Chapter 4: Stepping Outside
Three Weeks Later
The morning sun hadn't yet reached Mikado's underground clinic, but artificial light bathed the space in a gentle glow. The soft hum of medical equipment mingled with the rhythmic clinking of Mikado's spoon against her ceramic coffee mug, creating a symphony of familiar sounds. The aroma of fresh coffee and antiseptic competed in the air, a peculiar blend that had become home.
Across the kitchen table, Shirou hunched over a brightly colored children's book, his dual-colored hair falling across his forehead. His mismatched eyes—one silver as starlight, the other warm as honey—moved deliberately across each page. The transformation from three weeks ago was remarkable; where once he could barely string two words together, now he attacked each syllable with the enthusiasm of a scholar discovering ancient texts.
"B-big... bad... wolf," Shirou read aloud, his voice carrying the weight of concentration. He paused, building dramatic tension like a seasoned storyteller. "Huffed... and puffed!" His cheeks inflated like balloons before he released an exaggerated exhale that nearly sent the book flying off the table.
Mikado lifted her coffee cup to her lips, using it to hide her growing smile. The warmth in her chest had nothing to do with the beverage. "Not bad, Shirou. You've gone from speaking like a cave troll to a... slightly literate cave troll. Progress!"
Confusion flickered across Shirou's face, followed by a spark of indignation that made his heterochromatic eyes flash. "Cave... troll?"
"Never mind," Mikado said, waving it off with her free hand. Her heart swelled with pride as she continued, "The point is, you're improving. You've worked hard these past weeks, and it's paying off." She could still remember his first attempts at speech—halting, uncertain, like a bird testing broken wings. Now, while still far from fluent, he soared with growing confidence.
Shirou's chest puffed up like a proud peacock, his slim shoulders straightening. "Yes. I... work hard. I... learn fast!"
"That you do," Mikado agreed, though she couldn't resist adding with a teasing grin, "but let's not get too cocky, okay? You're still reading books meant for five-year-olds." She watched his reaction carefully, noting how his brow furrowed as he processed her words.
Shirou blinked, looking down at his book with renewed confusion. "Wolf... is five?"
The coffee Mikado had been sipping chose that moment to go down the wrong way. She coughed, struggling to regain her composure as laughter threatened to overwhelm her. Through watering eyes, she managed to choke out, "No, no, the wolf isn't five. The reader is supposed to be five."
"Oh." Shirou nodded with the gravity of someone receiving profound wisdom. "I'm... five, then."
Mikado pinched the bridge of her nose, torn between laughing and despairing. The innocence in his logic both warmed and worried her—he had so much to learn about the world. "You're eleven, Shirou. Well, maybe. You look ten. Let's stick with that." In truth, she wasn't entirely sure of his age, but his physical development suggested early adolescence.
Satisfied with her explanation, Shirou returned to his book, muttering "huffed and puffed" under his breath like a sacred mantra. The morning light, artificial though it was, caught the different colors in his hair, creating a subtle halo effect that reminded Mikado of just how unique her ward truly was.
Later That Morning
The sterile comfort of the clinic gave way to a new challenge. Mikado had spent days preparing for this moment, running through scenarios in her head, planning contingencies. Now, watching Shirou fidget with the hem of his new shirt—a simple blue t-shirt she'd bought specifically for this occasion—she felt strangely amused by the sight.
"Alright, Shirou," she began, settling into the chair across from him. "Let's have a little chat. Imagine you're meeting someone new. How would you greet them?" Her heart raced slightly, a wave of slight expectations of what Shirou managed to learn in these last weeks.
Shirou straightened up, his face a mask of concentration. His different-colored eyes focused intensely on Mikado's face as if searching for clues. "Hello. My... name is Shirou." Each word came out carefully measured, like precious stones being counted.
Relief flooded through Mikado. "Good!" She clapped her hands together, the sound echoing off the clinic's walls. "And if they ask how you're doing?"
Shirou tilted his head, reminding Mikado of a curious bird. His white and red hair caught the light, creating an almost ethereal effect. "I... good?"
"Close! You'd say, 'I'm good.' Try it." Mikado leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. She could see the gears turning in Shirou's mind as he processed the correction.
