Chapter Text
When the last Kaiju fell, the world cheered. Cities rebuilt. Families reunited. For the first time in decades, humanity looked at the horizon without fear of the unknown.
The Defense Force was dissolved with honors. Its surviving members were offered retirement packages, medals, and quiet lives.
Mina Ashiro settled into a new rhythm, no longer a commander but Kafka Hibino’s wife, finally free to live the love they had sacrificed so much for. Narumi Genji rebranded himself overnight—an eccentric pro-gamer, turning his lightning reflexes and cocky banter into live-stream fame. His audience adored him.
And Hoshina Soshiro?
He did what he always did when battles ended: he sheathed his sword. Only this time, there was nothing to draw it against again. No mission. No enemy. No reason to sharpen his edge.
He tried to fit in. His family had money; his Defense Force salary was untouched. He could live comfortably without lifting a finger. But comfort sat uneasily on his shoulders.
He thought about other paths. Could he be a chef? A cleaner? He was neat and precise; he could fillet a fish to perfection or scrub the floor spotless. But in this world—without Kaiju, without danger—those weren’t talents. They were just chores.
The truth pressed down on him, heavier than any monster: without a blade in his hands, who was Hoshina Soshiro?
The answer, strangely, came from the laughter of children.
The first time he stepped into the adoption center, it wasn’t planned. He had passed by it on a rainy afternoon, drawn by the sight of kids chasing each other in the courtyard with sticks for swords. Their cries reminded him of a world that used to be cruel and loud, now softened into innocence.
A staff member, recognizing him, hesitantly asked if he wanted to help out. He thought about refusing—but the next thing he knew, he was crouched down, showing a boy how to grip the stick properly, how to balance his weight before swinging.
From then on, he came back.
He played tag, helped with homework, and cooked simple meals in the center’s kitchen. He never said it aloud, but being there quieted something restless in him. The children didn’t care he was a former Vice-Captain, a swordsman feared by Kaiju. To them, he was just “Hoshina-san,” the one who tied their shoelaces and carried them on his shoulders.
With time, he became a familiar figure in the hallways. The staff trusted him. The kids adored him.
And that’s when he noticed her.
She came often, always carrying boxes filled with clothes, food, or toys. She was younger than he expected, always with that same gentle smile that lingered but never overstayed. She spoke to no one—only nodded, handed over the supplies, and slipped away as quietly as she arrived.
At first, Hoshina thought she was shy. Then he thought maybe she was just polite, someone who preferred actions to words. But month after month, he realized she had never spoken. Not once.
It intrigued him. In a room full of chatter and laughter, she moved like silence wrapped in sunlight. He found himself waiting for her visits, watching from a distance as she crouched to pat the head of a child or adjusted a crooked stack of boxes.
Finally, one evening after she left, Hoshina asked the administrator, “Who is she?”
The woman smiled knowingly. “Ah. You’ve noticed her.”
“She never talks,” Hoshina said carefully.
“That’s because she’s deaf,” the administrator replied. “But she’s one of our most reliable donors. She’s been helping us for years.”
Deaf.
The word hit Hoshina harder than he expected. He felt foolish for never realizing it, foolish for months of quiet admiration without once trying to understand her silence.
That night, alone in his apartment, he stared at his hands.
Hands built for gripping a sword. Could they learn a language made of shapes and motions?
He opened his laptop, typed in beginner’s sign language lessons, and began.
It was clumsy. His fingers stumbled. He muttered under his breath when he messed up. But every night, he practiced in front of his bathroom mirror, signing letters until the movements felt less like foreign gestures and more like another kind of blade—something to master, something to wield not for killing but for reaching out.
His old Defense Force friends noticed.
“Why the hell are you learning sign language?” Narumi asked during a rare meet-up, half-laughing.
“Since when did you get hobbies?” Mina teased kindly.
Hoshina just shrugged. For once, he didn’t explain himself.
Because it wasn’t about hobbies. It was about her.
