The day Akira's world came crashing down had started off like any other. She arrived at the CCG building in the 1st Ward, headed to the office she shared with the S3 Squad and started her work for the day. Researching ghoul attacks, collaborating witness testimony… it was all going smoothly until an investigator came to her, informing her that Arima wanted to see her.
She went to his office, unsuspecting of what would happen in the next few minutes. Arima didn't waste time beating around the bush. There was only a moment's pause before he bluntly broke the news of her father's death to her and asked if she would be going for his memorial service.
Akira froze then, sure she must have heard the words wrong. Not her father, never her father— he was too good an investigator, he wouldn't let that happen, he wouldn't die—
"No." She didn't even realise she had spoken until Arima stopped mid-sentence. "I don't require a leave. I will not be going."
Dad would— he would want her to work. He wouldn't want her to grieve when she could be spending that time removing more ghouls—trash—off the streets. Like the ones that killed him.
Even as she attempted to mask her pain, her heart ached fiercely, fit to burst.
Dad had left her. Just like Mum, he...
"Excuse me, Arima," she managed to say, voice somehow still even, and without waiting for a dismissal, she all but fled from the room.
Her feet took her to the washroom, where she locked herself in one of the stalls and leaned on the door. All she could see was her father, reading the newspaper, braiding her hair, going shopping with her—
And she would never see him again.
Akira clung to the images appearing in her mind, desperate for them not to fade away. Arms wrapped around herself, she felt like a little girl all over again, confused and hurting and wondering, when will Mummy come home?
In the privacy of the stall, she shed her tears—undignified and messy, but she was alone and she didn't have to care what anybody would think of her.
At last, when she was spent, she gathered what composure she could and went to wash her face.
The cold water was an anchor, steadying her and bringing clarity to her thoughts. Slowly, from the remnants of her grief, a new fire was born.
Why hadn't her father's subordinate been by his side, fighting alongside him? Koutarou Amon was a model investigator, so what the hell had he been doing while her father engaged with those ghouls?
Trying to overcome the intense pain of sorrow, Akira let it be replaced by the steady anger that was growing in her, aimed at one target.
She had no clue that at the same time, in the 20th Ward, the man she was starting to hate was hurting just as badly as her, tearing himself apart over his failure.
