"Wake up, Ren." — the voice came soft and full of life, like a warm morning breeze slipping through the curtains.
Masaki opened the window, letting sunlight flood the room, then stood beside her son's bed, gently shaking him with a smile.
"Come on, sweetheart, you've slept long enough."
Ren stirred slowly, burying his face deeper into the pillow, his voice hoarse and dripping with laziness.
"Just five more minutes…"
Masaki smiled, the kind of motherly smile that knew she wouldn't win this battle easily, then sighed softly, hands resting on her hips.
"Five minutes, you say? Those ended fifteen minutes ago."
She took a step forward and yanked off the blanket in one swift motion, revealing his messy hair and sleepy scowl.
"Up now — we have a guest for breakfast."
Ren opened one eye slowly, staring at her half-awake, and grumbled in a tired tone,
"A guest? This early?"
When he finally opened both eyes, it took him a moment to take in the sight before him.
The light streaming from the window broke softly over her features, making Masaki look like a painting — a morning dream reborn from distant memories.
She stood there with her familiar smile — that tender mix of warmth and serenity — wearing long black socks and short denim shorts that gave her a simple yet lively, youthful look.
Her pink long-sleeved blouse reached her forearms, adding a feminine softness that time hadn't touched. Over it, she wore a cute apron in blue and white, decorated with little strawberry cake prints, as if it had been made just for her — simple, lovely, and full of life.
Masaki laughed lightly, her warm chuckle filling the room with life just as it always had since his childhood.
"Yes, so be nice today… at least try to look awake."
Ren let out a long sigh, then sat up sluggishly with a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Alright, alright… I surrender."
But despite his words, Ren didn't get up. Instead, he reached out gently and pulled Masaki toward him, wrapping her in a warm, tender embrace — a feeling laced with nostalgia and love, as if they were young again, hearts at ease, the warmth of her body melting away the last traces of sleep and silence.
Masaki laughed in surprise, trying to wiggle free, but his hold was too warm to resist.
"R–Ren! What are you doing?!" — she said, her voice flustered and playful, the room filling with the sound of her soft laughter.
Ren buried his face in her shoulder, his voice husky and quiet, as if afraid to wake the dream.
"Just let me stay like this for a bit… I've missed this feeling."
She froze for a moment, looking down at him with gentle silence. In that moment, he wasn't the man who had faced countless worlds, nor the hero who had brought her back from death — but the little boy who once ran into her arms every morning, searching for her warmth.
Masaki took a deep breath, then ran her fingers tenderly through his messy hair, whispering softly — more warmth than scolding in her tone.
"Little fool… you've always been like this. No matter how much you grow, you'll always be a child in my eyes."
Ren smiled faintly without lifting his head, mumbling in a low voice filled with both irony and fondness.
"Seems like some habits… never die."
Masaki laughed again, that gentle laugh that could lift the weight off any heart, then patted his shoulder softly with a warmer tone.
"Alright, just this once. But after that, you really have to get up. We have a guest waiting, and I don't want them to see you like this."
Ren finally lifted his head, meeting her eyes from up close, a small smile curving his lips.
"If the breakfast is made by you, then maybe it's the guest who should wait."
Masaki sighed lightly, but her smile never left her face as she playfully tapped his shoulder.
"Your tongue hasn't changed one bit."
He finally stood up, his features still half-drowsy, but his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.
He watched her leave the room with calm steps, sunlight cascading around her as if the morning itself existed only to light her path.
And in that fleeting moment — Ren realized how miraculous such simplicity could be.
But it wasn't the kind of miracle born of mysterious power or divine will… it was one of his own making — the fruit of his effort, his perseverance through time, a miracle that pulsed with life, love, and hope alike.
_
A short while later, Ren finally got out of bed, put on some comfortable clothes, and followed Masaki's steps downstairs. Her movements were light and graceful, that same smile still playing on her lips.
When he reached the living room, someone was already there, chatting with Masaki in a cheerful, easy tone — the kind of moment where morning seemed to pause just to give them a pocket of warmth and serenity between laughter and soft conversation.
"..." — Ren's eyes fell upon the familiar woman before him, and though he had never seen her before, he recognized her instantly.
She sat in quiet elegance, as though she had stepped straight out of a timeless fairy tale — a blend of regal grace and captivating mystery.
Her light brown hair, kissed with golden hues, framed her oval face in loose, artful waves that gave her both wild beauty and noble poise — a natural crown of allure. Her eyes, however, were the true center of gravity: a rare shade of amethyst-violet that pierced through indifference, carrying a confident, faintly smiling gaze that seemed to conceal ancient secrets.
She wore a pure white dress, light and delicate as if spun from morning clouds. The neckline dipped into a modest V-shape, held by thin straps fastened with small metal clasps at the shoulders, subtly accentuating her graceful form. A thin ribbon cinched her waist with effortless elegance.
Her accessories completed the look — a twin-layered necklace adorned with deep crimson amethyst stones, centered with a large oval gem followed by a smaller pendant dangling beneath. Long, soft gray gloves covered her arms, lending her a classical and almost ceremonial modesty.
Her posture was modest yet regal, hands folded gently before her, a tranquil gesture that hid the quiet strength behind those mesmerizing violet eyes.
'She looks a bit like Rias… but her aura feels entirely different,' Ren thought as he stared at the breathtaking woman speaking with Masaki.
The woman was none other than Venelana Gremory — or more precisely, Venelana Bael.
She was Masaki's cousin, for Masaki herself was of Bael lineage — though never formally acknowledged due to her mixed heritage of Devil and Quincy.
And although Masaki hadn't inherited the Power of Destruction, Ren had. When he revived her, he had granted her fragments of all his bloodlines and powers — now, Masaki carried within her the essences of Hollow, Shinigami, Quincy, Devil, and Uchiha.
In terms of raw strength, she already matched the level of a High Maou-class, and with mastery, she could easily rise to Super Maou level — especially once she perfected her Zanpakutō. Simply achieving Shikai would multiply her power several times, and mastering Bankai would increase it tenfold.
"Ren, this is your aunt Venelana. Come, introduce yourself properly," — Masaki's face brightened with even more joy as she saw Ren descending the stairs, motioning for him to come closer and sit beside her.
...
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