Daisuke Aotora | 2080

It was a beautiful day, if one only looked at it from far enough away, or high enough off the ground.

From the upper floors of Kurohana Tower, Shin Tokyo looked almost gentle. Sunlight spilled across the glass and steel like something carefully poured, catching on the edges of suspended skybridges and the slow-moving silhouettes of transport drones. The city never really stopped moving, but from here it could almost be mistaken for calm.

Almost.

Daisuke stood with his hands loosely at his sides, watching it all with the practiced stillness of someone who had learned early that nothing in a city like this was ever just what it looked like. His office was already awake around him—holo-displays dimmed into idle patterns, soft architectural schematics drifting like ghosts above the desk.

A good day for lunch, if he stayed on the upper levels.

Down there, though, it would be different. Down where the sun didn’t quite reach cleanly, where the towers overlapped like stacked blades and the air always smelled faintly of metal and old rain. Street level in Shin Tokyo wasn’t really “outside” so much as it was another interior—just one with worse lighting and fewer permissions.

Daisuke raised a hand over the desk. The holo-displays blinked out one by one, obedient and quiet.

Time for lunch.

The elevator chimed once.

Floor one.

It used to draw attention. Not long ago, the sight of an Aotora heir descending this far down into the lower levels of the city would have triggered immediate whispers, frantic posture adjustments, security recalibrations disguised as casual movement.

Now, the lobby staff barely reacted.

Shin Tokyo adapted quickly to what it learned to expect.

“Good afternoon, Sora,” Daisuke called out warmly as he crossed the polished lobby.

The doorman looked up from his station. “Aotora-sama,” he greeted. “Lunchtime, then?”

Daisuke smiled, faint and easy.

“Lunchtime,” he agreed.

The glass doors sealed behind him with a soft exhale. Outside, the world changed temperature.

The tower’s lower perimeter was not meant for lingering. Service corridors and delivery lanes carved narrow paths between industrial walls, and above them all the city pressed inward—too tall, too dense, too alive. Even the light felt filtered here, like it had to ask permission before reaching the ground.

Daisuke adjusted his jacket sleeve once.

Then he began walking.

The alley was as it always was.

It was tucked between two service buildings that pretended not to notice each other, half-shadowed even at midday, quiet in the way only places forgotten by design could be. The air smelled faintly of processed steam and distant street food vents cycling out of sync.

Daisuke stopped at the entrance.

He didn’t call out. He never did anymore.

That had been a mistake, the first time.

Instead, he stepped inside and lowered himself onto a stack of wooden crates as if he belonged there. As if this were simply another scheduled stop in his day, as routine as meetings or morning training.

From his bag, he pulled out two containers.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said conversationally, eyes resting on the darker corner of the alley, “you picked this place deliberately, didn’t you? It’s sheltered. Not too exposed. Close enough to the heat vents that it doesn’t get too cold at night. Certainly better than the south side.”

He waited a moment. His voice stayed light, almost amused.

Practical, really.

He opened the first container. Steam rose immediately—carefully prepared, balanced, warm. The scent was precise in the way only something made by someone who refused to take shortcuts could be. Daisuke inhaled once, satisfied.

“Good,” he murmured. “It held overnight.”

He set it on his lap and reached for the cutlery tucked neatly into the lid.

“I wasn’t sure about the adjustment to the sauce,” he added, as though continuing a conversation already in progress. “But I think it improved the texture.”

Silence answered him.

Of course.

Then he opened the second container.

This one didn’t go on his lap. He set it down gently near the crate instead, closer to the shadowed edge of the alley where the light fractured and stopped trying.

“I brought something new today,” he said conversationally to the shadows. “Since you didn’t finish what I made yesterday – which was terribly rude, if you care to know, since I cooked it just for you. But this time, I researched what your species likes.”

A faint exhale that might have been a laugh if it had carried further.

He picked up his chopsticks and began eating from his own container as if nothing about this was unusual at all.

“It would be wasteful,” he continued mildly, “to ignore dietary needs. Even for—”

He stopped himself, and reframed his words. “—for something that keeps refusing to be properly categorized.”

He paused. His voice softened, quieting slightly.

“You didn’t finish yesterday’s meal,” he said again.

Not a question, really. Moreso an observation. A disappointment he refused to call one.

Daisuke glanced toward the corner again, eyes narrowing slightly—not in irritation, but in that restrained, calculating focus of his.

“You understand that I am not going to stop bringing it,” he said.

Still calm. Still patient.

Then, softer again, almost under his breath, he added, “So you may as well come out.”

The storm had been getting worse for hours.

From the top floors of Shinryu Urban Systems, Shin Tokyo looked like it was dissolving into rain. Neon advertisements bled into blurred ribbons of color beyond the glass while distant towers disappeared behind curtains of water.

Far below, hidden beneath layers of transit rails, drone lanes, and elevated walkways, millions of people continued about their evenings. The city never stopped. Not for politics, not for disasters, and certainly not for weather.

