Chapter Text
The city had changed over the years; now the skyline stretched higher and higher, clawing at the sky with steel and glass. The streets around this routine abode definitely speak of the growth of the city, the development, but like the most clever of façades, familiar shadows cast beneath.
Louis stood before the mirror of his office, arranging the bright red silk tie with which he had chosen to complement his charcoal suit. His reflection was sharp, composed-an image crafted for the cameras, for the voters. His antlers, still as proud and pristine as ever, were a crown of polished bone above his focused gaze. The campaign posters lining the walls around him read: Louis: A Strong Vision for a United City.
But his eyes betrayed him. A faint, lingering sadness hovered in the depths of his gaze, a hollow echo of dreams deferred. His father’s voice rang in his mind, sharp and biting as ever.
"A legacy isn’t just a name, Louis. It’s blood, it’s lineage. You’ve given me nothing."
His jaw tightened. He had done everything right—married the right doe, played the dutiful son, climbed the ladder of politics with a tenacity that left many rivals in the dust. Yet, the marriage had crumbled under the weight of expectations and unspoken truths. His wife, Azuki, had been kind. Too kind, perhaps. She deserved more than his hollow attempts at affection, more than the coldness that settled between them like frost on glass.
Their union had been more of a merger than a marriage, two powerful families coming together, the perfect symbol of herbivore unity and strength. The tabloids had loved it, the city had celebrated it. But behind closed doors, Louis and Azuki had barely shared a real conversation. Their evenings were spent in separate rooms, their silences filled with everything left unsaid.
Azuki had been the first to stray. Discreet at first—late-night meetings, soft footsteps on marble floors. Louis followed, finding solace in brief, burning affairs that left him colder than before. The truth emerged when Azuki sat him down, her delicate hands resting on her growing belly, and told him the child was not his.
"I want a divorce," she had said, her voice steady, almost relieved. "I want to be with him."
Her bravery struck him harder than the betrayal. She had the strength to leave, to chase her happiness, while he remained shackled to his father's ambitions and the city’s unblinking eyes. He envied her for it.
"Mr. Louis, your meeting with the press is in five minutes."
The soft knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. His assistant, a young meerkat with an impeccable sense of timing, stood in the doorway.
"Thank you. I’ll be right there," Louis replied, his voice smooth and practiced.
He moved with purpose, yet his mind wandered, as it often did. To old days, old friends. To a wolf with soft, awkward smiles and a rabbit whose bravery burned like a flame.
In a quieter part of the city, tucked in between the neon of downtown and the quiet hum of suburban living, Legoshi knelt beside a small table, slicing leek with practiced ease. The decor of Tsuki no Mori was unassuming, its walls covered in humble calligraphy and paper lanterns glowing softly. The restaurant had been discovered as a local secret, a slice of calm in the city noise.
"Papa!"
The young voice pulled him from his work. Legoshi turned, a gentle smile stretching across his face as Arthur barrelled into the room, hooves clacking against the polished wooden floor. The young deer’s wide eyes sparkled with the same intensity as Louis’s once had, though softer, untouched by the weight of the world.
"Easy, Artie," Legoshi chuckled, setting his knife aside and scooping the boy into his arms. "You’ll scare the customers."
"They left already!" Artie announced, his small hands gripping Legoshi’s fur. "Can I help now? You promised!"
Legoshi’s ears flicked, and he pretended to think. "Did I? Hmm, I don’t know…"
"Pleeease!"
From the back room, a delicate giggle joined the boy’s pleas. Sakura toddled into view, clutching a plush carrot toy, her little nose twitching. She wasn’t as loud as her brother, but her presence was just as bright.
"Help! Help!" she echoed, her tiny voice like a bell.
"Alright, alright," Legoshi relented, setting Artie down and offering Sakura his free paw. "But only if you two promise to listen to Uncle Gohin when he comes by later. He’s helping Grandpa take his medicine."
Artie nodded vigorously, and Sakura mimicked him, her long ears flopping with the motion.
Legoshi led them behind the counter, showing Artie how to arrange plates and letting Sakura hand him napkins. His heart was full, the quiet time spent with his foster children healing an old wound.
The kitchen was cozy—the soft hiss of the grill, the rich, sweet smell of miso soup simmering away, and his children's laughter. This was his life now, built slowly and lovingly by his own two hands.
"Papa, look!" Artie had arranged the plates in a perfect line, his chest puffed out with pride.
"You did great, Artie," Legoshi murmured, ruffling the boy’s fur.
Sakura handed him a napkin, her tiny fingers brushing against his paw. He accepted it gratefully, bobbing his head, his tail swishing behind him.
At such moments, the world outside felt far away. The city noises, the shadows of his history—none of them were there when he was here, among them.
But beneath it all, a shadow lingered. Memories of a life he’d tried to build with Haru, of choices that led him away and then back again. The ache of roads not taken, of friendships left behind.
He hadn’t spoken to Louis in five years. Not since he left with Haru, chasing a future that slipped through his claws. He wondered if Louis still wore that same steely expression, if his voice still held that edge of command. If he’d found happiness—or at least, something close to it.
The bell above the door chimed, and Legoshi’s ears perked up. But it was only a couple of regulars, greeting him warmly as they slid into their favorite booth.
"More tea, Mr. Tanaka?" he bellowed, slipping into the routine of his job effortlessly.
"For us and for the little ones," said the ancient tortoise, slow and kindly smiling.
Legoshi arranged the tray, his children eager helpers, and carried it to the table. He knelt to pour the tea, the warmth of the steam on his fur, the comfort of ritual.
For now, this was enough. But the city had a way of pulling the past into the present, and somewhere in its winding streets, fate was stirring.