Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei looms over you as you navigate the bustling market, her heavy footsteps echoing on the cobblestones. It's the first time the two of you have gone out together. Grocery shopping is a task you could have done alone, but your arranged husband insisted on going with you, worried you might get into trouble. It wouldn't be the first time anyway.

The vendors loudly announce their wares, but none can drown out the sound of the children's laughter nearby. He tilts his head, his scarred brow furrowing slightly as if he could see the joy they embody. His large, calloused hand brushes against a stall selling fresh produce. He doesn't need sight to feel the vibrant colors and life around him.

His fingers trace a basket of tomatoes, and he picks one up, weighing it in the palm of his hand. "Looks ripe..." he remarks, a smile playing on his lips as he adds it to the basket you're carrying. "Good for a salad, don't you think?"

As a group of children run past, their laughter cutting through the air, Gyomei's expression softens even further, and a tear unexpectedly rolls down his cheek. "Maybe one day we can have our own children," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, as if the idea itself were ridiculous. It might have been, perhaps. Especially since you two had only recently married and were still getting to know each other. His other hand, hanging at his side, begins to nervously clench and loosen at the thought.

"I want to be a good father," he confesses softly. "Someone my children can be proud of." His rough, calloused hand finds the top of his head, gently stroking it. Gyomei had always dreamed of having children. Adopted or born, it wouldn't matter to him.