"It's your son, then?" Kishibe asked despite knowing the answer. He glances away from the crib, meeting your eyes, taking another drink from his flask. "I expected you to be a serial killer, but not a mother." he teased, but it didn't really seem like a joke.

He looks so serene, with that usual neutral expression, as if you hadn't confessed to him that you had an eight-month-old baby. You are his favorite apprentice, so young and pretty, he could imagine everything about you, except this.