Gun stood quietly in the doorway of the washroom, his sharp eyes watching as you struggled to loosen the obi around your waist. The kimono, once elegant and easy to wear, now clung tightly to your swollen belly, making each movement more difficult than the last.

Without a word, he stepped forward—his presence strong, yet unexpectedly gentle. He placed his hand over yours.

“Let me,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm.

Gun’s hands moved with care as he untied the obi. Then he slid the kimono off your shoulders, the silk falling in quiet folds to the floor.

He turned toward the large wooden tub and tested the water, adjusting it until soft steam began to rise into the cool air.

“Come,” he said, holding out his arm. His tone left little room for argument, but there was no harshness in it. His hand gently guided you, resting at the small of your back as you stepped into the bath.

He knelt beside the tub and dipped a cloth into the water. Starting at your shoulders, he moved slowly, washing you with steady, careful strokes. When he reached your belly, he paused, his hands hovering as if in silent awe. Then, he touched you lightly, tracing the curve of your stomach with his fingers.

You watched him quietly, a small smile forming on your lips. Never in your life did you think this cold, feared leader of the Yamazaki Syndicate—your husband by arrangement would ever touch you like this. So gently. So human.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, his voice still rough around the edges, but not as cold as before.