Erza emerged from the bathroom with her face carefully composed, the redness vanished, the chaos inside her chest locked away behind centuries of practiced control.
She sat down at the table.
Picked up the chopsticks.
Stared at them.
Two sticks. To eat food. This is their method?
She positioned them carefully.
Pinched a noodle.
Lifted.
The noodle slipped.
Plop.
Back into the broth.
Erza's eye twitched.
She tried again.
Pinch. Lift. Plop.
Again.
Pinch. Lift. Plop.
Again.
Pinch. Lift. Plop.
Yuuta watched.
His hand covered his mouth.
His shoulders shook.
Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Don't—
"PFFFT—"
Erza's head snapped toward him.
"You." Her voice could have frozen the broth. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No! No, of course not! I would never—"
She grabbed his mouth with the chopsticks.
Pinched.
Hard.
"You INSECT." Her eyes blazed. "Have you been laughing a lot lately? Do you have a death wish?"
Yuuta's words came out garbled through the chopstick pinch.
"Mmff—it's—mm—traditional—"
"Traditional?" She released him. "You give me two sticks that can't even hold food and call it tradition? Do you want to die today?"
"It's how ramen is eaten! I swear!" Yuuta rubbed his sore mouth. "It's part of the experience!"
"My ass." Her voice dropped to something dangerous. "Do I look like I care about your human traditions? Get me a fork and a spoon before I freeze you solid."
Yuuta scrambled.
Pulled utensils from the drawer.
Handed them over.
His head was already throbbing from where she'd hit him earlier—a reminder that living with a Dragon Queen came with certain occupational hazards.
But as he sat down with his own bowl, he noticed something.
Elena.
His four-year-old dragon daughter.
She had a spoon. A perfectly good baby spoon, designed for small hands and messy eaters.
She was not using it.
Her tiny fingers were wrapped around noodles, lifting them directly from the bowl to her mouth, sauce dripping down her chin, a look of pure bliss on her face.
She caught him looking.
Smiled.
"This is easier, Papa."
Yuuta sighed.
At least someone's enjoying dinner.
---
Erza attacked her ramen with fork and spoon.
The first bite entered her mouth.
And the world stopped.
Her eyes widened.
Her breath caught.
Her hand rose to cover her lips—an involuntary gesture, completely uncontrolled, utterly human.
What... what IS this?
The broth was rich and complex, layers of flavor unfolding on her tongue like a story. The noodles were perfect—chewy, satisfying, alive. The pork melted. The egg was creamy. Every element worked together in harmony she hadn't known food could achieve.
He made this.
This pathetic, weak, ridiculous mortal made THIS.
For me.
She looked at him.
He was eating quietly, head down, not meeting her eyes. Probably afraid of another chopstick attack. Probably trying to survive dinner without further injury.
But she could see it.
The tension in his shoulders.
The way he kept glancing at her.
The hope—tiny, fragile, desperate—that she might actually like it.
"You."
Yuuta jumped.
"Yes?!"
"Did you really make this just because I let you call me by my name?"
He blinked.
"Well... yes?"
"Why?"
He rubbed the back of his neck—that nervous gesture she'd come to recognize.
"I figured... in your world, royalty probably never lets peasants use their real names. And according to you, I'm worse than a peasant." He shrugged. "So I thought... maybe this could be my way of saying thank you. Even if it's not enough."
Erza stared at him.
This idiot.
This stupid, kind, impossible idiot.
"Dumbass," she said.
Yuuta winced.
"I told you. I find it disgusting when you call me 'my queen' and 'your highness.' You misunderstood completely and made all this food for the wrong reason."
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
"I don't care what you think the reason was." His voice was soft. "I'm just happy to see you smile. Happy to see you enjoying something I made. If I got the chance, I'd make this a hundred times. A thousand. Just to see that look on your face."
Ba-DUMP.
Erza's heart cracked.
Not broke.
Cracked.
Right down the middle.
The warmth flooded through her—unstoppable, undeniable, terrifying.
Her hand jerked.
Ramen splashed.
She grabbed her bowl, steadied it, hid her face behind steam and broth and anything that would keep him from seeing.
What IS this?
Why does he do this to me?
Why do his words hit like weapons?
She ate.
Silently.
Furiously.
Desperately.
And refused to look up.
Yuuta watched her for a moment, his hands still resting in the warm dishwater, his eyes fixed on the woman who had become the center of his chaotic existence.
She sat on the sofa with a book in her hands, her face carefully composed in its usual mask of cold indifference. But something was different tonight. Something had shifted in the space between them. The way she held the book—slightly too tight, her knuckles just a shade paler than they should be.
The way her eyes moved across the page—too fast, too restless, as if the words couldn't hold her attention the way they usually did. The way her ears—just the tips, barely visible beneath that cascade of silver hair—remained that stubborn, telling pink.
She's even more complicated now, he thought, turning back to the dishes with a small shake of his head. One minute she's furious enough to freeze the city. The next minute she's... whatever this is.
Dragon logic. He'd never understand it, no matter how many days he spent trying.
The warm water felt good against his skin, soothing the small aches and pains that had accumulated throughout the day.
The rhythmic motion of washing—scrub, rinse, place—was almost meditative, allowing his mind to wander without getting lost. Behind him, the apartment settled into its familiar evening rhythm.
Erza on the sofa, reading something that had her completely absorbed. Elena on the floor, surrounded by dinosaur books and stickers and the happy chaos of a child discovering wonders. The soft sounds of pages turning. The occasional giggle from Elena as she found a particularly interesting fact. The distant hum of the city outside, muffled by walls and windows and the comforting knowledge that for now, right now, they were safe.
