Daisuke Akabane's POV
Daisuke Akabane was a man of simple needs. For years, his life had been measured in highway miles and the hum of a refrigerated truck engine. He was used to the cramped, peeling wallpaper of their old apartment and the smell of cheap ramen.
Now, he lived in an apartment that probably cost more than his first three trucks combined.
He looked around the new apartment. It was a high-rise in a decent part of Musutafu, with floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the city lights. It was clean. It was safe. And it was all because of his daughter.
He looked over at the dining table, where Riko was hunched over a high-end drawing tablet. At fourteen, she had grown, her frame lean and athletic from years of "sparring" with that loud Bakugo boy. Her hair was longer now but she always preferred to tie in a messy ponytail.
To the world, "Kira" was a mysterious, dark genius. To Daisuke, Kira was just Riko…his little girl who still forgot to put her socks in the hamper but had somehow become the breadwinner of the family.
"Riko," he called out softly. "You've been at that for four hours. Take a break."
"Just a second, Pop," she muttered, her stylus scratching rapidly against the screen. "I'm at the part where Kaneki gets his mask."
Daisuke sighed. Tokyo Ghoul. That was her new project, running alongside the juggernaut that was Attack on Titan. He didn't understand half of it…. the monsters, the suffering, the deep philosophical questions about humanity. Sometimes it scared him that a fourteen-year-old could imagine such dark things.
Riko POV
I finally set the stylus down, my neck popping as I stretched. The new apartment was great…quiet, climate-controlled, and far away from the traffic of city…. sigh, but I do sometimes miss the Raka dynasty.
Attack on Titan was in its middle-late stages, and Tokyo Ghoul was already climbing the charts. I was essentially running two of the biggest franchises in history simultaneously. If the internet ever found out "Kira" was a middle-schooler with a bad reputation, they'd have a stroke.
"Dinner's ready," Dad said, placing a bowl of katsudon in front of me.
"Thanks, Dad." I picked up the chopsticks, but my hand felt... heavy. A dull ache throbbed in the joints of my fingers. I dismissed it. I'd been drawing for 4 hours straight; of course, my hands ached.
"You're working too hard," Dad said, sitting across from me. He looked at me with that look the one where he was trying to find the little girl who used to play with toy trucks in the backseat of his rig. "You're supposed to be preparing for the high school, aren't you? Between the manga and the training with Midoriya, you're going to burn out."
"I'm built different, remember?" I joked, though the food didn't taste as good as it usually did. I felt a weird sort of exhaustion that sleep couldn't seem to touch. I figured it was just the stress of the upcoming deadline.
"I'm proud of you, Riko," he said suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. But don't forget to actually live, okay? Don't let those deadlines consume you."
I looked at him and felt a pang of guilt. He didn't know I had already lived a life once. He didn't know about the ROB, or the fact that I was basically a ghost from another world trying to build a fortress of wealth for him before the "plot" turned the world into a graveyard.
"I'm fine, Pop," I said, forced a grin, and took a big bite of the pork.
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Author chamber
This chapter is smol, okay, I know that. Very small. They're gonna say it.But the next one? Oh, it's a good one. A big one. A beautiful one. Maybe the best chapter you've ever seen. Tremendous.
So hold on, folks. Stay strong.See ya tomorrow.
Adios