Kaede absent-mindedly prodded the baby's cheek with a light fingertip. Then his nose. Then the soft little belly that rose and fell with every little breath.
"You're so soft," she murmured to herself, a small, startled laugh spilling out.
Shotaro rotated toward her hand with slow threat, then closed his toothless gums around her index finger. It wasn't painful—not quite—but it was hard enough to make a point.
"Hell!" Kaede screamed, pulling her hand back and frowning at the baby on her lap. "You little bastard."
Shotaro opened his eyes at her, unrelenting as always. His lips glistened where he'd chewed the knuckle like a teething beast, and his red-rimmed eyes glowed with that odd, unnatural spark she was learning to associate with him—the one that suggested he was something more than a baby. Or, at least, a baby with notions.
He poked her abruptly, a fat little finger gesturing at the laminated tag clipped to her coat pocket—the participant ID tag for the Hokkaido Women's Invitational Chess Tournament, still stiff from airport print laminate, still shining with its glossy sheen.
"Gao."
Kaede looked at him.
"What, this?" She tugged it from her jacket and waved it in front of his line of sight. "That's my tournament ID. That means I'm in. In chess. You know… war of the big brains."
Shotaro's eyes didn't even blink, just tracked the badge with unwavering focus—not like a baby tracking movement, but like someone reading, digesting. The awkward silence continued just long enough for Kaede to get restless in her seat.
"Hi, I'm Kaede Mazino," she insisted, suddenly defensive, as if the baby had asked her about her credentials. "Grandmaster. Five-time national champion. And yeah, I went all the way to snowy Hokkaido very pregnant just to win this stupid thing, so no pressure whatsoever."
Shotaro poked the badge again, as if weighing whether or not to eat it.
Kaede sighed again, harder this time, and let the back of her head bump gently against the chill train window. The chill crept into her hood and up through her skull, nipping hard enough to make her flinch but not hard enough to shock her awake from this dreamlike state. She turned to look down at the baby sleeping across her lap—silver-haired, red-eyed, superior as ever.
"You're not even going to pretend to be impressed, huh?"
Shotaro tilted his head, his cheeks faintly puffed with amusement, and let out a soft snort through his nose.
"Pouyo."
It wasn't even a word. And somehow, it was condescending.
She glared sidelong at him, her lips twitching, not sure if she wanted to flick his forehead or laugh.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, shifting her hips to get more comfortable. Her own back ached and Hiroki had resumed doing somersaults inside her again. The baby in her arms caught up to the movement and stiffened for an instant—long enough to meet eyes, blink once, and resume whatever internal monologue babies engaged in. "I still have, like, forever until my stop," she went on repeating, glancing at the electronic station board above the door. "May as well use the time."
She rubbed her nose bridge with her knuckle and exhaled over her teeth. And then she braced her shoulders as if about to go on stage to deliver a lecture and cleared her throat.
"So, chess."
Shotaro blinked.
"I mean, it's the only thing that keeps my brain from eating itself." You got eight per side, sixteen total, and all of them are like little stories. Pawns? They are like grunts. Dumb. Disposable. But if they can be a part of the enemy group on the other side of the board, they are anything. Rooks are like tanks; they go only in straight directions. Bishops are like snipers, always at an angle. Knights are foxes—you'll never expect them unless you're thinking two moves ahead already. Queens?" She smiled.
"Queens are everything."
Shotaro didn't move. Stared, listening instead.
Taking courage, Kaede jumped right in.
"There's blitz format, rapid, and classical. Online or over-the-board ELO ratings—don't even get me started. I'm 3455, which I'm sure is absurd, but anyway, people play it cool as if a woman at the top of that list is surprising."
Her voice rose for an instant, then relaxed.
"And then there are openings: Sicilian Defense, Queen's Gambit, and King's Indian. God, how I adore the Najdorf variation. Uncouth but elegant. And endgames? That is the poetry of it. Everyone struts his thing in the middle game, but true masters? We live for the end."
Her voice had lost its strain, almost reverent. She felt her own pulse dropping in step with the clatter of train wheels along rail. The far-off rumble of passengers mingled with the steady sound of her breathing as she leaned in closer to the child on her lap, who never took his eyes away, though his mouth had started idly chewing on his own fist like a critical reviewer. The train had come into that same quietness only experienced on long trips—when the noise faded into murmurs, baggage remained stationary, and bodies surrendered to the motion of the rails. Soft, pale light filtered through windows now, sending misty halos onto metal poles and the faces of people. Kaede buckled back into her seat, rolling her shoulders against the plastic, and rearranged the baby on her lap.