A woman spoke from the HoloTV mounted against the office wall.

"...one of the strongest storms recorded this year. Wind speeds are expected to reach one hundred and sixteen kilometers per hour by midnight, with additional flood warnings issued for—"

Daisuke muted it with a sharp flick of his fingers. The office plunged into a heavy silence.

His presentation remained suspended above the desk. Twenty-three slides, three executive summaries. A month's worth of projections and infrastructure reports waiting for one final review before tomorrow's board meeting. He had spent weeks preparing it, and under normal circumstances he would've still been sitting there with a coffee in hand and a dozen notes open beside him.

Instead, his attention drifted back toward the windows.

The rain struck the glass hard enough to make it hum.

Idiot.

The thought wasn't directed at the board members, or even at himself. It was for his stray.

A few weeks ago, he'd found a stray animal sleeping behind the building. Half-hidden among maintenance pipes and delivery crates as though it had simply wandered into one of the wealthiest districts in Shin Tokyo and decided to stay. Most evenings it lingered somewhere nearby when he left work. Never close enough to touch. Never trusting enough to approach without caution.

But it waited.

Daisuke brought food. The animal accepted it. That was the arrangement, nothing more.

The storm rattled the windows again.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the alley several hundred floors below. He couldn't see it from here, of course. Not through the rain and darkness. Still, he found himself staring.

The alley offered little protection in weather like this: a partial overhang, a few maintenance alcoves. Nothing meant for riding out a storm that had half the city issuing warnings.

The stray was probably fine.

It was an animal. Animals survived weather every day.

That argument held for nearly ten seconds.

Then Daisuke sighed, pushed back from his desk, and stood.

Tomorrow’s presentation would survive another half hour.

His jacket came off the hook beside the office door. He paused only long enough to glance back at the unfinished display before shaking his head and stepping into the hallway.

The elevator ride felt longer than usual.

By the time Daisuke reached ground level, rain hammered against the streets with enough force to blur the surrounding buildings into hazy silhouettes. Wind howled between the towers, turning every corner into a tunnel of rushing air.

His umbrella lasted approximately three seconds before becoming decorative. Rain found its way beneath it regardless, and the wind turned it inside out before he had time to blink.

By the time he reached the alley, his suit jacket was damp through the shoulders and several strands of white hair had escaped their usual careful arrangement to cling stubbornly against his forehead.

The alley sat in near darkness between two service corridors, illuminated only by the occasional reflection of neon from the street beyond. Water streamed along the concrete in shallow rivers.

Empty.

Daisuke frowned immediately.

He stepped farther beneath the overhang and looked toward the familiar corner where the animal usually slept.

Still nothing.

Don't be ridiculous.

Animals moved around. That was generally how being an animal worked, he supposed.

Yet the disappointment settled in anyway.

"Little one?" His voice carried softly through the rain.

No response.

A moment later he whistled. The sound echoed faintly off the concrete walls, mingling with the rushing wind.

"Come out," he called. "It's freezing out here."

The rain continued drumming against the alley entrance. For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then came the faint scrape of movement. A pair of paws against wet concrete.

Daisuke's shoulders loosened before he realized they'd tightened.

There you are.

A familiar head appeared from the shadows.

Wet. Stubborn. Entirely unimpressed by the trouble he'd gone through to get here.

Relief settled somewhere beneath his ribs.

"There you are," he said, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I was beginning to think I'd have to search the entire district."

The animal remained exactly where it was, of course.

Daisuke set the umbrella aside and crouched carefully. There was little point pretending it had done much good. His suit was already soaked, and the rain continued dripping steadily from his sleeves.

He held out his arms slightly. Not demanding, just offering.

"Come inside with me."

The warm lights of the tower lobby glowed behind him, gold against steel and rain.

"It's dry. It's warm. Nobody's going to bother you. I’ve even got a little couch you can wait out the storm on."

His gaze lingered on the animal for a moment before softening.

"And before you decide to be difficult, yes, I know you survived perfectly well before I showed up." He paused. "But I came all the way down here in a storm for you."

The smile returned, smaller this time.

"Don't make me look foolish now."

From the top floors of Shinryu Urban Systems, Shin Tokyo looked like it was dissolving into rain. Neon advertisements bled into blurred ribbons of color beyond the glass while distant towers disappeared behind curtains of water.

Far below, hidden beneath layers of transit rails, drone lanes, and elevated walkways, millions of people continued about their evenings. The city never stopped. Not for politics, not for disasters, and certainly not for weather.

A woman spoke from the HoloTV mounted against the office wall.

"...one of the strongest storms recorded this year. Wind speeds are expected to reach one hundred and sixteen kilometers per hour by midnight, with additional flood warnings issued for—"

Daisuke muted it with a sharp flick of his fingers. The office plunged into a heavy silence.

His presentation remained suspended above the desk. Twenty-three slides, three executive summaries. A month's worth of projections and infrastructure reports waiting for one final review before tomorrow's board meeting. He had spent weeks preparing it, and under normal circumstances he would've still been sitting there with a coffee in hand and a dozen notes open beside him.

