On the fateful night of January 30, 2008, the world bore witness to the impossible.
In a quiet, unassuming hospital nestled deep within the snow-laden landscapes of Hokkaido, a child was born—a child who defied every known law of biology, reason, and comprehension. His arrival sent ripples through the corridors of power, shaking governments, unsettling scholars, and casting the staunchest of religious institutions into turmoil. No precedent in history could explain him. No science could quantify his existence.
From the moment he emerged into the world, it became abundantly clear that Shotaro Mugiwara was no ordinary infant. Unlike newborns, frail and dependent, he entered existence with an aura of majesty that defied all logic. His physique, already as developed as that of a year-old toddler, bore none of the wrinkles or fragility of a newborn. Instead, his limbs were firm, his skin flawless, and his presence almost unnatural in its poise. He did not cry. He did not wail for sustenance. He simply lay there, gazing up at the sterile hospital lights, his crimson eyes burning with an eerie, knowing awareness.
His physical anomaly was astonishing enough, but his very appearance further shattered all expectations. Ethereal silver hair cascaded over his forehead, its strands shimmering like moonlight, starkly contrasting the burning intensity of his scarlet irises. He was not a mere child of flesh and blood. He was something beyond humanity, beyond explanation—perhaps even beyond destiny itself.
News of his birth spread like wildfire. By the time dawn painted the sky above Hokkaido, whispers of the miraculous child had reached the highest echelons of power. The Vatican, the sacred seat of faith, trembled at the implications. The Pope himself called for an emergency council. Beneath the solemn glow of candlelight within Saint Peter's Basilica, cardinals and bishops debated furiously. Had the Messiah returned? Or was this an omen—a trial set upon mankind?
Yet, outside the Vatican's grand halls, the people had already made their decision. No decree from authority was needed. The masses had spoken. A miracle had been born.
As if acknowledging his arrival, the cosmos itself aligned in reverence. That night, the celestial bodies—planets and stars alike—fell into a perfect line, a phenomenon so rare that even the most seasoned astronomers were left dumbfounded. The heavens bathed the Earth in an eerie, unearthly glow, as if the universe had paused to bear witness to the child's coming.
And yet, within the confines of the hospital room, a far different struggle was unfolding.
Hashirama Mugiwara, the man responsible for bringing this enigmatic being into the world, stood beside the hospital bed, his expression wavering between awe and sheer bewilderment. His wife, Himawari, sat cradling their newborn son, an exasperated frown on her face as she tried, yet again, to nurse him.
But the child refused.
Shotaro's tiny yet perfectly formed features scrunched in what could only be described as irritation. He let out an agitated noise—an odd, almost indignant baby protest.
"Gwah!!"
Himawari sighed, attempting once more to press him against her breast, but the infant recoiled, his crimson eyes narrowing in visible displeasure.
Hashirama, who had been silently observing, rubbed his temples. And then, as he scrutinized Shotaro's unwavering gaze fixed upon his wife's chest, an absurd yet strangely logical thought crossed his mind.
"I think…" he began hesitantly, "your black nipples look like eyes to him. That's why he isn't messing with those."
A beat of silence passed.
Himawari blinked, looking down at herself, then back at her husband.
"Wait… that actually makes sense."
For a moment, neither spoke. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation settled upon them. Shotaro, a being hailed as an anomaly, a miracle, possibly even a divine harbinger, was rejecting nourishment simply because he found his mother's body too visually perplexing.
Outside this room, the world stood in awe of his arrival. Inside, he was just an incredibly bizarre, fussy newborn.
A sudden knock at the door shattered the momentary silence.
Hashirama turned towards the sound, instinctively tensing. Given the sheer absurdity of the night so far, he braced himself for yet another impossibility.
The door creaked open slightly, and through the narrow gap, a velvety voice, laced with a thick Romanian accent, resonated through the dimly lit hospital room.
"Does this humble servant have permission to enter?"
Himawari stiffened ever so slightly, tightening her hold on Shotaro, while Hashirama exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.
"Oh, for the love of—Alucard, just come in."
The door swung open, and in an elegant swirl of dark mist and fluttering bats, a tall, imposing figure materialized. Dressed impeccably in a tailored butler's uniform, his presence exuded an air of aristocratic grace mixed with an almost predatory amusement. Crimson eyes, mirroring the newborn's own, gleamed beneath the soft hospital lights.
Vlad Dracula, once a name that struck terror into the hearts of men, now served the Mugiwara household as their eternal vampire butler.
Alucard bowed deeply. "Lady Satsuya, Lady Nishoku, and Lady Miyoko desire to meet their infant brother, M'lord."
Hashirama exchanged glances with Himawari before sighing in resignation. "Of course they do," he muttered. "Bring them in."
Moments later, three figures entered the room—Satsuya, the eldest, Nishoku, the middle daughter, and Miyoko, the youngest. Each bore the unmistakable Mugiwara bloodline, though their reactions to their newborn brother varied.
Satsuya, regal and composed, stepped forward first. With practiced grace, she reached for Shotaro, cradling him in her arms for the first time. Her sharp red eyes softened as she studied him.
"It's strange how he was born with a full head of hair," Miyoko mused, arms crossed. "And… that weird consciousness. He doesn't act like a normal baby at all."
"Well, he was born during a cosmic event," Nishoku pointed out, her tone dry yet laced with amusement. "I think we crossed the definition of 'weird' a long time ago."
But Satsuya wasn't listening. Unlike her sisters, she was wholly engrossed in the presence of her newborn brother, her little Shotaro. She held him close, as if vowing to protect him from the world that already sought to claim him.
Outside, the world debated his existence. Inside this room, within the warmth of his family, Shotaro Mugiwara was simply that—a brother, a son, a strange but cherished child.
hen, suddenly, Shotaro stirred.
"Gao!" he cooed—and, defying all logic, he began to waddle toward the door. An infant only hours old was walking, his tiny feet carrying him with surprising agility as he scurried through the hall, clad in nothing but a nappy.
"Shotaro, no! What are you doing!?" Satsuya cried, bolting after him.
Her chase led her to the hospital waiting room, where a shriveled old man sat quietly—a blind figure, bald and wrinkled, his stature hunched, his frail hands gripping a cane. Despite his lack of sight, he sensed the tiny life barreling toward him like a determined little penguin.
The world had only just begun to witness the enigma that was Shotaro Mugiwara.
Shotaro reached forward and, with clumsy but deliberate hands, snatched the man's glasses from his face.
"Hey, what are you doing?" The old man asked, surprised yet not unkind.
Then he blinked.
And blinked again.
Because for the first time in ages—
He could see.