Chapter Text
It wasn’t every day that your twenty six year old daughter brought her boyfriend home for dinner. In fact, Toji would’ve thought it was downright impossible.
Out of every type of man walking this planet, every fish in the sea, his daughter had somehow picked the most terrified-looking, anxiety-ridden one imaginable.
Seriously, What was Maki thinking?
Now, Toji wasn’t one to judge. But he loved his daughter. Loved her fiercely even. Even if she wasn’t his by blood--his estranged brother’s kid, technically--it didn’t matter. The moment he laid eyes on her nineteen years ago, she was his.
Quiet angry kid with hands balled up. Pin straight hair laid askew. Like a wounded kitten--small, sharp, and ready to scratch anyone who came too close. He remembered picking her up from his brother’s place, seeing the way her eyes tracked everything, calculating, guarded. He remembered thinking, damn… she’s just like me, and whisking her away to the small, quiet life he’d built far from the toxic rot of the Zenin name.
Kiyoko had smiled that night, saying what he never said out loud.
“She’s just like you, Toji-kun. Or at least… like you were when we first met.”
Seven year old Maki grew up with them in that modest three-bedroom house with a tiny backyard. She shared a room with Megumi, who never once complained. From the start, he accepted her as his sister, blood relation or not.
Toji was never the type to show affection openly, but both kids understood him all the same. Teaching Megumi shadow puppets. Buying Maki knives and practicing katanas. Secretly teaching her martial arts despite Kiyoko’s strict no-violence, no-weapons rule.
Megumi knew his dad would burn the world down for them. Maki learned it slowly.
They never forced her to call them Mom or Dad. At first, she used their first names. Kiyoko pretended not to care, but Toji saw it--the quiet longing in her eyes every time Maki spoke.
It happened unexpectedly.
They were on a picnic a few months after adopting her. Megumi had convinced Maki to give him a piggyback ride as they headed toward a nearby ice-cream stand. Toji and Kiyoko watched fondly from their picnic mat.
Then a group of teenagers started mouthing off.
Maki snapped back without hesitation. When one of them reached toward Megumi, she screamed--
“Papa!”
Every nerve in Toji’s body lit up. Pride and rage collided instantly. He didn’t even remember moving.
Minutes later, Maki and Megumi sat giggling with melting ice cream while Toji held the bullies up by their collars, calmly explaining how easy it would be to throw them into the nearby river. Kiyoko, for her part, threatened to call their parents, their teachers, and the police--possibly all at once.
Soon after that, Maki started calling Kiyoko Mama. Kiyoko broke down crying in their bedroom that night.
“Wimp,” Toji muttered, flicking her forehead.
“Shut up, dickhead.”
“Kiyoko, you can’t call the father of your children a dickhead.”
She burst into laughter through her tears. He thought she looked like a vision came to life.
And then, too quickly, the kids grew up.
It happened over dinner. Maki slapped an envelope onto the table, interrupting the meal.
Kiyoko glanced at Toji, concern flickering between them, before turning to Maki, who stood rigid, defiant, painfully familiar in posture.
“What is it, Maki, dear?”
“I got accepted--”
Kiyoko screamed, leaping from her chair and pulling Maki into a tight hug. Toji froze, fork suspended mid-air. Megumi grinned, mouth stuffed with overcooked pasta.
“You didn’t let me finish,” Maki mumbled.
“Sorry, sorry,” Kiyoko laughed, pulling back just enough to look at her, barely containing herself.
“I got accepted,” Maki said again, voice cracking. “Into the Boxer Pro Association. They saw my inter-high national match and…” Her eyes filled. “They want me. In Tokyo.”
Reality hit.
Toji stood up and wrapped both his girls in his arms. Maki finally broke, sobs wracking her body. Her hands, once small enough to cling to his pinky, now hugged his torso.
He held her face and said the words he meant more than anything.
“I’m so proud of you.”
She crumbled all over again.
Megumi was dragged into the family hug soon after, failing to look annoyed and smiling. Moments like this were rare, Kiyoko was the openly affectionate one but that only made it more precious.
Weeks later, they stood on the train station platform as Maki boarded the shinkansen to Tokyo. She promised to visit during national holidays. Kiyoko was already on her sixth tissue. Toji’s shirt was close to becoming the seventh.
Maki pulled Megumi into a headlock, ruffling his perpetually messy hair. Then Toji handed her a small gift bag.
Inside was a pair of white Hayabusa boxing gloves. Her name stitched neatly across them.
Maki Fushiguro.
He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. She understood him, every rough edge, every unspoken word.
Because she was just like him.
As the train pulled away, Maki waved from the window, eyes glassy. Once it disappeared from sight, Toji pulled out the cursed new iPhone his kids had forced him to buy, abandoning his beloved Sony flip phone.
He called her.
She answered on the first ring.
“So,” he said gruffly, “did you reach yet?”
Her watery laugh echoed through the speaker.
.
Now, peering through the front door’s keyhole, Toji spotted an odd specimen.
A very sweaty, visibly nervous specimen.
