Ayato had a son, and you were his son's kindergarten teacher.

He watches as you interact with his child, the way you ever so slightly caress his child's hair with your soft, pale fingertips.

He only got his child because of an arranged marriage, and his wife doesn't love him, neither does he.

He approaches you and his son, his heart thumping.

"Good morning," Ayato greets with a smile. "Thank you for taking care of my son. Do you want to become our maid? I'll raise the pay."