Dinner was... peaceful.
That was the only word for it.
The three of them sat around the small table—Yuuta on one side, Erza across from him, Elena perched on a cushion between them. Steam rose from bowls of curry rice, fragrant with spices and warmth. The evening light filtered through the windows, painting everything in soft gold.
Elena ate with the enthusiasm only a child could muster.
"Papa! This dish is so good!" She shoveled another spoonful into her mouth, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. "What is it called?!"
Yuuta smiled.
"It's called curry, sweetheart. Made with spices and chicken."
"Curry!" Elena tested the word, rolling it around her mouth. "Cur-ry! Papa loves this dish too!"
She giggled.
Her joy was infectious.
Yuuta laughed despite himself.
"I'm glad you like it, Elena."
He looked down at his own bowl.
His smile faded.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
Across the table, Erza noticed.
She always noticed.
Her chopsticks paused mid-movement. Her violet eyes fixed on his face, studying him with the intensity of someone who had spent centuries reading enemies and allies alike. Something was wrong. She could feel it—a shift in the air, a weight in his posture, a shadow behind his eyes.
"What happened?"
The words came out colder than she intended.
They always did.
"Why do you look so pathetic today?"
Yuuta looked up.
Forced a smile.
"I'm okay. Just thinking about something."
He took another bite.
Ate without tasting.
Stared without seeing.
Erza's chest tightened.
She didn't understand the feeling. Didn't want to understand it. But watching him sit there—watching him pretend to be fine when clearly something was wrong—made her feel... uncomfortable.
More than uncomfortable.
Upset.
She didn't like it.
Didn't want it.
Didn't know what to do with it.
So she did what she always did.
She used magic.
"Memory Reading."
The words were barely a whisper.
Yuuta didn't hear.
Didn't notice.
Didn't feel the gentle brush of her power against his mind.
But Erza felt everything.
---
The memory unfolded before her like a play.
She stood on the rooftop—invisible, intangible, a ghost in someone else's past. The wind moved through her. The light passed around her. And before her, Yuuta and a girl she didn't recognize faced each other in the fading afternoon.
Fiona.
The name came with the memory.
The girl was beautiful. Young. Dark hair, amber eyes, the kind of face that made men do foolish things. She stood close to Yuuta, too close, her expression intense.
"I love you, Yuuta. Let's run away together."
Erza's blood went cold.
Run away?
Together?
With HER?
"Your wife is a monster! We can get rid of her!"
The words hit Erza like a physical blow.
Get rid of her.
Get rid of ME.
Her hands curled into fists.
Erza's jaw tightened.
"She cast a spell on you."
Her hands curled into fists beneath the table.
For one terrible moment—one frozen heartbeat—she wondered.
Is he planning to get rid of me?
Is this what he wants?
Is this why he looks so troubled?
Her heart—that ancient, frozen heart—clenched with an emotion she couldn't name. Rage? Jealousy? Fear?
She watched Yuuta's reaction, waiting for the betrayal she knew would come. This was how humans worked, after all. They ran from responsibility. They abandoned their commitments. They chose the easy path over the right one.
He would agree.
He would leave.
He would—
"Stop calling her a monster."
Erza froze.
"She might be exactly what you say. A demon. A witch. A being from another world who could kill me without effort."
Yuuta's voice was quiet.
But firm.
"But she has never harmed me. Not really. Not in any way that mattered."
The girl argued.
He didn't waver.
"I know she'll probably kill me eventually. I have one year. One year to prove myself. One year to convince her not to end my existence."
He laughed.
Bitter.
Sad.
True.
"And you know what? Compared to what I deserve, that's mercy."
"What are you talking about?"
"What I did to her... before she came here... before Elena..." He couldn't finish. "I deserve worse than death, Fiona. Much worse."
Erza's breath caught.
He thinks he deserves death.
For what happened that night.
For something he didn't even remember doing.
"Don't take away my only comfort." His voice cracked. "Don't try to destroy the first happiness I've ever known. Even if it's temporary. Even if it ends in death."
"You will die by her hand."
"Then let me."
The words hung in the air.
"I would rather die by her hand than live alone, Fiona."
He turned away.
Walked toward the door.
Paused.
"Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."
The door closed.
The memory faded.
---
Erza sat at the dinner table.
Her face was pale.
Her hand trembled slightly—barely perceptible, but there.
Her mind raced through centuries of experience, searching for precedent, searching for explanation, searching for any framework that could make sense of what she'd just witnessed.
She found none.
In all her years—
All her centuries—
All the humans she'd encountered, conquered, dismissed—
She had never met one like him.
He fought for me.
Against a beautiful girl who wanted him.
Against the chance to escape.
Against his own survival.
He chose me.
Knowing I might kill him.
Knowing I've threatened him repeatedly.
Knowing I've given him no reason to trust me.
He chose me anyway.
Her eyes lifted to his face.
He was eating.
Quietly.
Unaware.
Still carrying that weight he thought she couldn't see.
Why?
The question burned in her mind.
Why would anyone—especially a human—choose certain death over comfortable life?
Why would he—
Erza set down her spoon.
The sound was soft—barely a tap against the ceramic bowl. But to Yuuta, it might as well have been a thunderclap.
"Fiona."
She said the name like it tasted bitter.
Like it was something to be scraped off her tongue and discarded.
Yuuta's face twisted.
Not with guilt.
With fear.
"Who is she?" Erza's voice was quiet. Controlled. The kind of quiet that preceded avalanches. "This ugly human who clings to you like a parasite?"
Yuuta's mouth went dry.
How does she know Fiona's name?
How does she know anything about Fiona?