"I'm... good," Shirou repeated, each syllable wrapped in concentration. His face lit up with accomplishment, and Mikado felt her chest tighten with affection.
For Shirou, stepping outside the clinic for the first time was more than just walking through a door—it was crossing a threshold between two worlds. The morning sun, real this time, not through a window, struck his face with unexpected warmth. The crisp early spring air carried a symphony of scents: exhaust fumes, fresh bread from a nearby bakery, the smell of new vegetations growing back. Each sensation was new, overwhelming, yet fascinating.
Mikado's hand wrapped firmly around his, her grip conveying both protection and reassurance. Her palm was soft and warm—a detail Shirou noted with surprise, realizing that they never held hands inside her home. And maybe he liked the touch of someone else's hand.
The bustling streets hit him like a physical wave. A huge number of people that seemed impossibly vast after weeks underground. Digital billboards flashed and flickered, their artificial colors painting the morning air. The river of humanity that flowed around them moved with a chaotic sort of precision, like schools of fish navigating invisible currents.
Shirou froze, his mismatched eyes widening until they resembled twin moons. His enhanced senses, usually ignored, now threatened to overwhelm him. Every conversation, every footstep, every car horn blared in his ears like separate symphonies competing for attention. His fingers tightened around Mikado's hand.
"Is… world always this… loud?" he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the urban cacophony. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple despite the cool morning air.
Mikado squeezed his hand, her thumb rubbing small, comforting circles against his skin. "Welcome to city life," she replied, her voice anchoring him in the chaos. "Now remember the rules. Stay close, don't touch anything without asking, and no using your powers. We're here to observe, not start a local interrogation."
The way she said it—half-joking, half-serious—helped ease some of Shirou's tension. He nodded, though his attention had already been captured by a street performer several metres away. The man juggled flaming torches with practiced ease, each arc of fire painting brilliant streaks against the morning sky. The flames reflected in Shirou's golden eye while his silver one tracked the precise movements of the performer's hands.
"Flames… not dangerous?" he asked, unconsciously leaning forward. The heat from the torches reached him even at this distance, a familiar sensation that stirred something deep in his memory.
"They are," Mikado said, gently steering him away with a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was firm but gentle, like always. "But he's good at pretending they're not. Come on, don't get distracted." She noticed how his eyes lingered on the flames and made a mental note to address his fascination with fire later.
Every step revealed new wonders. A businessman in a charcoal suit hurried past, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement as he spoke animatedly into thin air. Shirou watched, fascinated by this apparent one-sided conversation. The man's tie, a splash of crimson against the grey suit, whipped in the morning breeze like a flag.
"People talk… to air?" Shirou asked, his head tilted at an angle that might have been comical in other circumstances. His dual-colored hair caught the sunlight, creating an almost ethereal effect that drew curious glances from passersby.
Mikado's laugh was warm and genuine, a sound that always made Shirou feel more at ease. "Not quite," she explained, guiding him around a newspaper stand where headlines screamed about local politics and global tensions. "They're talking to someone on the other end of that little device in their ear. It's called a phone."
Shirou's brow furrowed, creating little wrinkles that made him look older than his apparent years. "Why not just… talk face to face... with virtual displays ?" The genuine puzzlement in his voice carried an innocence that made Mikado's heart ache.
"Because that level of technology is still to advanced for humans now," Mikado said with a knowing smirk. Her mind wandered to the stark technological divide between Earth and the more advanced civilizations scattered throughout space. The irony wasn't lost on her—here she was, a doctor with knowledge of interstellar medical techniques, teaching a bioengineered child about something as simple as telephone.
Their journey through the city led them to the monthly marketplace near the Shopping district, a vibrant explosion of life and color that made even the busy streets seem tame in comparison. The air here was a complex tapestry of scents: the sweet aroma of roasted chestnuts competed with the sharp tang of fresh citrus, while underneath lurked the earthier notes of fresh vegetables and occasional whiffs of something less pleasant. The cacophony of voices—haggling, laughing, calling out to potential customers—created a symphony of human interaction that made Shirou's sensitive ears twitch.
