Chapter 7: Thoughts
Toga Taisho's day was as busy and relentless as always. The sleek glass walls of his company reflected his every movement as he strode through the open, minimalist office floor, making his way to his private suite. The morning's briefing had been productive, the financial projections looking solid, and there was even talk of a potential merger that could change the landscape of the industry. Yet, for all the successes, his thoughts kept drifting back to his family.
He stepped into his office, and the door slid shut with a soft whoosh. Settling into his chair, Toga's sharp eyes glanced at the holographic screens floating around his desk. He could easily lose himself in the endless stream of data, reports, and innovation strategies that made up his life. But today, his mind wandered, as it often did these days, to his children, especially after his date-night with Inukimi.
Inuyasha… his youngest. Toga thought about the boy's energy, his rebellious streak, and his apparent disregard for order. It wasn't that Inuyasha was incapable of focus—no, it was more that he had a tendency to throw himself into things without considering the long-term. He'd always been a fighter, someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve and ran headlong into every challenge, whether it was in school or his sports. But Toga couldn't help but worry about his future.
Toga's thoughts were interrupted by a low chime. He glanced at the screen, noting a message from his assistant about the upcoming meeting with investors. He dismissed it with a flick of his finger but returned to his reflections, his mind drifting back to his son.
Sesshoumaru, his eldest, was everything Toga had ever hoped for in terms of competence. Calm, intelligent, and incredibly driven, Sesshoumaru had always taken the weight of responsibility in stride. But Toga couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret when he thought about his son's stoic nature. Sesshoumaru was a master at his craft, a prodigy in engineering, but there was always a distance, an emotional coldness that seemed to separate him from the rest of the family.
Toga sighed, rubbing his temples for a moment before refocusing on the task at hand. His thoughts strayed to the youngest of his children, Kanna. She was different from the others in so many ways. At barely six years old, Kanna was already a mystery, an enigma with an intellect and curiosity that far outpaced her years. She was always asking questions—about space, about the world, about everything. Toga was both proud and in awe of her, but he couldn't help but worry about her quiet nature, her tendency to retreat into her own thoughts rather than speak her mind.
Toga leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. His children were each unique in their own ways—Inuyasha with his fierce spirit, Sesshoumaru with his stoic determination, and Kanna with her quiet brilliance—but as their father, he found himself constantly wondering if they were ready for the challenges ahead. Success, after all, was a complicated thing. He'd built his empire with hard work, grit, and a relentless drive, but he knew that wasn't enough for his children. He wanted them to succeed not just in the external sense, but in ways that would make them happy, fulfilled.
I just want them to have a foundation. A strong one, like I had... but not just in business. I want them to feel complete. I want them to be happy. But am I doing enough to help them get there?
His gaze fell on the glass wall in front of him, looking out over the sprawling city of Tokyo. The world was changing, faster than he could sometimes keep up with, and he wondered if his children, too, would be ready for what lay ahead. They were his legacy, but more than that, they were his hope.
He pushed the thought aside for a moment, focusing back on the reports and presentations in front of him. For now, work comes first, he reminded himself. But as the hours passed and he moved from one task to another, the thought lingered in the back of his mind. His family, his children... they were the most important thing to him, even if they didn't always know it.
It was a peaceful afternoon in Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, known for its serene atmosphere and lush greenery. The park was a popular retreat, providing an escape from the bustling city. Kagome and Sango had decided to spend a few hours here, studying away from the distractions of their busy lives.
Kagome had been hard at work on her textbook, but as the day wore on, the fatigue from her studies caught up to her. Her eyelids grew heavier, and soon enough, her head slipped forward, resting gently on the edge of one of her books. The park was quiet, with the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of others enjoying the day. Kagome, completely unaware of her surroundings, had fallen asleep right there at the picnic table
Sango, ever the diligent friend, was still focused on her notes. But she noticed Kagome's growing drowsiness and let out a quiet laugh. "You always push yourself too hard, Kagome," she muttered, glancing at the girl's sleeping form. With a small smile, Sango got up to grab some food for the two of them, hoping that a little break would help Kagome feel more refreshed.
