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“There’s no such thing as Santa!”
“Don’t be silly. Of course, there is.”
“Your mother’s right, Taku,” his father added with a smile. “Santa’s very real!”
“Well, Ken-chan said he’s not,” Taku, for all the seven-year-old boy believed in—with the limited knowledge of the annual holiday that came and went, argued with his parents. He was a persistent boy, grasping the idea that the holiday might just be his parents’ doing, wanting to keep the Christmas spirit alive in his childlike imagination.
With just the right timing, the doorbell rang.
“Sounds like we have a visitor.”
“That might be Santa Claus.”
Taku frowned. “I bet it’s just the delivery guy or something.” He opened the door—and sure enough, Santa Claus was standing in front of him. “Whoa, Santa Claus!”
It should’ve gone well, for the most part.
“Yeah, right, as if I’d react like that,” he said. “Did you get hired by my parents? Must be hard having to work on Christmas Eve. Anyway, can I have my present now—”
This brat isn’t the least bit cute.
Kusuo blinked, placing the wrapped present on Taku’s head before vanishing before his very eyes. Teleportation was handy in this scenario, making it believable that Santa—well, Kusuo Santa Claus—had the Christmas magic in him. As if the discount-store costume and his blank commitment to the bit could fool anyone. Yeah, that’s right, Kusuo also heard that last part of what little Taku was thinking.
Cheeky little brat’s going through it.
“He disappeared! Mom, that was Santa. He’s real!”
Good grief. Maybe believing Santa will help you be cuter.
He removed the faux white beard, the fibers giving an itchy sensation on his face. Alright, how many more are there left?
And honestly, just how did the world’s strongest psychic get himself into this Christmas escapade?
Christmas in the Saiki household had never known the meaning of restraint.
Kusuo had known this since he was old enough to remember, which unfortunately meant he had known this since birth, since the first time his mother decided that one string of lights wasn’t enough and escalated into something that could probably be seen from low orbit. The decorations alone were enough to make the electric company send thank-you cards. Lights crawled over every surface of the house like living organisms, clinging to roof tiles, wrapping the trees, outlining the windows in blinking reds, greens, and golds. Inflatable reindeer stood in rigid attention on the lawn, one of them slightly deflated and wheezing like it had asthma. The star atop the roof was the finishing touch.
The neighbors had long since stopped complaining. It was easier to accept that the Saiki residence would, every December, consume enough electricity to be visible from space. If Kusuo had been less vigilant, satellites probably would have tried to communicate. The neighboring houses were dark by comparison, humbled into irrelevance by Kurumi and Mitsuri’s festive ambition.
Wow, their house is brighter than last year…
Is this a Christmas display or an amusement park?
My electricity bill hurts just looking at it.
“…You’re right. The electric bill is going to be catastrophic,” Kusuo said to himself.
Though he could care less what passerby thought of their house because seeing his older sister giddy and lively for the holidays was enough for him to keep their opinions to themselves. Even right now, as Anya kept on squealing as she did her tummy time on her playmat in the living room. Kusuo was undeterred when those big green eyes glanced at him without much thought behind them.
“Wah! Unm!”
Yeah. I get that part, too.
With Anya dressed in the cutest snowman outfit, Mitsuri could barely contain her own squeals as she took dozens and dozens of pictures of their baby sister. If it was a crime to be adorable, all babies would’ve gone to jail within a blink of an eye.
“She’s so cute, Kusuo!” she cheered.
He nodded along, watching carefully while Anya’s head wobbled, still getting used to the weight of her own head. Kusuo doesn’t remember being this small and… drooly. Yes, he drooled like any other baby, but not this much where he practically had to wipe it off every five minutes with a bib.
Such a messy kid. Yuuji wasn’t this messy when he was a baby.
That was because he and Yuuji were equally as messy because they were close in age at that time. Even if Kusuo tried to deny this ever happening.
“Why, hello, kiddos! I’m Santa Claus,” their Dad, Kuniharu, greeted with enthusiasm, dressed in a tacky Santa costume that wasn’t store bought, but rather handsewn by their Mom. “I’m going to deliver presents to all the good boys and girls in the neighborhood.”
Three of the four siblings looked up at their Dad, all having their distinct opinions about the predicament they’re given.
