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Stubby fingers clutched tightly to the soft blue blanket, the fabric bunching in the baby’s tiny grasp. The material, worn cotton, smelled faintly of lavender and laundry soap—the familiar scent of home. His dark eyes, mirrors of his father’s, darted over each crease with a strangely focused intensity for someone so new to the world. His breaths came in soft puffs, his lips occasionally parting with a near-silent sigh.
Suguru Getou watched, transfixed.
He never imagined he would become a father.
He had worn responsibility like armor for most of his life—first as a student among jujutsu sorcerers, then as something darker. He had known duty, war, betrayal. He had known what it meant to protect with violence. But this… This was protection of a different kind.
The moment his son’s first cry echoed through the delivery room, raw and sharp, Suguru’s breath had caught in his throat. The sterile scent of antiseptic and iron clung to the air, but none of it mattered. Time fractured, slowed, stilled. When the nurse placed the child in his arms, slick with warmth and life, and those impossibly small fingers wrapped around his, it was as if the world rearranged itself in an instant.
The grip was impossibly strong.
It said: I’m here. I trust you.
Suguru had braced for panic. Instead, he felt a strange stillness settle into his chest, like the aftermath of a storm.
Now, the only storm was inside him.
He stood close to the bed, watching you with reverence. Your skin glistened with sweat, the evidence of the battle you’d just endured, but to him, you had never looked more radiant. There was a hum in the room—the low whir of machines, the faint shuffle of the nurses outside, the soft suckling sound of your son nursing at your breast—but it all faded into the background as he focused on you.
You smelled like warmth. Like salt and skin and something sacred. He had held ancient artifacts before, cursed relics that pulsed with history, but nothing had ever felt as holy as the sight of you with his child in your arms.
From where he stood, Suguru could see the soft tremble of your arms, the way your fingers curled instinctively around your son’s back, supporting him like you’d been doing it forever. You rocked gently, instinct and love guiding every movement.
“We did it, love,” you whispered, voice raw and full of wonder. “Despite everything, we created something beautiful.”
Suguru felt the lump rise in his throat again, hot and immediate. His voice wavered despite his best efforts to sound steady. “You are incredible, my dear. I couldn’t have asked for a stronger, more loving partner.”
Your gaze met his, your lashes still damp, and you gave him the faintest, most exhausted smile. “And I couldn’t have asked for a better father for our son,” you said, breath hitching slightly. “I feel so blessed that it’s you.”
The soft beeping of the heart monitor beside you marked each second like a quiet metronome. He leaned in and kissed your forehead—your skin was warm beneath his lips, still slightly damp, pulsing with life.
“I promise to always be there for you both,” he murmured, close enough that his breath fanned across your cheek. “To protect and cherish you. Our son will grow up in a world filled with love and safety because of you.”
You exhaled shakily, the scent of peppermint gum and tears on your breath. “I believe in us,” you whispered. “In our strength as a family. Our journey was tough, but look at what we’ve created. I couldn’t be prouder.”
He reached for your free hand, his palm rough and calloused against yours. Your fingers intertwined easily. There was no hesitation, only history and trust.
“I love you more than words can express,” Suguru said, his voice catching in his throat. “Our son is the greatest gift. And I can’t wait to watch him grow—knowing he’s surrounded by your love.”
Your grip tightened, grounding him.
“And I can’t wait to see you as a father,” you said softly. “Guiding him, nurturing him. Our little family is complete. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
The baby let out a contented sigh, his little fingers twitching beneath the blanket. The warmth of him radiated against your chest, his heartbeat like the soft ticking of a clock against your skin.
Suguru reached out and gently traced his knuckles over the baby’s cheek—so smooth, so alive. The soft scent of baby powder and milk lingered in the air, already seared into his memory.
In that moment, with the dim hospital light casting a halo around the bed, Suguru felt something bloom in his chest that he hadn’t dared to name in years: hope.
This wasn’t redemption. It wasn’t salvation.
It was something simpler. Something harder. Something real.
It was love.
