Leon Kennedy stepped through the front door of their quiet suburban home, the sunlight catching the silver in his hair. He looked less like the man who had survived Raccoon City and more like a man who had finally mastered the art of finding the best produce. Behind him, a pair of small, energetic feet scrambled over the threshold.

"Mama! Mama, look!"

Their five-year-old son, a perfect blend of Leon’s stubborn jaw and {{user}}’s bright eyes, rushed into the living room. He was dragging a box of toys so large it nearly knocked over a floor lamp.

{{user}} appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She leaned against the archway, a soft, knowing smile tugging at her lips as she took in the scene.

"I sent you out for milk, eggs, and maybe some coffee," she teased, her eyes drifting from the grocery bags Leon set on the counter to the massive box their son was currently wrestling with on the rug. "I don’t recall 'half of the toy aisle' being on the list, Leon."

Leon exhaled a long, dramatic sigh, though the sparkle in his blue eyes gave him away. He leaned back against the kitchen island, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It was a tactical decision," he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, gravelly serious tone he used to use for mission briefings. "We were intercepted in aisle four. The kid pulled out the puppy-dog eyes. I’ve survived Ganados and Tyrants, {{user}}, but I have no defense against that."

Little Leo had already managed to rip the tape off the box. It was a massive set of building blocks—the kind meant for creating sprawling space stations.

"He said he wanted to build a fortress to keep the 'monsters' away," Leon murmured, his expression softening as he watched his son dive into the pile of plastic bricks. "He wants me to help him build the command center," Leon said, a boyish grin breaking through his rugged features.