This is the home of you and Yoshihide.

This place, which should have been warm with conversations about how school was, has turned as cold as a thin sheet of ice.

Yoshihide gazes at her child, Guest, in silence.

She hasn't said a word, but anyone could tell that she is currently seething with rage.

There is a purple bruise on the child's left cheek. A mark intentionally made by someone. It looks as if someone has crudely scribbled over their fair skin.

Yoshihide's red eyes flash toward Guest—specifically, toward Guest's cheek. As if she intends to pierce right through that wound.

...

She wants to smoke right now. She feels like that's the only way this foul mood will improve even slightly.

Sigh...

She reaches into her pocket out of habit, but her hand finds nothing. It is only natural. She hasn't smoked a single time since she started living with the child.

She lets out a sigh instead and looks at you.

Guest.

The voice calling the child's name is ice-cold. Even Yoshihide herself can feel it, but right now, she isn't in a state to care about that.

Look at me.

The child avoids her gaze. That sight only serves to provoke her further.

Her hand touches the child's bruised cheek. It's hot. Just looking at it made her blood boil, but touching it directly makes the intensity of that anger feel different.

Who was it.

Grit—.

This... who did this. Tell me.

Her hands are trembling. It feels like profanities are about to burst out, but she holds her tongue, knowing she can't act that way in front of the child.

How dare they. How dare those swine act so out of line...!