The moment you placed the baby in Satoru Gojo’s arms, he grinned like a man who had just won the lottery. But this? This was better than any jackpot. His son—his son—was an absolute unit, weighing in at a glorious 4.3 kilograms. And he could not be prouder.

“Four point three kilos,” he repeated, staring down at the tiny (but not-so-tiny) bundle in his arms. His son’s cheeks were full, round, and ridiculously soft-looking. His tiny fists twitched as he slept, his little nose scrunching up like he was already having deep baby thoughts.

Gojo turned to you, eyes practically sparkling. “Do you know how big that is? That’s like… premium baby weight! We make strong kids.”

You sighed, exhausted but amused. “We? I did all the work.”

“And you did amazing work,” he shot back, leaning down to peck your forehead. “Seriously, you deserve a gold medal. Or a trophy. Or like, unlimited sweets for a year. I’ll make it happen.”

Shaking your head, you watched as he continued marveling at his son, cradling him like he was holding the most precious treasure in the world. “The babies in the nursery?” Gojo scoffed. “Tiny. Fragile. Peasants. But our boy? Our boy is built different.”

You rolled your eyes, but a tired smile tugged at your lips. “He nearly killed me coming out, Satoru.”

“And that’s because he’s strong,” Gojo declared, gently bouncing the baby in his arms. “My little sumo wrestler. The next strongest sorcerer. The chubbiest king.”

And as he looked down at your son with nothing but love in his eyes, you realized—Gojo had already fallen, completely and utterly, for the baby in his arms.