The walk from campus to his apartment had never felt longer.
Yuuta's feet carried him automatically through familiar streets—past the convenience store where he bought cheap snacks, past the park where children played, past the old vending machine that always ate his money. His mind was elsewhere. On the rooftop. On Fiona's words. On the black stone she kept touching like a lifeline.
She knows something.
The thought wouldn't leave him.
How does she know about Erza? How does she know about any of it?
He had no answers.
Only questions.
Only confusion.
Only the heavy weight of a day that had drained him completely.
He reached his building. Climbed the stairs—just four floors this time, nothing like the six he'd tackled earlier. Stopped in front of his door. Fumbled for his keys.
The door opened.
He stepped inside.
"Welcome home."
The words came automatically.
A habit from childhood, when he'd lived in the orphanage and said it to empty rooms because saying it made them feel less empty. A habit he'd never broken, even after years of living alone.
He froze.
Why did I just say that?
No one's here.
No one's ever—
"PAPA!"
A small missile launched itself at his legs.
Elena.
Running full speed.
Rabbit costume—still dirty from the zoo, he needed to wash that—flapping behind her like wings. Her tiny arms reached up, and before Yuuta could react, she jumped.
He dropped his bag.
Caught her.
Barely.
"Oof—!"
"Papa! Papa! Papa!" She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. "Welcome home, Papa! Welcome home! Elena missed Papa!"
Yuuta's heart melted.
All the confusion.
All the weight.
All the fear.
Gone.
Just like that.
"I'm home, princess." He hugged her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair—something sweet, like flowers, like childhood. "I'm home."
She pulled back just enough to look at his face.
Grinning.
Absolutely beaming.
"Papa was gone for SO LONG!"
"It was just a few hours, sweetheart."
"That's SO LONG!"
Yuuta laughed.
He couldn't help it.
"Okay. You're right. That's a very long time."
"VERY long!"
He rubbed her hair gently, and she leaned into the touch like a cat. Her tiny tail wagged behind her—actually wagged, like a happy puppy—and her wings fluttered with excitement.
She was perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
"Come on, princess." He shifted her onto his hip, ignoring the ache in his arms. "Let's go see what your mother's doing."
He carried her into the living room.
---
The TV was off.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Erza hated silence. She always had the television on—news, nature documentaries, even those ridiculous shopping channels where people sold things no one needed. She said it helped her understand the world.
But today, the TV was dark.
And Erza was asleep.
She lay on her side on the floor, one arm tucked under her head like a pillow, the other resting on her chest. A book lay open on her stomach, rising and falling with her slow, steady breathing. Her silver hair fanned out around her like spilled moonlight. Her face—usually so cold, so controlled—was soft in sleep.
Peaceful.
Young.
Vulnerable.
Yuuta stopped breathing.
"Papa." Elena's whisper was barely audible. "Mama was waiting for you. She waited and waited and then she started reading and then she fell asleep."
Yuuta's eyes widened.
"She... waited for me?"
"Uh huh." Elena nodded solemnly. "Mama didn't know how to cook. And you didn't make food before you left."
Horror dawned on Yuuta's face.
The food.
He forgot to make food.
He'd been so distracted by everything—the whispers, the stares, Fiona's accusations—that he'd completely forgotten to leave anything for Erza and Elena to eat.
They'd been here all day.
Alone.
Without food.
With nothing but each other and a Dragon Queen who was probably starving and definitely furious.
Yuuta's soul tried to leave his body.
He gently set Elena down.
Kneeled in front of her.
"Okay, sweetheart." His voice was a frantic whisper. "I need you to do something very important. Can you do that for Papa?"
Elena nodded eagerly.
"I need you to sit here quietly. Draw something beautiful in your drawing book. And whatever you do—" he glanced at the sleeping queen, "—do NOT make any sound. Not one sound. Because if your mama wakes up before I finish cooking dinner, Papa might not survive."
Elena giggled.
"Papa is scared of Mama!"
"Papa is TERRIFIED of Mama. There's a difference."
She giggled again but nodded, accepting the crayons and drawing book he pulled from her small bag. She sat cross-legged on the floor, immediately absorbed in creating whatever masterpiece her imagination conjured.
Yuuta crept toward the kitchen.
Slowly.
Quietly.
One careful step at a time.
The kitchen was small but familiar. He opened the fridge, scanning its contents with desperate eyes. Rice—yes. Meat—some left from yesterday. Vegetables—enough. He could work with this.
He began to cook.
Every movement was deliberate. Every sound was minimized. He placed pots down gently instead of setting them. He stirred slowly instead of rapidly. He chopped vegetables with the precision of a surgeon, each slice silent, controlled, prayerful.
Please don't wake up.
Please don't wake up.
Please don't wake up.
An hour passed.
The most tense, most terrifying hour of Yuuta's life.
And he'd faced a lion.
By the end, steam rose from two plates of curry rice—rich, fragrant, perfect. He arranged them on the small table, along with a glass of water for each, everything positioned just so.
Elena had finished her drawing.
It showed three figures—a tall one with silver hair, a medium one with black hair, and a small one in a rabbit costume. They were holding hands. Above them, a sun smiled.
"Papa, look!" She held it up proudly. "It's us!"
Yuuta's chest ached.
"It's beautiful, sweetheart."
"Elena will give it to Mama!"
"That's a wonderful idea." He ruffled her hair again. "But first, let Mama sleep a little longer, okay?"
Elena nodded and went back to her crayons.
Yuuta looked at the sleeping queen.
At her peaceful face.
At the book rising and falling on her chest.
At the woman who had waited for him.
I have to wake her, he thought. The food will get cold. She'll be hungry. She'll be angry.