Shotaro was denser than he appeared—tightly compact, every bit of meanness concentrated in bulk.
But in this instant, he was motionless. Still. Nigh on contemplative.
Her hands rested lightly over her belly, sensing the gentle but clear pressure of Hiroki in there, as if he too was listening.
Kaede's voice fell to a near-awe. "I believe the world is an enormous chessboard," she whispered, no longer looking at Shotaro but out the window, where frost hung on the sides of the glass like lacy scars. "We're all set by God so that we all have our job. Pawns. Bishops. Kings. Queens. I am, you are, this child that I carry. We all have our place."
She stopped to moisten her lips, pushing a dark strand of hair back behind her ear with a familiar motion. Her eyes darted down to him. He hadn't budged. He simply blinked, his eyes slow and wide, as if listening to her with some deeper aspect of his baby brain.
"Some jobs are weak," she told him. "Some are masters. I don't believe we should despise our fortunes, however. God is omniscient. He reads all combinations, all conclusions, and places us where we're at for a purpose."
She lowered her brows, just a tiny bit. "Struggling against that… it causes issues. And power?" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Power is really… a curse."
There was a silence between them. Shotaro shifted restlessly, clearly thinking—or gnawing on it—but then he glanced up at her and gave a questioning "Gwah?" that came with a small frown and an eyebrow-raising, as in, Lady, why are you lecturing me on life? I'm a little baby.
Kaede smiled, the corner of her mouth curving as she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, sorry, am I boring you?" She said. She then gave him a playful bonk on the head with two fingers. "That was me giving wisdom to the young one."
Shotaro jumped up, slapping the top of his head as if he had been killed. His ruby-colored eyes blazed with histrionic betrayal, as if Kaede had just denied him a kingdom rather than a light tap on the forehead.
Oh, come on," she giggled, rolling her eyes. "I didn't hit you that hard.
She eased back into the bend of the train seat with a sigh, the pain in her lower back seeping into relief a bit with the support. The baby—no, the cryptid—lay against her belly like an inflated beanbag with legs, all judgment and suspicion and warmth. The snow-covered landscape slid by outside like a painting on fast-forward, and the gentle thrum of the train vibrated into her bones like a lullaby.
She spoke softly to no one in general—save perhaps for the child on her lap. "One day, you'll understand what I'm talking about. Even if you're… whatever you are."
"Gwah," Shotaro growled.
And then he hit her.
With toddler awkwardness and with not a single warning sign, he flailed his little fist and slapped her smack across the chest—exactly where the nerves were already heightened to begin with, inflamed and tender from pregnancy's many shocks.
"AHHH—!" Kaede screamed in raw, shocked agony, her entire body arching as the blow connected. A few of the other passengers started, a backpack hit the floor, and one person halfway through a podcast just gradually turned up his volume in disbelief.
She glared at him, panting. "You dumb little—"
But Shotaro wasn't hearing it. He was staring.
At his hand.
Then at her.
Then at his hand again.
Something sat on it. Small. Warm. Gooey. Baffling. His face contorted not in revulsion, but curiosity.
Kaede's eyes grew wide. "Don't."
Shotaro, of course, tasted it.
There was a silence.
His eyes widened.
She knew what was occurring even before he glanced back at her chest with the dawning realization of a baby caveman stumbling upon fire.
"No," she breathed.
He blinked. The numbers were number-ing. her breast = milk source.
Don't even consider it. " she spat, poking one finger into his forehead as his arms started to rise.
"Gao."
"NOPE." She lifted him up by the armpits like some kind of voodoo plushie and held him eye level. "I am not your milk stop. This isn't a buffet. I don't care which one of your ancient chaos gods dwells in your head, you're not getting anything out of me."
Shotaro blinked.
Looked politely insulted.
No," she said abruptly. "Absolutely not."
Shotaro extended a hand to her once more, thoughtful, deliberate.
She scooped him up around the armpits and held him aloft like a witched-out toddler trophy.
"Listen here, weird little baby. I don't care what kind of mystic information just uploaded into your baby brain, this is not an all-you-can-eat buffet."
He glared, wiggled once, and let out a slow, very unimpressed "Gao.
Kaede set him back in her lap but kept a hand very firmly on his head this time.
"Don't even consider trying to nurse from a stranger on a commuter train," she growled, her voice strained. "I will have you arrested for harrasment."
Shotaro complained, clearly displeased that he had been prevented from testing his hypothesis.
