Yuuta was only a few blocks from his apartment building when he saw her.
Fiona.
Or at least, someone who looked exactly like Fiona.
She was sitting in a black car—the kind of car that looked like it belonged in spy movies, with tinted windows and an expensive shine that screamed "don't look at me." It was parked near the entrance to his building, engine running, lights off.
Yuuta froze.
Is that... Fiona?
He squinted through the darkness. The figure in the car had the same dark hair, the same轮廓. But Fiona lived in a modest apartment across town. She didn't own cars like this. She couldn't afford cars like this.
Maybe it's not her, he thought. Maybe it's just someone who looks like her. A rich girl visiting someone in the building.
He shook his head.
It was too late at night for these questions.
Too late, and he was too tired.
He walked past the car without looking back.
---
The stairs felt endless tonight.
Each step required effort that Yuuta didn't have. His legs ached. His eyes burned. The bags in his hands—full of clothes and pastries and the weight of good intentions—seemed to grow heavier with every floor.
Finally, he reached his door.
He pushed it open slowly.
Carefully.
Elena was sleeping. He didn't want to wake her.
The apartment was dark—not the darkness of emptiness, but the darkness of a home where people were resting. He could feel their presence. Elena's soft breathing from the bedroom. And somewhere else...
He stepped into the hall.
And there she was.
Erza.
Sitting on the sofa, a book open in her lap, her silver hair catching the faint light from the window. She was reading—actually reading, her violet eyes moving across the pages with an intensity that suggested whatever she was reading mattered deeply to her.
She looked up as he entered.
Their eyes met.
"What took you so long?"
Her voice was cold. Usual. The same dismissive tone she always used.
But something in it—something almost imperceptible—made Yuuta pause.
"I was working," he said. "Part-time job. I told you about it."
"Tch." She looked back at her book. "Humans and their strange ways of life. Working when you could be resting. Exhausting yourselves for pieces of paper."
Yuuta didn't respond.
He walked quietly to the kitchen and set down the bags—all those bags, full of clothes and pastries and things he hoped would make his family smile. The donuts from Mrs. Kin. The chocolates. The carefully wrapped outfits for Elena and Erza.
Then he turned.
Looked at her.
She was still reading.
Unbothered.
Untouchable.
I should apologize.
The thought rose in his mind like a wave.
I should tell her I'm sorry. For everything. For that night. For running. For all the years she spent alone.
He took a step toward her.
Then another.
Erza's eyes lifted from r book.
"What are you doing?"
Her voice was sharper now. Guarded. The voice of someone who sensed something shifting and didn't know if she liked it.
Yuuta stopped.
Took a breath.
"My queen." His voice was quiet. "I want to say something."
Erza closed her book.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
For the first time since he'd known her, she looked at him with something other than cold dismissal. There was curiosity in her eyes. Interest. A flicker of something that might have been... anticipation?
"Speak," she said.
"I am..."
The words caught in his throat.
I am sorry.
I am sorry for leaving you.
I am sorry for not being there.
I am sorry for everything.
But Miss Kin's voice echoed in his mind.
"Don't apologize now. If you do it too soon, she'll only feel more rage. Take time. Treat her well. Show her through your actions that you care."
He couldn't do it.
Not yet.
Not like this.
"I am... worried about you."
The words came out before he could stop them.
Erza's eyes narrowed.
"Worried?"
"It's late." He gestured vaguely at the clock. "You should be sleeping. That's all."
She stared at him.
Longer than was comfortable.
Longer than was safe.
"Do you think dragons are weak?" Her voice was ice. "Do you think we exhaust ourselves like humans do?"
"No, that's not—I didn't mean—"
"You have the audacity," she interrupted, "to tell me—a QUEEN—to sleep? While you stand there looking like an exhausted slave who hasn't rested in days?"
Yuuta blinked.
"I look exhausted?"
"Have you seen yourself?" Erza's eyes swept over him—the dark circles, the pale skin, the trembling hands he couldn't quite still. "When did you last sleep properly?"
"I don't know. Science says six hours is enough."
"Science." She said the word like it was nonsense. "You should be the one sleeping, idiot mortal."
