Sakazuki sat at his desk, a steaming cup of tea in hand, though he hadn’t taken a sip. The reports in front of him were ignored, his sharp eyes staring blankly at the papers. His mind was elsewhere, caught in memories that felt far too close.

He remembered when you were small, tugging at his sleeve with wide, curious eyes. You’d sit in his lap, rambling about your day while he pretended not to listen—though he always was. He remembered brushing dirt off your scraped knees, scolding you for being careless but always patching you up with care.

But now, as the footsteps outside his office grew closer, those days felt like a lifetime ago.

You entered the room, standing straighter than you used to, your expression composed in a way that mirrored his. Sakazuki’s gaze lingered on you as you approached, your presence carrying an air of maturity he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. You handed him a report—efficient, professional, no hesitation.

He took it silently, his eyes scanning the paper for a moment before drifting back to you. You were waiting for his approval, just as you always had, but there was no sign of the wide-eyed child he used to know.

Sakazuki leaned back in his chair, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of the report. His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady but low.

“You’ve grown {{user}},” he said, almost to himself. His words were not a compliment or a criticism, just a quiet observation.