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Mob stood at the entrance of the office, backpack in hand, fidgeting with the strap. It was late — the sun had dipped below the buildings hours ago — and he wasn’t supposed to be here.
But his feet had carried him automatically, like they always did when he didn’t know where else to go.
The door swung open before he could even knock.
“Mob!” Reigen’s voice was half-surprised, half-scolding. “It’s late! You should be home studying for your exams, not… standing around looking like a lost puppy.”
Mob looked down at his shoes. “Sorry, Master… I just—”
He hesitated.
“…I didn’t want to be alone.”
Reigen’s face softened immediately. In one smooth motion, he reached out and ruffled Mob’s hair — messy and static-filled from the chilly night air.
“You dummy,” Reigen said, steering him inside with a hand on his shoulder. “You can always come here. Office’s open 24/7 for my number one student. Now, sit down. I’ll make you some instant ramen. Gourmet treatment.”
Mob smiled — small, barely there — but real.
While Reigen fussed around in the tiny kitchenette, Mob sat on the beaten-up couch, swinging his legs idly.
The office smelled faintly of old paper, air freshener, and something lemony — the smell that always reminded him of safe.
“Had a rough day, huh?” Reigen asked casually as he poured hot water into the styrofoam cup.
Mob nodded. “School’s been… stressful. And Ritsu’s busy with his club, so I didn’t want to bother him.”
Reigen placed the ramen in front of him with a proud flourish, like he was serving a five-star meal. “Well, you’re not bothering me. Spirits and Such Consultation Office: Exorcisms, Counseling, and Free Meals for Stressed-out Middle Schoolers.”
Mob laughed, a little breathy sound that made Reigen’s heart squeeze. He sat down next to him, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he leaned back.
“You know,” Reigen said, tilting his head toward him, “you don’t always have to be the strong one. Even the world’s strongest psychic needs someone to lean on sometimes. And hey, lucky for you, you’ve got the world’s strongest con man at your side.”
Mob looked up at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m serious,” Reigen said, gentler now. “You’re like a son to me, Mob. You know that, right?”
Mob blinked. His throat felt tight. No one had said something like that to him before — not out loud.
He nodded quickly, almost shyly, and Reigen reached over to ruffle his hair again, more affectionate this time.
“Good,” Reigen said. “Because I take my job as your honorary dad very seriously.”
Mob smiled so brightly it felt like the whole shabby office lit up. They spent the rest of the night eating ramen, watching terrible infomercials, and arguing about whether or not Mob could beat up a ghost-themed mascot costume (”Of course you could, Mob. You could blow it up with a thought. It’s made of foam, not psychic energy!”).
And when Mob eventually dozed off, his head leaning against Reigen’s shoulder, Reigen just smiled to himself, pulled a spare blanket from the closet, and let the kid sleep.
After all, what were dads for?
^^^
It was Career Day at Salt Middle School, and Mob felt like the ground might open up and swallow him whole at any second.
Standing next to the neat line of students was Reigen Arataka — decked out in his best (and only) suit, wearing a smug grin like he was about to sell someone a bridge. He looked completely at ease, holding a giant poster that read “REIGEN ARATAKA: GREATEST PSYCHIC OF THE 21ST CENTURY.”
There were sparkles drawn around his name. In glitter glue.
Mob wanted to sink through the floor.
“Alright, alright, settle down!” the teacher said, trying to wrangle the crowd of whispering, giggling students. “Let’s have Mr. Reigen, Mob-kun’s… guardian for today, explain his career!”
Reigen stepped forward, chest puffed out.
“Ahem. Thank you, esteemed faculty and students,” he began, striking a dramatic pose. “I’m Reigen Arataka, professional psychic, counselor, spiritual healer, masseur, self-defense instructor, fortune-teller, life coach, and, unofficially, part-time dad to this fine young man here.”
He clapped a heavy hand on Mob’s shoulder.
Mob turned beet red.
There was a long, stunned silence. Then some kid in the back snickered, and the whole class followed, laughing with Reigen, not at him — somehow, impossibly, because Reigen just had that effect.
“And yes,” Reigen continued smoothly, unfazed, “Shigeo here — Mob — is an incredible psychic too. Naturally talented! Responsible! Kind-hearted! Modest! An absolute catch!”
Mob made a small squeaking noise. He was pretty sure he was going to die.
“I’m just doing my duty to guide him,” Reigen said, putting a hand dramatically over his heart, “like any good father figure would.”
There was another ripple of laughter, and a few of Mob’s classmates even gave him impressed looks.
(Your dad’s cool! whispered one girl. Mob flailed internally — he’s not even my real dad!)
But Mob couldn’t say anything — because a tiny part of him was… happy.
Embarrassed within an inch of his life, yes — but also happy.