A month later, he finally tried.
He was carrying art supplies into the orphanage when she appeared, struggling with a heavy bag of rice. Without thinking, he caught it before it slipped from her arms.
She blinked up at him, startled. Her smile started to form—habitual, polite.
And then Hoshina raised his hands.
Hello. I’m Hoshina. Nice to meet you.
The movements were slow, halting, but clear.
Her eyes widened. For a moment, she just stared at him as if the world had shifted. Then, her lips curved into the brightest smile he’d ever seen. Her hands moved quickly—graceful, practiced.
He barely caught half of it. Too fast. Too smooth. His brain scrambled to match signs with meaning. He fumbled, tried again, signed something sloppy.
She laughed. A soundless laugh, shoulders trembling, eyes bright with amusement.
And for the first time in months—since the kaiju disappeared, since the world grew quiet—Hoshina felt alive
From that day forward, everything changed.
He didn’t just wait for her visits anymore—he sought them out. At the orphanage, he made sure to be nearby when she came, always ready to stumble through new phrases, always eager to make her laugh. She never mocked his awkward hands; instead, she encouraged him, slowing down her gestures until he could follow.
What started as small exchanges—hello, thank you, nice to see you—soon became longer conversations. And when words weren’t enough, their silences filled the gaps.
At the orphanage
The kids noticed first.
“Hoshina-san, are you practicing with her again?” one of the older boys teased, crossing his arms.
“Yeah! He makes funny faces when he can’t keep up!” another chimed in.
Hoshina clicked his tongue, pretending to scowl, but the woman only laughed, covering her mouth politely. Then she crouched down and signed something quickly to the kids.
They burst into laughter, pointing at Hoshina.
“What did you tell them?” he asked, suspicious.
She grinned, signed slowly so he could understand: I said you look like a lost puppy.
His jaw dropped. “You little—!” He grabbed a pillow from the sofa and gently tossed it at her. She dodged, still laughing, her smile brighter than any victory he’d ever won.
From then on, the kids loved joining their “lessons,” asking
L her to teach them animal signs. A boy made bunny ears on his head; a girl flapped her hands like wings. Hoshina exaggerated his movements until the children collapsed into giggles.
At the park
Sometimes, after helping at the orphanage, they walked together. She carried small snacks in her tote; he always had something tucked into his pockets.
One afternoon, he handed her a taiyaki, warm and sweet.
She blinked, surprised, then signed: For me?
He nodded. “Course. Can’t let you do all the giving.”
She took a bite, then raised her hands carefully: Delicious.
Hoshina grinned, proud—until he tried to sign back you’re welcome but tangled his fingers and ended up signing something closer to handsome.
She froze, then burst into a silent laugh so strong she had to cover her face.
“What? What did I do?” he demanded.
Between laughs, she corrected his hands, showing him the proper motion. He flushed, rubbing the back of his neck, but secretly, he didn’t mind her seeing him flustered.
In the kitchen
One rainy evening, he finally invited her over.
“I’ll cook,” he signed—slowly, clumsily, but clear.
Her brows rose, amused, but she accepted.
He prepared katsudon, moving with a rhythm that felt both new and familiar. Sword drills and cooking weren’t so different—both demanded precision, balance, timing.
She sat at the counter, chin propped on her hand, watching him intently. When he passed her a spoonful of broth, she sipped, then signed: So good.
“Glad you like it,” he replied, proud. But when he tried to sign happy, his fingers slipped, and she tilted her head.
“You just told me you’re… tired of goats,” she signed back with a teasing smile.
He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. She laughed again—no sound, just pure warmth that filled the kitchen more than words ever could.
Rainy afternoons
There were days when the world slowed down. The children napped at the orphanage, rain tapping steadily on the roof, and they would sit side by side on the veranda.
Sometimes they signed simple words back and forth—happy, fun, tomorrow, again. Other times, they didn’t bother. Silence wasn’t empty between them. It was full.