Kaede closed her eyes, breathed slowly, and relaxed back.
"God," she whispered. "I wish that tournament would begin already. I need to be around grown-ups once more."
Kaede settled back into her chair once more, idly massaging the tender area where Shotaro slapped her like a whiny lawyer brat demanding dinner. She glared flatly at him as he resettled on her lap, self-satisfied in that way only an evil infant could manage. But when she spoke, her tone was softer—teasing, even sentimental.
"God," she sighed, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "You're really reminding me of Kanoko. She was just as eager to drink my breastmilk. Total leech, that girl."
Shotaro blinked slowly. "Gao."
"Oh, right. 'Who's Kanoko?'" she said, mimicking his baby noise with a grin, then immediately facepalmed. "She's my five-year-old daughter. Duh."
And then it happened.
Shotaro froze.
Mid-blink.
His spine stiffened. His limbs contracted like a toy that had just wound its spring. The background thrum of the train seemed to disappear beneath the chugging, metaphorical click of his baby brain getting into gear.
Kaede = 21
Kanoko = 5
21 – 5 = 16
Her husband… is 31
31 – 5 = 26
His small mouth dropped open. Wide. Toothless. Appalled.
Kaede glanced down at him, squinting. "What?" she asked, brow raised. "Why do you look like you just learned a spoiler?"
Shotaro did not stir. He gazed directly at her face, and then at her stomach, and then into a space somewhere beyond the train doors as if attempting to grasp the black arithmetic of the world. His red eyes refused to blink. He resembled the protagonist of a film noir who had just learned the dame was his aunt, too.
His hands crept up to his head.
One was positioned on his forehead.
The other to his soul.
Kaede's eyes furrowed at last, catching the strange vibe he was emanating. "Wait… are you doing some kind of math?"
Shotaro whirled around to her with the expression of a baby who had witnessed horrors.
There was a beat of silence between them.
And Kaede, seeing the cogs whirling in his head, blinked in surprise. "Oh my god," she said, covering her mouth. "You just did math."
Shotaro remained slumped against her stomach, his eyes wide and glassy as if he'd had a glimpse of a list of every moral lapse in the room and just realized he was on it. His hands stayed loose at his sides. The train rocked beneath them, sending ripples in the lights above. Through the windows, snow-covered trees whizzed by, unfazed by the crisis of existence in row five, seat two.
Kaede watched him with a brow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. "You good?" she asked. "Need a baby aspirin? A nap? A therapist?"
Shotaro's eyes twitched. His mouth opened slowly—like a tomb door being pried ajar—and then he babbled something in a low, strangely reverent "Gwahh… hanssen…"
The train had become silent. The crowd had thinned a little as it traveled deeper into the Hokkaido countryside, the ceiling lights humming softly. Kaede gazed at the reflection in the window — a weary young woman with dark eyes that seemed older than her twenty-one years. The faint shadow of her badge still dangled from her coat, "Kaede Mazino – Grandmaster," glinting as the train rocked.
Shotaro was sitting quietly in her lap, uncharacteristically motionless for once, blinking up at her with that unnerving, almost-too-intelligent gaze. And Kaede… she simply began to speak. Not with theatrics. Not with embarrassment. Just with the tired cadence of one who's finally dropped the act of having forgotten.
"It was 2003. I was sixteen," she said, voice low enough not to carry past their seat. "The girl with the school uniform and the portable chess board. Top of my class. Never talked much. The teachers liked me, but they couldn't help me."
She stared out the window once more, squinting as her breath misted the glass. "Home wasn't really home. My mom was a bookworm, not a people person. My dad. wasn't present. So I played chess. Played until the squares on the board were the only place I could be real."
Her hand absently smoothed the curve of her belly as she spoke.
"And then… came Ichiro Mazino." Her tone didn't waver, but something in her brow pulled tight. "Ten years older. Yakuza since age sixteen. Son of an even bigger big boss in Musashi no Yamato. I met him outside a library, of all places — he was yelling at a vending machine."
She laughed a dry laugh. "Complete idiot. The sort that doesn't believe in rules. I said to him, life is a chessboard. Everything has a place. He said that was why people like me always lose — because we accept the way the pieces are set.
She shook her head. "It didn't have to matter. He was bad, boisterous, never graduated. But I saw him anyway. Sitting behind him on that goofy motorcycle like it made me bulletproof. Going over to visit him at his apartment, playing chess on the floor with his broken chess set."
