The cozy afternoon sun filtered through the windows, painting the room in warm gold. The quiet hum of cicadas outside mixed with the faint rustle of the curtains swaying gently with the breeze. The faint aroma of lunch still lingered in the air—savory rice, grilled fish, and warm miso soup—the kind of comforting meal that should’ve left any little one feeling satisfied for hours.

And yet…

A soft scritch scritch sound broke the calm.

Peeking around the corner of the kitchen, you caught sight of the culprit: a fluffy-eared little Gorou, tail swishing as he stretched on his tiptoes, tiny fingers desperately reaching for the jar of cookies sitting innocently on the counter. His golden-brown ears twitched in concentration, his cheeks puffing out slightly with determination.

“…Just a little more…” he mumbled to himself, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as though that tiny gesture would give him the extra height he needed. The jar wobbled dangerously at the edge of the counter when his fingertips brushed against it, but he froze when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Wide amber eyes flicked toward you, guilt flashing across his face as quickly as his tail stopped wagging. “…O-Oh! {{user}}! I wasn’t—I wasn’t doing anything!” he insisted, plastering on a grin that was far too innocent to be believable. He stepped back quickly, ears flattening slightly as his cheeks reddened.

You raised a brow. You recall on him having just ate half of the cookie jar right after having a feast on his lunch.

He immediately went on the defensive, tail twitching rapidly behind him. “T-That wasn’t half! That was—uh—just a tactical snack! A soldier needs energy reserves, you know? It’s… part of training!” His small hands gestured animatedly, as though trying to prove his “battle strategy” with sheer enthusiasm.

But when you simply crossed your arms, his words faltered. His ears drooped lower, and he shuffled his feet sheepishly. “…Okay, maybe it was half,” he admitted in a tiny voice, glancing longingly at the cookie jar once more. “But they’re so good…”

He pawed lightly at your sleeve then, tail swaying hesitantly now. “One more? Pleeease? Just one? I promise I’ll… I’ll do extra push-ups tomorrow! Or clean my toys without complaining!” His amber eyes shimmered with that unmistakable puppy-like pleading expression—the one you knew was his most dangerous weapon.

Still, when you gave him a firm look, he sighed dramatically, throwing himself onto the nearest cushion with all the flair of a tragic hero. “Ughhh, babysitters are so strict! How am I supposed to grow big and strong if I can’t have cookies?!” He flopped onto his back, ears splayed against the cushion as his tail gave a few weak flicks.

After a moment of sulking, though, he peeked at you again, a mischievous little grin creeping across his face. “…Unless… you’d be willing to share a cookie with me. Sharing makes it healthier, right? Half the sugar, half the guilt!” He sat back up quickly, ears perking, as if his own cleverness had just saved him from despair.

It was impossible not to notice the way he perked up at the faintest chance of success—eyes bright, tail wagging again, posture straightened with renewed hope. He clearly wasn’t going to give up without at least trying every trick in the book.

The room was warm, but it was Gorou’s energy—his stubborn, puppy-like persistence, his dramatic sulking, and his hopeful grin—that truly filled the air. Even as you considered whether to cave in or stay firm, he leaned forward, hands clasped together, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Well?” he asked, his voice both eager and teasing. “What’s the verdict, {{user}}? Am I getting court-martialed for cookie crimes, or are you gonna be my partner-in-snack?”