A/N: Maiko's Social Link was pretty heartbreaking. It hit so close to home, but I wanted to do another take on the conversation between her father and Makoto. Also, again, since I already did Strength, which was the one-shot that snowballed this whole Burst idea, you're getting a re-release and an update, Happy New Year's Eve everyone!
Hanged Man - XII
In the face of unavoidable disaster lies the opportunity to search for redemption.
Mister Oohashi stood before Naganaki Shrine. The crisp winter air burned his lungs, sharp and unforgiving, as if punishing him for daring to seek solace. After today, he didn't know when he'd see the old place again. Life had unraveled too quickly: the grind of his job, the bitterness of his divorce, and the silent anguish of his little girl as she endured the wreckage of their broken home. The streaks of gray in his hair told a story he didn't need to voice—months of sleepless nights, of desperate plans that never worked, of staring at the ceiling and wondering where it had all gone so wrong.
He lit an incense stick with shaking hands, the flame trembling in the wind. He whispered a prayer—not for strength, not for fortune, but for something real to hold onto. A sign, maybe. Anything to prove that things could get better. The smoke curled into the sky, its fragile tendrils dissipating before his eyes.
Wandering over to the bench by the playground, he watched the swings sway gently in the wind. How many times had he been here with Maiko? Pretending to read the paper while secretly watching her conquer the jungle gym or demand one more push on the swings? He remembered her laughter ringing out, pure and unbroken. That sound was gone now, replaced by the quiet sobs he sometimes heard through the bedroom walls.
This spot had been her haven. Their haven. But now, he could feel only the void of her absence, knowing she'd begun to shy away from home, from him, from the memories tainted by arguments and slammed doors.
He once thought he could fix it. In the dark of so many nights, he'd imagined a path where he and his wife could somehow rebuild, where Maiko's smile wouldn't be shadowed by sadness. But it was too late; the wounds had cut too deep, and now he found himself here, plummeting to the ground of a goodbye he hadn't prepared for.
He hadn't asked her to choose—he couldn't. What kind of father would that make him?
He was still strong, but his wife had her moments of weakness. She needed their daughter more to help her stay focused. That's why it was no surprise when Maiko chose her mom over him.
But when she told him, her voice trembling, "Mom needs me, Dad. I don't have to worry about you," it felt like the final nail in his chest. She'd meant it as reassurance, but the words stabbed deeper than anything he'd ever known. She trusted him to stay strong, to survive without her, but all he could hear was: You're the parent who can be left behind.
Finally, the goodbye.
It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Harder than asking his ex-wife out. More difficult than popping the question. Saying goodbye to his little girl was the absolute most painful thing he ever had to endure.
Her backpack bounced as she ran toward him, her face already streaked with tears. She threw her arms around him, clutching him as if she didn't want to let go.
"I love you, Dad," she choked out, her words muffled against his coat.
His arms tightened around her, his chest heaving as he fought to keep it together.
"I love you too," he told her. "And daddy's going to be proud of you always. I promise."
Before she was gone, his ex-wife voiced her apologies, the ordeal having a drastic toll on her as well. He recalled her look of exhaustion and guilt. She had made him angry many times, but when it came to the end, he embraced her with all the love he still had for her.
"Take care of yourself and Maiko," he advised. It was all he could say without breaking.
As the car pulled away, every fiber of his being screamed to call out, to tell them to stop. Instead, he stood there, his hand raised in a feeble wave, his vision blurring as the car grew smaller and smaller, seeing Maiko wave back as her face's confidence dissolved into pure sadness and she cried waterfalls.
And then she was gone.
For the first time in years, he was truly, achingly alone. The world fell silent, the weight of her absence crushing him as the wind carried away the last traces of incense smoke. He sank onto the bench, his body trembling, and for the first time in years, Mister Oohashi allowed himself to break.
He looked up at the sky, the sun starting to set over the horizon.
"Excuse me," someone called to him.
He jolted upright, quickly wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. A man crying in public—what a pathetic sight. He forced composure as he turned to see who had spoken.
Walking towards him was a familiar face—the boy with blue hair and eyes that Maiko befriended.
"Yuki-san," Oohashi said, his voice still raw. "Hello. What brings you here?"
Makoto nodded in quiet acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. Without asking, he could already tell what issues the man was having.
"Maiko has moved away, hasn't she?" he asked gently.
