, I quickened my pace toward the elevator.
I needed to finish my shift quickly and get back to her.
***
Once her father left, Eto looked around the suddenly quiet house.
The silence of being alone was on a completely different level than the quiet they shared when they were together.
From outside, she could hear the distant sounds of children playing at a nearby playground. For Eto, who could not yet go out and mingle with them, this house was her only playground, her only sanctuary... and also a cage created by a world that rejected her.
The silence, heavy enough to crush a child's fragile heart, lasted only a moment.
“Right! I have to be a good girl until Dad comes back!”
Eto was spirited.
She wondered if she should read a book and began browsing the ones she had borrowed from the library. She had really wanted to read the one about “how to be a mature woman,” but Dad hadn't allowed it, which was a shame.
As her eyes wandered while choosing a book, she spotted an interesting toy.
A long stick with fluffy yarn tied to the end. It was a cleaning tool—a duster—but in Eto's eyes, it was no different from a toy. Her eyes sparkled like a cat that had just discovered a blade of grass.
“Cleaning~♪ Cleaning~♪”
Recalling how her father cleaned, Eto began dusting every corner of the house.
Tap-tap on the desk, tap-tap on the TV, tap-tap on the bookshelf.
“I'll make Grandpa clean too!”
Tap-tap on Takaki Harima’s memorial tablet and photo on the family altar.
Perhaps because the incense ash scattered, Harima's face in the photo seemed to distort, as if he were saying, “That's quite unnecessary.”
Imagining how happy her father would be to see the clean house, Eto began to swing the duster with even more enthusiasm.
That was when the accident happened.
Crash!
The sound of shattering glass.
It was a literal sound, but it was also the sound of Eto's fantasy of being praised by her father shattering into pieces.
“......”
The smile that had defied the oppressive silence finally cracked.
Turning pale, she slowly looked down to see a plate that had been knocked off the shelf by the duster, now lying in ruins on the floor.
This plate had been brought from the house where her grandfather lived after he passed away. She remembered her father smiling bitterly while carefully polishing it, murmuring, “I can't believe you still had something your mother used...”
Eto spiraled into a panic.
Getting scolded was one thing, but she had broken something precious to her father!
Eto looked around desperately for help, but there was no one to turn to. Was it just her imagination, or did the photo of her grandfather seem to look away?
Despite her panic, she tried to find a solution.
I should clean it up first, right? Where? Maybe I can hide it in a flowerpot?
Just as Eto decided the flowerpot was a good idea and went to fetch a broom, a sentence from a novel she had read—one her father had once mentioned—sprang to mind.
“Misfortune always arrives suddenly.”
Click.
“Ah, Eto, sorry, I forgot my bicycle keys. Could you give them to me...?”
At a timing so exquisite it made her want to curse fate itself, her father had returned.
As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he immediately saw Eto frozen with a broom in her hand and the shattered remains of the plate on the floor. The situation was clear at a glance.
“Eto!”
Jolt!
Seeing her father rush in without even taking off his shoes, Eto squeezed her eyes shut.
She braced herself for a scolding, but the voice that followed wasn't one of anger.
“Are you okay!? You're not hurt, are you!?”
He grabbed her hands, checking her for injuries. He looked more pale and frantic than Eto had been when the plate broke.
Surprised by his reaction and overwhelmed with guilt, tears began to well up in her eyes.
“I-I’m sorry... I broke the precious plate...”
“It’s okay. You aren't hurt, right?”
Eto rubbed her eyes and nodded.
Relieved, her father let out a long sigh and sank to the floor. However, perhaps because he had been so focused on Eto that he hadn't checked his surroundings...
He accidentally placed his hand on a small shard of the plate, cutting his palm.
He winced at the sharp sting.
“Ugh...”
“D-Dad! Are you okay!?”
Eto, more startled now than when the plate had broken, hurried to inspect the wound.
Her father pulled the shard from his palm as if it were nothing, and a bead of blood welled up in the cut.
“This is nothing... Eto?”
His expression suddenly stiffened as he looked at her.
What? Is he angry about the plate after all? Eto shrank back.
He gazed at her and spoke cautiously.
“...Are you hungry right now?”
Jolt!
Her heart sank.
Eto steadied her racing heart and shook her head.
“N-no! I’m not hungry! I ate a lot for breakfast!”
“......”
Her father gave her an unreadable look for a moment before standing up.
Then, with his usual smile, he patted her on the head.
“I’ll clean up the shards and make you something to eat. Just wait here.”
“N-no! I’m really not hungry!”
She didn't want him to cook.
She didn't fully understand what “it” meant, but she knew exactly what happened whenever her father prepared a meal for her.
Her father only gave a bitter smile, said nothing, and headed toward the kitchen after clearing the debris.
Why? Eto wondered, her gaze drifting toward the mirror.
...Ah, right. That was it.
Looking at her reflection, Eto understood.
At the sight of her father's flowing blood, her right eye had changed.
A black sclera with a blood-red iris.
Eto glared at her own reflection with hatred.
In a split second—a moment so fleeting she hadn't even consciously realized it—she had looked at her own father and seen “food.”
The eye of a Ghoul.
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