Later, after Career Day ended, Mob trailed after Reigen as they walked home.
“…Master,” Mob mumbled, tugging at his sleeve.
“Hm? What’s up?”
“…Thank you for today,” Mob said, bowing his head slightly. “Even though it was embarrassing.”
Reigen laughed — loud and bright. “No problem, kiddo. That’s my job, after all. Embarrass you and brag about you to everyone within a 50-meter radius.”
Mob gave a tiny, shy smile.
And for once, he didn’t mind being embarrassed.
Because having someone like Reigen — someone who showed up for him, bragged about him, stood at his side without hesitation — it made him feel a little lighter inside.
Maybe, Mob thought as he walked beside him, this was what having a real dad felt like.
^^^
The sun was setting, casting the Spirits and Such office in soft, golden light. The place was a mess — papers stacked in teetering piles, leftover bentos crammed on the desk, and an old heater buzzing noisily in the corner.
Mob sat cross-legged on the floor, quietly organizing files. He liked doing little tasks like this; it made him feel useful. Important.
Needed.
Across the room, Reigen was crouched on a stepstool, wrestling with a stubborn lightbulb.
“Ugh,” he grunted, twisting it the wrong way for the third time. “This thing is impossible. Mob, pass me the duct tape. Maybe I can scare it into working.”
Mob, half-listening, automatically reached for the tape.
“Here, Dad—”
The room froze.
Mob’s hand stopped midair. His breath caught painfully in his chest. He hadn’t meant to say that.
He wasn’t even thinking about it — it had just… slipped out.
Slowly, Mob looked up, heart pounding.
Reigen had paused, still perched precariously on the stepstool, the new lightbulb dangling from his hand.
His eyes were wide. Shocked. Then — unbelievably — they softened.
There was a long beat of silence, thick enough that Mob thought he might cry.
“…I’m sorry,” Mob whispered, voice shaking. “I-I didn’t mean to— I know you’re not really—”
Reigen cut him off by jumping down from the stool with a loud thud, striding over in three quick steps, and pulling Mob into the tightest, warmest hug he had ever felt.
Mob froze. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at Reigen’s jacket like a lifeline.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Reigen said, voice low and steady. He ruffled Mob’s hair — gentle, grounding. “You can call me that anytime you want.”
Mob’s throat burned. His vision blurred.
Because somehow, without either of them realizing it, Reigen had become that person to him — not by blood, but by every stupid cup of instant ramen, every terrible lecture, every small kindness that no one else ever noticed.
hugged him tighter, like he was trying to protect Mob from the whole world.
“You’re my kid, Mob. Always have been.”
Mob finally let out a tiny, hiccuping laugh into Reigen’s jacket.
“Okay… Dad.”
And for the first time in a long time, Mob felt completely, utterly safe.
^^^
A week after The Incident (a.k.a. Mob accidentally calling Reigen “Dad”), Reigen barged into the office one Saturday morning, bursting with suspiciously high energy.
“Alright, Shigeo!” he announced, clapping his hands like a cheesy game show host. “Today’s a national holiday now. Spirits and Such will be CLOSED. Because…”
He pointed dramatically at Mob.
“Today is Dad-and-Son Day!”
Mob blinked up at him from where he was sweeping the floor.
“…Dad-and-Son Day?”
“Exactly,” Reigen said, somehow pulling two wristbands out of thin air. “We’re going to Smiling Friends Amusement Park. World’s most mediocre theme park. But they’ve got churros the size of your arm, so.”
Mob’s eyes widened. He clutched the broom tighter.
It sounded… cheesy. And unnecessary. And totally something normal families did.
Mob smiled, tiny but genuine.
“I want to go.”
“Good answer,” Reigen said, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Now, let’s ride enough rides to make you puke. It’s a bonding experience.”
———
The amusement park was crowded, noisy, and smelled like popcorn and fried noodles. Mob stuck close to Reigen’s side, holding the hem of his jacket automatically whenever the crowd got too thick.
bought them matching visors — Mob’s said “No. 1 Son” in bright neon, and Reigen’s said “World’s Okayest Dad.”
Mob wore his without complaint.
They rode bumper cars (Mob was too polite to crash into anyone), the haunted house (Mob accidentally exorcised one of the special effects), and the spinning teacups (where Reigen screamed so much that Mob had to comfort him afterward).
At lunch, Reigen made them both get double-size churros.
Mob gnawed quietly on his while Reigen wiped cinnamon sugar off his own tie, looking proud.
“You know, kid,” Reigen said between bites, “you could’ve picked someone way cooler to be your dad figure. Like a rich guy. Or a celebrity.”
Mob shook his head, serious.
“I’m glad it’s you.”
Reigen blinked, churro halfway to his mouth.