Her eyes drifted to Shotaro, who tilted his head slightly, still listening.
"I thought I was in control. That I was deciding to love someone who didn't fit the bill because I was smarter. Wiser." Her voice softened. "But I wasn't. I was just a sad little girl who needed someone to pay attention to her. And he did."
A long pause.
Kaede's fists clenched in the coat hugged over her knees. "When I got pregnant with Kanoko… everything went to pieces. The school expelled me. His name was in all the tabloids for weeks. 'Yakuza heir taints high school prodigy.' The city would not shut up about it. No one talked to me like a kid anymore. Suddenly I was this… scandal."
She blinked slowly, steadying her breathing.
I married him the next year. Because what else was I gonna do? I kept telling myself it was fate. That I was just one of the pawns God moved destined
Shotaro froze utterly. His silver head once more lay lightly on Kaede's arm, the keenness in his blood-red eyes briefly softened. The train rocked softly beneath them, rhythmic and soothing, sending a soothing beat into the car's bones. Warm air whispered through the vents above. Outside, blizzard haze and steel.
Kaede, sitting and still observing the changing light through the window, spoke not as a person delivering a speech — but as a person softly thinking out loud.
"I don't get Kanoko," she explained, her words strained and rapid, as if racing to catch up with herself. "Or Hiroki, or… even Ichiro, occasionally."
She looked down, fingers wrapped loosely around her coat buttons.
Perhaps Ichiro's part was always the bishop," she whispered. "He moved in diagonals. Off-kilter. Far away. He attempted to atone for the sin. Accepted full blame, finally. Perhaps that was his destiny."
She gazed down at the small boy crushed against her side, his face unreadable.
"But you, Mugiwara Shotaro?" she whispered softly. "What will your role be?
There was something soft in her question, not hopeful per se — more curiosity contained in caution. She looked at his tiny face. "A king? A knight? Pawn? Rook? Bishop again, perhaps?"
Shotaro's gaze darted to her face.
And then the babbling started.
"GWAH GWAH GYE GYE GAO!" he shouted, arms waving with utter baby conviction.
Kaede blinked, then laughed, shaking her head. "I bet—'I am not angry with you people because I know you're crazy. That's why, I will construct a hospital. for crazy Japanese people.'"
Shotaro guffawed and slapped his hand onto her coat as if he were stamping the speech with approval.
Kaede raised an eyebrow. "What are you, Dr. Omar now?"
The baby let out a thoughtful "pouyo," very unhelpful.
Kaede leaned back again, a little smirk dancing on her lips despite herself. "Even you get how messed up that was. That says a lot."
The lights overhead grew a little dimmer as the train slipped into another tunnel, the glass darkening to a fuzzy mirror. In its reflection, she could barely discern her own outline—young, tired, covered in so many contradictions—and the small, strange being in her lap who, somehow, continued to listen.
There was an unusual quiet to it all. Not peace. But perhaps… understanding.
The kind that doesn't come from words.
Just from sitting in silence together long enough to listen to what's behind them.
Kaede leaned the tip of her chin against the gentle top of Shotaro's silver head. His heat nestled into her chest, the way a sleepy cat curls into the top of a cushion. Despite all his odd, arrogant messiness before… he was still just a kid. Still now. Breathing steadily. Perhaps thinking. Perhaps not.
"You sure are too casual for a stranger, wild infant," she murmured with a tired smirk, running her fingers absently through his hair again — soft and fine, like silk spun by a ghost.
She paused.
Her gaze wandered to the shape of her own belly, where Hiroki moved beneath folds of fabric and tension and hope. She breathed softly, not of tears, but of the weight of everything that wasn't spoken coming behind her ribs.
"I wonder what you and my Hiroki would be like," she said, nearly to herself more than to him. "When he's born."
The idea hung there, soft and peculiar. A vision flashed behind her eyes: two boys, one impossibly solemn and peculiarly wordsome, the other hers — soft-eyed and tempestuous. Friends?Enemies? Something else entirely?
Shotaro didn't respond, naturally. Simply blinked slowly, perhaps grasping, perhaps not.
But he didn't move.
And she didn't either.
.....
The train doors hissed open, letting in a gust of winter air that bit at Kaede's face before she even registered the station name. She blinked once, then gasped.
"Crap—this is me."
She scrambled to her feet with the uncoordinated urgency of someone whose center of gravity had shifted permanently. Her coat slipped off one shoulder. Her bag tangled with the tournament folder tucked under her arm. Her boots clacked unevenly against the platform as she stepped off the train, heart pounding in her ears.
