Yuuta's shift ended at 12 AM.
The city was quiet now—the kind of quiet that only came in the deepest hours of night, when even the restless had finally found sleep. Streetlights painted orange circles on empty sidewalks. Distant traffic murmured like a lullaby. The air smelled of exhaust and possibility and the faint sweetness of closed bakeries.
Yuuta stepped out of MoonBucks, stretching his arms above his head until his spine cracked in three places that had been tight for hours. His eyes burned. His feet ached. His soul felt like it had been run through a wringer and hung out to dry.
Jin followed him out, jangling the keys to the café as he locked up.
"Bro." Jin's voice was too cheerful for 12 AM. "Let's go for a drink. My treat."
Yuuta blinked at him.
Alcohol.
Warmth.
Oblivion.
It sounded... amazing.
His mind conjured an image of a cold beer, of laughter with no meaning, of forgetting everything for just a few hours. His body screamed yes. His exhaustion demanded it.
Then another image rose.
Elena.
Waiting at home.
Waking up in the morning and running to him with that tiny, perfect smile.
"I can't," Yuuta said. "I have work at home."
Jin's eyebrows shot up.
"Work? At home? At 2 AM?" He tilted his head. "Bro, what kind of work are you doing? You starting some late-night trading business or something?"
"No, no." Yuuta waved a tired hand. "Exams. You know. Gotta study for better marks."
"Dude." Jin's face fell into an expression of genuine sympathy. "That sucks. Really. You work all night and then study all day? When do you even sleep?"
Yuuta smiled.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Sleep is for people who don't have dreams, Jin."
"That's... actually kind of deep."
"It's also complete nonsense. I'm just tired."
Jin laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Alright, man. Don't study too hard. And if you change your mind, you know where to find me." He walked toward his scooter, throwing a wave over his shoulder. "Try not to die of exhaustion before graduation!"
"I'll do my best."
The scooter buzzed to life.
Jin disappeared into the night.
Yuuta stood alone on the sidewalk, watching the taillights fade.
Then he started walking.
---
The city at night was a different creature.
Yuuta moved through it like a ghost—past closed shops and dark windows, past empty benches and silent bus stops. His footsteps echoed off buildings that had no business echoing at this hour. The moon watched him from above, cold and distant and impossibly far away.
He passed a clothing store.
It was closing—the owner pulling down the security grate, preparing to lock up for the night. The lights inside were still on, illuminating displays of dresses and shirts and things Yuuta never looked at twice.
But tonight—
Tonight he stopped.
Elena doesn't have any clothes.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
She was still wearing that rabbit costume. The same one she'd worn since she arrived. Dirty from the zoo, wrinkled from sleep, completely inadequate for a child who deserved the world.
And Erza...
He thought of her imperial dress. Beautiful, yes. But also the only thing she had. The only clothes in this entire world that belonged to her.
They have nothing.
I gave them nothing.
He walked toward the store before he could talk himself out of it.
---
The old woman behind the counter looked up as he entered. Her face creased into a smile of recognition.
"Yuuta! My boy, it's been so long!" She waved him closer. "Come, come! I was just about to close, but for you, I can stay a little longer."
Yuuta smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry for coming so late, Auntie. I just got off work."
"Work? At this hour?" She clucked her tongue. "You young people work too hard. But tell me—what brings you here? Need something for yourself?"
"Actually..." Yuuta hesitated. "I need clothes for a four-year-old girl. And for a... tall woman."
The old woman's eyebrows rose.
"A four-year-old girl and a tall woman?" She studied him with new interest. "Yuuta, did you marry a rich divorcee and not tell me?"
"What? No! No, nothing like that." Yuuta's face burned. "They're... they're my cousins. Visiting from the countryside. It's a surprise—for their birthdays."
He had no idea what he was saying.
The words just came out.
The old woman stared at him for a moment.
Then she smiled.
"Of course, of course. Cousins. From the countryside." She winked. "I understand completely."
She doesn't understand at all, Yuuta thought. But at least she's not asking more questions.
"Now," the woman said, leading him toward the children's section, "I should warn you—children's clothes are expensive. Much more than adult clothes, actually. The materials, the safety standards, the licensing for all those cartoon characters..." She gestured at the racks. "Take a look. See what you think."