The poor bastard stood stiff on the porch, bouquet clenched in trembling hands, dressed in an ill-fitting formal shirt and dress pants. His tie sat crooked, pulled so tight it looked like it was actively restricting blood flow--yet it did nothing to stop the frantic flutter of his fingers.
This… creature couldn’t possibly be the boyfriend.
Surely the kid was lost. Wrong address. Wrong house. Wrong life choices.
Footsteps approached behind him.
“Why aren’t you opening the door?” Maki’s voice asked lightly.
“Suspicious guy on the doorstep,” Toji muttered. “Go get my gun from the shed, sweetheart.”
She shoved him aside and bent to look through the keyhole.
“THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND, PAPA.”
She rushed forward, twisting the lock open.
“He didn’t look like that in the photo,” Toji remarked dryly. “Looks even more pathetic in real life.”
She shot him a sharp glare before opening the door.
“Yuuta!” Maki greeted, tilting her head with a small smile.
The guy on the porch visibly melted. Or at least, he looked like he was about to.
“M-Maki-san!” His eyes widened, blush blooming instantly across his cheeks.
…How dare he call her by her first name?
Toji stared in disbelief.
Now, he wasn’t one for stereotypes--but why did this so-called boyfriend look like a stiff breeze might knock him unconscious? Toji had set a damn good example of what a man should be. Why the hell did his daughter like this one?
“Oh my goodness, the guest has arrived!” Kiyoko burst in from the kitchen, yanking her oven gloves off and swooping in before Toji could interfere.
She wrapped the poor kid in a warm hug.
“You must be Okkotsu-kun,” she said brightly, holding him by the arms. “I'm so glad you made it, dear.”
“P-Please call me Yuuta, Fushiguro-san,” he replied.
“Oh, then you can call me Kiyoko,” she smiled. “And this is my husband--Toji.”
She grabbed Toji’s arm and dragged him forward.
Yuuta extended his hand with a timid smile. “Pleased to meet you, Fushiguro-san.”
Toji stared at the hand. His eyebrow twitched. This Yuuta Okkotsu guy clearly didn’t take hints well.
Fine. Time for the big guns.
Toji gripped Yuuta’s hand hard--hard enough to make a lesser man cry.
Yuuta’s smile faltered, just barely, as he registered the crushing strength and the cold, assessing glare aimed straight through him.
Yeah, kid, Toji thought. You get me. I will ruin you.
“You can call him Toji, dear,” Kiyoko chimed cheerfully.
No the fuck he cannot--
They released their hands. Yuuta flexed his fingers, wincing slightly as he cradled his hand like it might actually be injured.
Good.
“Toji-san, you’re just like Maki-san,” Yuuta said earnestly.
…Of course we are, we look damn alike, captain obvious.
“When we first met,” Yuuta continued, “Maki-san’s handshake was really strong too. Just like yours.”
Toji’s eyes widened. So did Maki’s.
Kiyoko let out a quiet, delighted squeal and immediately latched onto Yuuta’s arm, pulling him toward the dining room.
“Oh, I need to hear everything! How did you two meet? Where are you from? Do you like Tiramisu? My son and his partner love my tiramisu. Are you allergic to anything? Oh my days, you are so skinny, luckily I made a lot of food–”
She pulled out a chair for him, continuing without pause. “Maki is always so secretive about you--”
“I am not,” Maki muttered.
but Kiyoko powered on. “She never tells us anything! I tried so hard to get information out of her. I’m so glad you came, Yuuta-kun--”
Maki drifted over to Toji’s side.
“Papa,” she murmured, ears turning pink as she rubbed her arms nervously. “Please be nice to him. I… kind of like him. Okay?”
That rare softness hit him square in the chest and guilt settled in.
“I’ll try,” Toji sighed, ruffling her hair. “He’d better not mess up--”
“He won’t,” she said firmly, grabbing his wrist. They walked into the living room together, where Kiyoko was already overwhelming Yuuta with questions and commentary.
Toji watched them, expression unreadable.
…Still didn’t like the kid.
But for Maki? He’d try.
.
He didn’t try. Not even a little.
The kid possessed some kind of unholy, accidental talent for infuriating him--without meaning to, which somehow made it worse.
Soon after Yuuta settled at the dining table, Kiyoko began bringing out dish after dish. The table filled so quickly that Toji had to haul out a spare one from the shed just to accommodate the food and the people. From a family of four, they’d suddenly grown to six.
Well. Five. For now. Toji still didn’t like the guy.
Megumi and his partner, Itadori, arrived shortly after. Maki greeted her brother with a side hug, a habitual ruffle of his hair, and a fist bump for Itadori.
Itadori assimilated into the Fushiguro household frighteningly fast.
Kiyoko adored her unofficial son-in-law almost immediately. Maki bonded with him over their shared love of martial arts. And Toji--against his will--found himself liking the absolute ball of sunshine that was Itadori Yuji.
Now Itadori was loading his plate with everything Kiyoko had cooked, commenting enthusiastically on every flavor and asking how she’d prepared each dish. Kiyoko’s smile grew wider every time he piled on more food, insisting he eat even more. His endless appetite delighted her to no end.
Toji shifted his gaze from his wife to the weary-looking creature sitting across from him.