She opened her book again.
Dismissed him.
But her eyes—just for a moment—lingered on his face.
And in her mind, a thought she couldn't control:
Why do I care?
What's wrong with me these past days?
Why does his exhaustion make my chest ache?
Yuuta sighed.
"You're right, my queen. I should sleep."
"Idiot mortal." She didn't look up from her book. "You've ruined my reading mood."
But her voice was softer.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
He smiled.
Small.
Tired.
Grateful.
Then he walked toward the bedroom.
---
The mattress hit him like a wave.
His body—so tightly wound for so long—simply gave up. Surrendered. Collapsed into the familiar embrace of sheets and pillows and the overwhelming relief of stopping.
Within seconds, he was asleep.
Completely.
Utterly.
Gone.
Beside him, Elena slept peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling, her rabbit costume wrinkled and dirty but somehow still adorable. One of her hands had found his arm in the night. Clung to it.
Protecting him.
Even in sleep.
---
In the living room, Erza sat alone.
Her book was open.
But she wasn't reading.
Her eyes were fixed on the bedroom door.
On the man who had tried to say something and couldn't.
On the father of her child who worked until dawn and came home with bags full of who-knows-what.
On the idiot mortal who worried about her when he was the one falling apart.
"Foolish," she muttered to the empty room. "Foolish human. Foolish feelings. Foolish—"
Her eyes landed on the bags.
Eight of them.
Sitting in the kitchen where Yuuta had left them.
Plain shopping bags, nothing special. The kind of thing humans used to carry their purchases home from stores. They should have meant nothing.
But curiosity was a dragon's nature.
And Erza was very, very curious.
She rose from the sofa.
Her bare feet made no sound against the floor as she crossed to the kitchen. The bags waited for her like questions without answers. Like invitations to something she didn't understand.
These are his belongings, she told herself. I shouldn't pry. I shouldn't—
Her hand reached out anyway.
Opened the first bag.
---
Clothes.
Dozens of them.
Small clothes. Tiny dresses with flowers printed on the fabric. Little pants with elastic waists that would fit a child's body. Pajamas covered in stars and moons and smiling animals. Socks so small they could have been made for dolls.
Elena's clothes.
Erza pulled them out one by one, her movements slow, almost reverent. Each piece was soft to the touch. Each design was cheerful, playful, exactly the kind of thing a little girl would love. Someone had put thought into these—real thought, real care, real attention.
He bought these for her.
For our daughter.
The realization settled into her chest like a stone dropped into still water.
She didn't know much about human economy. Didn't understand the value of money or the cost of living in this world. But she knew Yuuta. Knew his background. Knew that his earnings were modest at best—barely enough to support himself, let alone two extra people.
These clothes weren't modest.
They were expensive.
She could tell from the quality. From the stitching. From the way the fabric felt beneath her fingers.
And there were so many of them.
Dozens of outfits.
Enough to last for weeks.
How much did he spend?
How many hours did he work for this?
Why would he—
Her heart beat faster.
The feeling was unfamiliar. Unwelcome. But undeniable.
Warmth.
Spreading through her chest like something alive.
She set the children's clothes aside carefully, neatly, with the kind of attention she usually reserved for important documents. Then her eyes caught the other bags.
Different from the first.
Larger.
Wrapped with more care.
She reached for one.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it. She didn't understand why. Didn't want to examine the feeling. Just... reached inside.
Her hand touched silk.
She pulled it out.
And the world stopped.
---
A dress.
White silk, so pure it seemed to glow in the dim light. Tiny violet stars were embroidered across the fabric, catching the moonlight that streamed through the window and scattering it like diamonds. The stars glittered—actually glittered—as if the night sky itself had been woven into cloth.
The cut was elegant. Flowing. Traditional.
A Chinese Emperor dress.
The kind an empress might wear.
The kind she would have chosen for herself.
Erza couldn't breathe.
She held it up, watching the stars dance in the silver light, feeling the weight of it in her hands. It was her size. Her style. Her colors. Every detail—every single detail—matched exactly what she would have wanted.
How did he know?
She reached into the bag again.
Another dress.
