Yuuta reached his classroom.
His hand rested on the door handle for a moment longer than necessary. He could hear them through the wood—the usual chaos of students killing time before the professor arrived. Laughter. Arguments. The slap of cards on a desk from the back row where the gamblers gathered. Girls gossiping about dramas and movies, their voices rising and falling in excited waves. Couples tucked into corners, pretending to study while stealing glances at each other.
Normal.
Ordinary.
The kind of noise he'd grown used to over his years at this college.
He pushed the door open.
And the world stopped.
Every sound cut off at once.
Cards frozen mid-slap. Gossip dying on open lips. Couples untangling from each other to stare.
All eyes turned to him.
Yuuta stood in the doorway, his hand still on the handle, his body suddenly aware of every inch of its existence. The silence was so complete he could hear his own heartbeat.
"What?" he said.
No one answered.
No one moved.
No one even blinked.
They just... stared.
Yuuta felt a chill crawl up his spine. Not the good kind. Not the "someone walked over my grave" kind. The kind that told him something had changed while he wasn't looking. Something fundamental. Something that had turned him from a background character into a spectacle.
He ignored them.
Or tried to.
He walked past the rows of desks toward the back corner where he always sat. His usual spot—invisible, unnoticed, perfect for a guy who just wanted to get through school without drawing attention.
But today, every step felt like walking through water.
Eyes followed him.
Whispers started the moment his back was turned.
"Did you hear?" A girl's voice, not quite quiet enough. "He's married."
"I know. Can you believe it?" Another voice, dripping with disbelief. "I told my mom and she laughed. She said there's no way someone like him pulled a woman like that without using alcohol or something."
"Or worse."
"Right? I mean, look at him. What does he have to offer?"
"He must have used alcohol or something." A third voice, harsher. "Got her drunk. You know how these things work, and then run away."
Yuuta's jaw tightened.
He kept walking.
"My cousin saw them at the zoo," another voice added. "Said the wife was gorgeous. Like, model gorgeous. Silver hair, perfect skin, dressed like a princess."
"So what's someone like that doing with him?"
"Who knows? Maybe she's blind."
Laughter.
Quiet. Cruel. The laughter of people who had decided a story without knowing any of the facts.
Yuuta reached his desk.
Sat down.
Put his head in his hands.
---
The whispers continued around him like a tide he couldn't escape.
He could hear them parsing his life, dissecting his existence, fitting him into narratives that made sense to them. The quiet guy. The nobody. The orphan with the weird eyes who kept to himself and never bothered anyone.
How could someone like that end up with a woman like her?
It didn't compute.
It didn't fit their understanding of how the world worked.
And when things didn't fit, people made them fit.
He must have tricked her.
He must have forced her.
He must have done something.
Because the alternative—that she might actually want him—was too impossible to consider.
Yuuta stared at his desk.
At the carved initials from students long graduated.
At the graffiti that had accumulated over years.
At the reflection of his own face in the worn wood—distorted, unclear, impossible to read.
Here it goes, he thought. My peaceful life. Gone. Destroyed. Thanks to a lizard queen who doesn't have a single brain cell when it comes to understanding how human society works.
He thought of Erza.
Of her cold face.
Of her endless insults.
Of the way she had slapped him, healed him, saved him.
Of the way she had looked at him in the car last night—
No.
He shook the thought away.
Doesn't matter. She hates me. I'm just a disgusting mortal living on her mercy. That's all I'll ever be to her.
But the whispers didn't know that.
The whispers had built their own story.
And in their story, he was the villain.
---
"Can't you people find something better to do?"
His voice cut through the noise.
Loud enough to carry.
Sharp enough to wound.
"Stop treating me like I'm some kind of criminal. I didn't do anything wrong."
Silence fell again.
Shorter this time.
Then the whispers resumed—quieter now, but still there. Still cutting. Still deciding his guilt without evidence.
Yuuta turned to the window.
Watched the clouds drift across the sky.
Thought about running away again.
The classroom slowly filled with its usual noise again.
But Yuuta wasn't part of it.
He put his head down on his desk.
Closed his eyes.
Tried to sleep.
The nightmares had ruined his rest, as always. The whispers had ruined his peace, as always. The stares had ruined his sense of safety, as always.
But he was used to it.
Used to being the outsider.
Used to being talked about instead of talked to.
Used to being alone.
His eyes grew heavy.
The noise faded to a hum.
And somewhere between consciousness and sleep, he thought he felt something—a warmth, a presence, a whisper of something that might have been...
We're here.
The thought wasn't his.
But it felt familiar.
And for just a moment—
He wasn't alone.
The classroom door swung open with purpose.
Chef Melory strode in—a middle-aged man in a pristine white chef's uniform, his apron already spotted with what looked like chocolate from an earlier class. His presence commanded immediate attention. He clapped his hands once, sharply, and the room went silent as if someone had flipped a switch.