Then — trying (and failing) to play it cool — he ruffled Mob’s hair for the thousandth time that day and muttered, “Yeah, well… good taste runs in the family.”
Later, while they waited in line for a cheesy, slow-moving ride called The Tunnel of Love (which Reigen swore was “just a shortcut to the next roller coaster, trust me”), Mob looked up at him.
“…Thank you for today,” he said quietly.
Reigen smiled down at him, warm and crooked and proud.
“Anytime, kiddo. We’ve got a lifetime of Dad-and-Son Days to go.”
Mob beamed.
And for once, surrounded by crowds and noise and chaos, Mob didn’t feel overwhelmed.
He felt right where he belonged.
^^^
It happened on a random afternoon, when Mob, Reigen, and Ritsu were walking home together after helping out with a small spirit cleansing at the local community center.
Ritsu, being the responsible sibling, was carrying the actual report paperwork, while Reigen was busy complaining loudly about how unfair it was that “exorcists don’t get dental benefits.”
Mob just listened quietly, happy to be walking with both of them.
It was peaceful.
It felt like home.
They reached a little side street, and right then, Teruki Hanazawa (Teru to his friends) popped out from a corner, waving like a golden retriever.
“Hey, Mob!” Teru called, jogging up to them. “And—uh—Mr. Reigen?”
Reigen gave him a lazy salute.
“Ey, Pompadour-kun.”
Teru twitched but let it go. He turned to Mob, smiling brightly.
“I didn’t know you were hanging out with your family today.”
Mob blinked once.
He glanced at Ritsu — his real brother — and at Reigen — who was…
He smiled, so sure, so happy it shone from his whole body.
“Yeah,” Mob said simply. “This is my little brother, Ritsu. And this is my dad.”
He pointed straight at Reigen.
There was a half-second where everyone froze.
Teru’s mouth actually fell open in shock.
Ritsu choked on air.
Reigen?
Reigen turned bright red.
“Wh— I mean, uh—” Reigen sputtered, looking half-flattered, half-like he was about to pass out. “Y-Yeah. I’m… the dad.”
Mob tilted his head, concerned. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Dad.”
Reigen made a noise that sounded like a dying pigeon.
Teru, meanwhile, just gave a huge, blinding grin and held out his hand for a shake.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kageyama!”
Reigen shook his hand numbly, still in shock.
Mob, meanwhile, beamed with so much pride that it was a miracle he didn’t float off the ground.
Because even if they weren’t related by blood, even if the rest of the world didn’t get it, he knew the truth.
Reigen was his dad.
The best one he could ever ask for.
^^^
Mob was seventeen now. Taller, stronger, more confident.
He wore his school blazer a little neater, his voice a little steadier, and when he smiled, it was no longer shy — it was warm and certain.
But in all the ways that mattered, Mob was still Mob.
And to Reigen, he was still the same quiet boy who wandered into his life years ago, looking for help.
Today was graduation day. Mob was finishing high school.
Reigen stood stiffly at the back of the crowd, clutching a crumpled tissue and pretending very badly that he wasn’t tearing up.
“That’s my kid,” he kept muttering proudly to anyone within earshot, whether they cared or not. “The one with the bowl cut. Top of his class. Best psychic in the country. Top-tier human being. Certified great guy. Absolute legend.”
Several nearby parents edged away awkwardly. Reigen didn’t notice.
He was too busy beaming.
When the ceremony finally ended, Mob spotted him through the crowd immediately.
He lit up, waving excitedly.
Reigen waved back so hard he almost knocked over a decorative plant.
Mob weaved through the mass of students, slipping past proud moms and dads, until he was right there, in front of him.
“Congratulations, Shigeo!” Reigen said, voice rough around the edges. He clapped both hands on Mob’s shoulders, squeezing a little too tightly.
Mob laughed softly.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Reigen froze.
It wasn’t the first time Mob had called him that — not by far.
But somehow, hearing it today, after everything —
Hearing it now, when Mob had grown into this amazing, kind, brilliant young man —
It wrecked him.
Reigen’s throat went tight. His vision blurred, and not because of the sun.
“Ah—uh—” he croaked, trying to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of sobbing like a broken faucet.
Mob smiled a little wider, a little cheekier.
“You’re crying,” he pointed out, almost teasing.
“I’m not,” Reigen lied unconvincingly, rubbing at his eyes. “Shut up. Dust allergies.”
Mob laughed again and then, without hesitating, stepped forward and hugged him.
A real, proper hug.
Not the half-hugs from when he was little. Not the awkward ones from the early days.
A full, strong hug that said thank you and I love you and you’re my family.
Reigen hugged him back fiercely.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever accidentally raised,” he muttered into Mob’s hair.
Mob snorted.