He realized he liked those quiet moments best. For once, he didn’t need to fight, didn’t need to fill the air with chatter. Sitting there with her, watching the rain blur the world outside, was enough.
The teasing
Of course, kids don’t stay quiet for long.
One afternoon, a cheeky girl tugged on Hoshina’s sleeve and asked, “Hoshina-san, is she your girlfriend?”
His ears went red instantly. He glanced at the woman beside him, who was already smiling, waiting for his response.
He hesitated, then signed with a crooked grin: Not yet. But I want to.
The kids gasped, covering their mouths dramatically.
Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing pink. For a moment, he worried he’d gone too far. But then, slowly, she signed back: Me too.
The kids erupted in cheers, running circles around them, chanting, “Girlfriend! Girlfriend!”
Hoshina buried his face in his hands, but when he peeked out, she was laughing again—soft and radiant.
Hoshina Soshiro once thought his life ended with the Kaiju war. That he was a blade without a sheath, a swordsman without a purpose.
But maybe… maybe he didn’t need a battlefield.
Maybe his purpose was here—in quiet afternoons, clumsy signs, shared meals, children’s laughter, and a woman who taught him that silence could be warmer than any victory cheer.
And for the first time, Hoshina didn’t need his sword at all.
Chapter 2: He was not prepared.
Notes:
so this is the part 2 or real ending of im-paired.
As you have noticed i never added a summary on im-paired and disnt even finished it because i was so so tired i fell asleep after posting it. Hope you like this one.
Chapter Text
One evening, after another day at the orphanage, Hoshina stayed at her house to help with dinner. He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming faintly while chopping vegetables. When he glanced over his shoulder, his hands stilled.
She was at the counter, carefully opening several bottles of medicine, pouring far too many pills into her palm. Her movements weren’t careless — they were practiced, weary, almost resigned.
Hoshina frowned and stepped closer. He gently reached for one of the bottles, reading the label. His stomach dropped. Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Stage IV.
His hand shook as he turned back to her. “...Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes lowered, unable to meet his. Slowly, she lifted her hands, signing with effort.
“I didn’t want you to worry. I only have two months left.”
The air left his lungs in a single, broken rush. His throat felt dry, useless, like a sword dulling in his grip. Two months. That was all the time they had.
But from that night on, he never left her side.
Those two months became a fragile treasure. They cooked together, laughed with the children at the adoption center, sat shoulder to shoulder during sunsets. He threw himself into learning her world more deeply, his signing growing smoother every day, each word a vow that he would not waste the time she had left.
And then came the last day.
The hospital room was filled with quiet, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors. She lay in the bed, her breathing shallow, her skin pale but calm. Hoshina sat close, holding her hand, memorizing the warmth he knew he would lose.
Her eyes opened, faint but clear, and she looked at him one last time. With effort, she raised her hand, her fingers trembling as they moved in the simplest, most important phrase.
“I love you.”
The signs were weak, but unmistakable.
Tears blurred Hoshina’s vision as he answered back, his own hands shaking. “I love you too.”
For a moment, she just watched him, then a fragile laugh escaped her lips. Her hands moved again, slow but sure.
“You still suck at sign language,” she teased gently. “You just told me ‘I hate you too.’”
Hoshina froze, eyes widening through his tears. Then he let out a broken, half-sob, half-laugh, clutching her hand tighter.
She smiled at him — soft, peaceful, radiant — and with that smile still on her lips, her hand slowly fell back onto the sheets, her body finally giving in.
Hoshina bowed his head over her hand, sobbing, the swordsman who had never feared Kaiju now defeated by the only battle he couldn’t fight.
idkhonestly (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 11:13AM UTC
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idkhonestly (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 11:19AM UTC
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idkhonestly (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 11:24AM UTC
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idkhonestly (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 11:37AM UTC
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hoshinaswife (Guest) on Chapter 2 Sun 17 Aug 2025 03:10AM UTC
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Last Edited Tue 23 Sep 2025 12:33PM UTC
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