The apartment was located at the very end of the street. It didn't get much sunlight, and there were people living in all eight units. The information was minimal, but even with only that, it was still pretty easy to make up a story.

There were two men living on the right side room on the third floor. Their names were Haruto and Michael. Haruto and Michael worked in the same company, though their departments differ. Also living there was a young girl named Lieselotte whom they loved as a daughter. As with many fathers in the romantic comedy genre, Haruto and Michael were rather protective of Lieselotte. She was like a flower, growing on top of the Lonely Mountain guarded not by one, but two fire breathing dragons. One did not simply go past, even those equipped with Gram.

When Michael gave her a bouquet of roses a couple of years ago, he knew that Lieselotte would grow up to be a beautiful young lady. That boys would call her, give her things, and take her on dates, so he wanted to be the first. Adopted at the age of 3, Lieselotte was the light of his and Haruto's life. An adorable little girl who looked up to him and adored him in a way that he would never imagine before – Michael still remembered the way her hand fit inside of his and the way she sat on his lap, leaning her head against his chest. No matter what happened, a place in his heart would always be hers.

But things were different, now. Their darling daughter was approaching puberty at the speed of 700 miles per hour. Other males became a threat, and "dating" was the dreaded word. The look on his eyes – said Haruto – when he heard the word, made Charles Manson looked like Steve Burns.

It all came crashing down on that one particular day. It was a Sunday just like any other. He was sitting on the sofa, flicking through the channels in search of something moderately entertaining, while Haruto and Lieselotte were in the kitchen, baking cookies. A knock on the door, and the source of his nightmares then manifested itself in the form of a young boy with a face very much like his own.

"Good morning Sir," he said, bowing politely. "My name's Ouji, from the room two floors down. Is Lieselotte available to speak?"

Michael just stood there, trying to give the boy a coherent reply, and failing in the process. There were phrases for moments like these – struck dumb, deer in the headlights, and other such things – but he felt that none of them could quite do him justice. His friends had often joked that because of Lieselotte's dyed in the wool complexes for her two fathers, she would probably date a boy that was equal parts Haruto and Michael. Remembering it now made him sick, he knew that the end would come, but never this soon.

"Good morning to you too, may I ask –"

Michael's mind was running on Vista today, because the information given was simultaneously too fast and too much to be processed properly. Or maybe this was what a Heroic Blue Screen of Death felt like? He wasn't quite sure. Nevertheless, the best course of action would probably to kick the boy out of the front door – his arrival foreshadowed or not – and pretend that everything was fine. But alas, it was too late. Hearing the knock, Lieselotte rushed to Michael's side, face brightening up as she gave Ouji a cheery greeting. Wasn't she baking just moments ago?

"Hello, Ouji. Thank you for coming." It was still within the limit of damage control, Michael thought. However the relief didn't last long, as Lieselotte casually dropped the bomb shell. "I'll be ready in a short while, so please wait for me."

So their daughter is really going on a date, why doesn't she tell him about it sooner? He prided himself on his keen observation and the ability to utilize them to make sound judgments. It was laughable the way he was caught off guard on a matter as simple as these, by Lieselotte of all persons.

Perhaps the reverse was true, because it was Lieselotte. Every time he went back home to Lieselotte and Haruto, all sense of pretense and polite façade melted away. As the business suit that he wore was changed for the more casual lounge wear, so did the fast paced office life replaced by the steady hum of domesticity. Being with them – his two most precious persons – calmed him, and it was all that mattered. If he couldn't even bring himself to trust her and Haruto, he might as well give up his faith in humanity and use the sad back story to become an evil overlord.

Seeing Lieselotte with someone else made him felt a little lonely – which was a colossal understatement in itself. For fathers worldwide who were ever in the same predicament, he could finally – though not willingly – sympathize.

"Father?"

Her questioning look dragged him back to reality, and while it was admittedly a lovely place, he would very much prefer for the past minutes to be mere fantasies of his overly imaginative brain.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry, I already told dad and you always look busy so – "

Using that face – and tone of voice – was really sly of her, he thought. There was no way he would ever find in his heart the will to say 'no.' She was getting dangerously genre savvy, he really need to talk about this with Haruto – soon.

"It's quite alright," he said, and in an attempt to make the gesture looked more genuine, patted her head affectionately.