As Sango made her way to the food stand, the park remained as tranquil as ever. It wasn't long before Sesshoumaru, dressed in a sharp, tailored coat, walked through the park, enjoying a rare break from his usual business matters. His gaze scanned the area, but when it landed on Kagome, he paused.
The cool air had started to pick up, and Kagome, though seemingly unaware of the temperature, was visibly shivering in her sleep. Her delicate form trembled slightly as she remained slumped over her books. Sesshoumaru's sharp eyes narrowed as he took in the sight, noticing the chill settling over her.
Without thinking too much, he approached her. His movements were graceful, fluid, as he removed his coat and gently placed it over her shoulders, making sure to cover her properly. The coat was warm, and as it settled around her, Kagome's shivering subsided, though she remained blissfully unaware of the gesture. Sesshoumaru stood back for a moment, his eyes lingering on her peaceful face. There was something about the way she looked—so calm, so vulnerable—that made him feel an unexpected sense of protectiveness.
As he turned to leave, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and Sango returned with a tray of food. She stopped when she saw Sesshoumaru standing nearby, his coat now draped over Kagome. Her eyes flickered between the two of them before she let out a small, knowing laugh.
"Quite the gentleman, huh?" Sango said, a playful smile tugging at her lips. She didn't know this man personally, but he seemed concerned for Kagome.
Sesshoumaru didn't respond immediately. He simply gave Sango a slight nod, his gaze softening as he glanced at Kagome. "She looked cold," was all he said before walking off, his figure fading into the background.
Sango watched him leave, then turned to Kagome, who was still asleep beneath the coat. "I guess someone's taking care of you, huh?" she murmured, shaking her head with a smile. She carefully sat down beside her friend, setting the food on the table, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.
Kagome shifted in her sleep slightly, the warmth of Sesshoumaru's coat still enveloping her, completely unaware of the silent exchange that had just taken place.
As Sesshoumaru walked away from the table where Kagome had fallen asleep, his mind lingered on her peaceful form beneath the warmth of his coat. The sight of her, so vulnerable and unguarded, stirred something within him—a strange sense of protectiveness, but also a quiet reflection.
He'd never been one to show weakness, nor had he ever allowed himself to indulge in idle thoughts. His life was a constant push for excellence, the pursuit of power and refinement. Yet, as he observed Kagome, her dedication and tireless work ethic reminded him of himself in a way he hadn't expected.
She works too hard, he thought, his eyes softening slightly as he watched her sleeping form.
Her frantic pace, always juggling tasks, seemed to define her. In the café, she had been absorbed in her phone, rushing through messages, never pausing long enough to breathe. Later, it was the papers—scattered and chaotic as she scrambled to catch up. There was always something to do, some goal just beyond her reach. He understood that feeling well.
No rest... always in a rush to the next task, he mused, a faint frown tugging at his features. She never seemed to slow down, constantly pushing forward, as though time itself might slip through her fingers if she let it. It reminded him of his own life, lived in pursuit of the next challenge, the next milestone—always striving for more, unable to rest on past achievements.
No rest... always striving for the next step, he thought, his jaw tightening slightly as the words echoed in his mind. It was a philosophy he lived by—an almost obsessive need to always improve, always be ahead, never allowing himself the luxury of complacency.
Yet, watching Kagome earlier, exhausted and unaware of the world around her, he couldn't help but wonder if she, too, was running from something. Perhaps she feared that if she didn't keep moving, if she didn't keep achieving, there would be no way to prove her worth. It was a feeling he understood more than he cared to admit.
Does she know how much she needs to rest? he thought, a question that seemed foreign coming from him. But the concern was there, subtle yet undeniable.
Sesshoumaru stopped in his tracks for a moment, his mind wandering back to the quiet moments when he, too, had been caught in the relentless cycle of work. He had never been one to show it, to allow others to see his vulnerabilities. But deep down, he understood the pressure that Kagome, and others like them, placed on themselves.
It was in those moments, when he would push himself further than necessary, that the weight of his own drive began to feel suffocating.
With a sigh, he shook his head, as though dismissing the fleeting thoughts that lingered in his mind. Perhaps it's better to leave these things unsaid.
