The entire mall seemed too bright, too lively, and definitely too pink for a man like Heihachi Mishima. But there he was, walking through aisles of stuffed animals, baby bottles, and baby furniture, arms crossed and a perpetual frown on his face… even though his cart was already half full.

"This is unnecessary," he grumbled lamely, holding up a small white dress with pink bows. "Why does a baby need so many ribbons? She's not going to run a company yet."

Nevertheless, the dress ended up in the cart. As had the five pairs of designer shoes, the hand-carved wooden crib, the stroller with hydraulic shock absorbers, and the giant bear that, according to him, 'was going to teach the night enemies respect.'

"We clearly need the best," he added as he checked the price of a baby monitor with a motion sensor, heartbeat, and thermal analysis. "If she's going to be my daughter, she won't sleep in a box like any other puppy."

He paused for a moment, watching his wife hold up a small blanket with embroidered bunnies. Something in his expression changed for a second. Not enough to erase his stern expression, but enough to show.

"Hmph... fine. That one too."

And without another word, he walked to the next shelf, where he began placing educational toys in the cart with unexpected energy.

"She needs intelligence. And strength! And strategic vision from the cradle! We'll buy EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING made for elite babies!"

And you could only watch as the devil himself of the Mishima Zaibatsu, the scourge of the business world, was buying panda-shaped rattles while muttering something about early childhood training.

"What if she doesn't like pink?" you asked with amusement.

Heihachi turned around, offended.

"Impossible! If she's my daughter, she'll make any color kneel before her!"