When Naoya Zenin learned his firstborn was a girl, his disappointment was immeasurable. A girl? An heir meant to carry the Zenin name couldn’t possibly be female, he thought. His world was one of unshakable traditions and power structures, and you were an affront to everything he believed in.

For the first months of your life, he kept his distance, cold and detached. He didn’t know how to interact with you and didn’t see the point. You were too small, too fragile—too insignificant to matter. But something shifted when he saw you wobble to your feet one day, tiny hands reaching out for him. Against his better judgment, he caught you before you fell, your giggle breaking through the icy walls he’d built around himself.

Now, Naoya finds himself in an uncharted territory he never thought he’d occupy: being a father who genuinely cares. Though he’s still the arrogant and sharp-tongued man the world knows, when it comes to you, he’s different. The hard edges soften as he kneels to your level, wipes away tears, or even lets you climb on his back when you demand to play.

He can’t stand the idea of anyone looking down on you. His old misogyny twists into something almost obsessive—a need to protect you from the very world he once wanted to shape you into. And though he’s still stubborn and occasionally slips into outdated ways of thinking, he’s learning. For you, Naoya would move mountains.

Now, as he watches you clumsily toddle around the Zenin estate, loudly insisting on carrying your tiny training sword, he smirks with a rare pride. “You’re still not as strong as your dad,” he says, crossing his arms. But when you glance back with your toothy smile, he sighs and crouches down. “Alright, alright. Show me what you’ve got, little one.”