Shirou's eyes darted everywhere at once, his heterochromatic gaze trying to absorb every detail. His grip on Mikado's hand tightened unconsciously as he observed the controlled chaos around them. "Why… so many people here?" His voice carried a mix of wonder and apprehension.
Mikado kept him close, her protective instincts acting unconsciously. She watched the crowd with the shrewd eye of someone who had seen how quickly situations could turn.
Normally she wouldn't be so tense here. Bur the marketplace was indeed crowded— by not just humans.
Humans brushed shoulders with disguised aliens, though few would recognize the latter for what they were. Some of the "humans" moved with too much grace, their smiles slightly too perfect, their eyes holding depths that spoke of other worlds.
"This is simply a marketplace that gets together once every month," Mikado explained, her voice taking on the patient tone she reserved for teaching moments. Her free hand rested casually in her pocket, where a small device—something that looked like a simple pen to ordinary eyes—provided emergency protection if needed. "People can get a stand here and sell things. I won't bore you with the logistics." Though privately, she thought about the complex dance of permits, bribes, and underground connections with the "Intergalactic Trade Organization", that kept this particular market running smoothly.
They approached a stall selling exotic fruits, and Mikado's voice took on a more serious tone. "Okay, rule number four," she said, her eyes fixed on a particularly suspicious-looking purple fruit that seemed to pulse slightly. "If someone tries to sell you something that glows, smells funny, or hums, the answer is no." She knew all too well that not all the exotic goods here were of earthly origin.
Shirou nodded solemnly, though his attention was immediately captured by a woman expertly slicing into a dragon fruit. The knife moved with practiced precision, revealing flesh dotted with black seeds and oozing vibrant purple juice. The sight triggered something in his enhanced senses—the sweet scent of the fruit, the subtle sound of juice hitting the wooden cutting board, the way light played off the blade.
"I never seen that?" he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. His mismatched eyes tracked every movement of the vendor's hands.
Mikado watched his fascination with amusement, though her casual stance belied her constant vigilance. "It's a fruit named dragon fruit, it's sweet but nothing much," she commented, deliberately understating its appeal. "And probably overpriced." She noticed how Shirou's attention was captured by both the fruit but also the knife—a reminder of his unique nature that worried her a bit.
"It's… cool." Shirou's simple response carried genuine appreciation, and Mikado found herself smiling despite her cynicism. His wonder at simple things like this served as a constant reminder of his isolation until now. Each new discovery, no matter how mundane, was a interesting to him.
As they wandered deeper into the market, the crowd seemed to part naturally around them—whether due to Mikado's purposeful stride or some unconscious recognition of Shirou's otherworldly nature, it was hard to tell. The morning sun had climbed higher, creating a patchwork of light and shadow through the vendors' canopies.
A friendly-looking vendor's voice cut through the market's ambient noise. The man, selling handmade jewelry from a stall draped in deep blue fabric, beckoned them over with an enthusiastic wave. Sunlight caught the metalwork on his display, creating a constellation of dancing reflections. His weathered hands, marked with the telltale calluses of his craft, gestured expressively as he spoke.
"Good afternoon! Looking for something special?" His voice carried the smooth confidence of someone who had spent years perfecting their sales pitch. The slight accent in his words hinted at distant origins.
Shirou glanced up at Mikado, uncertainty flickering across his features. His enhanced senses picked up the subtle scent of metal and polish from the jewelry, the quiet tinkling of chains moving in the breeze. One particular necklace seemed to call to him—a pendant with a stone that shifted colors like liquid starlight.
"We're just browsing," Mikado replied, her tone polite but firm. She recognized the stone for what it was—definitely not of Earth origin, though few would know that. Her hand squeezed Shirou's gently, a silent warning to stay quiet.
The vendor leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with practiced enthusiasm. "Ah, but the young man might like this!" He lifted the very necklace Shirou had been watching, the stone catching the light in impossible ways.
Shirou blinked, fascination evident in his mismatched eyes. "What… is it?" His voice carried genuine curiosity, his interest captured as any other normal child by a shiny rock. But his instincts, like hers, recognized something otherworldly about the piece.
"A charm for good luck," the vendor said, his smile widening. "Guaranteed to bring happiness and success." The stone seemed to pulse slightly as he spoke, though most observers would likely dismiss it as a trick of the light.
