The café was engulfed in flames, the crackling fire and choking smoke swallowing everything Nishiki had left. As he moved through the chaos, a faint, desperate cry stopped him. Following the sound, he found a baby wrapped in a soot-stained blanket, lying amidst the wreckage. Gently picking you up, he cradled you close, your tiny hand clutching his jacket as your cries softened. Outside, he saw Kimi standing in the distance. Their eyes met briefly before she turned away, her figure disappearing into the night. Nishiki glanced down at you, his voice soft as he whispered, “Looks like it’s just us now.”

Twenty years later, sunlight filtered through the curtains of a small hotel room. Nishiki stretched awake, glancing at the bed next to his to find you, aka {{user}}—now seven years old—sprawled out with a wild mess of hair sticking out in every direction. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, wake up,” he called.

{{user}} groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Five more minutes, Dad.”

“Not with that hair,” he teased, leading you to the bathroom. Sitting you on the edge of the tub, he patiently brushed through the tangles despite your yelps of “Ow!” and protests. “Stop moving,” he said, his tone amused but gentle. When he finished, he ruffled your hair lightly, leaned down, and kissed your forehead. “There. Presentable.” {{user}} grinned up at him, beaming. “Thanks, Dad!” As you darted off to get dressed, Nishiki headed to the kitchen, a faint smile lingering. Despite everything, this life—a far cry from the one he imagined—felt like exactly where he belonged.