But he couldn't deny it—there was a strange connection he felt to Kagome in that moment, one he hadn't anticipated. She was much like him in more ways than he cared to acknowledge.
And as he reflected on it, a flicker of frustration stirred within him—once again, he had failed to introduce himself. But this time, it seemed almost fitting. She was asleep, unaware of his presence, and he couldn't help but wonder when their paths would cross again.
Sango picked up her phone, her fingers tapping against the screen as her thoughts raced. She needed more answers about the man who'd been watching her—and about that perfume. She couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just some random cologne. It was too familiar, too exclusive. It was one of Grandpa Hiroshi's old creations—Le Parfum de L'Obscurité. She knew that scent like she knew her own name.
And while she was sure Kohaku would probably find it more amusing than serious, he was the best person to help her figure out where this elusive bottle might have come from.
She pressed the call button and waited, tapping her foot anxiously. Kohaku picked up on the second ring, his voice light but curious.
"Sango? What's up? You're calling kind of late... you okay?"
Sango took a deep breath, trying to sound casual. "Hey, I'm good. Just a quick question for you, nothing big, promise."
"Uh-huh. Sure," Kohaku said skeptically, clearly already expecting something to be more complicated than it sounded. "What's going on?"
"Okay, so... today I ran into this guy. He was wearing a fragrance that smelled way too familiar. It was one of Grandpa Hiroshi's old perfumes—Le Parfum de L'Obscurité," she said, hoping he wouldn't make too big a deal about it.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Kohaku let out an exaggerated, playful whistle. "Oh, so now we're dealing with that? Nice. You've been hanging around collectors, sis? You sure you're not getting fancy on me?"
Sango rolled her eyes, though she could practically hear his grin through the phone. "Very funny, Kohaku. I'm serious. This guy was wearing it, and I'm pretty sure he's some kind of... collector? Or maybe a big fan of exclusive perfumes."
"Big fan? I mean, Le Parfum de L'Obscurité is the collector's item. It's one of Grandpa's rarer ones, and you know he only made a handful of those. A real elite crowd wears that kind of thing," Kohaku said, his voice light and teasing. "Okay, so tell me this: what's your angle? You think he's some high-roller sniffing around for more perfume?"
"I don't know," Sango said, still sounding unsure. "But it bugged me. He was definitely watching me—and Kagome—way too closely. And I just know it was that perfume. You can't mistake it. It's... rich, you know? Like one of those perfumes that costs more than most people's rent."
Kohaku chuckled. "Alright, alright. So, what do you need from me? You want me to track down this guy's fragrance history now?"
"Exactly!" Sango said, grinning. "I know you've got some connections with those underground auction sites and high-end collectors. Can you see if you can find a log of where Le Parfum de L'Obscurité might have been sold recently? I'm guessing this guy got it from one of those places."
Kohaku laughed again. "Wow, look at you, going full detective mode. Okay, I'll see what I can dig up. It won't be hard to check if any bottles popped up at any of those private sales. Honestly, you'd be surprised who's into the 'old-school rare perfume' scene. Some of them are just scarily passionate about their scent collections."
"I bet," Sango said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "But seriously, if you find out where it came from, that'll help me figure out who this guy is—and what he wants. Because I'm telling you, Kohaku, he was definitely taking notes on me and Kagome."
There was a playful pause on the other end. "So, you think you're the next big target of some fancy perfume heist? Don't worry, Sango. I'll track down the elite perfume snob for you. Le Parfum de L'Obscurité isn't just some cologne—it's practically a badge of honor in that world. You should be flattered. Maybe you should start wearing it too."
"Oh, please," Sango snorted.
"Well, I'd say it's either that or you're the next exclusive on the elite perfume circuit hit list," Kohaku teased. "But alright, I'll get on it. Let's see where this mystery bottle's been floating around. If anyone's got a lead, it's me. And don't worry, if you run into Mr. Exclusive Perfume Collector, I'll give you all the dirt. You just have to keep me updated, deal?"
Sango smiled, relieved by the easygoing nature of the conversation. "Deal. Thanks, Kohaku. You're the best."
"Of course. Just don't go sniffing around too much on your own, alright? If you end up tracking down some fancy perfume burglar, I'll have to step in and save you."