Mikado raised an eyebrow, her expression carefully neutral. "Guaranteed, huh? And how much for this life-changing trinket?" Her tone carried a hint of sarcasm that went over Shirou's head but made the vendor's smile falter slightly.
"For you, only ten thousand yen," the vendor said, beaming once more. The stone's glow dimmed almost imperceptibly, responding to the tension in the air.
"We'll pass. Come on, Shirou." Mikado's tone left no room for argument. She guided Shirou away from the stall, her stride purposeful. The vendor's disappointed sat back inside his stall.
As they moved through the market, more familiar faces began to appear. The morning crowd had grown, and with it came people who recognized Mikado. Each interaction showed a different picture of her life outside the clinic, revealing layers of her identity that Shirou had never seen before.
"Oh! If it isn't Dr. Mikado. You returned from your holiday?" An older woman, her arms laden with grocery bags, called out. Her eyes crinkled with genuine warmth as she approached. The scent of fresh herbs wafted from her shopping bags, mixing with the subtle floral notes of her perfume.
Mikado's demeanor shifted subtly—professional but friendly, a different facet of her personality emerging. She exchanged pleasantries with practiced ease, her responses carefully measured to reveal nothing of importance while maintaining the appearance of openness. Shirou watched, fascinated by this social dance.
"Hello, Dr. Mikado. You're beautiful as ever, won't you consider coming for a drink?" A broad-shouldered man appeared, his confident smile faltering slightly under Mikado's steady gaze. Shirou noticed her smile taking on an edge that made him shiver despite the warm sun.
The man, being able to read the mood, did a retro front waving goodbye as fast as he arrived.
"Ah! Dr. Mikado, I need your help immediately!" The urgent call came from a figure that would have drawn stares in any other setting—tall and too thin to be natural, with features that seemed slightly out of proportion. To Shirou's enhanced vision, the glamour concealing the alien's true form flickered like heat waves over pavement.
Mikado handled each interaction with practiced grace, dispensing medical advice and gentle deflections with equal skill. Her responses were carefully crafted—detailed enough to be helpful but vague enough to maintain privacy. Shirou absorbed it all, studying this new side of his guardian with intense fascination.
It was a parade of personalities that painted a vivid picture of Mikado's role in the community. Some approached with medical concerns, others with barely disguised romantic interest, and a few—the ones whose appearances seemed slightly off to Shirou's perception—came with more discrete inquiries. Through it all, Mikado maintained her composed demeanor, though Shirou could feel the occasional tension in her grip on his hand.
Not all encounters were pleasant, however. At a book stall tucked between a vegetable vendor and a crafts display, they met with barely concealed hostility. The vendor, a gruff man with deep-set eyes and calloused hands that spoke of a life beyond bookselling, watched them approach with obvious suspicion.
"What's with the kid?" he asked, his voice carrying a growl that made Shirou's enhanced senses prickle with warning. The man's eyes lingered on Shirou's dual-colored hair and mismatched eyes.
Mikado's smile remained pleasant, but Shirou felt her pulse quicken through their joined hands. "He's just curious. He's new to the area." Her voice carried a warning edge beneath its cheerful surface.
The man grunted, his eyes narrowing as he studied Shirou more intently. "Something's… off about him." The words carried an accusation that made the air feel suddenly heavy.
Shirou shifted uncomfortably, instinctively moving closer to Mikado. His enhanced senses picked up the man's accelerated heartbeat, the slight sour note of fear-tinged sweat. It was a scent he was becoming familiar with—the smell of human uncertainty in the face of something they couldn't quite understand.
"Off?" Mikado repeated, her tone deceptively light. The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees despite the warm sun. "He's a kid, how can he be off, sir? Please don't be rude. Maybe you're just not used to people who don't scowl all the time." Her words were polite, but her eyes carried a steel that made the vendor look away first.
As they walked away from the stall, Shirou's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why… that man angry?" His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit he'd developed during his rehabilitation.
