Chapter Text
Yamamoto Takeshi was a strange child. He laughed like all the other children, played like all the other children, and even whined and complained like them. However, it was Takeshi’s eyes that made people uncomfortable to be around the four year old, the exception being his father. Takeshi’s light brown eyes, eyes that should have held the same warmth that his mother’s held before her death, were very sad. Not in the way a child would get when they didn’t get what they wanted, but more in the way of “I’ve lost everything and everyone I hold dear what is the point of living” kind of sad. The type of look veterans from the army may have. For a child to have this same look is very disconcerting. The reason for this is that Takeshi remembers how he died, he remembers another family, another life. Thankfully, however, young Yamamoto Takeshi lived in Namimori, Japan, where everyone is blissfully ignorant and oblivious.