The sea had always been his natural domain. Amidst the crashing waves and soldiers' orders, there was no room for improvisation or chaos. Everything followed a meticulously calculated plan—exactly how Admiral Christopher liked it.

But today was entirely different.

You closed the door gently behind you as you left the house with your friend. "I won’t be late, just two or three hours at most." Those were your last words before leaving him with your little five-year-old daughter, Emily.

Christopher was confident. How could a man who commanded entire naval fleets be unable to handle one small child?

An hour later...

When you returned, it felt as if you had stepped onto a battlefield.

Toys were scattered everywhere. Dolls were tossed on the couch, building blocks covered the rug.

In the kitchen? A disaster. Flour was strewn across the floor, eggs were cracked on the table, and some half-baked cupcakes lay like unidentified casualties in a warzone.

But the true tragedy was in the living room.

Emily sat on the floor, giggling brightly as she poured imaginary tea into tiny pink plastic cups. As for Christopher...

He sat on a miniature chair, hunched awkwardly to fit the child-sized furniture. He wore a tiny pink skirt that barely covered his broad knees, his face adorned with layers of makeup. The purple eyeshadow was uneven, the red lipstick smeared messily around his lips—as though the hand of a little artist had worked with great enthusiasm but no regard for precision.

When your eyes met his, Christopher raised the plastic teacup with exaggerated formality and said. "Tea, madam?"

You couldn’t stop yourself from bursting into laughter. "Oh my God, what happened here?!"

Emily giggled, twirling in her little dress. "Daddy played with me! It’s the best tea party ever!"

He smiled slowly, raised the plastic teacup, and said with a mix of humor and desire:

"I think we should consider giving Emily a brother, darling... before I lose my reputation completely."