Yuuta woke to sunlight.
It streamed through the window in golden ribbons, painting warm stripes across the blanket, across his hands, across the simple reality of being alive. His body still ached. His head still throbbed. His throat still felt like sandpaper with every swallow.
But he was awake.
And the world was beautiful.
He turned his head slowly, carefully, toward the window. Outside, birds darted between buildings. Crows cawed at each other in their eternal argument. A single pigeon perched on the ledge, preening its feathers without a care in the world.
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
Things he had seen a thousand times without really seeing.
Today, they felt different.
Today, they felt like life.
He didn't hear the door open.
Didn't hear her footsteps.
Didn't know he was being watched until her voice cut through the silence.
"You disgusting mortal."
Yuuta turned.
Erza stood in the doorway, a tray in her hands, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. The soup on the tray sent up fragrant curls of steam. Her face was its usual mask of cold indifference.
But for a moment—
Just a moment—
She had stopped.
Because the sunlight had hit him just right.
His skin glowed warm. His red eyes—those strange, hidden eyes—caught the light and reflected it like gems. His features, usually tired and worn, looked almost... handsome.
Erza's heart stuttered.
What is this?
This is the same idiot who burns rice and talks to cars.
Why does he look like that?
She hit her chest.
Hard.
Composed herself.
Summoned the ice queen she had always been.
"Here." She walked to the bed, placed the tray on the nightstand, and stepped back quickly. "Your soup. Eat it before I feel disgusted looking at you."
Yuuta looked at the soup.
Then at her.
Then back at the soup.
"Did you make this for me?"
His voice was low.
Soft.
Almost tender.
Erza's heart stopped.
For a full second, she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at the man who had just spoken to her like she was something precious.
"D-don't use that voice!" She stepped back, her voice shaking. "Are you casting a spell on me again?! It won't work! I'm still going to kill you! This pathetic act won't save you! You'll die by my hand someday!"
Yuuta smiled.
Small.
Warm.
Knowing.
He had heard these threats a hundred times now. Had learned to read the spaces between them. Could tell, somehow, which ones were real and which were just... walls.
He didn't say anything.
Just turned back to the window.
"You know, my queen," he said quietly, "when I got sick before, I was always alone."
Erza's retort died in her throat.
"I would lie in my apartment," he continued, his voice soft and distant. "Completely alone. No one to make me food. No one to check on me. No one to care if I lived or died."
The sunlight caught his face.
Highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes.
The loneliness etched into his features.
"I was so scared," he admitted. "I thought I would die. I didn't even have the strength to make myself anything to eat. So I would just... wait. Starve. Hope my body would heal on its own."
Erza said nothing.
Could say nothing.
Had never heard anything like this.
Had never wanted to hear anything like this.
But now—
Now her heart demanded more.
"Thank you, Erza."
His voice cracked slightly.
His eyes glistened.
"Thank you for helping me. For making me not feel so lonely."
Ba-DUMP.
Erza's heart exploded.
Ba-DUMP. Ba-DUMP. Ba-DUMP.
It pounded against her ribs like a caged animal trying to escape.
"I—I didn't save you for—for sentimental reasons!" She crossed her arms, looked away, did everything possible to hide the chaos inside. "I just—if you die now, my revenge is incomplete! That's the only reason! The ONLY reason!"
Yuuta shook his head slowly.
"Of course," he said softly. "I know."
He looked at the soup.
At the steam rising.
At the proof that someone had cared enough to bring him food.
"But I still felt like I belonged," he whispered. "And that's why... I really love it. Please take care of me in the future."
Erza couldn't bear it.
Couldn't bear another word.
Couldn't bear another heartbeat.
Couldn't bear another moment of feeling things she had no right to feel.
She stepped forward.
Hit his head.
Not hard.
Just enough.
"You idiot mortal!" Her voice was sharp, but her hand was gentle. "Just get healthy so I can kill you properly!"
She crossed her arms.
Turned away.
Refused to let him see her face.
But Yuuta saw anyway.
Saw the pink tips of her ears.
Saw the tension in her shoulders.
Saw the truth she couldn't speak.
And smiled.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Elena slipped through like a tiny ghost, her silver hair a mess, her dinosaur stickers still plastered across her cheeks. She climbed onto the bed with the determination of a mountain climber conquering Everest, her small hands finding purchase in the blankets, her feet kicking until she was settled beside her father.
"Papa." Her voice was serious. Much too serious for a four-year-old. "Elena wants to feed you."
Yuuta smiled weakly.
