---
Tokyo had fully co alive by now.
The traffic was louder.
The air was warr.
---
We walked to the nearest station.
Then to the district office.
I didn’t hold her hand.
She didn’t grab the hem of my jacket this ti, either.
But the distance between us remained consistent—
Half a pace by my side.
Nothing more.
---
"Are you nervous?" I asked.
"A little."
"Why?"
"What if the records aren’t there..."
"That just ans your forgery prep wasn’t good enough."
She lowered her head slightly.
"I didn’t do it."
"I know."
---
The district office looked like any other governnt building—
Clean.
Devoid of any aesthetic ambition.
The automatic glass doors slid open as we approached.
Inside.
The chill of the air conditioning was a constant.
The automated voice calling out queue numbers echoed softly from the speakers.
Yuna surveyed the room with watchful eyes, but without panic.
---
I took a queue number.
The digit printed on that small slip of paper felt like the beginning of sothing much more official than buying a futon last night.
---
I checked the number currently being called.
There were still five people ahead of us.
"Good," I said. "We have ti to practice if we need to."
"Practice what?"
"In case they ask about our relationship."
She thought for a mont. "Guardian."
"Good."
---
"Papa won’t say ’father’?"
I stared at the screen displaying the changing queue numbers.
"Administratively," I said quietly, "and biologically."
"I am not your father."
"So Papa won’t acknowledge ?"
"I can only be your guardian."
"What about an adoptive father?"
"I don’t know."
The next number was called.
I looked at the queue ticket in my hand.
Soon, soone who didn’t know at all.
Would determine whether my na was recorded in the right place—
Or if it wasn’t there at all.
---
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