He then turned his attention to Ouji.

"Forgive my rudeness. I'm her father, Michael. Perhaps you would like to come over and have a little chat?"

Soon the two of them were sitting down with cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. Michael immediately claimed the spot on the sofa, silently daring Ouji to come closer. Haruto smiled indulgently at him, before escorting Lieselotte to her room.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir. Lieselotte has been very kind –"

Michael was staring studiously into his cup of tea, as if it would tell him why he didn't kick the strange, smiling boy with the face eerily like his own, out of the front door, the first time they met. No really, why. "I, myself am not very pleased."

He had no interest on hearing tales of sweet high school romance between the boy and his daughter. Not because it was too much to bear in his current weakened state, but because it was better to cut the chase short and give the boy a fair warning.

"You may believe that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please don't do this. The only information I require from you is your intention regarding my daughter, and indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at home." The look Michael gave him could have stopped a band of armed Afghani insurgents in their tracks, or zombies, or dead alien Gods.

"Sir?" Perhaps he had heard wrong, but it was highly unlikely for him to miss out that much on the conversation.

"She's my only little girl, she's my life. So if you have any thoughts about hugging, or kissing, or hurting her, I'll kill you."

"I'll make it look like an accident."

"I'll make it like it's meant to be."

"I'll make the strychnine tastes like raspberry tea."

Ouji paled.

The next half-hour was, to him, mind-numbingly horrifying. The quiet Mr. Michael then transformed himself into something unknown, as he gave loving details to his future murder plan. Like theatre villains giving a soliloquy, moments before picking up the fatal poison. Even his substance of choice sounded appropriately sinister. It was probably his second personality, Mr. Hyde speaking.

By the end, he could only sit there and take it. All the fight had left him, and he dared not interrupt for fear of his dear life. Salvation then came in the slightly familiar face of Mr. Haruto.

"Michael," Haruto scolded. Apparently he was back to the living room, and heard the whole – one sided – conversation. "That's no way to talk to Lieselotte's friend."

Michael winced. His face was an interesting study in conflict. On one hand, he had an almost divine obligation to give Ouji a stern talking to. On the other, Haruto.

"I do apologize, Ouji," Michael finally deigned, in a way that suggested he was doing anything but.

Ouji smiled back, though worry seemed to be his dominating emotion. "It's no problem Sir," he said.

Michael smiled so blandly that it was obvious he was restraining himself from making any further venomous comments regarding the consequences of his relationship with his daughter (pun intended), and excused himself to fetch a fresh pot of tea.

Haruto chuckled ruefully with the resigned air of someone accustomed to such outbursts. "Sorry, he's a bit protective about Lieselotte, you see."

Ouji could fully understand the protectiveness some fathers felt for their daughters. It was only natural, people would surely feel protective about the things they considered precious. But Mr. Michael's reaction…was a first. Not to confirm the suspicion that he had any untoward intentions to Lieselotte, but it would probably do him good to treat the next cup of tea offered with extreme prejudice. He liked living, and the idea to live for another day.

Mr. Michael had been a surprise, but he was glad that Mr. Haruto seemed normal enough to not make threatening comments about his imminent demise. He watched him from the corner his eye, eating biscuits as he sat on the spot that had been previously vacated. Truly the very picture of serenity, save for an iron baseball bat leaning on his side. Oh, how wrong he was.

Such a big stick you have there, Sir.

Oh, my sweet summer child. All the better to bash your head with…is that a double entendre?

He didn't know which was worse, Mr. Michael's transparent threat of spiking his tea, or this – a veiled one hidden beneath saccharine smiles, rainbows, and delicious chocolate chip cookies.

During his brief mental calculation, his host (and another potential killer) turned his attention to him. "Bring her back at the same state she left, okay? Because you're a young man and I would hate to end your life so soon."

Again.

"You think I'm joking."

Ouji grimaced but bore it stoically. He survived once, so he would surely do fine the second time over.

"I still have a hatchet, a crowbar, a meat steak, and let's face it – I can kill you bare handed."

Ouji shrank down in his seat. He looked from Haruto, to Michael, approaching from the kitchen, to the steaming pot of tea he brought, to the iron bat by Haruto's side, and back to Haruto.

"…yes, Sir"

And he truly meant it.

They came home early at 7.15 P.M.