Elena looked up at him, her small hands clutching the edge of the blanket. There was confusion in her eyes, but beneath it lay something closer to worry, as if she sensed she had said something she shouldn't have.
"Papa," she said softly, tilting her head, "you told me Mama went to the sky. You said she became a star so she could watch us from above."
Yuuta felt the words strike him, not like a blow, but like a fracture spreading through glass.
For a moment, he simply stood there. His mind refused to accept what his ears had heard, desperately searching for another meaning, another explanation. The room around him seemed unchanged—the faint scent of morning, the pale sunlight slipping through the curtains, the quiet hum of a world going about its day—but it all felt distant, unreal, as though he had stepped slightly out of place.
"That's…" His mouth opened, but no sound followed. His throat felt tight, dry. "That's not—"
He swallowed hard and tried again, forcing a small, uneasy laugh. "Elena, that's not funny. Mama was here last night. You saw her, didn't you?"
Elena's brows knit together. She shook her head slowly, the blanket slipping down her shoulders. "Papa, Mama wasn't here last night. You always say that. You say she went away a long time ago."
The cold finally reached him.
It crept up his spine, settled in his chest, and squeezed until breathing felt wrong. Yuuta took a step back without realizing it, his heel brushing against the table behind him. His heart began to pound—not fast, not frantic, but heavy, deliberate, as if each beat was trying to confirm reality and failing.
"That's impossible," he whispered, more to himself than to her. His gaze drifted around the room, searching for something—anything—that would anchor him. A cup she used. A mark on the wall. Some careless sign that Erza had existed beyond his memory.
There was nothing.
No trace of her presence. No lingering warmth. No sign that someone else had shared this space only hours ago.
The silence thickened, pressing down on him. Even the sunlight felt wrong now, too pale, too indifferent.
Yuuta looked back at Elena, forcing himself to meet her eyes. She was watching him closely, lips pressed together, as if afraid he might break.
Yuuta looked back at Elena, forcing himself to meet her eyes. She was watching him closely, her small lips pressed together, as if she sensed that something fragile stood between them, something that might shatter if she spoke too loudly.
And then—he laughed.
The sound burst out of him suddenly, sharp and loud, echoing against the walls of the room. It rang through the quiet house in a way that felt wrong, almost violent, as though the laughter didn't belong there at all.
"Hah… haha… that was good," Yuuta said, his voice too bright, too forced. He spread his arms slightly, turning as if expecting someone to step out from behind the walls. "That was really funny. You almost had me."
His laughter continued, filling the room, but it began to waver, the edges of it trembling. "Erza… Elena…" he called out, smiling wide, eyes darting around. "Alright, you win. Come on out."
The joy in his voice cracked.
The laugh thinned, twisting into something uneven, something broken. His shoulders shook as the sound collapsed into a breathless, trembling sob. "Stop this," he said, his voice dropping, fraying at the edges. "Please… I get it. If this is punishment, then fine. I understand."
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "But stop doing this to me, Erza."
Tears blurred his vision. He dragged a hand across his face, but it only made things worse, smearing the warmth across his skin as his breathing grew unsteady. His voice broke completely now, each word scraping out of his throat.
Elena stirred.
She pushed herself up on the sofa, lost her balance, and slipped down onto the floor with a soft thud. She didn't cry from the fall. She just sat there, startled, staring up at him with wide, confused eyes. She didn't understand what had changed, only that something had gone terribly wrong.
"Papa…?" she asked quietly, her voice small. She stood up, wobbling slightly, and walked toward him. "Are you hurt?"
She tilted her head, searching his face the way children do when they're trying to fix something they don't understand. "Papa… are you hungry? I can get candy."
The sound of her voice snapped something inside him.
"Stop it," Yuuta said harshly, the words coming out louder than he intended. He turned on her, his eyes wild, his face streaked with tears. "Stop this act."
Elena froze.
"And tell me," he continued, his voice rough, shaking with anger and desperation, "tell me this is a prank. Tell me your Mama is standing somewhere right now."
His voice echoed in the room.
The silence that followed was heavy—and then Elena's face crumpled.
She took a step back, her lower lip trembling before she could stop it. This was the first time she had ever heard her father speak to her like that. The first time his voice had scared her. Her eyes filled with tears as fear replaced confusion.
"Papa…" she sobbed, shaking her head. "I'm not pranking… I'm not…"
She broke down completely, crying openly now, small hands clutching her dress as she wept.
And Yuuta stood there, staring at her, the echo of his own voice still ringing in his ears, realizing—too late—that whatever was happening, it was not a game.
Yuuta stood there, unmoving, staring at her as the echo of his own voice continued to ring inside his head. The sound felt чуж—foreign—like it didn't belong to him at all. Only now did the truth begin to sink in, slow and heavy, pressing down on his chest.
This wasn't a game.
This wasn't a prank.
This was reality.
Before fear could swallow him whole, something older, deeper, and stronger pushed its way to the surface. Fatherhood took over.
Yuuta bent down, lowering himself to her level, and stretched out his arms without thinking. "Elena…" he said softly, his voice no longer sharp, no longer loud. It trembled, but it was gentle now. "Come here."
She didn't hesitate.
Her small legs moved quickly across the floor, bare feet pattering as she ran with her eyes squeezed shut, still crying, still terrified. She collided into his chest and wrapped her tiny arms around him as tightly as she could, burying her face against him as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.
