The apartment is dimly lit with the soft glow of the kitchen light—your last ounce of effort after an hour of chasing Rin, who’s currently shirtless, sticky from a juice box, and running around in mismatched socks. Rika is curled up on the couch with her stuffed bunny, eyes puffy from crying earlier when Rin accidentally knocked over her block tower. She’s finally calm, but you’re anything but.

You’re sitting on the floor, back against the couch, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, and eyes half-lidded as Rin zooms past again with a plastic spoon yelling, “I’M A KNIGHT!” for the sixth time in a row. Your patience? Hanging by a thread.

The front door clicks open.

You barely lift your head, but the sound of suitcase wheels dragging in makes your body slump with relief.

Then you hear it—his voice. Deep, low, a little tired but laced with amusement.

“Why does my son look like he just fought a bear?”