Yuuta looked.
And his heart sank.
The prices were insane.
A single dress with a cartoon cat on it cost more than his weekly grocery budget. A set of three onesies could have paid his phone bill for two months. Even the simplest outfits—plain shirts, ordinary pants—were marked at numbers that made his wallet whimper.
He did the math in his head.
If I buy just a few things... maybe five outfits each... that's still...
The total loomed in his mind like a mountain.
His savings.
The money he'd been putting aside for years.
The dream of opening a small restaurant on a remote island somewhere—far from people, far from pain, far from everything.
He could feel that dream slipping away.
Then he thought of Elena's face.
The way she smiled when she saw the rabbit costume.
The way she ran to him, arms open, trusting him completely.
The way she called him Papa like he was the center of her universe.
"I'll take these."
His voice came out before he could stop it.
He pointed at outfit after outfit—dresses with flowers, shirts with bunnies, pants with little pockets, pajamas covered in stars. He picked things Elena would love. Things that would make her eyes light up.
Yuuta stood at the counter, surrounded by bags of children's clothes, his wallet significantly lighter, his heart significantly fuller.
Elena was taken care of.
Thirty-six outfits. Enough to last her weeks. Enough to make her feel like she belonged here, in this world, in his home.
But now came the harder question.
Do I really have to buy clothes for her?
He stared at the remaining money in his account—pitiful now, barely enough to cover next month's rent. Every yen he'd saved for years, every hour of overtime, every skipped meal and forgone luxury... all of it, gone.
For Elena.
And he didn't regret that for a second.
But Erza?
What's the point? he thought bitterly. She doesn't see me as human. She doesn't care about me. She's cold and ruthless and she'll probably kill me in a year.
Why should I spend my last money on someone who hates me?
He thought of her face.
The way she looked at him across the dinner table.
The way she'd healed his wounds without being asked.
The way she'd stood between him and a lion.
But she's still my wife.
The thought came unbidden.
Whatever she feels—whatever she doesn't feel—she's still my wife. And I can't... I can't let her walk around in the same dress forever. It's not right.
He took a breath.
Turned back to Mrs. Kin.
"Auntie," he said quietly, "can you show me some dresses for a tall woman?"
Mrs. Kin's eyebrows rose.
"Tall? How tall?"
Yuuta tried to visualize Erza standing beside him. The height difference was... complicated.
"She's about my height. Maybe an inch taller? Around five foot ten." He paused, thinking. "Her figure is... slim. Like a model, I guess. And she likes clothes that are traditional—elegant. Royal, almost."
Mrs. Kin's eyes sparkled with interest.
"Royal?"
"Yeah. She likes silk. Fiber fabrics. Things with stars on them—little sparkles, like the night sky." He was warming to the description now, the words coming easier. "Her favorite colors are white and violet. And she loves these... these hanging shawls? Translucent ones, that drape over the shoulders."
He stopped.
Realized he'd been rambling.
Mrs. Kin was smiling.
"It seems," she said gently, "that you know your 'cousin's' taste better than she knows herself."
Yuuta blinked.
"Pardon?"
"The way you describe her." Mrs. Kin tilted her head. "Her clothing style. Her favorite colors. What makes her comfortable. That's not how someone talks about a cousin, Yuuta. That's how a man talks about his wife."
Yuuta's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"It's—it's not—I mean—"
"The way you remembered everything—the fabrics, the colors, the little shawls she likes." Mrs. Kin's smile widened. "That's love, my boy. Plain as day."
Yuuta's face burned.
"You've got it wrong, Auntie. Really. She's just—we're just—"
"I'm not going to pry." Mrs. Kin held up a hand. "Whatever your situation is, it's your business. But I'll show you the dresses you described. Come."
She led him to a section of the store he hadn't noticed before—a corner filled with elegant garments, silk and satin and fabrics that whispered of another time. Chinese cheongsams in deep purples. Korean hanboks with flowing skirts. Dresses that looked like they belonged in palaces, not apartments.
Yuuta's breath caught.
These are perfect.
He imagined Erza in each one.
