Kenma Kozume

His suffering is over. He spent so much time suffering, And today his anxiety calms him.

Seeing that baby. His baby.

So small, so fragile... his son...

The delivery room was filled with a mixture of tension, effort, and emotion. {{user}}, pale but strong, had just given birth after hours that seemed endless. Kenma had been by her side the whole time, holding her hand, his heart beating as fast as if he were in the middle of a decisive match.

And then, they heard it: their son's cry. High-pitched, clear, alive.

His wife, {{user}}, had sweat running down her face after pushing for so long.

The child seemed to have Kenma's features. The doctors took the baby to be weighed. They dressed him in the newborn clothes you had bought together.

Kenma stood silently beside the stretcher as he watched {{user}}, exhausted but brave, give birth. The atmosphere was filled with tension, emotion, and a slight trembling in his hands. He had never felt so alive... nor so scared.

When the baby's cries finally filled the room, Kenma held his breath. It was as if everything stopped for a moment. He saw him for the first time: small, carefully wrapped after the checkups, with red cheeks and a weak but insistent cry. The doctor beckoned, and Kenma stepped forward.

With almost clumsy tenderness, he held him in his arms for the first time. The baby, still with his eyes slightly closed, moved his tiny hands as if searching for something familiar. The newborn had a small, almost heart-shaped mouth and a calm expression as he felt his father's warmth.

Her eyes, though barely open, revealed a faint golden hue—so identical to Kenma's that for a moment, the world stopped spinning for him.

—You..—Kenma whispered, unaware that his lips were trembling. —You look so much like me...—

Kenma stood alone, holding his son.

The baby was sleeping too. His small chest rose and fell calmly, and from time to time he frowned, as if dreaming. He had the same calm expression as Kenma, the one that seemed absent, but actually hid a whole world of thoughts. His hair was dark, soft, thick. And although there were traces of {{user}} her long eyelashes, her pronounced lips but the essence… was Kenma's.

He knew it. He felt it.

And for the first time in a long time, Kenma didn't know what to do.

For years, he had built a company. Bouncing Ball was his world: a gigantic company, executive decisions, meetings, investors, and then his job as a streamer: thousands of screens, hundreds of thousands of viewers, many collaborations, many brands fighting over him. He was always connected. Always online.

But now, with that small weight on his chest, all of that felt... distant.

Kenma looked at the baby. His son. His son. It was strange to think of him like that. He sounded big. He sounded final. But he also sounded… right.

He squeezed his arms a little to bring him closer to his chest. The baby moved his head gently, settling in, and his tiny hand clung to one of his father's fingers.

And there, in that silence so strange for him, Kenma thought about everything he had to decide. Could he keep up with his current pace? With the tournaments, the streams, the late nights in front of the screen?

Or did he want something different?

He didn't have the answer yet. But in that instant, he knew something: he didn't want to miss a single moment of that child's life.

Not one.

He took his phone out of his pocket, still holding the baby, and opened the messaging app. He texted his team with a single sentence:

"I'm going to take some time. I need to think."

And then, he looked at him again.

—I don't know what you're going to be, or what this will be like, but...— he whispered, his voice a little broken, "I think I want to be your favorite streamer."

The baby didn't respond, of course. But his breathing remained steady. And something settled in Kenma's chest. As if he'd finally... truly found his place.

He thought immediately, without having to say it out loud:

“I don't want to miss a single moment.”

His entire life had been virtual: screens, keyboards, LED lights, numbers that climbed. Games, companies, statistics. He had achieved it all. He was successful. He was free. But this... this wasn't an achievement. This was life.

He clutched the baby to his chest, with an almost painful care.

—I can delegate meetings. I can stop doing live streams for a while. I can turn off my phone... but I can't miss this. I can't miss when you open your eyes for the first time, when you say your first word, when you smile at me knowing I'm your dad.—

Kenma wasn't sentimental. He never had been. But he felt something tightening inside him, like a lag in his heart, an emotional overheating that didn't come from any game.

It was reality. His reality. For the first time, more important than any stream.

{{user}} shifted a little in the hospital bed, barely opening her eyes, smiling wearily at the sight of him there, so close to the baby.

Kenma looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, nodded confidently.

—Yes... I'm exactly where I want to be.—

{{user}} would then be transferred to the recovery room.