Mikado's response was measured, her voice gentle but firm. "Some people just are," she said with a seemingly casual shrug, though maybe that man was sensitive enough to perceive Shirou's inhuman origin s. "Don't take it personally." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "The world isn't always kind to things it doesn't understand. That's why we need to be careful, but it doesn't mean we need to hide who we are. It's about finding the right balance."
The marketplace continued to buzz around them, but now Shirou viewed it through a slightly different lens. He noticed how some people's eyes lingered too long on his unusual features, how others purposefully looked away. Yet there were also those who smiled warmly, who seemed genuinely delighted by his unique appearance.
The park emerged before them like an oasis of green amid the city's concrete landscape. The transition from market chaos to this new environment was striking—instead of the press of bodies and maze of stalls, they found themselves facing an expanse of carefully maintained nature. The early spring air carried the crisp scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, a sharp contrast to the market's medley of aromas.
The scene before them was a symphony of motion and sound. Metal swing sets creaked in rhythmic patterns, their chains catching sunlight like strands of silver. Children's laughter echoed across the space, carried by the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees. Pigeons strutted about with suspicious readiness to release misfortune on those beneath them, their feathers iridescent in the midday sun as they plotted their next move around the scattered benches.
Mikado guided Shirou onto the grassy field, her steps deliberate as she chose a less crowded area. The grass was cool and slightly damp beneath their feet, a sensation that made Shirou wiggle his toes in his new shoes. His senses picked up every detail: the subtle vibrations of running feet through the ground, the complex tapestry of scents from the flowering bushes that lined the paths, the varying pitches of children's voices that created an ever-changing melody.
"Alright, Shirou," Mikado said, crouching to his level. Her lab coat—she'd insisted on wearing it despite their excursion—brushed against the grass, collecting tiny dewdrops. "This is a park. It's where kids come to play, shout unnecessarily, and occasionally make poor decisions that result in skinned knees." Her tone was light, and her eyes showed amusement.
Shirou blinked, his eyes scanning the scene with tactical precision. "It's loud," he muttered, though there was a note of fascination in his voice that belied his complaint.
"Yes, it's loud. That's normal," Mikado said, resisting the urge to shield her own ears from a particularly piercing shriek of joy from nearby. "Just... observe. Maybe talk to someone your age. But no powers, okay?" She emphasized this point with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.
"Promise," Shirou said solemnly, though his attention had already drifted to a group of children engaged in what appeared to be an elaborate game of tag. Their movements created patterns that his enhanced senses automatically tracked and analyzed.
A group of kids—three boys and two girls—noticed Shirou and froze mid-chase, their game forgotten as they stared at the newcomer. In the bright sunlight, Shirou's unusual appearance was even more striking: his dual-colored hair caught the light like freshly fallen snow and autumn leaves, while his heterochromatic eyes seemed to shimmer with their own inner light.
"Who's that?" one of the boys asked, pointing with the unfiltered directness of childhood. While his friends clustered behind him in a protective huddle. Their game forgotten, sneakers scuffed the grass as they shifted with nervous energy.
Mikado stepped forward smoothly, her presence instantly commanding attention. Years of medical practice had given her the ability to put people at ease, and she deployed it now with practiced skill. "He's Shirou," she introduced, her voice carrying the perfect blend of warmth and authority. "He's new here. Be nice, okay?"
The effect was immediate. The boys' defensive postures melted away, replaced by shy smiles and curious glances. Mikado noticed how they straightened their shoulders slightly, trying to appear more mature under her gaze.
The girls, however, maintained their skeptical stance. They exchanged meaningful looks, the kind of silent communication that children perfect long before adults notice. But curiosity eventually won out over caution, and the bravest of the group—a freckle-faced girl with pigtails that bobbed like exclamation points when she moved—took a tentative step forward.
"Why are your eyes two colors?" she asked, her voice carrying that peculiar mix of boldness and shyness that only children can manage. Her own brown eyes were wide with genuine curiosity, no trace of the earlier suspicion remaining.
Shirou hesitated, his muscles tensing slightly. He was still unsure on how to answer that question.
"They're just like that," Mikado interjected smoothly, her smile warm but carrying a subtle warning to curb any further probing questions. "Isn't it cool?"
The simple explanation worked its magic, transforming potential suspicion into fascination. Children, Mikado knew, often accepted the extraordinary more easily than adults—perhaps because their world was still full of marvels.
