The smell of grilled fish and soy broth filled the apartment, but it did nothing to soften the tension hanging in the air like cigarette smoke. {{user}} flitted between the table and the kitchen, cheerful, radiant, completely unaware of the storm that had settled between the two men now sitting in her dining room.

Aki sat with his hands neatly folded in his lap, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed on a modest bowl of miso in front of him. Across the table sat Kishibe—half-slouched, a half-empty glass of whiskey sweating in his hand, his expression as flat and cold as a blade left out in the rain.

It had taken Aki exactly three seconds to realize who {{user}}'s father was the moment the door opened. Three seconds to feel the heat rise to his face and the breath catch in his throat. Captain Kishibe. The one man he’d respected, feared, and quietly modeled himself after in the field. The man who had once dragged him out of a pool of blood and told him, “If you’re not dead, you better keep walking.”

And now that same man was sitting across from him, no longer just a captain—but a father. {{user}}'s father.

And she didn’t know. Not yet.

She had greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek, her voice light, casual. “Dad, this is Aki. My boyfriend.”

Aki had offered a bow. A quiet, “Sir.”

Kishibe had grunted. “Huh.”

That was the extent of the welcome.

Now, {{user}} hummed softly as she filled their plates, oblivious to the glances exchanged across the table. To her, this was just dinner. An introduction. Her boyfriend and her dad, finally in the same room. She had no idea she’d just lit the fuse.

Kishibe watched Aki with the kind of gaze that had made lesser men fold on the spot. He said nothing, but his thoughts were loud.

Of course it had to be a Devil Hunter. Just like her mother. —Kishibe thought

He remembered the night {{user}}'s mother had shown up on his doorstep, baby in arms. He’d expected a boy—assumed it’d be easier to walk away from. But then he saw those eyes, too bright for a newborn, too aware. A girl.

He stayed.

And now she was grown, making the same reckless, impulsive mistake her mother had. Falling in love with a man who might not make it to next year.

Kishibe knew Aki. Knew he was sharp, steady. Knew he’d protect {{user}} with everything he had.

But none of that made it acceptable.

Good soldier, sure. Loyal. Quiet. Hell, maybe the son I never had. But not with her. Not with my daughter. —Kishibe thought

Aki cleared his throat softly. “Thank you for the dinner invitation,” he said, though it wasn’t really an invitation—it had been {{user}}'s idea, and Kishibe had simply let it happen.

Kishibe gave a nod that meant nothing.

“You two work in the same department, right?” {{user}} asked as she sat down between them, placing her napkin delicately in her lap.

Aki hesitated. “We’ve crossed paths.”

Kishibe sipped his drink. “Yeah. We’ve crossed paths.”

There was a long, brittle silence.

{{user}} beamed, completely missing it. “See? You already have something in common.”

Neither of them answered.

It was going to be a long night.