Snowflakes blew sideways in the wind. The sky overhead a dull, gray overcast, the platform largely deserted save for a dozy vending machine light and the hum of an idling taxi.
Kaede flung open the rear-seat door of the cab, slipped inside with a grunt, and settled back into the creased leather, exhaling as the warmth inside wrapped around her like a heavy blanket.
Then she sensed it.
A small adjustment. A gentle prodd on her stomach.
A breath.
Then—
"Pouyo," Shotaro groggily muttered, bewildered but obviously there.
Kaede gradually, gradually gazed down.
There he was. Still in her lap. A small, silver-haired stowaway with a smudge of milk on his face and the dim look of a baby who just realized that he may not be where he was a second before.
Her mind froze.
At least, her jaw did.
"ACCKKK—SHIT!"
She stumbled towards him so quickly the driver almost jumped in the backseat mirror. "I—I took a BABY—I stole a BABY—I didn't mean to—oh god—"
Shotaro simply blinked up at her, completely serene, like she was the one in the wrong. His little hand clutched at her scarf like he had it all mapped out.
Kaede gazed at him, wide-eyed. "You were supposed to remain on the train! That's where you LIVE. Or—WERE. I don't know anymore!"
He let out a soft burble and laid his head back against her bump.
"Oh my god. Oh my god," Kaede breathed, covering her mouth with her hand.
The taxi moved off down the curb, unaware of the moral dilemma exploding in the backseat.
Shotaro snorted in his sleep.
And Kaede, with arms laden with mischief and baby chaos, dropped her head back against the seat.
"Yep," she grumbled to herself.
...
The tournament room was heavy with quiet tension—walnut tables shone under spotlights, electronic clocks ticked out step-by-step rhythm, and onlookers sat forward on the edge of their seats. Kaede Mazino confronted her last opponent: a composed grandmaster known for endgame skill. The air was filled with the scent of pine polish, peppermint mints, and low thrum of concentration.
Kaede clamped her jaw shut and breathed in deeply. Her final move—a sacrifice of the queen—hung in the balance: checkmate or ruin. A small silver-haired figure toddled onto the scene just then.
Shotaro toddled onto the carpeted floor, grabbed the edge of her sleeve, and hoisted himself up onto the vacant side of the board. The audience gasped. The referee rushed over, scooped up the baby, and bore him off to the side of the hall— but in a minute more, the little ghost was back again, sitting down stubbornly on the edge of the board once more to stare at her.
Kaede's heart pounded, but she made no attempt to look away from her opponent.
Forward the clock ticked. Move 37: Kaede's knight fork hung over two undefended pieces. She hesitated, looking at Shotaro, who glared back like a toddler fan with misguided game plan. She willed her fingers to drop the knight. But as she took a pawn and reached to place the piece, her hand jerked—taken over by some unknown power—and pushed the rook instead, forming a self-imposed pin. Oohs and ahhs resounded.
In the corner, the referee came back with a baby chess guide—large colorful illustrations, cartoon pawns and knights—to divert him. Shotaro grasped the book, examined it intently, brow creased, riffling pages with flat fingers. He didn't seem to get much better, though: the grand squares only reinforced his conviction that chess was like Uno—get rid of your pieces to win.
Back at the board, Kaede gulped air. Move 40: her knight stationed at the middle, her queen guarding from afar, her king securely within. The hall leaned in.
But as she wrapped her hand to castle, her finger slipped—and a bishop moved aside. Her lungs constricted. Has he telekinetically used it? Opposite her, her opponent raised an eyebrow.
The child softly closed the book and gazed up at her, lips slightly open in concentration. Shotaro muttered something akin to "Gye… gao…" and the bishop clicked satisfyingly into position—straight onto a flawless attacking line.
Gasp-inducing gasps erupted. Kaede's jaw tightened. She stared at Shotaro—whose eyes sparkled.
He had played the piece for her.
Had he done so to assist… or undermine?
Move 42 came in creepy tranquility. Kaede leaned forward. Her hand rest over her knight, hesitated… and then, guided, pushed it to f5. Ideal fork. The king was dead in three.
Her opponent figured it out too late. He looked at the board, made his move, and shook her hand.
Checkmate.
The crowd exploded in applause—some stunned, others wiping away laughter and wonder from their eyes. Kaede slumped, bogged down in adrenaline and surreal triumph.
She stared down at Shotaro, who applauded awkwardly, drool running at his chin, pleased with his maneuver—even if he believed losing pieces equated to winning.