He hadn't mentioned her. Hadn't spoken about the rooftop. Hadn't said a single word about the conversation that still echoed in his mind.
"She's..." He swallowed. "She's my childhood friend."
"Childhood friend." Erza repeated the words like they offended her. "A childhood friend who wants to get rid of me. A childhood friend who calls me a monster. "
Yuuta's spoon slipped from his fingers.
It clattered against the table.
Rolled.
Fell to the floor.
He didn't pick it up.
Couldn't move.
Because in that moment, he saw death standing before him.
Not metaphorically.
Not as a figure of speech.
Death.
Violet eyes burning. Silver hair crackling with energy. An aura building around her that made the air itself feel heavy, wrong, ending.
"How..." His voice was barely a whisper. "How do you know that?"
Erza's lips curved.
It was not a smile.
"Do you think I am unaware?" She rose from her seat, and the temperature in the room dropped. "Do you think your pathetic human brain can hide anything from me?"
Yuuta's mind raced.
Her magic.
Memory magic.
She can... she can see...
"Who is this girl?" Erza's voice grew colder with each word. "How dare she claim she can eliminate me? Me, who rules the entire Atlantian Continent? Me, whom even gods fear to challenge in fair combat?"
The aura erupted.
Not physically—not yet.
But Yuuta saw it.
For just a second—a fraction of a heartbeat—the air around Erza shimmered, shifted, became.
A dragon.
Massive.
Terrible.
Real.
Its eyes burned into his soul.
Its presence crushed his chest.
Its existence overwhelmed everything he was.
Yuuta's body reacted before his mind could catch up.
He doubled over.
His stomach heaved.
Bile rose in his throat.
He vomited onto the floor, clutching his stomach, his body convulsing with the force of it. The pressure—the weight of her aura—was too much. Too immense. Too far beyond anything a human should ever experience.
"Papa!" Elena's voice cut through the haze. "Papa! What's wrong?! Papa!"
She ran to him.
Tiny hands on his back.
Tiny voice filled with fear.
"Mama, what's wrong with Papa?!"
Erza's aura vanished.
Instantly.
Like it had never been there.
She stared at Yuuta—at his shaking form, at the vomit on the floor, at the way he gasped for air like a drowning man. Her hand twitched. Reached out. Almost touched him.
Then stopped.
Her ego.
Her pride.
Her centuries of never showing weakness.
They held her back.
"Tch." She looked away. "Useless mortal. How weak you are."
She sat down.
Picked up her spoon.
Continued eating her curry.
But her eyes—
Her eyes never left him.
---
Yuuta stayed on the floor for a long moment.
Breathing.
Just breathing.
Elena patted his back, her tiny face scrunched with worry, her little voice murmuring reassurances that sounded nothing like the words she was saying.
Finally, he pushed himself up.
Grabbed a glass of water.
Drank.
Wiped his mouth.
Sat back down at the table.
The curry sat before him, cold now, untouched.
He didn't care.
"Erza." His voice was hoarse. "Please don't kill her."
Erza's spoon stopped mid-air.
"What?"
"Fiona." He couldn't meet her eyes. Looked at his hands instead. At the hands that had held hers. "Please don't kill Fiona."
The temperature dropped again.
"You dare make requests of me?" Erza's voice was ice. "You, who can't even withstand my presence for a moment?"
"Please."
"Why should I spare someone who wants me dead?"
Yuuta finally looked up.
Met her eyes.
"She's like me."
Erza paused.
"She lost her parents when she was young. She grew up alone. She's scared and confused and making terrible decisions because she doesn't know what else to do." His voice cracked. "She's like me, Erza. She's exactly like me before you came into my life."
Erza stared at him.
Unreadable.
"And what? I should forgive her because she shares your tragic backstory?"
"No." Yuuta shook his head. "I'm not asking you to forgive her. I'm asking you not to kill her. There's a difference."
He swallowed.
"I don't want blood shed in my presence. I'm afraid of blood. I've been afraid of it my whole life. Please. Just... just warn her. Tell her to stay away. But don't kill her."
Erza was silent.
The silence stretched.
Grew heavy.
Became unbearable.
"I don't care about your human sentiments," she said finally. Her voice was cold, but something in it had shifted. "If you want that girl to live, tell her not to mess with me. That's all I can offer."
Yuuta looked at her.
At her cold face.
At her unreadable eyes.
At the queen who had just offered him a mercy she never gave anyone.
And in that moment—
He understood.
She doesn't love me.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
She's never loved me. The hand-holding, the zoo, the protection—it was all to keep me alive. To ensure she could kill me herself when the time comes.
I'm not her partner.
I'm not her family.
I'm just... prey she's not ready to eat yet.
He stood.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
Picked up his bowl.
Walked to the sink.
Placed it inside.
Then Elena's bowl.
Then the utensils.
His movements were automatic. Empty. A body going through motions while the mind retreated somewhere far away.
"Papa?" Elena's voice was small. "Where are you going?"
Yuuta grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door.
"Well, little princess..." He didn't turn around. Couldn't. "Daddy has to go to work. He has to run the house, you know?"
"But it's night time."
"Work doesn't stop at night, sweetheart."
He opened the door.
Paused.
Looked back.
Elena stood in the middle of the room, her rabbit costume dirty, her drawing clutched in her hands, her eyes confused and sad.
Erza sat at the table, still as stone, watching him with that unreadable expression.
"I'll be back," he said.
And left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
---
Elena stared at the closed door.
Then at her mother.
"Mama?"
"What?"
"Is Papa sad?"
Erza didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But her hand—
Her hand tightened around her spoon.
---
To be continued...