They stayed like that a long time, in the middle of the noisy, bustling crowd — just a fake dad and his psychic son — holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.
Because really, nothing else did.
^^^
Mob had only been at college for two weeks.
It wasn’t even that far — just a train ride away — but still, Reigen felt the empty space in the Spirits and Such office like a missing tooth.
No quiet broom-sweeping.
No helpful file-sorting.
No peaceful little “Good morning, Master.”
Reigen missed him.
(He told himself he wasn’t worrying, because Mob was responsible and smart and better at handling himself than literally anyone Reigen knew. But still. He missed him.)
Which was why, when his phone buzzed at 1:36 AM on a random Tuesday, Reigen didn’t even hesitate before answering.
“Hello—?”
There was a long pause on the other end.
Then:
“…Dad?” Mob’s voice, soft and tiny, like he was trying not to wake his dorm neighbors.
Reigen immediately sat up straighter, heart squeezing.
“Hey, hey, what’s up, kiddo? You okay?”
“I… um… I accidentally started a fire.”
Reigen died inside in 0.2 seconds.
“WHAT—”
“Just a small one!” Mob said quickly. “I tried to microwave cup ramen without adding water first. The container melted. I put it out. But now the room smells like smoke, and I don’t know if I should tell someone, or just open the window, or—”
“—You open the window right now,” Reigen barked, already throwing on pants like he was about to sprint to the station. “Turn on any fans you have. And—are you safe?? You’re not burned, right??”
“I’m okay,” Mob said. “I think the cup is more hurt than me.”
Reigen pinched the bridge of his nose.
Somewhere deep inside, he felt an overwhelming rush of affection.
“…Hang tight,” he said after a moment, trying to sound calm. “I’ll text you step-by-step instructions, alright? We’ll fix it. Nobody’s dying today because of dry ramen.”
Mob let out a breathy, relieved laugh.
“Thank you, Dad.”
Reigen smiled helplessly at the ceiling.
“Always, kid.”
———
Later that week, a small package arrived at Mob’s dorm.
Inside:
- An electric kettle with very clear instructions (“WATER FIRST, RAMEN SECOND”) taped to it.
- A box of emergency cup noodles.
A handwritten note that said:
Proud of you, son. Don't burn down the dorm. Love, Dad.
Mob kept the note taped to the wall above his desk.
He looked at it every morning before class.
It always made him smile.
^^^
Mob was setting up posters for the university’s new “Psychic Research Club” when a familiar voice shouted across the quad:
“YO, SHIGEO!!”
Mob flinched so hard he dropped the tape dispenser.
Across the courtyard, Reigen stood there in sunglasses, a hoodie that said “World’s Best Dad” in neon letters, and a giant tote bag that read “#1 Psychic” filled with what looked suspiciously like homemade lunch boxes.
Mob turned bright red.
Students were staring. Whispers floated through the air.
Is that his dad?
He looks like some weird salesman.
Wait—is he famous??
Reigen jogged up, completely oblivious to the scene he was causing.
“Thought I’d bring you lunch!” he said, proudly yanking out three huge bento boxes like he was unveiling a magic trick.
Mob covered his face with both hands.
“…Dad, you’re being loud.”
“I’m SUPPORTING you,” Reigen said, scandalized.
Mob peeked between his fingers and smiled despite himself.
(He ate every bite of the bento. Even the weird heart-shaped rice balls.)
^^^
A few weeks later, Mob was hanging out in the common room with some clubmates — a few normal students who were surprisingly chill about his psychic powers.
They were talking about family when someone asked,
“So, Mob — your parents ever visit?”
Mob brightened.
“Yes! My dad came by last month. He’s the best.”
The others blinked.
“I didn’t know your dad was in the psychic business too,” one said, curious.
Mob nodded seriously.
“He’s not a psychic. But he’s very smart. And he taught me everything I know about being a good person.”
There was a long pause.
One of the students, a girl who was always doodling aliens in her notebook, said softly,
“…That’s so cool.”
Mob smiled.
He didn’t need to explain that Reigen wasn’t his biological father.
It didn’t matter.
Reigen was his dad.
Simple as that.
^^^
The station was crowded, packed with people lugging suitcases and shopping bags.
Reigen checked his watch for the twentieth time, pacing.
When he finally spotted Mob coming down the platform — wearing a scarf Reigen had knitted for him (badly) — he practically sprinted over.
Mob saw him and broke into a wide, open smile.
He dropped his bag without hesitation and threw his arms around Reigen in a huge hug —
no awkwardness, no hesitation.
“Welcome home, kiddo,” Reigen murmured into Mob’s hair, squeezing tight.
Mob clung back just as fiercely, like he was trying to make up for every second they’d been apart.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment.
They didn’t need to.
Mob was home.
Where he always belonged.