Sango chuckled. "I'll be fine. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. But I'll let you know if I need backup."
"Always here for you, sis. Talk soon."
Sango ended the call and leaned back in her chair, feeling a little lighter. Kohaku had taken her seriously, but he hadn't made a big deal out of it. He would get the information she needed—he always did.
The playground was still buzzing with life when Shippo and Kanna found themselves on a wooden bench. It had become their quiet refuge amid the noise, a place where they could sit together and breathe without the expectations that came with the bustling chaos of the world around them.
Kanna sat, still as always, her feet not quite reaching the ground. Her calmness seemed to absorb the energy of the playground, like a stone in the center of a stream, unaffected by the current. Shippo, on the other hand, bounced his knee impatiently, his gaze flitting from one part of the playground to another, never staying still for long.
"Hey, Kanna," Shippo spoke up after a long moment, his voice tentative, a little quieter than usual. "How come you're always so calm? I mean, you never seem... worried."
Kanna didn't respond right away, her gaze shifting to him briefly before returning to the playground. "Worried about what?" she asked in her soft, thoughtful way.
Shippo scratched the back of his neck, his tone betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I don't know. I guess... sometimes I worry about... being good enough. Like, everyone else is doing something amazing, and I'm just... me. And that's not enough."
Kanna didn't say anything immediately. She let his words hang in the air for a while, turning them over in her mind, as she often did. She tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words with more care than he thought they deserved. "Not being good enough?"
Shippo nodded, his gaze shifting uneasily. "Yeah... like, what if I'm just not cut out for all the big things? What if I can't live up to what everyone expects from me?"
Kanna's eyes softened, but she didn't immediately offer a comforting word. She sat quietly for a moment, her small hands resting calmly in her lap, as if gathering the right words from somewhere deep inside her. She didn't always know how to speak like Shippo, to make her words sound confident and sure.
"Maybe... they're not perfect," Kanna said softly, almost to herself, her voice unshaken. "They try, even if they don't always know how to do everything."
Shippo blinked, a little taken aback by her response. He turned his head to study her, the wheels in his mind starting to turn. "So... you think I should just try, too?" His voice held a tentative hope, but it was mixed with a quiet uncertainty.
Kanna nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on the playground equipment in the distance. "Trying is enough."
Shippo exhaled, a mixture of relief and still lingering doubt. "I guess that's true..." he murmured, looking down at his hands. "So... you're saying I don't have to be perfect to be... awesome?"
Kanna turned to him, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "No."
Shippo grinned, his usual energy starting to return. "Well, if you say so, Kanna." He gave her a wink and then, almost without missing a beat, his eyes sparkled as he pointed to the swings. "Hey, let's go try the swings. You want to race me to see who can get there first?"
Before Kanna could respond, a loud shriek cut through the air—two kids were fighting over a swing, both insisting they had claimed it first. Shippo's face lit up as he jumped to his feet, the playful spark back in his eyes. "Race you there!" he said, already darting off without waiting for an answer.
Kanna stayed seated for a moment, watching him, but her lips twitched upward at the sight of his energetic departure.
The soccer field was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun as Inuyasha kicked the ball across the grass, practicing his dribbling with a mix of intensity and frustration. He was alone now—Koga had left early, and Sota had stayed behind to finish his homework. But Inuyasha didn't mind the solitude. The field was where he could think, where he could dream.
He had a vision in his mind, one that had been there for as long as he could remember. He wanted to be an international soccer player. The thought of playing for a major league team, traveling the world, facing the best players from every corner of the globe—he could feel it, deep down, like a fire that wouldn't go out.
But that dream, as big as it was, also felt distant. There was a lot more to it than just being good on the field. And Inuyasha wasn't stupid. He knew that. He'd heard the stories of pro athletes who didn't just rely on raw talent—they worked hard, they sacrificed, and they knew the path they had to take to get there.
Coach Takeda, who had been watching from the sideline, blew his whistle, signaling the end of practice. He strode over to Inuyasha, who had been catching his breath, leaning against the goalpost.
"Good run today, Inuyasha," Coach Takeda said, nodding toward the ball at Inuyasha's feet. "You've got a hell of a kick. But you're holding back, and you know it."