Instead, his attention drifted back toward the windows.

The rain struck the glass hard enough to make it hum.

Idiot.

The thought wasn't directed at the board members, or even at himself. It was for his stray.

A few weeks ago, he'd found a stray animal sleeping behind the building. Half-hidden among maintenance pipes and delivery crates as though it had simply wandered into one of the wealthiest districts in Shin Tokyo and decided to stay. Most evenings it lingered somewhere nearby when he left work. Never close enough to touch. Never trusting enough to approach without caution.

But it waited.

Daisuke brought food. The animal accepted it. That was the arrangement, nothing more.

The storm rattled the windows again.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the alley several hundred floors below. He couldn't see it from here, of course. Not through the rain and darkness. Still, he found himself staring.

The alley offered little protection in weather like this: a partial overhang, a few maintenance alcoves. Nothing meant for riding out a storm that had half the city issuing warnings.

Daisuke had tried. He had tried to bring the stray in, to coax it into the warmth of his office and convince it that it would be safe.

Daisuke had failed.

Daisuke never failed.

The elevator chimed softly as it deposited Daisuke back onto the first floor.

His hair was still damp from the rain. Several stubborn strands had escaped their careful arrangement and now hung against his forehead, a consequence of spending the better part of twenty minutes crouched in a flooded alley attempting to negotiate with an animal that had absolutely no interest in cooperating.

The negotiation had not gone well.

Daisuke stepped into the lobby.

A few weeks ago, this would have been unusual enough to attract attention. Someone like him wasn't meant to be seen on the street level of Shin Tokyo. The Aotora heir typically arrived through private entrances twenty stories up, executive elevators kept separate from the general population, and skybridges suspended high above the city.

Now, however, the lobby staff barely looked surprised.

That was perhaps the most concerning part.

Nearly every afternoon for the last several weeks, Daisuke had appeared around lunchtime, left through the service entrance, and returned thirty minutes later with varying amounts of dirt on his shoes and an increasingly frustrated expression.

Nobody had asked questions. Professionals rarely did.

Unfortunately, professionals still possessed eyes.

The cleaning staff had taken to sweeping the alley in the mornings. One of the doormen, Sora, had even placed a crate beneath the overhang outside after noticing Daisuke's preferred spot for waiting.

The entire building had quietly accepted the existence of Daisuke's mysterious alley problem.

As he crossed the lobby, Sora straightened immediately. Then he hesitated. "Aotora-sama."

Daisuke already knew that tone. It was the tone people used when they were attempting to determine whether their employer had suffered some sort of mental break.

"Yes?"

Sora glanced toward the rain-soaked glass doors. "You are not planning to go back outside again, are you?"

Daisuke followed the look.

The storm had only gotten worse.

"No."

Sora visibly relaxed.

Then Daisuke continued walking toward him. "I do need you to do something for me, however."

The relief vanished. Daisuke ignored it.

"If you hear scratching at the doors tonight, open them."

Silence. Sora blinked. Daisuke waited.

Too late to back out now.

Finally, Sora repeated carefully, "...Scratching, Aotora-sama?"

"Yes."

"At the front doors?"

"Preferably."

A longer silence followed.

Daisuke could practically watch the confusion assembling itself behind the man's eyes.

Finally, Sora ventured carefully, "The little stray animal?"

"The stray animal."

Sora nodded once. Then twice. Very slowly, as if he thought he may be hearing things.

Daisuke almost took pity on him.

"Don't scare it,” he said. “It doesn't trust people."

Sora's expression suggested this was not surprising. "I gathered that."

"It barely trusts me."

Sora wisely chose not to point out that this was hardly reassuring.

Daisuke continued, "If it comes to the doors, let it inside. Quietly. Don't approach it. Don't attempt conversation. Don't stare at it. Pretend you haven't seen anything at all."

The instructions sounded increasingly absurd the longer he spoke. Judging by Sora's expression, he had noticed this as well.

After a moment, Sora asked, "And if it heads toward the interior?"

Daisuke considered that. The possibility sent a small, unreasonable flicker of hope through him.

"Help it into the elevator."

Sora stared. "The elevator."

"Yes."

"The animal."

"Yes, Sora."

Another pause.

Sora sighed. "Which floor, Aotora-sama?"

"My office."

For a moment neither of them spoke. Rain battered the glass beyond the lobby. Somewhere behind the reception desk, a woman abruptly became very interested in her work.

Finally, Sora nodded. "I'll make sure the animal reaches your office safely, Aotora-sama."

The words were perfectly respectful. The expression accompanying them suggested he intended to spend the rest of the evening wondering what exactly had happened to his employer.

Daisuke sighed. "Don't look at me like that."

"I wasn't looking at you any particular way," Sora countered.

"You were."

A beat passed. Then, despite himself, Daisuke smiled.

"Just call my assistant if it shows up."

.