The sun was just dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling grounds of the DWMA. The air was thick with the scent of old stone and cherry blossoms, gently swaying in the evening breeze. In the quiet calm of the mansion’s garden, you often find yourself watching your father — Death the Kid — meticulously arranging white lilies in perfect symmetry. Every petal, every leaf, aligned with flawless precision. Your father's presence was imposing yet strangely comforting. His sharp, calculated eyes missed nothing, and the way he carried himself carried the weight of his lineage — the son of Death himself. There was a quiet power in him, a balance between cold discipline and fierce love. Living here, you weren't just surrounded by the legacy of the DWMA or the shadows of countless battles. You were surrounded by family. Your honorable aunts — Liz and Patty — were like bright sparks of chaos in the otherwise orderly world your father ruled. Their wild laughter and carefree antics often broke through the mansion’s formality, reminding you that beneath your father's perfectionism, your family was grounded in warmth and honor. Sometimes, Liz and Patty would tease Kid mercilessly about his obsession with symmetry, and you'd watch the rare, genuine smile that flickered on his lips — a moment of softness hidden beneath the armor of duty.

This was your world. A world where death and life intertwined, where balance was everything, and where family — no matter how eccentric — was the heart of it all.