Inheritance of Giants

Simple Man

"What do you mean that's Mom's—" Kyotoku gave up mid-sentence, letting the words dissolve into a groan. "Sweetie, come on. You know I love you."

Kyoka shrugged. "Yeah. This isn't about that. This is about why this is taking so long."

She jabbed a thumb toward the containment room window.

"It's just a flat rock with a screen, full of music, right? Why would a rock be, uh... what's the word you keep using?"

"Radioactive."

"Yeah, that's a cool-sounding word. I'm not remembering that. You remember it for me, m'kay?"

Kyotoku sighed, defeated. "Sure. Fine. That's fair."

"Anyways," Kyoka continued, arms folded now, "why would a rock be that?"

Kyotoku blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, rocks don't sing. They don't turn on. They just sit there. So why would that rock be dangerous?"

"I—well, let's take, uh..." Kyotoku mentally panicked, searching for the right answer. What was the right answer here?!

"Oh! Let's take that one band Mom and I stopped listening to 'cause of the controversies," he blurted out, eyes lighting up like he'd just solved an equation. "Uh, who was it—?"

"Magma Widow," Kyoka said, scrunching her nose. "The one where the lead singer kept screaming about teeth in the ocean."

"Yes! That's the one. They had some good stuff back in the—uh—anyway." He coughed. "You remember that one song from their last album? The one that made everyone drop the band?"

"The song you called... 'rapey'?"

Kyotoku choked on his own spit. "I—wha—where did you learn that word?!"

Kyoka stared at him, deadpan. "Ears, Dad. I have ears."

Kyotoku buried his face in his hands. "Oh God."

Kyoka tilted her head. "Is it a bad word or a wrong word?"

"It's—both. And—please, sweetie, I beg of you—never say it again. Just this once. Please."

She gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But you said it, like, five times."

Kyotoku peeked through his fingers. "Don't remind me."

Breathing in deeply, Kyotoku did his best to get over his emotions. "Now, let's say that word is the equivalent to death with this rock."

Kyoka's face scrunched with pure confusion. "What?"

"I mean," he waved his hands vaguely, "that word — the one we're not repeating — was what made people stop listening to Magma Widow. It changed how they heard everything. Even the old songs. The good ones."

Kyoka blinked. "So... the rock said a bad word?"

"No, not quite," Kyotoku said, head spinning to explain. "It's... more like the rock implied a word?"

"You don't sound confident," Kyoka lazily responded.

"The rock implied death unto those it was near," Kyotoku said slowly with a nod, Kyoka still staring at him.

"Dad, I love you... You make no sense, like, at all."

Kyotoku sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. I know."

Kyoka tilted her head. "Do adults ever make sense to themselves, or is that, like, a myth?"

He snorted. "Oh no, it's a complete myth. We're all just doing our best and panicking constantly."