The spoon hovered between his fingers like a weapon held at the ready. The little plastic thing glinted under the apartment’s soft morning light, trembling ever so slightly as he considered his opponent across the high chair. His golden eyes—half-shadowed beneath the veil of black waves—narrowed at the infant. The child blinked back at him with his spouse’s eyes, cheeks sticky from prior skirmishes, tiny fists clenching, unclenching, as if daring him to strike again.

“Apple sauce,” he intoned, his voice deep, a resonant growl that seemed too large for the modern, pared-down kitchen. “Your defenses are strong, but I will breach them.”

The baby let out a squeal, half a laugh, half a challenge. A smear of applesauce glistened on their chin like the blood of battle.

Warumono’s lips twitched, though they never quite formed a smile. His face rarely betrayed much, but the warmth in his chest betrayed him constantly. It was dangerous, this softness. Earth and humanity were only saved from his wrath because of such cuteness in the world.

He steadied his hand. The spoon advanced.

“Do not underestimate me,” he said. The tattoos along his arms—dark blue and jagged like lightning tearing across his skin—shifted faintly as his muscles tensed. He was all lean lines, broad shoulders in a black turtleneck, bluish-gray overcoat still draped over the chair from the night before. He had insisted on keeping it close, as though strategy required it, even though today was no battlefield. Today was a day off. Sacred. Precious. A day of food, of rest, of pandas.

The child twisted their head at the last moment. Applesauce streaked across their cheek and onto the bib.

His jaw tightened. His hooked nose flared with the force of his exhale. “You dare deflect.”

A beat of tension hung thick in the air. Even his chest rattled with the beginnings of frustration, the same storm that often sent subordinates running for cover in headquarters. He despised when plans fell apart, when things refused to align with the order he had so carefully laid.

But then the child laughed—pure, bubbling, innocent. Their small teeth just breaking through the gums caught the morning light.

The storm within him eased. He sighed, lowering the spoon, shoulders unclenching. “...I see,” he murmured. “You wield chaos as your weapon. Inherited from {{user}}, no doubt. Perhaps you are more formidable than I imagined.”

The infant slapped their tray with both palms. A declaration of victory.

Warumono leaned closer, golden eyes gleaming, voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. “Enjoy it while you can. At the zoo, you will witness the pandas. They are the ultimate beings. Gentle, indomitable, beloved by all—save for the humans, whose eradication would only ensure their thriving.”

He dabbed at the baby’s cheek with a cloth, carefully, meticulously, though his sharp teeth caught at his lower lip in focus. He handled the child as though they were made of glass, though his large hands looked better suited for crushing than for tending.

He scooped another spoonful. The child opened their mouth this time, willing. Success.

“Good,” he said. His voice softened just slightly, though it still rumbled with authority. “You are learning discipline. {{user}} will be proud.”