But if I wake her...
He remembered every punch.
Every insult.
Every threat.
His survival instincts screamed at him to back away.
But his conscience—and his growing, inexplicable care for this impossible woman—pushed him forward.
He crept closer.
Kneeled beside her.
Raised a hand to touch her shoulder.
And froze.
What if she wakes up swinging?
What if she thinks I'm attacking her?
What if—
He took a breath.
"Erza." His whisper was barely audible. "Dinner's ready."
She didn't stir.
"Erza." Slightly louder. "I made food. Curry rice. You should eat before it gets cold."
Nothing.
He stared at her sleeping face.
At the way her lips curved slightly, like she was having a pleasant dream.
At the way her hand rested near her cheek.
At the way, in sleep, she looked almost... human.
Beautiful, his traitorous mind supplied.
He ignored it.
Took another breath.
And gently, carefully, reached for her shoulder.
Yuuta knelt there, frozen, his hand hovering inches from Erza's shoulder.
She slept on.
Oblivious.
Peaceful.
Human.
The thought struck him unexpectedly. In sleep, she didn't look like a Dragon Queen. Didn't look like a monster who could end worlds. Didn't look like the cold, judgmental being who insulted him at every opportunity.
She just looked... like a normal woman.
Tired.
Vulnerable.
Alive.
Fiona's voice echoed in his head.
"We can get rid of her."
"She's a monster."
"You need help. Official help."
Yuuta sighed.
Is it really possible? he wondered. To get rid of her? To send her away? To go back to my old life?
The thought lingered for a moment—a dangerous, tempting thought. Freedom from fear. Freedom from the constant threat of death. Freedom from the chaos that had consumed his existence.
Then he looked at Elena.
At her tiny form curled on the floor, crayons scattered around her, a drawing of their family clutched in her small hand.
And he remembered.
This is my fault.
I'm the one who appeared in her bed that night.
I'm the one who—whatever happened—created this situation.
She never asked for this.
She was innocent in all of it.
And now she's here, in a world that's not hers, with a daughter she's raising alone, waiting for a man who doesn't deserve her.
Getting rid of her...
He shook his head.
That would be injustice.
To her. To Elena. To everything.
He looked back at Erza's sleeping face.
A smile tugged at his lips.
"I hope," he whispered, so quietly the words barely existed, "that after you kill me... you'll remember me. Just for a little while. So I can live on in someone's memory. Even if it's just as the idiot who deserved to die."
She didn't stir.
Didn't hear.
Didn't know.
He reached out.
Not to her shoulder.
To her cheek.
His finger touched her skin.
It was impossibly soft.
Like dough. Like silk. Like something that shouldn't exist on a creature capable of such destruction. Her skin gave slightly under his touch, warm and alive and human in a way that made his heart ache.
For one perfect moment—
He felt connected to her.
Then her eyes opened.
Violet.
Ancient.
Predator.
They fixed on him instantly, sharp and aware and dangerous. There was no grogginess, no confusion, none of the disorientation that humans experienced upon waking. One moment she was asleep. The next, she was watching him.
"What," she said calmly—too calmly, "are you doing?"
Yuuta's soul evaporated.
His hand froze against her cheek.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
She was still lying down. Still relaxed. Still hadn't moved a muscle. But her eyes—those terrible, beautiful, judgmental eyes—were locked onto him with the intensity of a lion watching prey.
"I—" He swallowed. "Well—you see—I was trying to—"
"You were trying to what?"
"—wake you up."
The words tumbled out in a rush.
"I was trying to wake you up! That's all! Nothing else! Just waking you up!"
Erza's eyes narrowed.
"By touching my face?"
"I—it was—your shoulder was too dangerous and I thought—"
"You thought poking my cheek was safer? "
"In hindsight, no. Not at all. Terrible decision. Worst decision of my life. Which is saying something because I've made a LOT of bad decisions."
Erza stared at him.
Long enough for him to count his remaining heartbeats.
Then—
"Why?"
The question was simple.
Cold.
Unreadable.
Yuuta blinked.
"Why... what?"
"Why did you need to wake me?"
"Oh." He remembered. "Dinner. I made dinner. It's getting cold. I didn't want you to miss it."
Something flickered in her eyes.
So fast he almost missed it.
Then she sat up.
In one fluid motion.
Smooth as water.
"You made dinner?"
"Yeah. Curry rice. It's on the table."
She looked past him.
At the small table where two plates steamed gently.
At Elena, still drawing, still oblivious.
At the effort he'd made.
When she looked back at him, her expression was the same mask it always was.
But her voice—
Her voice was slightly softer.
"You forgot to leave food this morning."
Yuuta winced.
"I know. I'm sorry. I got distracted and—"
"Elena was hungry."
His heart sank.
"I know. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."
Erza studied him.
That unreadable gaze.
Then—
"Tch."
She stood.
Walked past him toward the table.
Sat down.
Picked up her spoon.
"It smells acceptable," she said without looking at him. "Sit. Eat. Before it gets cold."
Yuuta stared at her.
At the queen who hadn't killed him.
At the woman who had waited for him.
At the monster who was eating his cooking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Well?" Her voice sharpened. "Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to feed your daughter?"
Yuuta moved.
Sat down.
Began to eat.
And tried very hard not to think about how soft her cheek had been.
Or how his finger still tingled where it had touched her.
---
Elena looked up from her drawing.
"Papa, why is your face red?"
"It's not red."
"It's very red."
"It's warm in here."
"It's not warm."
"Eat your dinner, sweetheart."
Elena giggled.
Erza said nothing.
But her eyes—just for a moment—flicked toward him.
And her lips curved.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
---
To be continued...