"After Japan stabilized, the organization wasn't disbanded. Instead, the Fujiwara family saw an opportunity to use it and expand their power into a global enterprise."
"They took control of Alan Institute, using it to recruit brilliant minds—geniuses held back by obstacles like poverty—and brought them into the fold."
"By leveraging the Alan Institute, we gain access to the world's finest human resources. This is how our family, the Fujiwara family power rise to global prominence,"
"These days, the Alan Institute operates as a benevolent front, scouting struggling talents and offering them 'free support.' That's how we found Yor… and hired her for our 'Security Service.'" Akifumi Ye smirked.
'Security Service? Yeah, right.'
Mugiho didn't need the full story to guess Yor's real job.
After countless sparring sessions—and witnessing her monstrous strength firsthand—he knew exactly what she was.
"Where is this 'Security Service' you're talking about? Why have I never heard of them?"
"Ah, Fujiwara family established it alongside the Alan Institute. Originally, it was meant to maintain order in a postwar society where the military was being dismantled. Now, the organization works closely with the Japanese government."
"Think of them as a secret service, but more discreet. They simply assist in keeping Japan safe these days. You might have even passed their agents on the street without realizing it."
Akifumi fell silent.
Surprise barely registered in Mugiho's mind—what struck him harder was the crushing weight of realization.
'Isn't that just what DA is!?' he screamed inwardly.
He had always assumed his life would be simple: just a normal creator, creating stories until retirement. But his parents had dropped a bombshell, shattering that illusion.
If Mugiho had never watched Lycoris Recoil, he might have been grateful—even excited.
But the fragments of memory he retained from the anime twisted his gut.
The Alan Institute's obsession with "geniuses" bordered on fanaticism.
It wasn't that he hated their mission—on paper, aiding those in need sounded noble.
But their blind reverence for any genius, regardless of morality, made him want to punch his ancestors in the face.
'At least support geniuses with good morals! If the second coming of Hitler showed up, would you still fund him?!' he screamed internally.
And the Alan Institute wasn't his only concern.
'What about Garden? With the Alan Institute's lax standards, the chances of other shady organizations lurking in the shadows are way too high.'
Just at that thought Mugiho heard a gentle voice behind him.
"Alright, let's take a little break, dear," Akifumi Nakui announced as she stepped inside.
Mugiho turned at the sound of his mother's voice and saw her carrying a tray of tea with a few snacks neatly arranged, and a creamer on the side.
Trailing behind her—like a nervous shadow was Yor.
"Nakui-sama, please… at least let me carry the tray!" Yor pleaded.
She felt a little guilty letting Mugiho's mother handle everything on her own.
Just now, in the kitchen, Yor had tried to help—but the result? She'd nearly burned the place down, shattered two teacups, and almost mixed up the salt and sugar.
Placing the tray on the table, Nakui turned to Yor with a gentle smile. "It's perfectly fine. Yor, but could you grab some forks from the kitchen?"
"Yes! Just a moment!" Yor chirped before darting off again.
Nakui watched her go, her heart softening.
Yor's clumsiness was part of her charm, she remembered this woman—once so cold, so focused only on her job and little brother back in the facility.
But now, after nearly a year in Japan, Yor had blossomed. She was more expressive, more alive than ever before.
Then Nakui's gaze slid to her son, and her eyes narrowed.
'Did my son do something to Yor too?'
She recalled a younger Mugiho—sweet, awkward, an otaku who'd throw himself into cosplay, embodying every anime character he adored.
Those photos still lived in a secret album, tucked away like a cherished treasure. One day, she would share them with her daughter-in-law and say, "This is Mugiho-chan when he was still young."
If Mugiho ever found out what his mother was thinking, he'd probably tear through the apartement to find them—then burn them in a heartbeat, erasing what he now called his "dark history."
But her son had grown so much since then. He'd even entered the creative industry and flourished there.
Though she hadn't seen him in a while, she followed his every move closely.
She bought every novel he wrote, every manga he illustrated, even the limited-edition Blu-ray box set of Madoka Magica's anime adaptation. She was proud of him—immensely so. But...
'Since when did my son turn into such a playboy?' Nakui sighed, then shot a pointed look at her husband, who was sipping his tea innocently.
"This has to be his genetic influence. If he'd inherited more of my genes, this never would've happened."
Akifumi Ye felt his wife's glare boring into his skull and shifted uncomfortably. "W-what's wrong, dear?"