One of the boys, clutching a well-worn soccer ball to his chest, took a brave step forward. "Wanna play?" he offered, his voice carrying the universal hope of childhood friendship. The ball in his hands was scuffed and dirty, bearing the marks of countless games and adventures.
Shirou tilted his head, studying the ball with the intensity he usually reserved for his reading exercises. "Play... how?" His voice carried genuine curiosity mixed with an undercurrent of uncertainty. The concept of play was still new to him—something he'd only encountered in his books until now.
"Soccer!" the boy exclaimed, dropping the ball to the grass with an enthusiastic thump. It rolled slightly before he stopped it with his foot, the motion smooth and practiced. "You know, kick the ball into the goal." He demonstrated with a light tap that sent the ball rolling across the grass, leaving small divots in its wake.
Shirou stared at the ball as if it were some complex puzzle to be solved. His enhanced senses tracked its movement and calculating trajectories, a result born from his unique nature. "Kick the ball... dangerous?" His voice carried genuine concern, remembering Mikado's frequent warnings about controlling his strength.
The other children just looked at him like if they were saying "what are you talking about."
Hesitant but curious, Shirou approached the ball like one might approach an unknown creature. His steps were measured, cautious. When he finally reached it, he extended his foot and tapped the ball with all the force of a butterfly landing on a flower.
The collective groan from the children was immediate and unanimous. "No, like this!" one of the boys exclaimed, darting forward with the boundless energy of youth. He demonstrated with a dramatic kick that sent the ball soaring across the field, its arc graceful against the blue sky. The ball struck a tree with a solid thunk before bouncing back toward them, rolling to a stop at Shirou's feet as if drawn there by fate.
Shirou watched the ball's journey with intense focus, his eyes tracking its path. His enhanced mind recorded every detail: the angle of the boy's foot, the force of the impact, the ball's rotation through the air. When it came to rest before him, he nodded with newfound determination.
Mikado recognized the look in his eyes a moment too late. "Shirou, wait—"
BOOM!
The soccer ball transformed into a projectile, rocketing skyward with such force that it left a whistle in its wake. The children's heads tilted back in unison, mouths agape, as they tracked the ball's ascent. It disappeared over the treetops, becoming a diminishing black dot against the sky before vanishing completely.
A profound silence fell over the group. Even the ambient park noise seemed to dim in the wake of Shirou's kick. The boy who owned the ball slowly sank to his knees, eyes still fixed on the point where his possession had vanished. "My ball! My brother is going to kill me!" His voice cracked with genuine distress, hands clutching at his hair in despair.
"Cool!" the freckle-faced girl exclaimed, breaking the tension. Her pigtails bounced with excitement as she turned to Shirou. "You're so strong!"
Mikado stepped forward quickly, her mind already calculating the cost of a replacement ball. "He's... still learning," she offered diplomatically, reaching for her wallet. To the devastated ball owner, she added, "Don't worry. We'll get you a new one—a better one."
Despite the soccer mishap—or perhaps because of it—the children's fascination with Shirou only grew. The initial wariness had completely dissolved, replaced by an almost reverent curiosity. They formed a loose circle around him, their faces bright with excitement and questions tumbling out in an eager cascade.
"What's your favorite color?" asked one girl, her braids swinging as she bounced on her toes.
"Do you like ice cream?" another chimed in, clutching a half-melted popsicle that stained his fingers blue.
"Can you do more cool stuff with your legs?" The boy who'd lost his ball had apparently forgotten his tragedy in the face of Shirou's extraordinary abilities.
Shirou met each question with careful consideration, his mismatched eyes moving from face to face as he processed their rapid-fire curiosity. His responses came slowly, deliberately, each word chosen with the same care he showed in his reading exercises.
"Color... blue," he said, unconsciously glancing at the vast sky above them.
"Ice cream... I don't know." The admission carried a hint of confusion, as if he'd just realized how many common experiences he lacked.
"Legs... they're normal?" His last response held a note of uncertainty, his eyes seeking Mikado's guidance.
The children giggled at his peculiar way of speaking, but there was no malice in their laughter. Instead, they seemed to find his mannerisms endearing, as if his differences made him more interesting rather than less.