Even the whispers died.
Even the phone games paused.
Even the couples untangled themselves.
Chef Melory had that effect on people.
"Good morning, future failures," he announced cheerfully. "Today we're discussing gelatin. Again. Because apparently half of you still think it comes from Jell-O boxes."
A few students chuckled.
Most just looked terrified.
Yuuta sat up straighter, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The brief nap had helped, but not enough. His body still craved rest. His mind still felt foggy. But Chef Melory's class was not a place where sleep was tolerated.
He pulled out his notebook.
Started writing.
Gelatin. Derived from collagen. Animal bones, skin, connective tissue. Not vegan. Not vegetarian. Important for—
His pen stopped moving.
His eyes drifted down to his hand.
The hand that had held Erza's.
The hand that had felt her fingers intertwined with his, warm despite everything, soft despite everything, there despite everything.
His heart beat louder.
Just for a moment.
Just remembering.
Then—
Her voice echoed in his memory.
"You disgusting, pathetic human."
"How dare you refer to me as your wife."
"The worst creature of some unknown land."
His hope shattered.
Of course.
Of course.
What was he thinking? She was a Dragon Queen. A being of immense power and ancient lineage. He was... Yuuta. Orphan. Nobody. Mortal. The kind of person who disappeared into crowds and left no mark on the world.
She belonged to another world.
Another life.
Another existence entirely.
There was no place for him in her story.
He sighed, turning back to his notebook, trying to focus on gelatin and its many culinary applications.
That's when he felt it.
A chill.
Not the cold of Erza's anger—this was different. Sharper. More focused. Like someone was drilling holes into the back of his skull with their eyes.
He looked around.
Nothing.
Just students taking notes. Just Chef Melory droning on about coagulation temperatures. Just—
"Bro." Sam elbowed him. Hard. "Bro, look. Your old crush is watching you."
Yuuta followed Sam's subtle nod.
Fiona.
She sat three rows ahead and to the left, her amber eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. The moment their eyes met, her cheeks puffed out—actually puffed out—and she jerked her head away like she hadn't just been caught staring.
Yuuta blinked.
What?
He shook his head and looked back at his notes.
Thirty seconds later, he felt it again.
That stare.
That burning stare.
He looked up.
Fiona was watching him again.
Their eyes met.
She turned away again.
What the hell?
This happened four more times.
Four.
Times.
Every time Yuuta looked up, Fiona was watching him. Every time their eyes met, she turned away with that same puffed-cheek expression—like a child caught stealing cookies, except also angry about it. Also jealous. Also something else he couldn't quite name.
Finally—
"DAMMIT, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU NOW?!"
The words exploded out of him.
Louder than he intended.
Much louder.
The classroom erupted.
Laughter exploded from every corner. Students slapped desks. Someone actually fell out of their chair. Even the back benchers—the ones who never paid attention to anything—were howling.
"Look who's back!" someone shouted.
"The legendary commenter returns!"
"Yuuta's still got it!"
Chef Melory's face went purple.
"YUUTA KONUARI!" His voice could have shattered glass. "How DARE you disturb my class!"
Yuuta shrank in his seat.
"I—I'm sorry, Chef—"
"SILENCE!"
The room went quiet.
Not because Chef Melory demanded it—though he had—but because everyone wanted to see what punishment would rain down on Yuuta's head.
Chef Melory glared at him for a long, terrible moment.
Then he spoke, each word a dagger.
"If you make one more noise in my class—ONE more—I will throw you out. Permanently. No practicals for the rest of the semester. No kitchens. No cooking. Just you, a textbook, and written exams for three months."
Yuuta's soul briefly left his body.
"I'm sorry, Chef." His voice was small. Humble. Desperate. "I won't do it again. I promise."
Chef Melory stared at him a moment longer.
Then turned back to the board.
"As I was saying. Gelatin sets at approximately 15 degrees Celsius, though this varies depending on—"
Yuuta sank into his seat.
His face burned.
His heart raced.
And somewhere in the room, he could feel Fiona's eyes on him again.
He didn't look back.
Didn't dare.
But he could feel it.
That stare.
Yuuta crouched lower in his seat, his chin practically resting on the desk, his eyes darting toward the front of the room every few seconds like a soldier checking for enemy movement.
"Bro." He kept his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Sam. Listen. Do you have the student council number?"
Sam turned slowly.
His expression was a masterpiece of disbelief.
"Bro." He matched Yuuta's whisper. "Why are you bent over like you're hiding from a sniper? And why do you need the student council number?"
"Can't you see?" Yuuta gestured frantically toward the front of the room. "Fiona keeps staring at me! I'm actually uncomfortable now!"
Sam followed his gaze.
