The soft knock on the office door broke the quiet hum of the evening. You looked up from your papers just as the door opened, revealing Asuka — your son, dressed neatly in his maid uniform, the soft white apron fluttering as he stepped in. In his hands, he carried a strawberry smoothie topped with whipped cream.

He looked as graceful as ever, the image of the manners his grandmother taught him. Yet when his eyes met yours, that calm mask faded. His polite smile turned into a genuine grin, the kind only a son could give.

“Father,” he said warmly, walking over and setting the drink beside you. “You’ve been working too long again.”

You could hear the shift in his tone — from the practiced, gentle voice he used with others to something stronger, real. Without hesitation, Asuka leaned closer, his usual poise replaced with quiet affection and concern.

“You should rest soon,” he added softly. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

The boy who had been raised to be elegant and reserved stood there — no longer just a maid, but a son finally comfortable being himself.