Have you finally lost it, Dad?
“Aw, you look cute, Dad!” Mitsuri said.
Anya, on the other hand, took a glance at Kuniharu, then decided she did not know this man whatsoever as she began wailing.
Great.
“Oh, no— sweetie, hey! It’s me, your old man!” Kuniharu ditched the faux beard and hurriedly picked up his youngest daughter, swaying her in his arms to soothe her cries, but to no avail, Anya cried harder.
Looks like your costume is good for Halloween instead. Scares off the children.
“Going somewhere?” Mitsuri asked.
Kurumi took Anya from her husband’s hold and smiled. “I was telling the neighbors about how your dad dresses up as Santa every year, and they all asked if they could come to their houses too.”
Don’t spread our family’s shame.
How fun!
It’s clear as day that Kusuo and Mitsuri mostly had conflicting thoughts about certain situations.
“It’s only five presents,” Kuniharu tells them. “Everyone is waiting for Kuniharu Claus!”
Kusuo stared blankly at his father. You’re a lost Claus. Pun intended, for the sake of the author’s sanity.
“Santa never backs down! I’m off now! Ho ho—ow.”
That last sound was not how the infamous Santa greeting goes.
Kusuo pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. Of course this was how it would go.
Kuniharu Saiki, a grown man with the physical resilience of wet cardboard, had finally met the consequences of his enthusiasm. He had bent at an awkward angle, one hand clutching his lower back while the other clutching his front, though Kusuo gave kudos to his red Santa hat that still held on even through his father’s unfortunate giving up of his bones.
“I screwed up my lower back… My lower back is screwed… I screwed up… I screwed up…” Kuniharu kept on chanting.
Do you want a screwdriver for that?
“Dad, are you ok?”
“Fine, dearie,” Kuniharu winced dramatically, though he looked up to Kusuo with a pleading expression. “Please, fix this, Kusuo.”
Well, there’s no other choice. Then Kusuo remembered that he couldn’t because he had already turned back time for his dad just this morning. Over a stubbed toe. A shame.
It can’t be helped.
“Ow, my back… Honey, I think this is it… Tell the kids I loved them…”
“We’re right here,” Kusuo said flatly.
“Tell them again!”
Unbelievable.
“Kusuo, you have to deliver these presents for me.”
“No way.”
“Please, I’m begging you, Santa Kusuo!”
“Don’t ever call me that again.”
“I’ll do it!” Lo and behold, Kurumi was dressed in her Santa costume, still carrying Anya, who was now just happily looking at the father and son bickering. “Just leave it to me, alright!”
Her Santa costume was not a Santa costume. It was a crime against fabric. Short, form-fitting, trimmed with far too much faux fur in all the wrong places, it was something she had bought years ago under the justification of “holiday spirit” and had never once been allowed to wear outside the house. For the good of humanity, Kusuo made sure she never had to wear it.
“Mitsuri can come with me! She’d look adorable as Santa too,” Kurumi tells them.
Mitsuri perks up at that. “Oh! I still have that one from last year. The red one with the—”
“No,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice was calm and flat but firm. “You are not going outside dressed like that. Neither of you are.”
Kuniharu groaned from the floor. “Kusuo… think of the children...”
Kusuo ignored him entirely.
Mitsuri tilted her head, long pink-and-green hair swaying. “But it’s Christmas! And it’s cold out. The costume is warm.”
It was not. Kusuo knew this because he had memorized the thickness of every fabric in the house at the age of six, accidentally. When he was trying to find Yuuji in their game of hide-and-seek. His brother was surprisingly good at keeping his thoughts quiet as he hid in one of the bigger coats.
Before anyone could argue further, Yuuji shut the door behind him. He grinned as he took in the scene.
“You ok, Dad?”
“Yuuji,” Kuniharu wheezed weakly, lifting one trembling hand. “Carry on my legacy…”
Yuuji walked over and crouched beside him, peering down with exaggerated concern. He was carrying a box of leftover ornaments like it weighed nothing—which, given Yuuji, it might as well have. He was taller than most people his age, broad-shouldered and perpetually energetic, with a smile that never seemed to fade.
“Lower back again?”
“I bent down to carry the sack and saw my entire life flash before my eyes.”
