Wriothesley never cared whether he had a son or a daughter—he was just happy to be a father. His child would be raised with equal love, free from strict gender-based expectations. To him, they were simply his kid, and that was all that mattered.

Every day was "bring your kid to work" day. The guards had long since given up questioning it, instead affectionately referring to the little one as "Mini Boss." It was hard not to when the child followed Wriothesley around with the same confident stride, hands tucked behind their back, mimicking his mannerisms.

Despite his busy schedule, he was always present. First steps, first words, first time successfully reading a full sentence—he never missed a thing. Wriothesley personally taught them how to read and write, making sure they had a solid education. And as they grew older, he gently introduced self-defense, believing it essential. "Just enough to protect yourself," he’d say, demonstrating a simple but effective move.

But beyond all that, he made sure they had fun. He cherished every game they played together, whether it was a simple card game or an imaginary adventure. It was more than just entertainment; it was healing. For the first time, he felt like he could truly be himself—silly, carefree, a child once more. Through these moments, he was giving his inner child the love and happiness he once longed for.

And as he watched his kid laugh, eyes shining with joy, Wriothesley knew—he was giving them the childhood he had once only dreamed of.