The violet dress with silver embroidery—she'd look like royalty.
The white hanbok with golden trim—she'd look like a queen.
The deep purple gown with star-like sparkles scattered across the fabric—she'd look like the night sky made flesh.
"I'll take them all."
The words came out before he could stop them.
Mrs. Kin blinked.
"All of them? Yuuta, there are seventeen dresses here. That's—"
"I know." He pulled out his card. "I'll take them all."
---
The total appeared on the register.
$2,847.
Forty-six children's outfits: $1,350.
Seventeen women's dresses: $1,497.
Combined: $2,847.
Yuuta stared at the number.
Felt his savings account scream in agony.
Felt his dream of a remote island restaurant crumble to dust.
Then he thought of Erza's face.
Of the way she might look—just might—when she saw these clothes.
He swiped his card.
"Here goes my money," he muttered.
The payment went through.
His account balance dropped to triple digits.
He was officially poor again.
But as Mrs. Kin began carefully packaging the dresses—wrapping each one in tissue paper, placing them in elegant bags—he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
---
"Here."
Mrs. Kin pushed a separate bag across the counter.
Inside, Yuuta saw a pastry box and several containers of donuts.
"What's this?"
"A gift." She smiled. "Since you bought so much. Consider it my thank you."
"Auntie, I can't—"
"You can and you will." She pushed the bag closer. "Take it, Yuuta. Give the donuts and chocolates to your daughter and wife."
Yuuta froze.
She knows.
"Auntie, it's really just my cousin—"
"Yuuta." Mrs. Kin's voice was gentle but firm. "I've run this store for twenty years. I've seen thousands of customers. I know how people shop, and I know who they're shopping for."
She gestured at the bags.
"The way you picked those children's clothes—with such care, such attention to what a little girl would love. The way you described your 'cousin'—every detail, every preference, every little thing that makes her happy."
She shook her head.
"That's not how you talk about family you barely know. That's how you talk about someone you love."
Yuuta's shoulders sagged.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have lied."
Mrs. Kin waved away his apology.
"You had your reasons, I'm sure. But I have to ask..." She leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of her. "How did you end up with a daughter and wife in one year? Last I heard, you were single. Now suddenly you have a family?"
Her eyes narrowed playfully.
"You sure you didn't marry a divorced woman, Yuuta?"
Yuuta stood at the counter, his hands resting on the bags of clothes, his eyes distant.
The air between him and Mrs. Kin shifted.
Something changed in his expression—a weight, a weariness, a need that he hadn't intended to show. Mrs. Kin, who had seen thousands of customers over twenty years, recognized it immediately. It was the look of someone carrying a burden too heavy to bear alone.
"Yuuta." Her voice softened. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"
He blinked, coming back to the present.
"No, no. It's not that."
"You know you don't have to tell me anything." She reached across the counter and patted his hand. "I'm an old woman who runs a clothing store. I'm not here to judge you or pry into your life."
Yuuta was quiet for a moment.
Then—
"Miss Kin." His voice was low. "You're wise. And you've lived longer than me. I... I need your advice. About something important."
She studied his face.
Saw the tension in his jaw.
The guilt in his eyes.
The exhaustion of someone who hadn't slept properly in days.
"If you need advice," she said gently, "you can share it with me. I'll listen. And I won't repeat a word to anyone."
Yuuta took a breath.
And then he told her a story.
Not the whole truth—he couldn't tell her about dragons and other worlds and a daughter who appeared from nowhere. But a version of the truth. A story that would make sense to someone who didn't know about magic and queens and impossible things.
"A while ago," he began, "I made a terrible mistake. I was drunk—really drunk—and I ended up... with someone. A woman I didn't know."
Mrs. Kin's expression didn't change. She simply listened.
"When I woke up, I panicked. I was scared. I didn't know what to do, so I just... left. I ran away without even talking to her, without apologizing, without anything."
He looked down at his hands.
"And then recently, she found me. She came to my home with a daughter. My daughter. A child I never knew existed."
The words hung in the air.
Mrs. Kin was silent for a long moment.
Then—
"Does she love you?"
The question was simple. Direct. True.
Yuuta shook his head.
