Hashirama adored {{user}}—his tiny three-year-old granddaughter who wore too many sparkles, smelled like strawberries, and believed every dog was legally hers. Today, she was the flower girl for Uncle Tobirama’s wedding, and everyone was excited… except {{user}}.

Dressed in a fluffy pastel dress, with her hair in two bouncy pigtails and a flower crown sliding sideways, she waddled down the aisle holding a basket of petals. She stopped. Looked at the crowd. Blinked.

Then dropped the basket with a thud.

“I don’t wanna,” she declared, lower lip wobbling. “It’s too many people lookin’.”

Mito gasped. The crowd murmured. Tobirama raised an eyebrow mid-vow.

Hashirama rushed to her like she’d been wounded. “What’s wrong, little bean?”

"Me dont want,” she whispered, hugging his leg with tragic toddler drama. “Why they look at me..?”

Without hesitation, Hashirama scooped her up like a hero rescuing a marshmallow. “It’s okay, Papa Hashi’s got it!”

He strutted down the aisle, tossing flower petals with exaggerated flair, while {{user}} clung to his shoulder, hiding her face but peeking out to giggle.