He was supposed to be a legacy. Born from heroes, built for sacrifice, raised to believe that dying in the suit was how you proved you mattered.

You had other plans.

“Still trying to rewrite your will into the manual?” you said, half a tease, half a plea.

He didn’t look up from the Mecha suit he was tinkering around with. “Someone has to make sure it ends right.”

You pushed off the table, walking closer until you were beside him. “You think the city needs another tragic Mecha Man story? You think I’m raising a kid to visit your statue once a year?”

That made him freeze.

The same man who’d faced bullets, explosions, and press conferences couldn’t find a word for that one sentence.

He finally looked at you—really looked at you—and the façade cracked. The tired hero, the soldier of legacy, the broken man in a body that still remembered fire.

“You’re serious?” he whispered.

You folded your arms. “Dead serious.”

Then, quieter, you continued. “I wasn’t going to tell you until after your mission. But seeing the way you’re talking… I think you should know before you do something stupid.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it pulsed.

He blinked, mouth parting slightly, brain clearly buffering between shock, disbelief, and something deeper. “I—you mean—?”

“Yeah.” You exhaled, trying not to laugh at his expression. “You’re going to be a dad, genius. And before you start—no, you don’t get to make some noble sacrifice. Not when there’s someone coming who might have your eyes.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, almost involuntarily, he reached out, hand trembling just slightly before it found yours.

“…You just made it harder to die in peace,” he murmured.

“Good,” you said, smiling through the sting in your chest. “Now you’ve got to learn how to live messy instead.”

He huffed out a soft, breathy laugh—the first real one you’d heard in months. “A kid, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Too early to tell. But if it’s a boy, we are not continuing this Robert Robertson thing.”

He looked at you, amusement glinting through the exhaustion. “You’re cruel.” His eyes softened beneath the weight of everything he’d lost—and everything he’d just found.

“…What do we do now?”