Kaede swept him up in her arms. His brow was against her shoulder.
The referee leaned the trophy beside her. She tilted it toward Shotaro in a strange salute: "We did it… I mean, you did it… mostly."
Shotaro smiled toothlessly, let out a gentle "Gao," and pulled on the trophy's ribbon as though twice-baked certain he'd won.
.
The trophy felt heavy in her hand, still warm with applause and the flash of cameras. But Kaede's jaw was clenched, her smile artificial. Her back hurt. Her pride—louder than the claps—bored beneath her skin.
She slipped from the main hall, dodging congratulatory nods and press flutters, into the chill silence of a side corridor close to the utility doors. The linoleum floor rang under her boots, and the whine of fluorescent lights hummed above like a mosquito in her ear.
Shotaro was hanging from her arm like a gym bag, one leg kicked out to the side, chewing on his own fist, absolutely satisfied with himself.
Kaede rounded the corner, froze, and spun to face him.
"Okay," she snarled through gritted teeth, dropping him to eye level. "What. The hell. Was that?"
Shotaro blinked.
Don't give me that wide-eyed innocence," she snapped, poking a finger an inch from his nose. "You pushed my hand. You forced the bishop to slide. I didn't even realize what I was doing, you little—!"
"Pouyo?" he suggested, shrugging, eyes wide and flashing.
"No! No 'pouyo'!" she breathed angrily. "You're cheating. You made me cheat.
She started pacing, carrying him under her arm like a naughty football. "Do you have any notion of what that match was about? That was the number two seed in Japan! I've been preparing for this for a year—and I would've won in any case!"
She stopped.
Flushed face.
Her tone fell, raw and bitter. "And now I don't even know if I did."
Shotaro gazed at her.
She glared back.
The corridor was now silent—only muted applause resonating behind the shut double doors of the main hall. Kaede sat on the bench, panting with adrenaline, still clutching her trophy in one hand and scowling at the chaos gremlin in her lap.
Shotaro pulled happily on the ribbon tied around the trophy, producing a satisfied little squeal as if he'd healed the economy and saved the world from hunger in one movement.
Kaede breathed out, half-closing her eyes, and settled him next to her.
"You think it's a game, don't you?" she said tiredly. Her voice had softened now, frayed around the edges. "You think if you run out of pieces first, you win. Like it's Uno."
He cocked his head at her, big-eyed.
She looked back at him. "But this isn't that kind of war, Shotaro."
He poked his nose with one chubby finger. "Gweh."
Kaede slowly blinked. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
Before Shotaro could provide another useless vowel, a guy off the street—mid-thirties, shaggy hair, takeout bag dangling from his hand—emerged from behind the corner as if he were always there.
"I think he's just hungry," he said.
Kaede sprung up with a start. "Jesus Christ!" she spat, hand over her heart. "Where the hell did you come from?"
The man blinked in surprise. "The vending machine?"
"You don't creep up on pregnant women who've just come off a high-pressure match! Are you looking to induce miscarriage?!"
He extended the bag as a gesture of peace. ".Ginger chicken?"
Kaede shooed him away with a scowl, still panting. "Leave me alone."
The man hastily retreated down the corridor, grumbling an uncomfortable "congrats" as he disappeared.
The long, narrow corridor reverberated with a wheezing squeak as the public restroom door groaned open. Fluorescent tubes hummed above, bathing the cracked tile in a wan, clinical light. The acrid smell of bleach lingered in the air, a jarring contrast to the warm, human chaos Kaede was mired in.
Shotaro struggled in her grasp, his small hands flailing awkwardly at her coat, his mouth wide and gaping like a bird fledgling's. He emitted another strangled, angry "Gwah," his dark eyes flicking towards the material of her sleeve as he attempted to gum it with desperate zeal.
Kaede let out a sharp breath, her own misting slightly in the chill air.
"So," she grumbled, cocking her head at him. Her tone was low and level, a weary drawl drenched in incredulity. "You're hungry, huh?"
He blinked at her. Innocent. Starving. Ridiculous.
"You don't even have teeth," she grumbled, arching an eyebrow. "And I don't have time to buy baby food."
Her stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from that tight knot of maternal worry, tinged with helplessness. This wasn't supposed to happen today. Not at a train station. Not in a public restroom.
"Where should I eve—"
She cut off her own thought, looked over her shoulder, then down the corridor. No one in view. No security. Just the muffled hum of vending machines and the distant echo of train announcements.