"Wanna play tag?" one of the girls suggested, her eyes bright with mischief. She wore a yellow dress that caught the sunlight like a dandelion, making her easy to spot among the other children.
"Tag?" Shirou echoed the word as if tasting it, his brow furrowing in that now-familiar expression of confusion. Once again, his gaze sought Mikado's, a habit that spoke volumes about their relationship.
Mikado just gave him a nod to reassure him to go along with the other kids.
Shirou's frown deepened. "Game of... chasing?" His voice carried a hint of worry—the previous incident showed all too well how different his physical capabilities were from normal children.
And as Shirou suspected, what he feared happened.
"Not fair!" one boy whined, puffing as he tried to catch Shirou. "You're too fast!"
"Sorry," Shirou said, genuinely remorseful. He tried to not hold back to much like with the ball, but now it was the opposite problem. He had to play another minute to get to the same speed of the others.
After the game, the group sat on the grass to catch their breath. One of the kids pulled out a bag of snacks and offered Shirou a piece of chocolate.
"What is... This?" Shirou asked, holding the wrapper like it was a puzzle.
"It's chocolate," the freckle-faced girl said looking at Shirou confused."You never eat it?"
Shirou shocked his head in denial, shocking all the kids there.
Shirou unwrapped it carefully and took a bite. His eyes widened in shock. "Sweet... amazing."
The kids laughed, offering him more treats. Shirou hesitated but accepted, his face lighting up with each new flavor.
Mikado watched from a distance, her chest tightening. She was thrilled to see Shirou make new experiences, but it also reminded her of how much he'd missed out on.
New kids keep appearing and joining the games, now they were playing hide and seek.
It was nothing special...Yes nothing special normally.
But Shirou's presence made the game more bizarre.
"Did you guys find him?" One of the boys asked another one.
"No... I searched everywhere already." The boy who got asked the question was panting frantically. He went in fact outside of the park to search for the only missing player of the game.
Mikado looked around the park and could see a bunch of kids searching in mass everywhere for Shirou.
Mikado could only let out a sight of exasperation at how silly Shirou was acting. This behavior in children games can lead to discord among the kids.
She raised her field of sight and gazed at the small red head who was sitting on top of a tree exactly at the center, outside the field of view of all those poor kids.
If he didn't get down soon, he was going to ruin the fun for everyone.
Mikado decided to intervene just in case. She left a bunch of clues on the ground for the kids to find, leading them directly where Shirou was.
Luckily they found him soon after. Making all the kids gape in awe at Shirou's prowess.
After that they kept changing games and play whatever they had in mind. Without to many problems.
The sun was beginning its descent, painting the park in hues of gold and amber. Under the sprawling shade of a large oak tree, Mikado leaned against the trunk, watching Shirou as he sprawled on the grass beside her.
"You're a natural with kids," Mikado teased, twirling a blade of grass between her fingers.
Shirou blinked at her, still catching his breath. "Fun... Is tiring."
"That's childhood for you," she said, laughing softly.
Shirou's gaze lingered on the group of kids leaving the park and a familiar tingle of discomfort flashed through his mind.
Overlapping images of other people appeared in Shirou's mind when he watched the kids leave. It was just a fleeting moment that soon faded away, leaving a sense of loss and confusion behind.
Shirou looked up at Mikado, his heterochromatic eyes filled with quiet wonder. "People... Are good?"
Mikado noticed the strange emotions deep inside Shirou's eyes, but she didn't pursue it for now. "Some of them," Mikado said with a wink. "The trick is finding the right ones. But don't worry, I'll help you with that."
As they prepared to leave the park, Shirou smiled happily again, thinking of what he did today.
Mikado noticed and nudged him playfully. "You liked the attention, didn't you?"
Shirou considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. "Nice... feeling."
Mikado laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "It's okay to enjoy it. Just don't let it go to your head, Mr. Cool Eyes."
"Cool eyes," Shirou repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Mikado grinned. "Yep. Now let's head home. I'm sure the clinic's silence will feel extra nice after all this moving around."
Shirou nodded affirmatively, burying those strange but familiar memories deep within his mind.