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Yuuji nodded solemnly, then looked up at Kusuo. “What were you guys talking about— and why is Mom dressed in a Santa costume?”
“I’ll go,” Kusuo said simply. “I’ll fill in for Dad as Santa this year.”
Silence fell.
Kurumi stared at him as if he had just announced he would join the circus. “Kuu-chan?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll dress as Santa?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll talk to the children?”
Kusuo nodded once. “…Minimally.”
Mitsuri clasped her hands together. “Kusuo as Santa…! That’s so cute!”
“It is not,” Kusuo replied immediately.
Yuuji snorted. “I wanna see that.”
“You will,” Kusuo said flatly, “because you’re coming with me.”
Yuuji’s eyebrows shot up. “I am?”
“You’ll carry the presents.”
“Oh, cool.”
Yuuji just nodded along, knowing that he could never truly win against Kusuo.
Kurumi’s eyes softened, a hand rising to her mouth. “Oh, Kusuo… are you sure? You don’t like crowds.”
“I’ll manage,” he said.
What he did not say was that he could manage far worse than crowds. A few excited children were nothing compared to insufferable neighborhood dads that couldn’t keep their eyes to themselves. He couldn’t imagine the entire neighborhood collapsing under the combined weight of his mom and sister’s charm.
The chaos would be irreversible.
His arm would hurt from swinging the nanana memory eraser tool that was suspiciously shaped like a crowbar, in that sense.
Kuniharu sniffed loudly from the floor. “My son… stepping up when his father falls…”
“Please stop talking,” Kusuo sighed.
“Do I get a costume?” Yuuji asked from where he was now, poking Anya’s round cheeks.
Kurumi gasped. “Oh! We still have the elf outfit!”
Yuuji pumped a fist. “Yes! I always wanted to be an elf!”
Kuniharu laughed. “Perfect! Santa and his elf!”
Their mom’s eyes were shining with joy. “Oh! My boys are going out together! This is so festive!”
Kuniharu sniffled loudly. “Take pictures… bring back stories…”
“No.”
The costume change happened quickly.
The Santa suit was… tolerable.
It fit better than Kusuo expected, the red fabric heavy but warm, the white trim soft against his wrists. The beard itched, but a small psychic adjustment fixed that temporarily. The hat sat snugly on his head, and for once, the pink of his hair was hidden. Yuuji, meanwhile, looked thrilled. The elf outfit—green with red accents, a little bell on the hat—was stretched slightly over his broad frame, but he didn’t seem to mind. He slung the massive sack of presents over one shoulder like it was a pillowcase full of socks.
Mitsuri bounced over, circling Kusuo. “You look great! Very… dignified Santa.” Then she adjusted Yuuji’s hat.
“That’s not a thing,” Kusuo said.
Yuuji shifted the sack of presents from one arm to another. “You sure these are all the gifts?” he asked. “Feels kinda light.”
“That’s because you’re comparing it to lifting cars.”
“Huh. I guess.”
So that’s how I ended up here.
As a son, it’s my duty to stop my 37-year-old mother and 19-year-old sister from walking around the neighborhood in a sexy Santa costume. We just have to make it quick; there are only four more houses to go.
“I can’t believe you got stopped by the cops!” Yuuji laughed.
“Only because I told you to carry the sack while we’re not at kids’ houses yet.”
Utter humiliation is what Kusuo felt at that time. Seriously, why did people have to dress up as Santa to rob houses? Isn’t that humiliating for the robbers?
Flying like the real Santa was easier for Kusuo, but Yuuji managed to follow not too far behind—his brother not only had the strength but also somehow had gotten godlike impeccable speed. What was his record again? 60.02 km/h—or approximately 37.3 mph. Yuuji was a student athlete in his school, so it’s no wonder all were pining for him to join their club.
“So, what’s the plan for this one? Knock and dish out the usual Christmas greeting?” Yuuji asked as they glanced down at the home of the Akashima residence. The two went over the large gate, and Kusuo was about to ring the doorbell when he paused.
“Hand me that sack,” is all that Kusuo says to a very confused Yuuji.
“Disillusioned? Where did you learn that word?”