Violet silk, deeper and richer than the first, with golden embroidery winding along the edges. A Korean hanbok, its skirt full and graceful, its jacket elegant and precise. Perfect for a queen.
Another.
White and gold, with a translucent shawl draped carefully beside it—the exact kind she always wore, the kind she'd never told anyone she loved.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Seventeen dresses in total.
Seventeen perfect, beautiful, thoughtful creations.
Each one chosen with care.
Each one matching her taste exactly.
Each one proof that he'd been paying attention.
Erza's hands trembled.
Her heart raced.
Her chest—her ancient, frozen, untouchable chest—ached with something she couldn't name.
No one has ever...
The thought trailed off into nothing.
Because it was true.
In her entire existence Decade of life, of power, of ruling a kingdom—no one had ever done this for her. Servants bought her clothes, yes. Tailors made her garments. But they were following orders, fulfilling duties, doing what they were paid to do.
This was different.
This was chosen.
This was given.
This was him.
She sank to the floor.
The dresses pooled around her like clouds, like dreams, like everything she'd never known she wanted.
And for the first time in longer than she could remember—
The Dragon Queen didn't know what to feel.
---
She stayed there for a long time.
Kneeling among the clothes.
Holding the star-dusted dress in her lap.
Watching the moonlight catch the embroidery.
Slowly, carefully, reverently—she began to fold them.
Each dress was placed back in its bag with the kind of attention usually reserved for ancient artifacts. She smoothed every wrinkle. Aligned every fold. Made sure each garment was perfect before moving to the next. Her movements were precise, deliberate, almost ceremonial.
When she was done, she stood.
Looked at the bags.
Looked toward the bedroom door.
He did this for me.
The thought circled in her mind like a bird seeking a place to land.
He worked all night. Spent his money. Chose each piece carefully. For me.
Why?
What does he want?
What is he—
She shook her head.
Couldn't answer.
Wouldn't answer.
Didn't want to know the answer.
She walked toward the bedroom.
Pushed the door open gently.
---
Yuuta lay on the bed, completely unconscious.
Even in sleep, he looked exhausted. Dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. Lines of stress etched into his forehead. His chest rose and fell slowly, unevenly, like even rest was a struggle.
Beside him, Elena slept peacefully.
Her tiny hand clutched his arm.
Her face was soft, trusting, completely at peace.
Erza stood in the doorway.
Watching them.
He sacrificed so much, she thought. For me. For my daughter.
For us.
The word slipped into her mind before she could stop it.
Us.
Something stirred in her chest.
Something dangerous.
Something soft.
Then her ego rose like a shield.
No.
He's doing this to gain favor. To earn mercy. To avoid the punishment he deserves.
I will not fall for this trap.
I will kill him.
The most brutal way possible.
In all of history.
She walked to the bed.
Stood over him.
Raised her hand.
Placed it on his head.
Ready to end it.
Ready to—
Her mana flowed into him.
Without permission.
Without thought.
Without any control at all.
It poured from her palm into his sleeping form—warm, gentle, healing. The exhaustion in his face smoothed. The tension in his body relaxed. His breathing deepened into something truly restful, truly peaceful, truly alive.
Erza stared at her hand.
At what she'd done.
Why?
WHY did I do that?
She pulled back.
Backed away from the bed.
Her face—her cold, controlled, queenly face—was anything but controlled now. Confusion flickered in her eyes. Panic. Something that might have been fear.
I helped him.
I healed him.
Again.
Why?
She looked at the sleeping man.
At her daughter beside him.
At the family she never asked for but somehow couldn't leave.
"I helped him," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the darkness. "Because he bought me clothes."
The words sounded hollow.
Even to her.
"That's it. That's the only reason."
She lay down beside Elena.
Close enough to feel her daughter's warmth.
Close enough to feel his presence on the other side.
Closed her eyes.
Ignored the warmth spreading through her chest.
Ignored the way her heart beat faster than it should.
Ignored the truth she wasn't ready to face.
That's it.
That's all.
Nothing more.
---
But in the darkness, with her daughter between them and the moonlight painting silver across the floor—
The Dragon Queen smiled.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
And slept.
---
To be continued...