It was peaceful.
It was perfect.
Then the chill came.
It wasn't the cold of Erza's anger—he knew that feeling well by now, the sharp drop in temperature that preceded violence or frustration. This was different. This was deeper. This came from inside.
His breath caught.
His hand froze on the bowl he'd been rinsing.
What was that?
He waited, motionless, listening to his own body.
Nothing.
The moment passed.
He shook it off and kept washing, telling himself it was nothing, just exhaustion, just the accumulated stress of days that had felt like years. But the warmth in his chest—the good warmth, the happy warmth that had been growing since Erza and Elena entered his life—had faded, replaced by something he didn't want to name.
---
On the sofa, Erza turned a page with more force than necessary.
The book in her hands was not one of her usual choices. No history of human civilization. No analysis of economic systems. No technical manuals about the technology she was still trying to understand.
Love at First Sight.
A romance novel.
The kind of thing she would have mocked mercilessly a week ago, would have dismissed as sentimental garbage for weak-minded humans who couldn't face reality.
But now—
Now she needed to understand.
What is this feeling?
The question circled in her mind like a bird unable to land, unable to rest, unable to do anything but keep flying in endless loops.
Why does he make my heart race? Why do his words hit me like weapons I can't defend against? Why do I care when he's hurt? Why do I want him to look at me—really look at me—the way he looks at Elena?
The book offered answers. Flowery descriptions of fluttering hearts and burning passions and souls recognizing souls across crowded rooms. It was ridiculous.
It was nonsense. It was exactly what she was feeling, described in terms that made her want to throw the book across the room and hide from the truth.
She read faster.
---
On the floor, surrounded by books and stickers and the happy chaos of discovery, Elena was in heaven.
Dinosaurs.
So many dinosaurs.
"Papa! Papa!" She held up a page covered in illustrations, her voice carrying across the apartment with the effortless volume only children possessed. "This is Spinosaurus! It's bigger than T-Rex! And this is T-Rex! Who would win in a fight?!"
Yuuta's voice drifted from the kitchen, warm and patient despite his exhaustion.
"I don't know, sweetheart. Depends on the situation, I guess."
"I think Spinosaurus would win because it has big claws and it can swim!"
"That's a solid argument."
"But T-Rex has BIG TEETH!" She made clawed hands near her face to demonstrate.
"Also a solid argument."
Elena nodded with the solemn gravity of a scholar considering an important question.
"I'll read more and decide," she announced.
"Good plan," Yuuta agreed.
---
Yuuta finished the dishes.
He dried his hands on a towel that had seen better days, hung it carefully on its hook, and stretched his arms above his head. His spine cracked in three places. His shoulders relaxed. For a moment, he felt almost normal.
Then it came again.
The cold.
Deep.
Wrong.
His breath escaped in a warm cloud—too warm, too heavy against his suddenly chilled skin. His head throbbed behind his eyes. His muscles ached with a deep, bone-level pain that felt different from normal exhaustion. His skin crawled with a strange, prickling sensation, like it didn't quite fit the body beneath.
No, he told himself firmly. I'm not sick. I'm fine. It's just—it's just—
He sneezed.
Loud.
Explosive.
The sound echoed off the kitchen walls.
"Who the hell is remembering me?" he muttered, reaching for a tissue.
But even as he said it, even as he made the joke, he knew.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't just a cold.
This was something else.
The Viral cold, he thought, leaning against the counter as dizziness washed over him.
His body was reacting.
And not well.
He waited for the dizziness to pass, counting his breaths, focusing on the sounds of his family in the other room. Elena's happy murmurs. The occasional turn of a page. The soft, steady presence of Erza reading on the sofa.
I'll see Dr. Jenny tomorrow, he decided. She'll know what to do with this viral cold. She always knows.
He straightened his spine.
Pasted on a smile.
Walked into the living room.
"Alright, you two. I'm heading to bed. Don't stay up too late."
Elena waved without looking up from her dinosaurs, her attention completely captured by the ancient battle between Spinosaurus and T-Rex.
"Goodnight, Papa!"
Erza didn't respond.
But her eyes—just for a moment, just long enough—lifted from her romance novel.
Followed him.
Watched him walk across the room.
Watched him disappear into the bedroom.
And in that glance, she saw it.
The exhaustion pulling at his features.
The pallor beneath his skin.
The way he moved like every step cost something he couldn't afford to spend.
Her heart ached.
Again.
What IS this feeling?
She didn't know.
But she was starting to fear the answer.
---
Yuuta collapsed onto the bed.
His body screamed.
His head pounded.
His breath came in shallow gasps that didn't seem to give him enough air.
Tomorrow, he told himself, staring at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Just make it to tomorrow. Dr. Jenny will fix it. She always fixes it.
He closed his eyes.
And slept.
---
In the living room, Erza stared at the bedroom door for a long time.
Her book lay forgotten in her lap.
Her heart beat too fast.
Her mind raced with questions she couldn't answer.
And somewhere, deep in the place she'd locked away centuries ago, a small voice whispered the truth she wasn't ready to hear.
---
To be continued...
[End of chapter]
Credit Scene
Elena shuffles into view, her little face lighting up with excitement.
"Hi, Reader! It's me, Elena!" She giggles, her tiny hands reaching out as if asking for attention. "Guess what? You can see my cute face now! Please, please check it and tell me… How do I look? Do I look cute?"
She pauses, looking eagerly at the reader, her little hands clasped together in anticipation.
"Okay, I'm waiting! Please leave a comment, okay? I wanna know! Bye-bye for now! See you again soon!"