Big thanks to my wonderful editor, Drucilla!

So two notes about this upcoming story, one good and one not so good

The good : This is a tribute to all the manga and anime that influenced me growing up, and the culture that continues to inspire me to this very day.

The not so good : Donald's not going to be the fun, loving guy we know him to be just yet. It's a little thing called character development. If you can't wait around for that, I suggest you don't read. Plenty of other stories out there.

With that out of the way, I hope those of you who do stick around enjoy this story of family, friendship, and folktales!

Pride has many different meanings to many different people, and it has been said that it goes before a fall. Donald Duck believed that so long as you kept a fair balance between pride and humility, you couldn't go wrong. Thus he was striven to find pride, and subsequent humility, in all he did. For instance, he was very proud of the work he was doing as late night began to drift over the quaint farm land, his hands filthy with dirt and sweat dripping off his feathers. Why, look at all of the seeds he was able to plant and all of the fresh vegetables he had pulled from the earth! He'd kept count, and he was certain he'd done three times the work compared to the rest of the farmhands.

Then again, as humility told him, most of them had gone home hours ago, so it was a rather unfair comparison. The only reason he hadn't been booted home yet was because the farm belonged to his grandmother, but judging by the faint footsteps nearby, that limit was being reached too. Still, he continued to dig in the dirt, even as he felt his elder looming over him.

"Good evening, oba-san," he said without lifting his head, hoping the more polite he was, the more patient she'd be with him. "We had a very fine crop today! Those carrots looked so good, I was tempted to take a bite the moment I pulled them out! You're going to make a fortune at market."

"Go home, Donald."

"And did you see the size of those leeks? You could build a house with those suckers! The gods must be answering your prayers ten times over."

"Go home, Donald."

"Did I mention how huge your peppers have gotten? I swear, one was the size of my – WAK!" A slight jolt of pain from his rear made him stand to attention, glaring deeply at his grandmother who held one of his former tail-feathers between her fingers. "That's a fine way to treat one of the greatest samurai in the land, and your own grandson to boot!"

"Oh, don't you pull that nonsense with me, young man," she huffed, not intimidated in the least. "You were one of the greatest...a year ago. Then you went and got yourself injured. Now you're just a shameless husband who refuses to comfort his own wife!"

Though the insult was well-deserved, it stung all the same. "You don't have to live with her," he grumbled, removing the basket from his back and setting it down on the ground. "Look, I've been trying to help, but nothing I say gets through to her! And I hurt plenty too, you just don't see me going all to pieces about it. Just because I'm not blubbering doesn't mean I'm not grieving in my own way."

Grandma inhaled and exhaled deeply through her nostrils, but her expression began to soften. "I am sorry, Donald," she said, more gentle than before. "I don't mean to snap at you, honestly I don't. It's... so easy to feel helpless, when you can't do anything to help your own family. But you do need to be there for her, blubbering and all." However, she knew from experience that guilt alone wouldn't always do the trick, so fortunately she had extra help this time. "I didn't come here just to rattle your chains... I got this in the mail today... it was meant for you, and wound up in mine by mistake. I didn't know when was the best time to tell you." She held out a small folded letter, the small rips showing the great distance it had traveled.

Donald raised an eyebrow. "Huh? Tell me what?" He unfolded the letter and began to read quietly, his eyes widening at the news. He glanced at Grandma as if to confirm its accuracy, even though he knew she had no way of knowing, and read the letter again. "Criminy... I knew it was bad, but... When I had to leave the castle, I wasn't too upset at first, you know? Because things seemed to be going all right. The Emperor and the Oni King were settling on peaceful terms, the war was nearly over, didn't seem like they'd need my protection anymore. Now..." He sadly shook his head, folding the letter and tucking it into his robes.

"It won't be long until the entire village finds out. You just got the head-start by courtesy, I reckon. And you need to tell Daisy."

"Fine, fine, fine." It was clear he was only delaying the inevitable. With one last heavy sigh, he kissed his grandmother on the cheek, and bade her goodnight, promising to be at the farm bright and early the next morning. As he started the long trek home, he tried to think of a way to tell Daisy the bad news without making her panic – although given how difficult it was to get a word in edgewise nowadays, he wondered if she'd even have the strength to panic. Not that panicking would do anyone any good now.

The former Oni King had been overthrown, his entire family slaughtered, and a new man sat at the throne, one who intended to take over all of Japan. The Emperor's men had driven him and his army away, and the old war had started anew. The peaceful life the villagers had known would cease to be someday, and they would have to be on their guard from those dangerous creatures. They could grow to be twenty feet tall, with the strength of thirty normal-sized men, so even a battle against just one of them was dangerous. Every fight Donald had against them was a harrowing experience at death's door, and even now, they still knew so little about the Oni. Yet despite all this, Donald was still way more reluctant to see his wife than to encounter the Oni again.

The Emperor's family had been amazingly kind to him, paying him much more than a year's salary when he had been forced to retire. Because of this, he could afford to have a large, luxurious home by the stream, as at the time, he planned to fill it with children alongside his darling bride. He stood in front of the wooden door, and summoned his courage. Slowly, he began to slide it open.