Oohashi looked away, his throat tightening, and nodded sadly. "Yes. Saturday was her last day."
The young boy shoved his hands in his pocket. "I'm sorry things turned out like they did."
"You shouldn't apologize, Yuki-san," Oohashi stated. "Thank you though."
Makoto pulled out a card and handed it to the man. "Allow me to give you this."
It was deep blue in color, and Oohashi could feel some mysterious power emanating from it.
"A tarot card? I didn't take you for the mystic type. Did Maiko tell you to give me this?"
"Not exactly. Do you have a moment?"
Oohashi scooted over to allow Makoto space to sit. He never got a read on the boy. His eerily calm movements and piercing gaze betrayed an unsettling wisdom for someone his age.
"When did you first meet Maiko?" he inquired.
Makoto settled in, hands resting loosely on his knees. "It was a couple of weeks after school started. I was exploring the shrine for the first time and stumbled across her. She was playing by the jungle gym."
He nodded. "That makes sense. Maiko loved coming to the shrine to play. Aside the Takoyaki stand, this was her favorite place to visit."
Flipping the tarot card over, the picture revealed a figure suspended upside down with their arms bound behind their back.
"The Hanged Man?"
"Are you familiar with the Arcana?" Makoto asked.
"Somewhat. I have a colleague who's interested in this sort of stuff. If I remember right, the Hanged Man symbolizes… personal sacrifice and surrender."
The student confirmed. "The Hanged Man is Maiko's Arcana."
Mister Oohashi looked up sharply. "Her Arcana?"
"The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed. Maiko tried so hard to accept things, but she… she couldn't understand why it had to be this way. I did my best to help her, but there was only so much I could say. I regret letting her go through with her plan, but I had no idea how to help."
Oohashi looked at the card again. A strange, bittersweet clarity washed over him, and his voice came out barely above a whisper. "She told you about when I… when I hit her, didn't she?"
Makoto didn't respond right away. His silence told the man everything.
Oohashi clenched his jaw, the shame surging through him like a tidal wave. "I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't." He drew a sharp breath. "I was so stressed out that I snapped. Before I could stop myself, it was too late. I spent the next day apologizing, trying to make her understand. But how could she? She's just a little girl, caught in the middle of something she shouldn't have to understand. The look she gave me… it made me feel like a monster."
Makoto sat in silence, a calm presence as Oohashi's confession hung in the air. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet empathy.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady. "That's why I want you to have the Hanged Man card. In the face of unavoidable disaster lies the opportunity to search for redemption."
Oohashi glanced down at it, its deep blue reflecting his own inner turmoil. The image of the figure bound and suspended felt all too fitting—a man trapped by his own mistakes, yet, perhaps, given a chance to see things anew.
He swallowed hard, tucking the card into his breast pocket. "I understand," he said quietly. "Thank you, Yuki-san. You've taken good care of Maiko for me. I'll never be able to repay you for that."
But as he spoke, his expression sharpened, a hint of protectiveness slipping into his gaze. "But tell me, what's your real relationship with Maiko? She talked about you constantly, like you were her hero. Why's that?"
Makoto paused, his face unreadable. He had no intention of telling Oohashi about Maiko's secret wish—wanting to marry him in the future. Instead, he answered with his signature calm expression, "She's like a little sister to me. I'd never try to take her from you."
His eyes softened, and he added with a faint smile, "Besides, I'm already in a committed relationship, and she's a feisty girl."
The man relaxed, but his fatherly senses couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. "Good, that's what I like to hear. "I'm sure Maiko will start contacting me once they've settled in. In the meantime, life keeps moving forward, and I have to do the same. Thank you for the talk, Yuki-san. I appreciate it. I hope you have a good rest of your day. I need to think."
"Take care, Oohashi-san," Makoto replied with a polite nod, watching as the man walked away, disappearing down the path. Once alone, and with no one else around, Makoto extended his hand, and his Major Arcana cards shimmered into view. He swiped through them, each card illuminating with a faint mystical glow until he reached the Hanged Man card—the real one, gleaming with a crystalline energy.
"Take care too, Maiko-chan," he murmured, studying the card thoughtfully. "I'm sorry I won't be able to keep my promise. There's already someone else I have in mind."
With a gentle flick of his hand, he dismissed the cards, the shimmering arcana disappearing into the air. Taking a final glance around the quiet shrine, he turned and left, his footsteps fading into the evening stillness.
Next time, the Death Arcana.