"Hmph. Nothing. Why don't you think about it yourself?" Nakui plopped down beside him, deliberately ignoring him.
Akifumi blinked in confusion, but one thing was certain—tonight, he'd probably be sleeping on the couch.
He set his tea down with a quiet sigh, then softened his voice, "Hey... dear your shoulders look stiff again. Want a massage after tea?"
Nakui flinched slightly, gripping her cup tighter.
"I'm fine," she muttered, glancing sideways at their son sitting quietly at the table.
Kenji smiled. "Don't force yourself. I don't mind. You've been working hard lately."
Her cheeks reddened, and she quickly hid her face behind her cup.
"I said I'm fine... D-don't offer weird things like that in front of Mugiho..."
Akifumi Ye chuckled. "What's weird about wanting to take care of my wife?"
Nakui puffed out her cheeks, glancing at their son who was silently watching.
"...After tea... maybe," she finally mumbled, barely above a whisper.
"Yes! Leave it to me!" Akifumi said a little too eagerly.
Mugiho, watching his father shamelessly suck up to his mother, twitched his lips. The tea in his mouth suddenly tasted bitter.
'Why are you two flirting right in front of your son!?'
If either Eriri or Mahiru were here, he could've handled it. But sitting across from his parents while they exchanged sickeningly sweet words? He could only sigh in defeat.
"Mugiho-sama."
A voice materialized behind him, making him choke on his tea. Even his parents jumped at Yor's sudden appearance.
"Y-Yor! Since when were you in the room?" Mugiho coughed.
"Hmm? I just walked in. Is something wrong?" Yor tilted her head, completely oblivious.
"...No. Nothing."
'As expected of the Thorn Princess…' Mugiho thought.
Even after nearly a year of knowing her, her stealth still caught him off guard. Not a single footstep. Not a whisper of movement. Just… poof—there she was.
"Nakui-sama, here's a fork." Yor placed a pastry fork on the table with quiet efficiency.
"Yes!" Nakui clasped her hands together, beaming. "Now sit down, Yor—your tea is getting cold."
"N-No!" Yor waved her arms in protest. "It's fine, Nakui-sama! I'll just stand here and guard the door."
Nakui's shoulders slumped, her expression falling as if struck by an invisible blow.
"Do you… not like my tea?" she asked, her voice trembling, eyes glistening with crocodiles tears.
"N-No! It's not like that!"
"It's alright, Yor… I suppose I'll just throw away this tea I made especially for you…"
"Guh—!" Yor clutched her chest, feeling an imaginary dagger twist in her heart.
The longer she stared at Mugiho mother's sad face, the more it reminded her of her little brother's puppy-dog eyes from years ago.
"Just give up, Yor-san," Mugiho interjected. "No one can wins against mom."
"...Okay." Yor then sat into the seat beside Mugiho and lifted the teacup.
"Itadakimasu." She took a careful sip—and her eyes shot wide.
"Mmmph! This tea is delicious!"
"I'm so glad you like the tea!" Nakui clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "This is a special souvenir from China—it's called Mei Black Tea."
"Eh?" Yor froze at the mention of the brand, her grip tightening slightly on the cup. "Isn't this too expensive? Are you sure it's okay to give me something like this?"
Nakui waved a dismissive hand, her smile warm and reassuring. "Don't worry about the price. Just enjoy it, Yor."
"…Thank you so much, Nakui-sama."
Yor gave a gentle, slightly bashful smile, cradling her teacup as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
For most of her life, people had only seen her as a tool—a weapon meant for silent, bloody work.
But here, in this quiet, sunlit living room talking with Mugiho, his family, and the people who surrounded him... she felt something she hadn't touched since her parents were alive.
A gentle warmth. A sense of belonging.
Nakui watched Yor's softened expression, and a sharp tug pulled at her chest—like an arrow striking true.
'Kyaaa! What is this sweet creature?! I want to make her my daughter so badly!!' she screamed inwardly, barely holding back the giddy grin threatening to break through her composed facade.
"You know, Yor-san," Mugiho said gently, offering her the creamer with a smile, "I've heard a splash of milk makes it even better. Here—try it."
"Thank you, Mugiho-kun…" Yor said shyly, her usual stern, guarded expression melting into something gentle and warm.
Slowly, she carefully pouring the creamer into her cup with delicate hands—as if afraid to ruin the tea's purity.
From across the table, Akifumi couple watched this scene unfold, their jaw slowly dropping in disbelief.
'Wait… Mugiho… don't tell me you've already put your hand on Yor too?!'