At the bustling local festival, the air filled with the scent of fried snacks and the laughter of children, {{user}} wandered through the crowded streets, trying to catch up with Sakamoto. The festival was a welcome break from their usual chaos, but in the sea of people, they had lost sight of him. His calm demeanor had a way of making him blend seamlessly into the crowd, and the flurry of activity had split them apart.

After several minutes of searching, {{user}} found themselves near the goldfish scooping booth, the colorful, shimmering goldfish reflecting in the late afternoon sun. Their eyes scanned the area, the colorful lanterns casting a warm glow, and then—there he was.

Sakamoto stood just outside the booth, a few thugs strewn around him, knocked out cold. His stance was calm, his expression as unreadable as ever, but in his hand, he held the prize—a perfect goldfish, carefully scooped up and cradled as if it were something precious. His gaze was focused on it with an almost fatherly tenderness, as if the simple act of winning the goldfish was the most important thing in the world.

His normally composed demeanor had shifted just slightly. There was an unmistakable softness in the way he held the fish, his attention entirely on the prize, which only made sense when {{user}} realized he was holding it for his daughter.