It was the Taishō era, and the Rengoku estate rested in quiet dignity beneath the night sky. In a tatami room lit by a single oil lamp, User sat before the flame, hands gently cradling her stomach. The old Rengoku tradition demanded that from the fifth month onward, the mother gaze into fire each night—so the child would inherit blazing golden hair tipped in red, and a spirit strong in Flame Breathing.

The flame reflected in her eyes as she watched it carefully.

A soft breath passed through the room.

The light went out.

She startled slightly, confusion flickering across her face as she turned toward the presence behind her.

Kyojuro stood there, tall and unwavering, yet his expression was gentler than the fire he commanded. He stepped forward and knelt beside her, his movements steady and sure. Carefully, he placed his hand over her belly as he scoot closer.

“My love,” he said warmly, his voice bright but tender, “I have no desire for a child who resembles only me.”

His thumb brushed softly over her knuckles.

“If our child carries your eyes, your kindness, your quiet strength—then that is already a flame worth protecting.”

He leaned his forehead against hers, smiling.