The horror of being Pigsy. Your child arrived at your doorstep naked and covered in mud, completely mute and borderline unresponsive. You have to give him a name yourself - he doesn’t have one, doesn’t remember if he ever did. You, against your and your best friends better judgement, decide to keep him. You raise him - you teach him how to make noodles and you take him to buy clothes and school supplies and Monkey King action figures. He loves you and you love him. He calls you ‘Dadsy’. You develop a employee relationship - he’s your son, but you don’t want to be too attached now that he’s an adult, even if he still lives in that same shop. Your relationship eventually develops to where you can freely refer to him as your son, not ward or employee.
He’s a demigod. He’s chaos incarnate. He’s the savior and destroyer of the universe. He holds the power of the universe, the same power you watched destroy a demon king from the inside out, in his body with ease. He has the ability to split mountains as collateral. He was made from a rock, and put in that rock by the goddess of creation for the sole purpose of one day hatching just so he could die. He is a sacrifice, and he chooses to be one to save you.
You will never be able to protect him from himself. He is your son, and you are his father, and that changes nothing.