A sudden crash from the chimney. If the kid wants Santa’s entrance to be from the chimney, then so be it. Kusuo could never do things halfway, especially when he heard that this little girl would be disappointed if Santa just rang the doorbell. It’s an easy feat for someone like Kusuo, though he does hope that the family didn’t mind his… peculiar entrance.
“Santa’s here!” The girl cheered, running at him. Though the grim and flat expression on Kusuo’s face made her stop at a safe distance. “Uh, yikes…”
Don’t look so disillusioned, kid. Here’s your present.
Kusuo—no, Santa Kusuo, cobwebs and all—held the present out to her.
“Please leave it under the tree over there and go.”
Another brat.
“Weren’t you going to ask Santa for a hug?” her father tried to lighten the mood.
The disgusted look she gave him was one that Kusuo would remember for the entire night.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” she shuddered as she politely bowed. “I appreciate all your efforts, Sir.”
Cut the polite talk.
Seriously, what’s up with kids these days?
“I’ll knock,” Yuuji says this time around.
The moment the door rang, it was like anxiety took form in place of a child. A child way too wary of his safety, as any child should be. Judging by the terrified look on his face, he was only remaining polite before his flight response was triggered.
“Uh, hello, sirs! What do you want? Do you mind if I ask who you are?”
Oh, come on. You must know Santa. Kusuo didn’t look too impressed.
“Hi, I’m Santa’s trusty elf—and this is,” Yuuji glanced at his brother in costume, “Santa. We’re here to deliver your present!”
Kusuo adjusted the sack on his shoulder, posture stiff but steady.
“...Ho,” he said monotonously.
Yuuji smiled, laughing quietly as he elbowed Kusuo discreetly. “You gotta commit to the act, Nii-san.”
Right. Kusuo exhaled. “...Ho. Ho. Ho. I’m Santa, killer.”
Kanta was sweating by now. “Wait— hold on, what’d you just say? You’re a Santa Killer?”
I’m calling you killer.
“Y- You don’t want me. I’m Kanta not Santa!”
Close enough.
Kusuo placed the present on the floor, and the two made their exit before Kanta’s cries could rouse any more suspicion from the neighbors. Why didn’t his mother even tell him that someone was coming? What was the point of even contracting his father to deliver presents?
Good grief.
The last house was supposed to be simple.
That was what Kusuo and Yuuji thought as they stood at the edge of the sidewalk, Kusuo’s Santa sack considerably lighter now, the snow falling in slow, lazy flakes that barely registered against his senses. One more stop, one more present to deliver, and then they could go home. Back home, to the absurdly bright lights, his father’s overdramatic groaning, and his mother’s inevitable hot cocoa galore.
Oh, and Mitsuri made cake. Kusuo wants that.
Simple.
“It’s Christmas Eve!” A woman yelled. “Can’t it wait one night?”
“I’ve got no choice! Something unexpected came up…”
There’s no way they can just knock and give this kid his present. Kusuo already foresaw a kid’s dejected face, as if the world was already ending. How tragic.
Kusuo’s steps slowed.
Why does work always win?
Yuuji noticed Kusuo stop and glanced over. “What’s up?”
Kusuo didn’t answer right away. He looked at the house, at the faint glow of the Christmas tree through the window, and at the way the lights flickered unevenly along the eaves. He could feel the pressure in the man’s mind—the stress, the responsibility, the guilt. He could feel the woman’s frustration, layered with resignation. He could feel Kenta’s disappointment most of all.
So was he an empath now?
“This house,” Kusuo said finally, voice low. “Has a problem.”
Yuuji blinked. “Like… chimney-blocked problem, or—”
“Like ‘father is about to leave on Christmas Eve because his company’s analytics system is failing’ problem.”
Yuuji grimaced. “Yikes.”
Kusuo adjusted the sack on his shoulder. “We’ll leave the present outside.”
Yuuji frowned. “Wait, what? Aren’t we—”
“We’re not knocking,” Kusuo said. “But we are fixing this.”
Yuuji’s eyes widened. “You mean—”
“Yes.”
Yuuji stared at him, then broke into a grin. “Wow. Santa really does go above and beyond.”
Shut up. It’s all for the sake of getting home early.