"No. She doesn't love me at all. In fact..." He swallowed. "She's threatened to kill me. Multiple times. She says I have one year to prove myself, and after that..."
He trailed off.
Mrs. Kin sighed.
Long.
Deep.
Weighed down by years of understanding human nature.
"Yuuta." Her voice was firm but not unkind. "Let me ask you something. Put yourself in her shoes for a moment."
He looked up.
"She was alone. Pregnant. Scared. The father of her child disappeared without a word, without an explanation, without even a goodbye. She had to raise that child by herself, with no help, no support, no one to turn to."
Yuuta's throat tightened.
"And then, after all that time—after all those years of struggling alone—she finally found you. The man who left her. The father of her child." Mrs. Kin leaned forward. "What did you do when she showed up?"
"I... I was scared. I didn't know what to do."
"Did you run again?"
Yuuta shook his head firmly.
"No. I didn't run. I stayed. I've been trying—trying to be there for her, for Elena. I cook for them. I bought them clothes. I—"
"But did you apologize?" Mrs. Kin interrupted gently. "Did you ever actually say you were sorry for leaving her alone all those years?"
Yuuta opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"No," he admitted quietly. "I haven't. I've been so scared of her, so focused on surviving, that I never actually said the words."
Mrs. Kin nodded slowly.
"That's your problem, Yuuta. She doesn't need you to cook for her or buy her clothes—not yet. First, she needs you to acknowledge what you did. To look her in the eyes and say 'I'm sorry for leaving you alone.' "
"But she'll probably kill me if I bring it up."
"Will she?" Mrs. Kin raised an eyebrow. "She's had plenty of chances to kill you already, and you're still standing here talking to me. That woman has more patience than you give her credit for."
Yuuta considered this.
"I never thought of it that way."
"Of course you didn't. You've been too busy being afraid." Mrs. Kin's voice softened. "Fear makes us stupid, Yuuta. It makes us miss the obvious. And the obvious here is that she came all this way to find you. She brought your daughter to meet you. She's still here, in your home, giving you a chance."
She paused.
"If she really wanted you dead, you'd be dead already."
The words settled into Yuuta's chest like stones.
Heavy.
But not crushing.
Clarifying.
"So what do I do?" he asked. "How do I fix this?.... should I apologise.??"
Mrs. Kin smiled.
"Don't apologize now, though. 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. Love her—really love her and when the moment is right, apologize with your whole heart. show that through your actions that you're not going to run again."
"I wasn't planning to run."
"Good." Mrs. Kin nodded approvingly. "Because that's the most important thing. She needs to know that you're staying. That no matter how angry she gets, no matter how much she threatens you, you're not going to disappear again."
Yuuta absorbed her words.
Let them settle.
"I've been so stupid," he murmured.
"Young people often are." Mrs. Kin's eyes twinkled. "That's why we have old people—to tell you the things you're too blind to see."
He laughed.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
"Thank you, Miss Kin. I don't know what I would have done without—"
"Don't thank me yet." She waved a hand. "Thank me when you've actually fixed things. When that woman of yours looks at you with something other than cold fury."
"I will." He gathered his bags—so many bags, heavy with clothes and pastries and the weight of a future he was only beginning to understand. "I'll do exactly what you said."
"Good boy." She smiled. "Now go home. It's late, and your family is waiting."
He walked toward the door.
Paused.
Looked back.
"Miss Kin... how did you get so wise?"
She laughed—a warm, genuine sound.
"Twenty years of watching people, Yuuta. Twenty years of watching people make the same mistakes over and over." She shook her head. "You learn a thing or two about human nature."
He smiled.
"I'll remember that."
"You'd better."
The door closed behind him.
---
Mrs. Kin stood at the window, watching the young man with too many bags disappear into the night.
"He grew up well," she murmured to herself. "Sister Mary would be proud."
She thought of the orphanage director—a woman she'd known for decades, a woman who had called her late at night, worried about this boy, this quiet child with sad eyes and a gentle soul.
"He's happy now, Mary," she whispered to the empty store. "Or at least, he's learning to be."
She turned off the lights.
Locked the door.
And in the darkness, she smiled.
To be continue...