Inuyasha grinned, but there was an edge to it. He wiped sweat from his brow and kicked the ball lightly with his foot. "Yeah, I know. But you've been on my back about that science grade. Can't exactly get pro-level without passing that first."
Coach Takeda's expression softened just slightly. "True. But you've got the drive. You want to be an international player, right?"
Inuyasha's eyes lit up at the mention of it. "Yeah. That's the goal. But, Coach, how do I get there? I'm good, but I know there's more to it than just being good. I need to know what it takes."
Coach Takeda paused for a moment, clearly weighing Inuyasha's words. He stepped closer, crossing his arms, his tone serious but encouraging. "You want to play at that level, you're gonna need a lot more than talent. You're talking about the big leagues—international soccer, professional teams. It's not just about what you can do on the field today. It's about the kind of player you'll be in the future."
Inuyasha's brow furrowed slightly. "Like… what?"
"Commitment," Takeda said firmly. "I'm talking about years of training, on top of what you already know. It's technique, endurance, and mental toughness. You have to push yourself every single day. You have to know how to adapt your game, how to handle pressure, and how to perform when it counts. And don't forget about the rest of your life. Your grades, your attitude, your work ethic—all of it plays a part."
Inuyasha shifted uneasily on his feet, feeling the weight of the words. He knew what Coach was saying, but hearing it laid out like that made it seem a lot more daunting than just having a dream.
"Yeah, I get that," Inuyasha muttered, looking down at the ball again. "But how do I even start? It's not like I can just walk up to some scout and say, 'Hey, I'm Inuyasha, let me play in Europe.'"
Coach Takeda chuckled, though there was a hard edge to it. "It doesn't work like that, no. But if you're serious, the first thing you need is a plan. Start with building the fundamentals. You've got that covered already, but you'll need to refine your techniques—work with a professional coach, travel to tournaments, get exposure. And—" He raised a finger, as if emphasizing the point— "you need to be consistent. If you want to get noticed, you have to show up every single time. And more than that, you have to be exceptional."
Inuyasha's gaze hardened. "You're telling me I'm gonna have to work that hard just to get noticed?"
Coach Takeda nodded without hesitation. "Exactly. It's not enough to be good—you have to be outstanding. You have to stand out from the rest. You want to be an international player? You want to play on the world stage? You need to do everything extra—extra training, extra focus, extra sacrifices."
Inuyasha stood up straighter, the fire in his chest burning hotter. "So, what's the next step? How do I take this dream of mine and make it real?"
Takeda's eyes flicked to the side for a moment, as if considering how much to say. Then, he turned back to Inuyasha. "Start with a plan. Get into serious training. You're already ahead of a lot of people, but it's about building on that. And you need exposure—get into tournaments, reach out to local clubs that have connections to international teams. But you also need discipline. Don't just rely on your natural ability. Push yourself harder every time you step on this field. It's about preparation and having the mental strength to handle the pressure when it's time to perform."
Inuyasha listened intently, the weight of Coach Takeda's words settling over him. This was a lot more than just kicking a ball around for fun. If he wanted to make it, he'd need to do the work—more than just the basics. He'd have to sacrifice, make hard choices, and put everything he had into it.
He looked up at the coach, his voice quieter, but full of determination. "Alright. I'll do whatever it takes. I'm in. But I need to know one thing—how do I make sure I'm on the right path? I don't want to just do this because it feels good. I want to make it."
Coach Takeda met Inuyasha's gaze, seeing the genuine resolve in his eyes. "You start by committing to it every single day, Inuyasha. And I'll be there to help you with that. But you've got to make the decision to give it everything you've got. And if you want to be an international player, you've got to treat every practice, every game, and every moment like it's your chance to prove yourself. The rest is up to you."
Inuyasha felt a rush of excitement and responsibility. This was it. This was the moment where he decided whether his dream was just a dream—or something he would actually chase down.
"I'll make it happen," Inuyasha said, more to himself than anyone else, his voice firm with certainty.
Coach Takeda gave a sharp nod. "I believe you will."