"I'm home-"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHIWANNABABYYYYYYIT'SNOTFAIIIIIIIIIRWAAAAAAAH-"

Donald promptly slid the door shut, and rubbed his temples. Really, why should tonight have been any different? Drawing his hand down his face, he opened the door again, sliding his sandals off to the side. His wife's wailing was incredibly loud, and the size of the empty house allowed it to echo and increase in volume, so it was like living with ten screaming wives. He moved through the house to find Daisy, though he knew where she was, and where she'd been every day since the local medicine man had delivered the devastating news.

There she slumped over the table, bottles of empty sake rolling around her, as she slapped her hand to the wooden surface over and over again. "I WANNA BABY I WANNA BABY I WANNA BAAAAABYYYYY!" She wailed and wailed again, her face streaming with endless tears. Somehow despite her blurry vision she managed to see Donald, and pointed an accusing finger at him. "HOW COME YOUR SISTER GETS TO HAVE THREE AT ONCE, BUT I CAN'T EVEN HAVE OOOOOOONE?!"

"I know, I know." He had her rants and ravings memorized by heart now. He walked up behind her and then sat down to hug her around the waist. "Come on, you're going to make yourself sick. Let's get you to bed."

"I DON'T WANNA GO TO BED, I WANNA BABY!" She slammed her fists onto the table. "I'M ALREADY SICK! THAT AWFUL MAN SAID MY BODY CAN'T MAKE BABIES! I WANNA BE A MOMMY!" Learning that had been agonizing months ago, and it was agonizing now, and it appeared Daisy would never be over this fact. But as Donald counted the bottles on the table, he found with depressing relief that at this stage of her fits, she would eventually lose her strength and pass out.

He nuzzled his beak to her hair, tenderly grooming her as she'd failed to take care of herself for many days now. "When was the last time you ate anything? You're going to be nauseous with all that booze in your belly and not a bit of dinner in you."

"I don't want dinner." On cue, Daisy's screaming began to lose its power, though she hadn't stopped crying. "It's not fair...I want to dress a cute little girl in kimonos, I want a sweet little boy to help me with chores...I want to teach them the ways of the world, and hear them call me mama, and play with them, and love them! Why do I have all this love in my heart if I have no one to give it to? It's not faiiir..."

In a way, this was worse than her screams, if only because Donald understood this agony all too well. He too wanted a living piece of his and Daisy's unity, a bouncing boy on his knee, a girl to tuck into bed and wish sweet dreams. This house was so empty now, and each passing day it made the two of them feel more and more lonely. "I'm going to get you something to eat," he said after a kiss to the cheek. "Even better, I'll get you some peaches. Your favorite food." He wasn't sure if anyone would be open at this time of night, but he was desperate to find some ray of happiness for his wife, no matter how small.

"Okay," her mumble was small and pathetic, a sliver of the powerful woman he'd fallen head over heels for. She made no effort to get up or clean herself, instead spelling out potential baby names in the spilled sake. Donald barely made out a "Mi" and maybe a "key". He gave her another tender kiss before leaving her side and exiting the house. He knew that he should tell her about the contents of the letter, but he couldn't bear the thought of hurting her more than she was already suffering. A good husband was supposed to be able to keep his wife safe and happy, and it looked like he was unable to do either. What pride was to be found here?

He was ready to march into the village and knock on every door to find a fresh supply of peaches, when a familiar color caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw, to his great surprise, a single peach floating in the stream. He stared at it for a few seconds longer, amazed at the sheer coincidence. Was this perhaps a sign from the gods that things were not as hopeless as they seemed? Or were they throwing a starving dog a chewed up bone? Either way, he decided not to miss his chance, and quickly dashed to the stream, plucking the fruit out of the water. There appeared to be a thin line pressed to one side, and Donald dismissed it as a result of imperfect growth.

Pleased, he returned to the inside. Daisy groggily lifted her head. "I thought you were gunna get me some peaches."

"Some soul abandoned theirs," Donald replied, heading to the kitchen. "Stay right there, I'll cut you a nice big slice." He picked up a kitchen knife, and held up the peach, gazing thoughtfully at it. He would have loved to teach his children how to use a sword, the way his own father taught him. Though Donald had a bad temper and could be clumsy, his parents loved him and his sister without question, and his childhood was a fond one. To think he'd never recreate such an experience... it pained him deeply, and he was so certain he had been meant to be a father. He knew that no matter kind of child he had, he would have also loved them without question, without exception, and would have done anything for their happiness.

"I wish I had a child," he said quietly, "Even if they were no bigger than a peach pit."

He flipped the knife in his hands – though it had been some time since he was a seasoned warrior, his skills with the blade were still unmatched. He sliced the entire peace in half with one clean strike, and admired his handiwork for a brief second. Placing the knife aside, he pulled off the top half of the peach -

And stopped dead in his tracks.