The two moved quickly. Kusuo placed the neatly wrapped present under the small tree on the porch, adjusting it so it wouldn’t get damp. For a moment, he lingered, listening to Kenta’s thoughts soften just slightly as he noticed the shape outside through the window.
Santa…? Please.
Who knows? I could’ve been a burglar and not Santa.
Then Kusuo stepped back.
One moment, they were standing in the snow; the next, fluorescent lights glimmered overhead, the air warm. They were in an office.
Rows of desks sat mostly empty, monitors glowing softly in the dim. A large glass-walled conference room overlooked the space, with whiteboards filled with diagrams and sticky notes. Somewhere deeper in the building was where their target would be.
Yuuji looked down at himself, then at Kusuo. “We are absolutely going to be on someone’s security camera dressed like this.”
Kusuo glanced at the blinking red light in the corner, then flicked his fingers imperceptibly. The camera powered down.
“No footage,” he said.
“Nice.”
They moved toward the server room, Kusuo already sorting through the data streams in his head. He could feel the problem like a knot—misaligned processes, corrupted analytics pipelines, a cascade failure waiting to happen.
“This company relies heavily on real-time data aggregation,” Kusuo said, more to himself than to Yuuji. “Their analytics process isn’t scalable enough for their recent expansion.”
His brother whistled. “You got all that from… vibes?”
“From the server logs Kenta’s dad was thinking,” Kusuo replied. “That, and I’m reading through this manual that’s conveniently on the help desk.”
“Right.”
They reached the server room. The door was locked.
Yuuji cracked his knuckles. “Want me to—”
“No.” Kusuo placed a hand on the keypad. The lock clicked open instantly. Kusuo stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
“The issue started three hours ago,” he said. “A batch processing job failed, causing downstream analytics to misreport key metrics. The emergency is because executives noticed the discrepancy.”
Yuuji leaned against a rack, peering at a screen. “So… we just fix the job?”
“In theory.”
“In practice?”
Kusuo sighed. “In practice, their entire analytics pipeline needs optimization.”
Yuuji laughed softly. “On Christmas Eve.”
Kusuo rolled up the sleeves of the Santa suit, ignoring how ridiculous it felt. He raised his hand, fingers hovering over the console without touching it. Data flowed into his mind—charts, code, processes, and inefficiencies stacked upon inefficiencies. There’s nothing too difficult for a psychic like him to do.
“Okay,” he said. “First, we isolate the corrupted data.”
Yuuji squinted at the screen. “Uh. Which one is that?”
“The one with the error rate spiking at 21:01.”
“Oh. Obviously.”
Kusuo worked quickly, rewriting processes mentally and pushing the changes through with precise telekinetic control. Lines of code updated themselves, and systems reconfigured without a single keystroke. It was easier this way. His brother was only here for moral support, and that he didn’t want Yuuji getting to eat cake early and one-upping him.
Yuuji watched in silence for a while, then spoke. “You know… this is probably way more than the dad expected you to do.”
“Uh huh,” Kusuo said. “But if we only patch the surface issue, it will happen again.”
“Santa does preventative maintenance,” Yuuji nodded sagely.
Seconds passed. Then a minute.
Numbers stabilized.
Graphs smoothed.
Alerts vanished one by one.
Yuuji blinked. “Uh… Kusuo?”
“Hm?”
“I think you just saved Christmas. And possibly this company’s fiscal quarter.”
Kurumi was the first to greet them when they got back.
“You’re back! Oh my goodness, you two took forever!” she said, giving her sons a hug.
Kuniharu groaned from the couch. “Did you two get lost?”
Yuuji laughed, tugging off his elf hat. “Something like that.”
Mitsuri tilted her head to the side. Her expression was brimming with joy. “Thank you for protecting Christmas!” She lifted a giggling Anya. “And look, Anya! Look at Santa Kusuo and Elf Yuuji!”
Their baby sister babbled. “Mmwah!”
“Aw! She blew a kiss!”
Yuuji collapsed into a chair. “I get it now.”
“Get what?” Kusuo asked, removing the beard at last.
“Why Santa only works one day a year,” Yuuji said, grinning tiredly. “This is way too much overtime.”
Right. Unpaid overtime.
Kusuo was never going to be a corporate man. Ever. Too boring.
“I want cake,” he tells Yuuji. “Want some?”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Get your own.”