It was a cold and rainy day in San Fransokyo. A young woman was walking...well, more like running, down the street, creating splashes on the cool, blue-grey puddles. She sported a black dress topped with a cream colored cardigan. She had no umbrella and she was soaking wet...and yet, she was actually smiling. "I...I...I actually got away!" she let out an excited rush of breath, "I'm FREEEE!"

The woman stared up at the sky, raindrops pouring on her face as she shouted, "I just wanna study robotics! Is that so much to ask for!?" The sky thundered in reply, as if to say hey, don't look at me! this wasn't my idea in the first place! The girl let out a deep sigh and continued on as the rain grew stronger. She kept walking down the steep, grey road, typical San Fransokyo trademark. The streets were virtually empty. After all, it was 12 pm. Who in their right mind would go walking at this hour?

She finally stopped at a street filled with acres of large masions and fine cherry blossoms and oak trees, and well trimmed gardens filled with every type of flower imaginable. She climbed up the small set of stairs which let to the porch of a white and baby blue mansion. The girl patted the pockets of her sopping, wet cardigan, "Where's that-" she spotted a gleaming piece of metal under the carpet of the front door. "Ughh, I left it here again?" the girl sighed and stooped to pick up the key. "I have the memory of a grandma..." she mumbled to herself as she fiddles to open the lock of the house. With a tiny click the door swung open to reveal-

"You're late." said a deep, baritone voice from the giant living room. A middle aged Asian man was standing in front of a giant divan, dressed in a fine, silk, monogramed robe with the initials K.H. His hair was swept in a classic, gentleman fashion, strands of metallic silver and whit hair mixed in with the black. He wore thin, rectangular, gold-rimmed glasses on a rectangular-liek face with hints of stubble on the chin. It was none other than Kazuo Hayakawa, world famous technology and robotics designer and engineer. Not to mention the owner of one of San Fransokyo's most esteemed and key technology makers and distributors; Hayakawa Inc.

Haruka sighed. "Hi...dad." haruka tried for one of her best smiles.

Mr. Hayakawa's eyebrows knit together until his face formed a wrinkled frown, which he often did when he was:

a. concerned

b. angry

c. having a really bad case of constipation

Unfortunately, Haruka knew his frown was most likely caused by a and b.

"Where were you? I received a call from Mrs. Arashi. She was saying you just ran away and cut piano and violin classes; again. Don't you have any idea-"

Haruka cut in, "How much you're disappointed in me and how much mom would be too, and how irresponsible, selfish, and reckless I am. Yeah, I know. But maybe if you just let me take robotics-"

"Oh no, not that again. Well, if you're so good at butting in and knowing what's going to come out of my mouth, then I shouldn't have to tell you what I'm going to say next. But knowing how stubborn you are, I think I'll say it anyways. Robotics is most definitely not a lady-like job. There's barely any place for a proper, well-off woman in the field and industry and I forbid you to even try."

"Because you're a narrow-minde, ignorant father who doesn't even care the slightest about his daughter's interests. Only his own. And you know what, that's fine. I don't even know why I tried. Alright, you win. I'll continue music, attend every class, and just live the rest of my life miserably. Thanks, dad."

Her voice steady and calm. She was used to his daily mantra and figured she could probably handle this bout of anger like she had all the others. But she realized she couldn't take it anymore. Enough silence. Enough swallowing her words. She wanted to say something, to speak up.

Mr. Hayakawa was silent. "Go to your ro-" but before he could even finish his sentence, the main door of the house was slammed shut, and the spatters and pour of the rain from outside was the only sound in the house. And he was left alone. Again.