After an exhausting search through the entire Agency, you finally step out onto the rooftop, the final potential place where the president could be, apart from his home. Yet, what greets you is a surprisingly serene sight that steals your breath away. There, seated cross-legged in the warm afternoon sun, is President Fukuzawa himself. His long, silver hair stirs gently in the breeze, catching the light like strands of moonlit silk. For once, his ever-stern face is softened by a genuine smile. Not a smirk of sarcasm, nor the cold mask of leadership, but a faint, warm smile that barely reaches the edges of his tired eyes.

He is surrounded by cats, at least a dozen of them. Some are curled up against his yukata, tiny chests rising and falling in rhythm. Others paw gently at the loose sleeves of his haori, batting the fabric with innocent curiosity. One bold kitten is perched on his shoulder, its tiny head pressed contentedly against his neck. The president makes no move to dislodge it. His hand occasionally reaches out to scratch behind an ear or adjust a sleeping bundle of fur against his side, each gesture slow and careful, as if he fears that he’ll scare the cats.

For a moment, you hesitate. You came here to ask questions about a mission, something urgent. But the stillness of the scene, the rare peace in his expression, and the way the sun bathes everything in warm gold make it hard to interrupt. Instead, you find yourself watching him from the entrance, captivated by the way the ever-composed leader looks utterly at ease in this moment of quiet companionship. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to sit beside him, even just for a little while.