And with every breath of that tiny, sleeping boy, Suguru made a vow—not in blood, not in battle, but in quiet devotion:
This is my world now. This is who I fight for. This is what I protect.
He didn’t need to destroy the old world anymore.
He had built something better.
The apartment had never felt so alive.
Not with curses. Not with energy.
But with breath. With sound. With love.
Suguru never imagined the rhythmic creak of a rocking chair or the soft whimpers of a baby stirring would punctuate his nights in the crook of his arm. The once-still quiet was now layered with subtle sounds—your voice humming lullabies in the kitchen, the rush of the humidifier, the rustle of tiny socks being pulled onto wiggling feet.
Tonight, the house smelled faintly of chamomile tea and the earthy sweetness of baby lotion. The warmth of the space clung to him, heavy and soft. And in his arms, his son, wrapped in that same soft blue blanket, was asleep, his tiny fist pressed against Suguru’s chest like a claim.
A claim Suguru had never dreamed of, but now would never give up.
He adjusted the baby’s weight gently, rocking back and forth with practiced care. It hadn’t always been like this.
No, the early days were a crash course in humility.
The unpredictability of a newborn utterly blindsided Suguru, the master of strategy and precision. There were no set rules. No rituals. No technique. Just long, sleepless nights of trial and error, of deciphering cries like cryptic riddles, of fumbling with diapers that seemed to shrink out of sheer defiance.
He remembered the first time you let him change the baby alone.
The powder had gone everywhere.
He had somehow stuck the diaper on backwards.
The baby had peed the second he thought he was finished.
And yet... you had only laughed when you walked in, gently correcting his mistakes and pressing a kiss to his cheek as you took over. “You’ll get it,” you’d said. “You’re already doing great.”
He hadn’t believed you. But now, months later, the movements came easier. Not perfect—but steadier.
Suguru pressed a kiss to the crown of his son’s head, inhaling that comforting mix of milk and soft cotton. The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake. His lashes fluttered, and a tiny sigh escaped his lips, a sound so quiet it was almost a secret.
Suguru’s throat tightened with something unspeakable.
This small being trusted him without question.
Not because of strength. Not because of power.
But because he had been there, present, clumsy, learning.
Because when his son wailed in the dead of night, Suguru was the one who picked him up, even when his body ached from a cursed past that still lingered in his bones. Because he whispered lullabies off-key and paced the hallway for hours just to get him to sleep. Because he held him skin to skin when he wouldn’t stop crying, his heart thudding steadily beneath the baby’s ear.
Because he tried.
And that… was enough.
He looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom, where you were finally resting. The baby monitor cast a soft glow, your steady breathing faintly audible. He knew how much of yourself you’d poured into these past few months. Knew the exhaustion in your bones and the ache in your shoulders. Knew that every smile you gave their son cost you sleep and recovery.
You were his foundation. His compass. And in his quietest moments, Suguru swore the love he felt for you was so overwhelming, it almost frightened him.
A soft gurgle brought his attention back to the small bundle in his arms.
Dark eyes blinked open, unfocused but searching. Suguru shifted the baby slightly, bouncing just a little as he whispered, “Hey, little one. Did I wake you?”
The baby didn’t answer, of course—but his gaze found Suguru’s, and something passed between them. Something wordless. As if the child was learning his face, memorizing the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips.
Suguru smiled, eyes misting.
“Do you know who I am yet?” he murmured. “I’m your papa.”
The words felt heavy. Real. Sacred.
“I’m going to mess up,” he admitted softly, letting his finger trace the baby’s impossibly tiny hand. “I already have. But I’ll always come back. I’ll always try again. That’s my promise to you.”
The baby yawned, jaw stretching, arms flopping, eyes already drifting closed again.
Suguru tucked the blanket more securely around him and leaned back in the rocking chair, the wood groaning slightly beneath his weight.
Outside, the city pulsed on, cars humming, streetlights blinking. But here in this small apartment, time felt suspended.
And in the quiet between heartbeats, Suguru realized that fatherhood wasn’t about having all the answers.
It was about showing up, again and again. About staying.
And he would. For you. For him. For the world, they were building, one gentle night at a time.