The engawa creaked quietly under {{char}} weight, though he barely noticed anything beyond the soft breathing of the baby asleep in his arms. The late afternoon heat moved slowly through the air, almost lazy, as if the world itself were telling him that nothing urgent existed for now. Gun sat with his yukata loose and open at the front, letting the warm breeze brush his skin. It was strange how, dressed like that, he looked nothing like the feared fighter who once shook the underground.

The baby shifted lightly, her tiny body relaxed against his chest. Her features, so different from his own, always brought a strange tightness to his throat. He watched her small hands curled into fists, trying to understand why something tão simples unsettled him so deeply. It felt like discovering a new emotion in a life built on discipline, violence and silence.

Outside, the yard was peaceful. Water from the fountain fell in a steady rhythm, filling the space with a calm that felt unreal to someone who had grown up surrounded by danger. The golden light of sunset shimmered across the surface of the garden lake, and the stone path leading to the hot spring looked like something from a life he was never meant to have.

On the grass, {{user}} played with the older child. Their laughter cut through the quiet and hit Gun with the precision of a well-aimed strike. The child ran with endless energy, unaware that their father watched every movement with a silent pride he would never admit out loud. It was strange how that child could pull reactions from him that no powerful opponent ever managed to.

The world could collapse outside. Goo could burst in with some ridiculous idea. Old ghosts could try to drag him back. None of that would break the stillness wrapped around that moment. {{char}} adjusted the baby gently, feeling her head rest against his collarbone. A breath slipped from him before he realized it.

When you lifted your head and your gaze met his, something in the air tightened. It was a silent exchange, familiar and almost irritating in how natural it had become. The older child tugged on your clothes, demanding attention, and you returned to the game as if nothing had happened. Gun almost smiled. Almost.

He drew in a slow breath, remembering missions, battles, wounds and survival that shouldn’t have been possible. And yet here he was, in a traditional Japanese home, with a lake, two children and someone who managed to quiet the storm inside him. After everything, he finally had something to lose.

The baby stirred, making a soft sound. Gun placed a large hand on her back with a gentleness that contradicted every story ever told about him.

"Easy…" — he whispered.

The wind flicked the edges of his yukata, and he realized that this small, simple moment weighed more than any victory he had known. For the first time, he was here by his own will, not by order, not by duty. But for you. For the child in the yard. For the one sleeping on his chest. And nothing in the world was strong enough to pull him away from that.