The stench of Tartarus still clung to me, even after the war. The air was thick with the ghosts of broken heroes and shattered ideals. Before, I was Stain, the Hero Killer, a ruthless judge delivering my twisted brand of justice. Now? I was just…lost. Then I found her.
She was nestled in the rubble of what was once a hospital, a tiny bundle swaddled in a blood-soaked blanket. A baby girl. Her hair was a vibrant red, a stark contrast to the grim landscape. But it was her eyes that stopped me. One was a normal, ruby-red, the other a swirling vortex of black and red, like looking into a storm. She was bruised, scarred, barely clinging to life.
Instinct, a foreign feeling I hadn't known I possessed, kicked in. I scooped her up, the weight of her fragile body a stark reminder of the destruction I, in part, had helped unleash. I named her Celisa.
I tried. God, how I tried. I took her to adoption agencies, orphanages, even left her anonymously on doorsteps, hoping someone, anyone, would take her. But each time, I was met with the same chilling silence, the same averted gazes filled with a fear that scraped against my skin. I never heard the words, but I saw it in their eyes as they looked at her DNA and even tried to figure out who her parents were. They were afraid. Terrified. What had she inherited? What darkness lay dormant within her small frame?
Finally, defeated, I understood. No one wanted her. No one would take her.
So, I did the unthinkable. I, Stain, the Hero Killer, became a father.
My savings, accumulated from years of operating in the shadows, amounted to a surprisingly decent sum. Enough for a small, two-bedroom apartment in a less-than-desirable district. It was far from the grandiose life I had envisioned, far from the righteous crusade I had once preached. But it was safe, and Celisa needed safe.
The money wouldn't last forever, though. I needed a way to provide, a way that wouldn't expose Celisa to the world's judgment, a way that wouldn't force me to compromise my morals. Or at least, what was left of them.
There was only one option. Back to the shadows.
The underground assassination league I had previously worked for welcomed me back with open arms, their greed outweighing any reservations they might have had about my past actions. The pay was obscene, over 100,000 a week, enough to provide Celisa with everything she needed, and then some.
But there was a catch. I needed someone to watch her. My past life had left me with few friends, and those I did have were hardly suitable caregivers. I needed someone trustworthy, discreet, and, above all, kind.
Enter Hana.
She was young, barely twenty-three, with a gentle smile and a warmth that radiated from her like sunlight. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her genuine concern for Celisa that won me over. Hana didn't flinch at Celisa's heterochromatic eyes or the faint scars that marked her skin. She held her with a tenderness that eased the knot of anxiety that constantly sat in my stomach.
Hana became indispensable. She cleaned, cooked, and most importantly, cared for Celisa. She told her stories, sang her lullabies, and filled the apartment with a laughter that chased away the lingering darkness.
One night, after a particularly grueling assignment, I came home to Celisa sleeping in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. Hana was tidying up the kitchen, her movements graceful and efficient.
"Hana," I found myself saying, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. "Thank you. For everything."
She turned, her eyes meeting mine. "It's no problem, Stain-san. I love taking care of Celisa-chan."
"Please, call me Chizome," I said. "And…I was wondering…would you like to have dinner with me? As a thank you."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a hesitant smile. "I would like that, Chizome-san."
I cooked. Something simple, but hopefully palatable. I even managed to find a bottle of decent sake, a relic from my past life. We sat at the small table, the only sound besides our conversation the gentle hum of the refrigerator.
We talked. Not about the war, not about my past, but about Celisa, about her developing personality, about the little things that brought us joy. Hana spoke of her dreams of becoming a teacher, her passion for helping children. I listened, captivated by her sincerity, by the genuine goodness that emanated from her.
As the evening wore on, and the sake flowed, I found myself opening up in ways I hadn't thought possible. I told her about my disillusionment with heroes, about my misguided quest for justice, about the regret that haunted me.
"I never wanted this," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "I never wanted to bring a child into this world, especially not one burdened with…this." I gestured vaguely. Everything. Her parentage, her scars, my past.
Hana reached across the table and took my hand, her touch surprisingly firm. "Celisa-chan is lucky to have you, Chizome-san. You may not think you're a good man, but you're trying. And that's all that matters."
Her words struck a chord deep within me. Was she right? Was I actually trying to be something other than the monster I had become? Was there a chance for redemption, a chance to build a life, a family, with Celisa and, perhaps, with Hana?
As the night drew to a close, I walked Hana to her room. The air between us was thick with unspoken possibilities, with a fragile hope that I hadn't felt in years.
"Thank you, Chizome-san," she said softly, her eyes searching mine. "For the dinner, and for the company."
I leaned in, drawn to her warmth, to the promise of something better. But then, a thought, cold and sharp as a shard of glass, pierced through the haze of possibility.
I was Stain. A killer. A pariah. I was tainted.
I couldn't let her get close to me. I couldn't let her become entangled in my darkness.
I stepped back. "Goodnight, Hana."
I closed the door, the click echoing in the silence. I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to open that door, to erase the distance between us, to surrender to the hope that bloomed within me.
But I couldn't.
I was protecting her. From me.