Fiona sat three rows ahead, her amber eyes fixed on Yuuta with an intensity that could have melted steel. The moment she noticed Sam looking, she turned away with that same puffed-cheek expression—but not before Sam caught the full force of her stare.
Sam looked back at Yuuta.
His expression shifted into something Yuuta had never seen before.
It was the look of a man who had just heard the universe's funniest joke and was deciding whether to laugh or cry.
"Seriously, bro?"
"What?"
"Seriously?" Sam repeated. "I never thought I'd hear those words from you. Never. In a million years."
"What words? What are you talking about?"
Sam leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Bro. You stalked her for over a year. A YEAR. You followed her around campus. You showed up at her favorite cafes. You memorized her class schedule. You once waited outside the girls' dorm for THREE HOURS just to 'accidentally' run into her."
Yuuta opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"That was... different."
"Different how?"
"I was single then!" Yuuta hissed. "I was lonely! I didn't have—" He stopped himself, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "I didn't have my wife yet."
Sam stared at him.
The stare of a man witnessing something unprecedented.
"So let me get this straight." He held up his fingers, counting. "You stalked her for a year. Made her uncomfortable for a year. Gave her reasons to feel unsafe for a year. But now that she's giving you a tiny fraction of that attention back, suddenly YOU'RE uncomfortable?"
"When you put it that way—"
"There is no other way to put it, bro." Sam shook his head slowly. "You're worse than I thought."
"Stop calling me that." Yuuta's voice sharpened. "I'm tired of hearing that word. Hundred times a day. I don't want to hear it one more time."
"Okay." Sam held up his hands in surrender. "But you have to understand—this is karma. Pure, simple, beautiful karma."
"Karma?"
"Fiona has more influence than you realize."
Yuuta blinked.
"What do you mean, influence?"
Sam leaned back in his chair, a smug smile spreading across his face.
"She has five fan clubs. Five. Official ones. With membership cards and meeting schedules and everything." He counted on his fingers. "The Fiona Appreciation Society. The Fiona Protection Squad. The Fiona International Fan Club—that one's actually global, by the way. The Fiona Defense Force. And the original, the one that started it all..." He paused dramatically. "The Fiona Admirers Guild."
Yuuta's jaw dropped.
"She has... five?"
"Five." Sam nodded solemnly. "Her influence is so strong that she could probably overthrow the principal if she wanted. Student council doesn't stand a chance against her. She could literally declare a holiday and half the school would follow."
"How do you know all this?"
Sam placed a hand on his chest.
"Because I am the managing director of the Fiona Admirers Guild."
Silence.
Yuuta stared at him.
Sam stared back.
"You..." Yuuta's voice was barely audible. "You TRAITOR!"
He punched Sam's arm.
Hard.
"Ow! What was that for?!"
"I was raising a snake this whole time! You IDIOT! You should have at least let me join the fan club! Why would you betray me like this?!"
"I'm sorry!" Sam rubbed his arm, still grinning. "But honestly, bro, we were all impressed by your dedication. The way you stalked her—I mean, pursued her—it was legendary. We never thought you were actually serious about her. We thought it was just a bit, you know? A running joke."
His grin faded slightly.
"But then the news about your wife came out. And now the fans are... upset."
"Upset?"
"Let's just say they don't appreciate someone leading on their idol while secretly being married."
Yuuta stared at him for a long moment.
Then his shoulders sagged.
His head dropped.
His whole body seemed to deflate.
"Never mind," he muttered. "I understand. You guys do what you have to do. Let her stalk me. I'll take it as karma."
He put his head down on the desk.
Closed his eyes.
Tried to disappear.
---
The bell rang.
Chef Melory's voice faded into the chaos of students packing up, chairs scraping, conversations restarting. The room emptied in waves—first the front rows, then the middle, then the back benchers who took their time about everything.
Yuuta didn't move.
Didn't want to move.
Didn't have the energy to move.
His head stayed on the desk. His eyes stayed closed. His breathing stayed even, slow, pretending to be asleep.
Maybe if I pretend hard enough, she'll go away.
Maybe if I don't move, she'll forget I exist.
Maybe—
SLAM.
A hand hit his desk.
Hard.
The sound exploded through his skull like a gunshot, rattling his brain, jerking his head up with a violence that left him seeing stars.
"OW—SAM, WHAT—"
He looked up.
It wasn't Sam.
Fiona stood over him.
Towering.
Her amber eyes burned down at him with an intensity that made his blood run cold. Her arms were crossed. Her jaw was tight. Her expression was the kind of cold that Erza would have approved of.
Yuuta's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"Hey... hi... Fiona." His voice came out strangled. "Good afternoon. Long time no see."
Fiona's eyes narrowed.
"You." Her voice was ice. "Meet me on the rooftop. Alone."
Yuuta blinked.
"What?"
"Rooftop. Alone. Now."
To be continued...