And just like that, Inuyasha knew this was only the beginning. The dream had been there for as long as he could remember—but now, he was ready to make it real.
Naraku Higurashi exhaled slowly as his eyes drifted out the window, where the sun had begun its slow descent. The tranquility of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. Despite the endless meetings, the corporate deals, and the charity event preparations, Naraku found himself momentarily lost in thought, reflecting on the journey that had brought him here—both as the CEO of a pharmaceutical empire and as the father and husband of the Higurashi family.
He hadn't come from privilege. In fact, he'd started with nothing more than raw ambition and a tenacious will to succeed. He had sacrificed friendships, relationships, and even his own personal desires to carve a place at the top of the business world. Every decision, every deal, every late night at the office had been a step toward securing a future for his family. It hadn't always been easy.
Naraku's mind wandered to Kagura, his wife. They had met long before his rise to prominence, when he was just another young, ambitious man with a modest startup. She had been there through the grueling years, offering him both unwavering support and the occasional sharp reminder that success required more than just ambition—it required balance. It was her influence that kept him grounded, even as the pressure of the corporate world tried to pull him into its depths.
Then there were his children—Kagome and Shippo. He thought about the quiet pride he felt every time he looked at Kagome, his eldest. Her intelligence, her discipline, her determination. She was the kind of daughter every father dreamed of. And Shippo, his little whirlwind. The boy was full of life, energy, and the kind of innocence Naraku couldn't help but admire. Despite his best efforts to remain stoic and reserved, his heart swelled with pride when he saw the two of them. The sacrifices he'd made—some of which he couldn't share with anyone—had always been for them.
But there were moments, too, when the weight of it all felt heavier than he wanted to admit. The long hours at the office, the endless meetings with partners, the constant need to stay ahead of competitors—it left little room for the personal connection he sometimes wished he had more of with his family. He had always believed that his work was the key to providing them with everything they needed. The best education, the best opportunities, the best life. But lately, there were fleeting moments where he wondered if his success was enough—if it was the only thing that defined him.
Kagura had a point. The charity event was important—not just for the business relationships it would foster, but for the personal connections it could help him rebuild. There were things he couldn't put into words, things he couldn't express with the same precision as a quarterly report or a financial forecast.
Is this the life I envisioned? Naraku thought, his gaze flicking back to the screen in front of him. A life where success was achieved at any cost? Or had his work become more of an escape than a means to an end?
His phone buzzed again, snapping him out of his reverie. It was a message from Kagura,a reminder about the final details for their family dinner that evening. Her message was simple, yet it caught his attention more than he expected.
As much as he struggled with the constant pressure, there was something comforting about the rhythm of his life. The demands of his business were ever-present, but so was the constant reminder that at the end of each long day, he returned to a family that, despite all the chaos, was his true foundation. They were the ones he worked for—the ones who had given him a reason to keep going, even when the road got difficult.
Kagura, with her grace and poise. Kagome, with her intellect and determination. Shippo, with his boundless energy and innocent joy. They were the true rewards of his success. They were the reason he endured it all.
Naraku's thoughts lingered on his family as he tapped the tablet to move to the next name on the guest list. Each call was a small piece of the larger puzzle he was building—not just for his business, but for their future. He wanted them to have the best, and he'd do whatever it took to ensure that.
But at times, he couldn't help but wonder: Am I enough for them?
As the minutes stretched into hours and the tasks continued to pile up, Naraku's resolve remained unshaken. He would get it all done, just as he always had. But, deep down, he knew the most important thing he could give his family wasn't just success—it was his time, his attention, his presence. The things that couldn't be bought or orchestrated with a well-placed phone call.
With a final glance at the files accumulating on his desk, Naraku tucked his phone away and stood. There was work to be done. But tonight, when the family gathered around the dinner table, he would take a moment—just a moment—to remember why all of this mattered.
And perhaps, for the first time in a while, he'd allow himself to enjoy it.
Naraku sat at the head of the table, a position that had always felt both natural and foreign to him. The weight of leadership, of authority, was something he had carried for years in the boardroom, but here, at this table, it felt different. Here, he wasn't the CEO of a billion-dollar empire; he was simply Naraku Higurashi, a husband and father, surrounded by those who mattered most.