Silently, she slipped into the restroom.
The mood in here was different. This place was quieter, and strangely holy. A place for secrecy, now developing into something more. She closed the door to the stall, leaned against the wall, and sat down on the cold plastic seat.
"Okay," she breathed to herself, voice low. Her hands were already in motion—hometown habituated, methodical—as she unzipped her jacket and more slowly wrestled loose one side of her shirt. "Because you appear so pathetic," she added, though there was little actual bite to her words.
She undid her bra with practiced ease, guiding it aside before cradling Shotaro close. Her fingers brushed against the soft skin of her chest, and she inhaled slowly, grounding herself.
"Okay, Kaede," she murmured, not to the baby, but to herself. "You've breastfed before. This is just another moment. A dire situation."
She looked down at Shotaro. His small body was warm and squirming against her, his nose wrinkled as he instinctively searched for the comfort he didn't yet know.
"You can also get some criticism in before Hiroki arrives," she whispered, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. "Silver lining."
He latched on quickly—hungered and awkward. Kaede flinched, then relaxed.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead. A toilet far away flushed. A train rumbled through the station somewhere in the distance.
But here, in this small pocket of quiet, Kaede remained motionless. An arm wrapped around a child who wasn't hers, but was hers to defend nonetheless. A grudging, steadfast pillar in the turmoil.
A mother, even when she hadn't intended to be.The baby's big, peculiar eyes looked up at her—not with a hunger anymore, but with puzzlement. Red irises blinked up and down, as if he was attempting to understand the reasoning for what she was doing.
"Pouyo?" Shotaro whispered, his voice an inquiring chirp, more questioning than hungry.
Kaede stiffened. Her face twitched.
"Are you being serious right now?" she asked dryly, one hand still supporting his back, the other lingering awkwardly close to her bared chest. "You were just attempting to nibble my sleeve, and now—you're being like I'm the oddball?"
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, complaining under her breath about interdimensional babies and cosmic bad fortune.
Listen, I don't want to be doing this either, okay?" she told him, glowering at him as if she could will the understanding into him. "But you're small, you're squishy, you're starving, and I don't have time to look up what you eat, Shotaro."
He blinked slowly. Still not gripping. Still staring.
"I swear, if you could talk, I bet you'd be leaving me a Yelp review right now," she grumbled.
She moved him gently, holding his head closer. "This is what babies do. It's not hard. Breast. Mouth. Eating. Come on."
Nothing.
Kaede exhaled a gust of air through pursed lips and slowly released it. "Do you… do you not know how? Is that it? Are you just. cosmically confused? Were you born yesterday?"
His small hand came up and gently patted her collarbone.
That small, warm touch did something to her.
"…Okay," she said, her voice gentling. "That's fine. We'll take it slow."
She adjusted again, brushing a thumb lightly across his cheek. The lighting above buzzed dully, and the cold tile pressed against her side through her clothes. Still, the moment had shifted. No longer just strange or desperate—but tender, even sacred.
"You've got this," she whispered, more to him this time. "I've got you."
And finally, with a hesitant nuzzle, Shotaro figured it out.
Kaede exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh of relief escaping her lips. Her body eased. Her mind, still bristling with tension, began to settle.
"Good," she whispered. "Good job, little weirdo."
Kaede leaned back against the stall wall, jaw slack, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
"Okay—whoa. Slow down, buddy."
But Shotaro wasn't paying attention. His entire little body was bunched up against her chest, sucking down like a vacuum cleaner with no brakes. His eyes flickered, and his fingers gripped the material of her shirt in a death hold.
"I mean, I understand," she grumbled, voice tight. "First decent meal in a while, okay. But slow down. This isn't a buffet. I need these for work, you know."
She gritted back a groan, eyes rising to the ceiling as if praying that holy salvation might descend by way of flickering fluorescent light.
"This is not how I envisioned my lunch break."
Her left side already hurt, and before she could even roll him to burp or take a break, he fumbled over to the other side, mouth agape like a small engine that would not quit.
"Seriously? Both?"
Shotaro latched on with fervent desperation.
Kaede's eyebrows rose. "You're going to explode."
She tried to ease him back, but he gave a disgruntled whimper and pressed in harder.
"Okay, okay, fine—but don't blame me when you—"
A couple of minutes more, as the second breast drained and Kaede's arms protested at the unnatural pose, she sensed it. A minimal stiffening in the baby's body. His tiny arms ceased flailing. His mouth dropped open, loose. His bright red eyes glassed over.
