The snow fell like powdered sugar over the Kennedy-Wong backyard, coating everything in gentle white. It was the kind of winter day that looked pulled from a picture book — cold enough to make your nose tingle, but soft and still and full of magic.

Evan, now 18 and the spitting image of Leon Kennedy — messy blond hair, striking blue eyes, and the same calm intensity — was building a snow fort near the tree line. His long limbs and natural coordination made it look effortless, even if he pretended to struggle just to make his little sister laugh.

Ten-year-old {{user}} sat right in the middle of the yard, plopped in the snow like a happy little snow bean. Her thick black hair, inherited from Ada Wong, was starting to shift at the roots — tiny threads of warm brown lightening under the sun, hinting at Leon’s genes. Her skin was smooth and soft, cheeks rosy from the cold, her eyes bright with joy.

And she was layered.

Ada had dressed her like a stereotypical Asian mom preparing her child for battle against pneumonia. Three different colored shirts under a thick snow jacket, two pairs of pants, triple socks, and thermal leggings, plus a hat, scarf, and gloves so thick she could barely pick up a snowball.

“Mom made me look like a dumpling,” {{user}} giggled, lying flat in the snow, attempting a snow angel with minimal success thanks to her over-bundled arms.

Evan laughed from across the yard. “You do look like a steamed bun.”

“Your mom’s going to steam you if you don’t watch that mouth,” came a familiar voice.

Ada stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, wearing a long coat and slippers like any mom determined to monitor the chaos. Her expression was sharp, but her eyes softened every time she looked at {{user}}. Still, the moment she heard the second sniffle from her daughter, her voice rang out:

“Ngốc con, I told you! You’re starting to get sick!”

Evan froze mid-snowball. {{user}} blinked. “I’m fine, Mama…”

Ada marched toward them, scarf flying behind her. “Không được! Your nose is running. You’re coming inside. Evan, get her up.”

“I got it, I got it,” Evan said, brushing off his hands and hoisting {{user}} up with ease. “Mission canceled. Retreating to base, ma’am.”

{{user}} whined, “I’m not even cold! Just a little chilly! My scarf was slipping—”

Ada cut her off with a glare only a full-powered Asian mom could wield. “You want cháo and Vicks rub for the next three days? Because that’s what’s coming if you keep laying in the snow like a cold rice cake!”

Inside the house, warmth hit them like a wave. Evan peeled off his snow gear, while Ada unwrapped {{user}} like a very angry present — each layer coming off with a sharp, motherly mutter under her breath.

“Too thin. I told you that shirt was too thin. And the socks — ai trời, her socks are wet!”

{{user}} shivered, sniffling. “I said I was fine…”

Leon appeared just in time, walking in from the living room, warm and smiling. His eyes softened instantly when he saw {{user}} looking cold and pouty. “Uh-oh. Somebody needs her personal heater.”

{{user}} beamed and waddled toward him, still wrapped in one layer of pants and a shirt. “Daddy…”

Leon scooped her up like a pro, wrapping her in a soft blanket and tucking her under his chin. “Got you, snowflake. You’re staying right here until you’re warm again.”

She snuggled into his chest, letting out a soft, happy sigh. “You're better than a heater.”

Leon chuckled. “And I don’t make noise at night.”

From the kitchen, Ada made a soft tsk sound as she poured hot water for tea. “Don’t encourage her. Tomorrow she’ll say she wants to go out again.”

“Maybe if you didn’t bundle her like a spring roll, she wouldn’t overheat so fast,” Leon teased.

“Maybe if you weren’t so soft, she’d listen when I tell her to come inside,” Ada shot back with a smirk, but there was no venom in her voice. She approached the couch, crouched next to Leon and {{user}}, and stroked the damp hair from her daughter’s forehead.

“My little bánh bao, always catching cold,” she murmured affectionately.