Kagura sat to his left, her posture graceful as always, her presence calm and reassuring. She had long since learned the art of balancing the chaos of their lives with a quiet steadiness, and tonight was no exception. Her eyes flicked toward him with a soft, knowing smile, and for a moment, he felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, sharing this quiet space away from everything else.
Kagome, their eldest, was engaged in conversation with Shippo, who had his usual burst of energy, his voice rising and falling as he eagerly told a story about something he'd learned at school that day. Kagome listened patiently, her sharp mind absorbing every word but also keeping an eye on the clock—something Naraku had come to recognize as her way of balancing the responsibilities she was already beginning to shoulder at such a young age.
Naraku's gaze lingered on his daughter for a moment, a flash of pride stirring within him. Kagome was becoming more like her mother every day—determined, focused, and quietly powerful. But she also had his drive, his relentless pursuit of excellence, and that, too, filled him with pride.
"Did you hear about the new project we're working on?" Shippo asked, his wide eyes alight with curiosity as he looked to his father for an answer. "Were going to have a talent show!"
Naraku flashed a rare smile, momentarily distracted by the boy's enthusiasm. "That's great, Shippo," he replied, his voice warm. "You'll have to tell me all about it. Maybe we can all go see your talent show together."
Shippo's eyes brightened at the suggestion, and Naraku could almost feel the rush of energy that pulsed through the boy. Shippo was a force of nature—always seeking adventure, always imagining the world as something to be explored and conquered. The very embodiment of possibility.
Kagura reached over and placed her hand over his, the soft touch grounding him in a way only she could. "You've done enough today," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of years spent together. "Let this be your time with us."
Naraku gave her a long look, his eyes softening. It was as if the brief touch of her hand, the simplicity of the gesture, had unlocked something deep inside him. Something he had been too focused on to see before. He squeezed her hand gently in return.
Kagome caught the exchange, and though she was quiet about it, there was an understanding in her gaze. She had always been perceptive, always watching the dynamics of the family and absorbing the silent language between her parents.
Dinner was a quiet affair, the clink of utensils and the soft murmur of voices filling the space between them. Kagura passed around the dishes, each one a favorite of Naraku's—carefully selected, perfectly prepared, and yet, it was the simplest of meals that brought him the most comfort. The aroma of the food, the warmth of the room, and the familiar rhythm of his family all combined to make this moment feel like the only thing that truly mattered.
Naraku watched as Kagome carefully served herself, her movements precise and graceful, before offering a helping to Shippo, who was eagerly reaching for more rice. There was a quiet contentment in the way they interacted—like pieces of a puzzle that fit together seamlessly.
For a few moments, he allowed himself to simply be present. To soak in the laughter, the small chatter, the familiar gestures. His mind, usually preoccupied with the constant demands of his career, quieted in the face of this simple, grounding reality.
Kagura broke the silence first, her voice smooth but laced with a playful edge. "You know, Naraku," she said, looking at him with a mischievous smile, "the charity event is coming up, and I think we need to discuss your speech."
Naraku chuckled softly, a rare sound that seemed to surprise even him. "I'm afraid you're right," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You've already scheduled everything, haven't you?"
"Of course," she replied, her smile widening. "We can't let you off the hook that easily."
The playful exchange continued, and Naraku felt a warmth in his chest. It wasn't the kind of warmth he felt after sealing a major deal or achieving a milestone—it was something far more profound. Something that didn't require spreadsheets or contracts. It was the warmth of connection. Of being known, of being loved. He realized then, that this, this was the true success. This was the legacy he was building—not in the corporate world, but in the lives of those sitting at this table.
As dinner drew to a close, Naraku looked at his family, at the faces he cherished most. Kagura, with her quiet strength. Kagome, with her burgeoning intellect. Shippo, with his boundless joy. They were the reason he had worked so hard, the reason he had made all the sacrifices. And now, in this fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of it all—the weight of love, of connection, and of presence.
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice low but full of emotion, as he looked around the table. "Thank you all for being here."
Kagura smiled at him, her eyes full of understanding, while Kagome and Shippo both looked at him curiously, sensing the gravity of his words.