"Wait…" she scowled. "Are you—?"
Shotaro emitted a small hurrk, hiccuped, and stiffened in her arms like an inflated plush toy.
Kaede glared at him in horror. "Oh, no no no—don't you dare pass out from milk overdose. Are you serious?!"
She gave him a gentle shake. Nothing.
Then a burp issued from him—a slow, gurgly one, long and winding and amazingly dramatic.
"…Oh."
Kaede sat there in appalled silence. One single drop of milk rolled down her side. Shotaro's mouth was agape, blissfully unconscious in post-feeding sleep.
She blinked down at him.
"You're a hungry one."
No answer. Only a full stomach, toasty limbs, and the stunned expression of a person who'd just consumed a whole wedding cake.
Kaede let out a sigh and refastened her shirt, rehooking her bra with the elegance of someone who'd done this way too often in way too many places that they shouldn't have been.
"I need a raise," she grumbled, scooping him up carefully in her arms, his little body loose but content.
And then, softer, with a flash of warmth she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge: ".And perhaps a nap."
Kaede slumped on the shut toilet seat of the ladies' restroom—a strangely antiseptic bunker hidden behind the chess tournament venue, where outside the muted whispers of strategy and ticking clocks sounded like a distant dream.
Within the stall, though, time had stood still.
Her shirt hung loosely across her chest now, reformed by defeat. Her breasts, previously taut under pressure, now dangled perceptibly lighter… deflated. Sucked dry by the small crimson-eyed demon lying across her lap like a contented leech.
She glared down at him.
"See you," she said, voice biting with exhausted anger. "You drank everything."
Shotaro didn't budge. His limbs were rigid, mouth loose, body completely motionless except for the soft, rhythmic expansion of his belly. Out cold. Saturated with milk-drunk torpor.
"You were chewing my sleeve like a rabid beast ten minutes ago, and now you appear to have lost a barroom brawl with a fuzzy blanket."
Her left hand massaged her shoulder. Her right readjusted her bra uncomfortably, winced at the lingering pain.
"These were working assets, you know?" she said, as if he could hear her. "I need them. For work. For confidence. For appearing in public without resembling someone who's been body-snatched by a granny."
Shotaro burped softly and slumped further against her.
Kaede blankly stared.
"Not even Kanoko drank that much," she muttered out loud. "And she bit. I would've preferred that to this. this milk vampire nonsense."
She nudged his cheek gently with her knuckle, as if trying to will him awake just so she could keep scolding him to his face.
Nothing.
Just that faint, sticky smear of dried milk at the corner of his mouth.
Kaede didn't move for a long moment. She just sat there—legs half-asleep, her shirt wrinkled beyond redemption, a rogue drop of milk still clinging to her collarbone. Her pride? Long gone. Swallowed, along with two full reservoirs of milk, by the floppy, overfed creature now passed out in her arms.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"You better not be ungrateful, you—you wrinkly little egg."
And at that, his eyelids flickered open for a split second, pupils unfocused but light glowing faint red around them. Then he let out a gurgling sound, like a mouthful of marbles in bubble wrap.
"Gao gwah gia gwo ni goya," he prudled with a sort of serious finality, raised one little hand weakly.
Kaede blinked.
Her eyebrows wrinkled. "Wait… what?"
But somehow, as if a translation sprouted in her bones rather than her ears, the words reached her with spine-tingling clarity:
For giving me milk, I shall guard the child you carry in your belly when he is born, with my life.
There was silence.
She looked at him.
Then let out the longest, most exhausted sigh a human being has ever produced. The kind of sigh that belonged to a woman who had breastfed a random ass baby in a chess tournament restroom while eight months pregnant.
"Right. Of course," she said, rubbing her face. "I'm bonding with a warrior baby. That makes perfect sense."
Still, she shifted her grip on him more gently now, cradling him in the crook of her arm as she slowly got to her feet. Her knees cracked. Her back protested.
Her belly, round and heavy, reminded her with each step: Hiroki's coming soon.
Kaede leaned down to touch Shotaro's head once—his absurd, soft hair clumped with sweat and milk—and then settled her jacket as well as it would go over her loose shirt.
"Just… don't vaporize anyone in the delivery room, okay?" she grumbled as she pushed open the door of the stall.
He let out a low coo in response, half-sleep but somehow peaceful.
She walked back out into the frigid hallway of the tournament facility, her strides steady despite the pandemonium that was left behind. The world was waiting for her to return with chess clocks, adversaries, and a full stomach of Hiroki.