Daisy, for her part, was growing impatient. "Donald, what's taking so long?" Frustrated, she wobbly stood up to her feet and made way to the kitchen. Donald was frozen solid, one hand in the air holding half of the peach, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. "You didn't cut yourself, did you?" It felt silly to ask, since she too knew of Donald's fantastic skills with any sharp object. Even so, he didn't answer her, nor did he appear to hear her in the first place. "Is it rotten? Is there a worm in it?" Yet Donald wasn't so squeamish as to be so deeply affected by gross aspects of nature, and Daisy finally looked at the other half of the peach in Donald's other hand.

She too stopped dead in her tracks.

A long moment of silence stretched out between them, even as they turned their heads to look at each other, quietly confirming that their partner was indeed seeing the exact same thing they were seeing. They then slowly looked back at the peach, where, lying where a pit was supposed to be, was a small baby boy, a black-furred mouse that was enjoying a good nap while sucking his thumb.

"It's a baby," Daisy finally said, the words feeling dumb off her tongue.

"It can't be," Donald countered, despite seeing the evidence in front of his face.

The tiny thing twitched, and then began to yawn, deciding now was a good time as any to get up. He couldn't have been more than a month old, if they had to guess. He opened his eyes, blinking back at the giant strangers, and smiled, letting out a happy giggle as his tiny hands reached out.

That giggle was all it took to sober Daisy up. "It is a baby!" She squealed, and then she reached forward, gently trying to scoop him up in her fingers. "Hellooo, aren't you a delight!"

Donald dropped both sides of the peaches, letting them splatter to the floor – the baby was already in Daisy's palm and enjoying the stay. "What are you doing?!" He squawked, flailing and pointing at the thing in his wife's hand. "You – don't touch that, you don't know where it's been!"

"It's been in a peach, of course." Daisy cradled the child in one hand, using her other to lovingly smooth down the mouse's fur, and the baby laughed from the accidental tickle. "He is a bit sticky, we should give him a bath. Don't you worry now, we're going to get you all cleaned up."

"We?" Donald repeated, still expecting to wake up from this hallucination. "Who is this we?"

"Who else would I mean?" Daisy said with a bit of tsking. "Donald, don't you see? This is a gift from the gods, our prayers have finally been answered!"

"A gift!" Donald's infamous temper began to rise up and show its ugly head. "Oh sure, when I pray to be a millionaire, that goes unanswered, but this is what they listen to? You must more drunk than usual – that isn't a gift, it's a curse! Look at it!"

"Stop calling him it!" Daisy began to move around the table, trying to find a good place to bathe the baby in. "He's a boy, and now he's our boy. Ah, here we go!" She took a small wooden bowl from the cupboard and placed the child inside. He made no fuss about the delivery, and never stopped smiling up at Daisy. "A perfect fit. Aren't you cute? Mama will take good care of you."

"You are not its – his – whatever's Mama!" Donald grabbed Daisy by the arm, forcing her to look at him. "Be reasonable! That thing could die just by rolling off the counter or one of us sitting on it! It can't be a real child, and we can't take care of it!"

Donald had married Daisy for many reasons, and one of those reasons was that she was as strong as he was. As such, Daisy had no issue suddenly snatching his wrist and twisting his arm back. "Donald Fauntleroy Duck, if you take this child from me, the Oni will seem like angels compared what I'll do to you." She kept twisting and twisting until Donald was sure it'd pop out of its socket at any given second. "Do we have an understanding?"

Donald make a pained "eee" sound while crumbling to his knees that Daisy took as an affirmative. "Good. I'm glad we had this talk." She released his arm and then turned back to the child who blinked up at her in confusion. "Awww, it's okay! Mama was just having a tiny disagreement. But it's okay! Mama will never ever let anything happen to you." She reached into the cup to fondly stroke the child's big black ear, and he wound up giggling again. "Mama will always take care of you."

Donald rose back to his feet, rubbing his aching arm. He watched Daisy coo over the baby, and his anger grew even hotter. A gift? That was supposed to be the answer to their grief? A baby they couldn't hold, who'd be in danger every passing second, who could never lift even a cup or play around with other children? It was unnatural, and unfair, and his fingers rolled up into fists. For the first time, he had found something he could take no pride in.

"You may be its mother," he growled, and began to storm off. "But that will never be my son!"

Daisy glanced at the direction Donald had marched off to, and her face began to fall. For all her fawning, she didn't want to do this alone. Why couldn't Donald be as happy as she was? The size would be a problem, yes, but what child didn't come with its own unique set of problems? That was part of living, a part of life itself. As if able to pick up on her sadness, the baby began to make a distressed noise, moving his little arms. Daisy quickly turned her attention back to him, shushing as she stroked his face. "It's okay, it's okay...he'll come around, I know he will. He's just stubborn, that's all. One day, he'll accept you...we just have to be patient, don't we?"

Yes, he would be like any child, and like any child, he needed a name. "I have been waiting for so long to give this name away... and now, I can finally call it. You will always be our darling little Mickey."