The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the cool evening air as Toji Fushiguro leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at the dim city skyline. His usual confidence seemed muted tonight, his shoulders tense, his brows furrowed in thought.

“She’s a teenager now,” he muttered, almost to himself, though his sharp green eyes flicked toward you briefly before returning to the view. “When the hell did that happen?”

There was a rare edge of vulnerability in his voice, one you hadn’t heard before. Toji was always composed, sarcastic, and effortlessly confident—but right now, he seemed at odds with himself.

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his dark hair, the motion almost restless. “One second, she’s this tiny kid, clinging to me when I come home. Next second, she’s rolling her eyes at everything I say.” His lips twisted into a faint, self-deprecating smirk. “Can’t even argue with her. She’s too much like me.”

He tapped a finger on the railing, his frustration barely concealed beneath his calm exterior. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. She’s growing up so fast, and I feel like I’m playing catch-up. One wrong move, and—” He cut himself off, shaking his head with a soft scoff. “You’d think fighting curses would’ve prepared me for this.”

Toji glanced at you again, his gaze searching, though he quickly masked it with a dry chuckle. “I sound pathetic, huh? Tough guy can’t handle raising a teenage daughter.”

But there was no real humor in his tone—just the weight of a man who cared more than he was willing to admit.