A couple of months rolled by, you know, just the usual changing of seasons blending wilderness vibes with the thrilling routine of school. Because who doesn't love the children snoring and teachers screaming at you constantly? Yeah, totally my idea of a thrilling time.

So, there I was, binge-watching apocalyptic dramas, wrapped up in a blanket fortress while Dad was out there doing the hunter thing. Zombies, aliens, you name it – I became a connoisseur of impending doom.

One day, as Dad inspected the finished taxidermy, I tossed him a casual "Hey, in a zombie apocalypse, do you think a stuffed deer would be our secret weapon?"

Dad just rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Will, let's stick to reality, okay?"

As we rolled out to deliver the deer to Mr. High-and-Mighty, I couldn't help but wonder if his mansion needed a touch of apocalypse chic. Maybe I should suggest it, you know, as a bonus service.

One evening, surrounded by the familiar scent of taxidermy in the workshop, Ryōshi looked at the finished deer with a satisfied nod. "Will, it's time. The customer is waiting for his order."

Will, engrossed in his apocalyptic musings, replied with a smirk, "Well, I hope he appreciates our masterpiece. Maybe he'll start a trend of decorating mansions with woodland creatures."

Ryōshi chuckled, "Who knows? But it's a job well done. Let's load it up, and I'll drop you at school before we make the delivery."

As they drove through the morning mist, Will, gazing at the deer in the back, couldn't help but ask, "Dad, do you ever wonder what it's like in an actual apocalypse? Like, zombies and stuff?"

Ryōshi, steering with practiced ease, responded, "I prefer reality to movie plots, Will. But I suppose everyone finds their fascination somewhere."

Will's mind oscillated between the impending delivery and the allure of apocalyptic scenarios. As he stepped out of the truck, he quipped, "If the world ends, at least I know we have a backup plan – deer-themed survival gear."

Ryōshi, with a smirk, said, "Don't let your imagination run too wild, Will. We have a delivery to make."

As we navigated through the morning traffic, my mind still buzzing with apocalyptic scenarios, I tossed another wild thought at Dad. "Imagine, Dad, if the rich guy wants a whole lineup of woodland creatures for his mansion. We could start a trend – 'Nature's Apocalypse Collection.'"

Dad, with a hint of amusement, glanced my way. As he drops me off to school.

As I stepped out of the truck, I smirked at Dad, "You know, if zombies attack, I've got our escape route all planned out – through the woods, with our trusty deer leading the way."

Dad chuckled, "Just make sure you finish your homework before plotting the apocalypse, Will."

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Back in the truck, the engine humming its familiar tune, I glanced at Dad. "You ever think, Dad, our lives are like one of those movies I watch? Full of twists, unexpected turns, and the occasional stuffed deer delivery?"

Dad, with a smirk, replied, "Well, if our lives are a movie, I hope it's got a good soundtrack."

We drove towards the highway, as were driving I made a quick quip "Maybe we're not just hunters, Dad. We're the stars of our own quirky wilderness sitcom."

Dad, shaking his head but with a smile, said, "Just promise me, if our sitcom ever gets a sequel, you won't cast us in a zombie apocalypse episode."

I laughed, "Deal, Dad. Let's keep it more sitcom, less thriller."

As we approached the imposing gate, guarded by a squad that looked like they meant business, Will couldn't help but break the tension with a smirk. "So, Dad, this rich guy of yours, part of the Yakuza or something?"

Dad shot him a look that could've silenced a room. He handled the guards with a brief exchange, flashing some credentials that seemed to satisfy the security detail.

While Dad was busy with the formalities, I scanned the estate – a massive mansion, a garage that could house a fleet of luxury cars, and probably a private zoo in the backyard. My sarcastic side kicked in, "Good place for an apocalyptic shelter, terrible for guarding. Too much ground to cover." My dad just looked and at me and shook his head.

As we passed through the gate, the estate unfolded before us, like something out of a movie. I couldn't resist the urge to add a touch of humor, "You know, Dad, I can defend us from zombies, but Yakuza might be pushing it."

Dad, finally letting out a chuckle, simply nodded, "Stick to the zombies, Will. Yakuza defense is a whole different skill set."

And with that, we continued our drive through the lavish estate, leaving the fortress-like gate behind and entering a world where zombie defense was still a more reasonable concern than dealing with organized crime.

As we approached the mansion and caught sight of the tall, intimidating figure through the window – the man with jet black hair and those fierce orange eyes that screamed predator – I couldn't help but mutter under my breath, "Holy shit."

Turning to Dad with a mix of awe and concern, I asked, "Be honest, Dad. Is he part of the Yakuza or something? We're not gonna end up in some action movie scenario where our lives depend on impressing the big boss, right?" My tone was a bit sarcastic, but there was an underlying hint of worry.

Dad, unfazed by the towering presence in the window, just laughed. "Will, relax. We're here to deliver a deer, not infiltrate a crime syndicate. Just follow my lead."

He parked the car, and as we stepped out, I couldn't shake the feeling that our little delivery mission had just taken an unexpected twist. The mansion loomed ahead, the imposing figure now stepping out to meet us. I took a deep breath, muttering to myself, "Zombies are starting to sound less complicated."

As we got out of the car and unloaded the deer, well, Dad did most of the heavy lifting, and I hovered around pretending to help – classic teamwork, or so I liked to think.

The intimidating guy approached us, and there was this intense staring thing between him and Dad, like they were measuring each other up. Then, out of the blue, they shook hands. The intimidating man, looking a bit more human for a moment, said, "Ryōshi," and my dad replied with a casual, "Souichiro."

Souichiro called for the butler, like something out of a movie, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Great, a butler. Maybe he'll offer us martinis or something." But the butler, no sign of the Alfred Pennyworth charm, just gestured for us to follow.

In the living room, we rolled in the trolley with the deer taxidermy, guided by the butler who probably had a manual on how to be properly British. I couldn't shake off the feeling of messing up, like, what if I accidentally stained the carpet with my not-so-clean shoes? As we placed the deer on the carpet, I muttered to myself, "Please tell me they've got a no-shoes rule in this fancy mansion."

Later, standing in the extravagant living room of Mr. Deep-Pockets, watching him scrutinize our taxidermy masterpiece, I couldn't help but mumble to Dad, "If he asks, we're also available for interior design consultations."

Dad shot me a look, a mix of amusement and a silent "stop being ridiculous."

Souichiro glanced at the deer, nodding approvingly. "This is good work, Ryōshi. I'll pay the usual."

Dad, always to the point, replied, "Sounds good."

Souichiro, looking at Dad, suggested, "Why don't we talk it over some drinks for old times' sake?"

Dad, glancing my way, explained, "Well, I can't. I have to drive us home."

Souichiro, with a stoic face, proposed, "You can stay here for the night. We can catch up."

Dad, looking a bit torn, glanced at me, and I just shrugged. Friends catching up? He should've told me earlier. But instead, he agreed with a casual "Sure."

Souichiro called for his butler to show me around his house as they headed to a bar. While being guided around, I couldn't help but marvel, 'Really? You have a bar in your house? How rich are you?'

As we explored, I couldn't help but think, 'Is this place a mansion or a small country?'