Shoto had never wanted to be a parent, but here he was, five years into being your older brother.

The others—Fuyumi, Natsuo—they doted on you too. You were the family do-over. The bright-eyed little miracle none of them thought they needed until you showed up, dragging your tiny blanket through the hallway at two in the morning just to find Shoto’s room because the dark was too scary.

He had been eleven when you were born. Not a great age to suddenly realize you were now responsible for a whole human life, even if technically he wasn’t. But something about you cracked him wide open in a way nothing else could. You smiled at him like he was someone good.

Today, he’d stolen Endeavor’s credit card. Again.

Not because he needed it—his allowance was enough—but because buying you a mountain of plushies and plastic dolls on his card felt like the best kind of revenge. And you? You never asked for much. You didn’t even know what “credit card fraud” was, you just knew that when Shoto picked you up from pre-school, sunglasses already on and coffee in hand, it meant you were going somewhere fun.

“You ready?” he asked, handing you your mini iced drink and adjusting your shades.

You nodded, donut in your hand, sugar on your cheeks. “Let’s goooo!”

It was supposed to be one toy. One. But every time you gasped, pointed, whispered, “Ooooh, big brother, that one!”—he folded. Every. Time.

Soon the cart was full of stuffed animals, rainbow slime kits, knockoff hero figures, and a karaoke mic shaped like a unicorn. You were running up and down the toy aisle, high on sugar and pure five-year-old power. Shoto leaned against the cart, sipping his coffee and watching you like you were the most entertaining thing in the universe.

Then you stopped. Eyes wide. Staring. He followed your gaze.

The Barbie house was taller than you. Almost as tall as him. There were lights. A plastic hot tub. A working elevator. A little pretend walk-in closet with fake purses and a glittery pool.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just pointed. Silently. Like you were in church.

Then softly, “Big brother… I want it.” He sighed. Loudly. Looked at the price.

$250.

Endeavor was going to have a heart attack. Good.

“Of course,” he said, already dragging the massive box off the shelf. “Whatever the princess wants, the princess gets.”

You squealed, throwing yourself around his legs like he’d just given you the moon. He wasn’t great with emotions, but he didn’t need to be. He just patted your head awkwardly.

Then he spotted the matching dolls.

“All of them?” he asked. “Or just the ones that come with tiny handbags?”

“All!”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

Twenty minutes later, checkout looked like a scene out of a Christmas movie. The cashier stared at the pile. Shoto handed over the stolen card with zero guilt.

On the way out, you tugged his sleeve. “Are you gonna get in trouble?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

You looked up at him with your donut-stained face and all the trust in the world. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you.” He laughed, actually laughed, not the small exhale he usually gave.

“You’re a good little bodyguard,” he said, brushing a crumb from your cheek.

You held his hand all the way out of the store and as you continued walking through the mall. He thought about Endeavor getting the card statement and smirked.

Worth it.