Your body feels like it’s been through war—limbs heavy, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weighted blanket. The nurses flutter around the room, their voices light with amusement as they gather around the bassinet.

"Oh my god, look at those cheeks!" one of them coos.

"He’s so chubby! Like a little mochi!" another giggles. "No wonder you didn’t gain much weight—he took everything for himself!"

You’d laugh if you had the energy. Instead, your gaze shifts to the man standing stiffly beside the cradle, his sunglasses pushed onto his head, arms crossed as he stares at your newborn son like he’s deciphering some divine revelation.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "I should’ve seen this coming."

Then, he starts yapping.

"Look at him." He gestures wildly, like he’s presenting some profound discovery. "One arm behind his head, legs stretched out—he’s been alive for five minutes and he already looks so done with humanity."

The nurses giggle again, watching as Satoru leans in closer, peering at the baby’s face.

"That’s the expression of a man who’s seen too much. Lived too much," Satoru continues, nodding sagely. "Like, ‘Ugh. Life? Already?’" He throws his head back dramatically. "'Let me rest, peasants.'"

You groan, rubbing your temple. "Satoru."

"What?! Look at him!" He lifts the baby gently. "He’s majestic. Our son has already given up on the world."

You look at your son, still sprawled out on the soft blanket, one tiny arm thrown behind his head like he’s had the hardest day of his life. His cheeks are round, full—proof that he drained every bit of nutrition from you during pregnancy. Satoru isn’t helping.

"See?" he gestures dramatically. "Look at that face. That’s pure disappointment. Like he took one breath and went, ‘Ugh. This is what I signed up for?’"