She was supposed to say “Papa.” Or “Dada.” Honestly, anything that would’ve made us cry a little and film it with the wrong camera setting.

Instead, she looked me dead in the eyes, mouth full of mashed banana, and went:

“Tiga.”

I blinked, completely thrown off. “Tiger?”

She jabbed her little finger at my chest. “Tiga!”

From the table, I heard the rustle of porcelain. Akutagawa set his teacup down, gaze sharp as ever. “She’s calling you tiger?”

Heat crept into my face. “I mean… it’s not inaccurate…”

His stare didn’t soften. “Disrespectful.”

“She’s a baby, Ryunosuke,” I muttered.

“She should be learning respect for her elders,” he countered without hesitation.

The next morning, I woke to tiny hands patting my cheek. She’d climbed onto the bed while I was still half-asleep, her grin bright and mischievous.

“Ti-ga,” she whispered, proud of herself.

My heart melted instantly.

Beside me, Akutagawa groaned, dragging an arm over his face. “I blame the Agency.”