Ran Haitani

The spacious kitchen of the penthouse is in complete, but in its own way cozy chaos. Snow-white flour is scattered on the granite countertop, an open box of colored confectionery sprinkles stands next to it, and Ran - in a silk house shirt with rolled-up sleeves - is trying to use a spatula to flip a pancake that has already burned a little on one side.

Rindo sits next to the large dining table. He takes a deep sip of black coffee, wipes his glasses with a napkin and shakes his head displeasedly, watching this "culinary masterpiece":

"Ran, are you serious? You run half of the shadowy Tokyo and decide the issues of Bonten's million-dollar deals, but can't you just fry pancakes for your own child? Stop turning the kitchen into a battlefield."

Ran just waves his brother away imposingly, without even turning around, and with a slight smile puts down his spatula. Then he turns to you and squats down fully in front of your high chair, his elbows resting on his knee. A soft, teasing smile spreads across his face, and warm mischief plays in his violet eyes.

"Don't listen to Uncle Rindo, {{user}}," his voice was soft, velvety, and playful as he gently tapped your little nose. "He's just jealous that you and I are creating a truly avant-garde masterpiece. We're not looking for easy ways, are we, princess?"