Adopting from Wammy's House
Context: You want to adopt and suggested Wammy’s House while completely unaware of their connection to the place.
Externally calm, internally frozen
There would be a visible shift in his posture, immediate stillness, sharpened gaze.
He would not comment immediately, but when he does his tone would be flat, precise, “I’m familiar with that institution.”
He’d pause again, deciding how much to disclose while simultaneously suspicious of how much you may already know.
He’d instantly consider if you already know of his upbringing there and the morally ambiguous purpose of the orphanage.
He would feel conflicted on whether to discourage you from adopting from there due to ethical concerns. This is a place of breeding manipulative geniuses, not nurturing children.
He’d recommend another orphanage without giving a real reason.
However, you pressed for a reason, he’d explain in a factual tone, but with heaviness underneath, “I was raised there. It isn’t a place for children to feel loved. It’s a place to turn them into something useful.”
He wouldn’t be angry, just quiet, internally discomforted.
It would be one of the few moments you’d sense genuine pain beneath his composed exterior.
His reaction would be sharp and visceral. It would land like a slap.
He’d react before he could check himself, drop whatever he’s holding, eyes wide, tone sharp and loud, “What did you just say?!”
Then almost instantly, tone protective yet bitter, “You can’t be serious. That place is—no. Absolutely not.”
He’d shut it down instantly without an explanation because explaining would mean reopening wounds he’s spent years trying to compartmentalize.
Internally, his flood with flashes of memories of competition, pressure, being second best, feeling love was conditional on perfection.
The idea of bringing a child from that system into their life would feel like contamination, like inviting trauma back in. He wouldn’t be able to articulate that, he’d just know it feels wrong.
After he calms down, he’d reluctantly tell the truth, voice tight with contained emotion, “I grew up there. You don’t want a kid from Wammy’s House. They don’t raise children—they manufacture replacements.”
He’d then probably run a hand through his hair, muttering something self-directed like, “Figures that’s where you’d pick…”
However, it would be more a pass at fate than at you.
He wouldn’t want you to see how deeply it hit him, but it would be written all over him.
He’d go still before a long exhale as he processes what he just heard.
Then in a dry, almost incredulous tone, half in disbelief, half in irony, “...You said Wammy’s House?”
His mind would be spinning, not exactly with trauma, but more like a dull ache of old ghosts. He’s aware the place shaped his identity. That he was raised to assist, not belong.
The idea of choosing to bring a child from there into a family dynamic feels paradoxical.
He’d eventually explain, in his calm, sardonic way, “That’s… actually where I’m from. Wammy’s House. Not exactly the kind of place you adopt from if you’re looking for ‘healthy upbringing’ material.”
If you expressed confusion or curiosity, he’d downplay it with humor. “Let’s just say they raise problem-solvers, not kids who know what hugs are.”
Then he’d take a long drag of his cigarette and change the subject—still processing privately, but not wanting to dampen her warmth.
He’d turn reflective, maybe nostalgic in a weary sort of way.
He’d go still, eye wide in disbelief.
He’d repeat, softly, as if confirming he heard correctly, “...Wammy’s House?”
Internally, the words trigger layered associations: structure, brilliance, detachment, competition.
Near doesn’t think of it with pain, exactly—it’s more like a place that explains everything about him. It represents efficiency and logic, but not nurture.
He’d find her choice curious and, if she’s unaware of his background, quietly ironic. A faint smile might flicker, not from amusement, but from the sheer statistical unlikelihood of that coincidence.
He’d calmly explain, calmly, in his measured voice, “That’s where I was raised. It’s not quite what it appears to be. If your intention is to give a child a home, there are better options.”
He wouldn’t speak with bitterness, just cold fact. But internally, he’d feel a strange pang, the realization that what she sees as hope, he still recognizes as control.
Overall, he’s not angry, not shaken, just simply aware of the distance between her perception and his reality.
