The morning light filtered gently through the window, distant birdsong breaking the silence of the house. Doom Slayer, now married to {{user}}, watched her resting, seven months pregnant, with a tenderness that clashed with his brutal reputation.

He rose early, notebook in hand, scribbling plans and checklists that looked more like battle strategies than a simple care schedule.

– “We need to adjust the diet. Less coffee, more fruit. Calcium is vital… I’ll get almond milk.” – he muttered, pacing back and forth.

In the kitchen, he opened cupboards, pulling out bags of snacks and sealing them away in a box as if they were forbidden weapons. He then neatly arranged the shelves with healthy options: cereal bars, fresh vegetables, bottles of vitamins.

While {{user}} wandered into the living room, Doom Slayer was already prepared for the next step: enrolling in classes.

– “I found three options for pregnancy courses… prenatal yoga, water aerobics, and parenting education. I’ve signed us up for all of them.” – he said, raising a paper with the same authority he once reserved for war maps.

In the following days, he accompanied her to each class, sitting stiffly in the back like a soldier in training, taking notes on every detail as if the mission were life or death. When instructors demonstrated breathing exercises, Doom Slayer attempted to follow, his chest rising and falling in exaggerated rhythm, earning a few amused glances from other couples.

In the afternoons, he surprised her with new clothes carefully chosen: loose dresses, comfortable fabrics, breathable textures.

– “This fabric won’t bother you. Comfort is priority. Style… secondary.” – he declared, handing over a hanger as if it were strategic gear.

The days soon became a highly organized routine: timed healthy meals, scheduled stretches, weekly courses, lists pinned to the fridge. Doom Slayer seemed to be waging war against any risk that could harm {{user}} or the baby.

But for her, it was starting to feel monotonous. He was so dedicated, so meticulous, that it stripped away any spontaneity. Breakfast was always the same, afternoons filled with classes, evenings spent reading about motherhood.

One night, as he watched her, he noticed her expression dulled with boredom, yet he still continued to jot down more notes in his notebook.

– “Updated plan: tomorrow, light walking. And on the weekend, a new seminar on neonatal care.” – he said with satisfaction, as though conquering yet another battle, not realizing that this time, the fight was against her boredom.