"Elena wasn't lying…" she sobbed, her words breaking apart between gasps. "Papa, don't hate me. I only have you…"
Her grip tightened.
"I don't want to be alone, Papa."
The words hit him harder than any scream ever could.
She kept calling him Papa. Again and again. Clinging to him as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the world. And in all her crying, in all her fear, there was one thing she never said.
She didn't call for her mother.
Yuuta felt his chest tighten painfully as the realization crept in, cold and unwelcome. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
He wrapped his arms around her properly now, one hand cradling the back of her head as he gently rubbed her hair, the way he always did when she was scared. His own tears finally fell freely, soaking into her hair as his breathing shook.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking completely. "I'm so sorry, my princess."
He pressed his forehead lightly against the top of her head, eyes squeezed shut. "I scared you. I shouldn't have raised my voice. I'm the worst dad… I really am."
Elena only hugged him tighter, her crying slowly softening, turning into quiet hiccups as she clung to his warmth.
Yuuta didn't know what was happening.
He didn't know how reality had shifted, or when it had broken, or why the world suddenly felt unfamiliar despite looking exactly the same. But one thing was painfully clear now, settling firmly in his heart.
Whatever had been taken from this world, whatever had been erased or rewritten…
He was going to find the answer.
No matter what it cost him.
Yuuta stayed there for a long time, sitting on the floor with Elena in his arms, her small body slowly relaxing as exhaustion pulled her back toward sleep. Her breathing evened out, warm and real against his chest, grounding him when his thoughts threatened to spiral too far.
When she finally slipped back into a light sleep, he carefully lifted her and carried her to the sofa again, tucking the blanket around her just as gently as he always did. She murmured something unintelligible, her fingers still curling instinctively as if searching for him even in her dreams.
"I'm here," he whispered, more to himself than to her.
The house felt wrong.
Not empty—no, emptiness would have been easier to understand. This was something far more unsettling.
It felt edited.
Yuuta stood in the middle of the living room, breathing slowly, as if afraid that a sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile order remained. The morning light spilled through the windows exactly as it always had, painting the floor in warm gold. The table stood where it belonged. The chairs were aligned. Even the cushions on the sofa were neatly arranged.
Too neat.
Nothing was out of place.
And that was precisely the problem.
His eyes drifted, unbidden, toward the wall near the staircase.
He didn't remember deciding to move—but his feet carried him there anyway, step by cautious step, as though some instinct already knew what waited for him.
The nail was still there.
Bare.
A single metal nail protruded from the wall, lonely and exposed. Around it was a faint rectangular outline, slightly paler than the surrounding paint, protected from time and dust.
Yuuta's hand lifted on its own.
His fingers brushed the wall.
Cold.
The photograph that had once hung there—the one where Erza stood stiffly beside him while Elena clung to her arm—was gone.
Not fallen.
Not shattered.
Gone as if it had never existed.
"No…" Yuuta whispered, the word barely forming.
His chest tightened.
He turned quickly, dread spreading like ice through his veins. His gaze swept across the shelves.
The small dragon figurine Erza had bought during a mall visit—missing.
The mismatched cups she loved because they "didn't pretend to be perfect"—only one remained.
By the entrance, his shoes sat neatly side by side.
Hers were gone.
This wasn't chaos.
It was careful.
Someone hadn't broken the house apart.
Someone had gone through it and removed only the things that proved she had been here.
Yuuta staggered back a step. His breathing grew uneven, his head beginning to throb. The room felt too quiet now, as if it were holding its breath.
This can't be real.
A dozen explanations crashed through his mind—dreams, illusions, parallel worlds. He would accept any of them.
Anything except the truth forming in his chest.
He pressed his hands to his temples as a sharp headache pulsed behind his eyes. For a moment, the edges of his vision shimmered. The room seemed to blur—just slightly—like a badly rendered image correcting itself.
Then he forced himself to calm down.
Panic wouldn't help.
Think.
Last night rose vividly in his mind.
Erza's tears.
The way her voice trembled when she said she was afraid—afraid of losing him again.
Again.
That word echoed painfully.
She hadn't been afraid of leaving.
She had been afraid of being erased.
Yuuta's breath caught.
"…Allen," he murmured.
The name felt heavy. Anchoring.
Allen—the greater demon. A being bound by contract, not by this world's fragile rules.
Someone who should remember.
Yuuta turned toward the corner of the room where shadows gathered unnaturally, darker than the rest despite the sunlight.
"Allen," he called. "Come here."
Nothing happened.
His heart sank.
"Allen," he said again, louder this time. "That's an order."
Still nothing.
The silence pressed down on him, thick and suffocating.
Then—
"Have you summoned me, Master?"
Yuuta spun around.
The front door stood open.
A man stepped inside with measured, unhurried grace. He wore a pristine butler's suit, gloves white, posture flawless. Black and Violet hair fell smoothly to his shoulders, and round glasses reflected the morning light.
Too composed.
Too perfect.
Allen bowed politely.
"Do you require anything, Master?"
Relief washed over Yuuta—then curdled into unease.
Allen looked… untouched.
No exhaustion. No strain. No sign that reality itself had shifted.
Yuuta stared at him, heart pounding.
"Allen," he said slowly, choosing each word with care, "who is Erza?"
For a split second—
Something went wrong.
Allen's smile twitched.
The air around him rippled, as if heat distorted the space. A faint crack split one lens of his glasses with a sharp tink, though they didn't fall.
"…Erza?" Allen repeated.
To be continue...