𝑅𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝑒 [ ObaMitsu fanfic/ R-(MA)] Kimetsu No Yaiba

Chapter 67 - To our loving Daughter

Obanai stepped into his room, the silence hitting him harder than he expected. Without her laughter, her warmth, the space felt hollow. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands running through his hair. His gaze wandered to the spot where she'd lain just hours before, the sheets still faintly scented with her floral shampoo.

All he could think about was a life without her—a thought that clawed at his heart. Visions of the nightmares that plagued him rose to the surface, unbidden. Her lifeless body, her bright eyes dull, her voice silenced forever. It was a recurring torment that left him drenched in sweat and gasping for breath at night.

He gritted his teeth, trying to shake the thought away. "No," he whispered to himself. "She's alive. She's here. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Without thinking, his hand slipped beneath his yukata, retrieving the small, concealed firearm he always carried. He turned it over in his hands, the weight of it grounding him as he examined every detail. Slowly, he released the magazine, letting the bullets slide into his palm before setting them aside.

He stared at the empty weapon for a long moment before letting out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping. Carefully, he tucked the gun into his duffle bag and zipped it shut. He couldn't let himself spiral—not now.

"I miss you," he murmured, his voice barely audible in the stillness. His mind raced, searching for a way to see her, to feel her presence even for a moment. Then, like a flash, an idea struck him.

_____

The kitchen was a whirlwind of motion and sound. Pans clattered, knives chopped rhythmically, and the fragrant aroma of fresh fish and seasoned rice filled the air. Hiroshi, stood at the center of it all, commanding the bustling crew.

Beside him, Mitsuri worked diligently, her pink hair tied back under a chef's hat. She carefully shaped pieces of sushi under her father's watchful eye, her hands precise and nimble. On the other side of the kitchen, her brother Daichi filleted a large fish with practiced ease, his movements efficient and confident.

"Mitsuri, don't press too hard on the rice," Hiroshi instructed, glancing at her station. "You'll ruin the texture."

"Yes sir," Mitsuri chirped, her bright smile never faltering despite the intensity of the kitchen's pace.

One of the sous chefs called out from across the room, breaking Hiroshi's concentration. "Chef! You have a visitor!"

Hiroshi looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing. Visitors were rare during work hours, and he didn't appreciate interruptions in his kitchen. Mitsuri, however, turned instinctively toward the door, her face lighting up.

"Obanai!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying over the din of the kitchen.

Her smile was radiant, but before she could take a step, Hiroshi's stern voice cut through the air. "Mitsuri, focus."

Her movements stilled immediately, though her expression softened into a shy grin. "Yes sir."

Hiroshi turned his attention to the man standing at the edge of the kitchen. Obanai stood there with his usual quiet intensity, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on Hiroshi. He dipped his head respectfully, his voice steady as he addressed him.

"Good afternoon, sir. I hope I'm not intruding."

Hiroshi approached him, his sharp gaze appraising. "Everything all right? Do you need something?"

Obanai hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I wanted to help out."

Hiroshi's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Help? This isn't exactly a place for casual visitors, you know."