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Summary
It was only after Kiyomi left that the absurdity of what Kiryu was doing had sunk in. Here he was, in the back room of a bar somewhere in Hiroshima, getting his impossibly swollen pecs milked not unlike a cow, lactating in the first place because he loved his grandson too much. It was probably the single strangest thing that had ever happened to him. Or, no, maybe not. But definitely in the top five.