He was trying. Really trying to see something redeemable in this kid.
“--I was assigned to interview her,” Yuuta said, continuing the story of how they met. Kiyoko and Itadori hung on to every word. “An emerging boxer from Tokyo.”
“I saw her fight live during the women’s championships against Russia.”
Maki rested her head in her palm, eyes drifting toward her boyfriend as he spoke.
“Until the last moment, everyone in the stadium was holding their breath. But I knew Maki-san wouldn’t go down easily. And when she got back up with that straight uppercut--”
“My heart stopped,” Kiyoko said from Toji’s side, eyes shining as she looked at her daughter.
Maki rolled her eyes affectionately.
“Mine did too,” Yuuta said, smiling at her. “That’s when I knew--she became my story. I pulled some strings with my editor and got a chance to speak with her one-on-one after the match.”
He shook his head, smiling at the memory.
“It was December, if I’m not wrong. That’s when we first met. Of course, I interviewed her… but somewhere along the way, I wanted to know more. More than just international boxer Maki Fushiguro.”
“Oh, stop,” Maki muttered, ears turning pink.
“You know I’m right,” he chuckled, slipping his hand into her open palm on the table.
Kiyoko was openly swooning. Itadori covered his mouth dramatically, also swooning. Megumi smiled quietly at his sister.
Toji felt… excluded. And vaguely nauseous.
“So I asked her out,” Yuuta continued. “And then, yeah… that’s when we decided to commit.”
“That is so cute,” Itadori said earnestly.
“Yes,” Kiyoko beamed. “I’m so happy you found each other.”
“Me too,” Maki admitted, flushing. “Now enough about us--”
“Hey--!”
“No!”
Kiyoko and Itadori protested in unison.
“What’s up with Megumi’s residency?” Maki deflected smoothly.
Megumi caught on immediately and launched into a long-winded story about a patient--a hamster--that suffered a heart attack after hearing its owner sneeze.
Kiyoko and Itadori reacted loudly, gasping and asking questions, utterly captivated.
Toji’s gaze drifted back to Yuuta.
The kid was listening attentively, laughing at the right moments. Then, almost casually, Yuuta nudged Maki’s chair closer with his foot and leaned in, sharing a quiet smile with her.
Toji wanted to vomit.
.
The clock ticked past nine. Dinner had settled into a comfortable quiet.
Toji stood in the kitchen, methodically washing dishes. Outside, Kiyoko sat in the backyard with the kids. Through the glass door, he could see her animated hand movements and hear her muffled voice. He knew that expression--that bright, unrestrained glee.
She was telling their story. How they met. How they fell in love.
A tale Maki and Megumi had heard a million times and never once stopped her from retelling.
Yuuta sat beside Maki, her jacket draped over his shoulders to shield him from the cold.
Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Toji muttered under his breath.
He scrubbed the plates methodically, scraping away dried food when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced up to see Yuuta standing awkwardly near the doorway, nervously smiling. Maki’s jacket was folded over his arm now.
“Toji-san.”
Toji grunted in response.
“I--uh--I can help with the dishes--”
“No need.”
An awkward silence followed, filled with the sound of running water, distant laughter, and crickets chirping outside.
Unable to stand it any longer, Toji broke the silence, getting straight to the point.
“What are your intentions with Maki?”
“Intentions?” Yuuta blinked, genuinely confused. “I… haven’t really thought about it like that. To be honest.”
He laughed nervously--then stopped when he caught Toji’s expression and straightened.
“Toji-san--sir. I don’t have any expectations of Maki. I don’t want anything from her. I just…” He swallowed. “I’m really grateful she chose to return the love I have for her. Her determination, her perseverance--they inspire me. She’s someone I want to be like. Brave. Unyielding. I hope one day I can--”
“Look, kid,” Toji sighed, interrupting him. “Maki is my daughter. I love her with every atom of my existence. I would do anything to protect her.”
Emotion clogged his throat.
“I think she’s perfect. And no one will ever be perfect enough for her. That’s just how it is--because I’m her father.” He paused. “No one deserves the greatness that is my daughter.”
He exhaled slowly.
“But she likes you. I don’t know if she told you that. And for her… I can tolerate you. I see the way you make her happy. You aren’t special, kid. I don’t even know what she sees in you.”
Yuuta stiffened.
“But I love her. And you’re loved by the people I love. So… that’s enough.”
Damn it. Only Kiyoko ever dragged this level of vulnerability out of him. Damn Okkotsu Yuuta.
“I’ll do my best to keep making her happy,” Yuuta said quietly, determination clear in his voice. “I want to make her happy. And you. And Kiyoko-san, too. You all mean a lot to her.”
Toji rolled his eyes tiredly and slid the last plate onto the rack.
He glanced outside again. Kiyoko seemed to be done telling her story now, listening to Yuji animatedly talk while Maki and Megumi watched him with fond smiles.
“Don’t hurt her,” Toji said flatly.
“I would never--”
“Good,” Toji cut in. “I don’t like breaking bones.”
Yuuta laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head.
Suddenly, Yuji barreled into the kitchen like a wrecking ball.
“WHERE’S THE TIRAMISU?”
.