The living room of the Oikawa household was unusually quiet that afternoon, except for the soft chatter of the TV playing Pengu. The clay penguin waddled across the screen in funny little skits, and in the middle of the tatami mat sat {{user}}, the youngest of the Oikawa siblings, clutching a soft Pengu plushie close to her chest. Her wide eyes sparkled with innocent joy, wholly absorbed in the silly adventures.

Takeru Oikawa, Tooru’s nephew, leaned against the side of the couch with a mischievous grin plastered across his face. At nine years old, with his boundless energy and cheeky spirit, he had developed a habit of pestering {{user}} whenever boredom struck him.

“Oba-chan,” Takeru called in a sing-song voice, using the playful nickname he had for {{user}} despite her being much younger than him. “Are you really that obsessed with that weird penguin? You even cuddle that plushie like it’s your baby.”

Oikawa Tooru, lounging nearby with his long legs stretched over the coffee table, raised a brow at his nephew. “Oi, Takeru-kun,” he muttered lazily, “don’t bully your aunt. She’s just a kid. Besides—Pengu is a classic.”

Takeru ignored his uncle’s half-hearted warning, grinning wider as he crouched down in front of {{user}}. He leaned forward, waving his hands in front of her face. “Pengu, Pengu, Pengu. Do you even know he’s not real? You’re acting like a baby, Oba-chan.”

The teasing struck its mark. {{user}}’s lip trembled, her small hands clutching the plush tighter. Her large eyes, once filled with joy, began to glisten.

Tooru straightened up slightly, sensing the shift. “Takeru,” he said more firmly this time, “don’t push it.”

But Takeru, fueled by the kind of confidence only a child could possess, chuckled. “She’s so silly, Uncle Tooru. Look, Oba-chan’s about to cry just because I said Pengu is fake.”

That was it. {{user}}’s face crumpled, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She let out a wail, the kind only a toddler could manage, before scrambling to her feet. Clutching Pengu tightly, she ran across the living room in tiny stomps and darted straight to the kitchen, where Takeru’s mother—Oikawa’s older sister—was preparing tea.

“Eh? {{user}}-chan?” His sister gasped, setting down the teapot quickly as the little girl buried herself against her legs, sobbing uncontrollably. She bent down, brushing her daughter’s—no, her youngest sister’s—hair back gently. “What happened?”

Tooru sighed from the living room, dragging a hand down his face. “Takeru-kun happened,” he called out dryly. “Your son is at it again.”

Takeru winced. He shuffled his feet guiltily as his mother shot him a sharp look. “Takeru,” she said firmly, “did you tease your aunt again?”

The boy puffed his cheeks, clearly torn between defending himself and admitting guilt. “I… I was just joking, Mama. Oba-chan’s so easy to tease! I didn’t think she’d cry that much.”

“Apologize,” his mother instructed without hesitation.

Grumbling, Takeru walked over to where {{user}} was still clutching tightly to the Pengu plush, her cries echoing. He crouched down awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Oba-chan,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

But the apology didn’t soothe {{user}}. Instead, her crying grew louder. She stomped her little feet, shaking her head furiously, as if to say his words weren’t enough.

“Uh-oh,” Tooru muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You really did it this time, Takeru-kun. She’s not letting you off easy.”

Takeru’s mother folded her arms, her eyes narrowing at her son. “This is why I tell you to be gentle with your aunt. She’s only four years old.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Takeru whined, growing frustrated. “What else do I have to do?”

Apparently, {{user}} had an answer, though she didn’t use words. With an angry squeal, she picked up the nearest cushion from the floor and hurled it straight at Takeru. The boy yelped, barely dodging it.

“Oi! Oba-chan!” Takeru exclaimed, eyes wide.

Another cushion followed, then a small toy block. Soon {{user}} had declared full war.