"That's sweet, sweetheart. But Papa can feed himself."
Elena's face transformed.
Her eyes grew wide.
Her lower lip trembled.
Her tiny eyebrows curved upward in an expression of such profound, heartbreaking cuteness that it could have melted the heart of the coldest demon in hell.
Yuuta's resistance crumbled.
"Okay, okay," he surrendered. "Papa will let Elena feed him."
Elena's face lit up like the sun.
She grabbed the spoon.
Dipped it into the soup.
Brought it to Yuuta's mouth with the concentration of a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
Yuuta opened.
Took the soup.
"OW—" His eyes watered. "Hot—hot—it's hot—"
Elena's face fell.
"Papa?! Is it bad?! Did Elena do something wrong?!"
"No, no—it's good—just hot—" Yuuta waved his hands, trying to reassure her. "It's really good, sweetheart."
Elena's smile returned.
"Papa!" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Elena added something special!"
"Oh? What did you add?"
"Magical love!" She demonstrated with her tiny hands, making swirling gestures over the bowl like she'd seen in her cartoons. "Elena put love in the soup! That's why it's good!"
Yuuta laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound was weak and rough, but it was real.
"Then it's the best soup in the world," he said.
Elena beamed.
---
In the doorway, Erza watched.
Her arms were crossed. Her face was cold. Her posture was perfect.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were soft.
She watched her daughter feed her husband. Watched his patience, his warmth, his endless capacity for love. Watched the way Elena's face glowed with joy at being able to help.
Something moved in her chest.
Something warm.
Something terrifying.
She stepped forward.
Her hand reached out.
Pressed against Yuuta's forehead.
Still hot.
Still burning.
Still wrong.
"This isn't working," she said flatly. "Doesn't this world have healers? Magic? Spells?"
Yuuta looked up at her.
"We have doctors," he said gently. "They give medicine. But I don't think I need—"
"Where can I find one?"
He blinked.
"Erza, I'm fine. I just need rest. Really."
"Whatever." She pulled her hand back, crossed her arms again. "I only asked because I find it disgusting to see you so weak. If you don't want help, I don't care."
She turned.
Walked toward the door.
Paused.
Didn't look back.
"Don't die," she said quietly. "That's an order."
Then she was gone.
---
Yuuta stared at the empty doorway.
His heart—feverish and weak though it was—beat a little stronger.
It's been so long, he thought. So long since I felt like I belonged somewhere.
He looked at Elena, still holding the spoon, still ready to feed him more soup.
Looked at the doorway where Erza had stood.
Felt the warmth of family surrounding him.
"Papa?" Elena tugged his sleeve. "More soup?"
"Yeah, sweetheart." He smiled. "More soup."
And for the first time in his life—
Yuuta felt truly at home.
---
Erza sat in the hallway, a book open in her lap, her eyes staring at pages she wasn't reading.
Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in a maze of feelings she didn't understand and couldn't name. The words on the page blurred together, meaningless symbols that couldn't compete with the thoughts racing through her head.
Why do I feel this way?
The question circled endlessly, a bird unable to land.
When did this start?
She tried to trace it back, tried to find the exact moment when everything had shifted between them.
The first day, she had been cold. Ruthless. Focused only on her mission. Yuuta was a means to an end, a target to be eliminated, a mistake to be corrected. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But then—
Then came the zoo.
The way he had held her hand, warm and steady, not afraid of her despite everything. The way he had protected Elena with his own body, willing to die for a daughter he'd only just met. The way he had stood between her and a lion, facing certain death without hesitation.
Then came the clothes.
The way he had spent his meager savings on dresses for her, outfits for Elena, things they needed without ever being asked. The way he had described her taste perfectly to Mrs. Kin—the fabrics, the colors, the styles she loved.
Then came the ramen.
The hours of work, the careful preparation, the way he had looked at her when she took the first bite, hoping she would like it, hoping she would be happy.
Envy.
She had felt envy watching Miss Kano touch him, dry his skin, care for him in ways she didn't know how to.
Pride.
She had felt pride watching him stand against the lion, watching him refuse to abandon Elena even when death stared him in the face.
Worry.
She had felt worry watching him collapse in the kitchen, watching his face twist with pain, watching his breath grow shallow.
Love.
She didn't finish that thought. Couldn't finish that thought. Wouldn't allow herself to finish that thought.
"These are weaknesses," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the empty hallway. "Nothing but weaknesses."
But they didn't feel weak.
They felt like something else entirely. Something terrifying. Something that made her ancient heart beat faster and her carefully constructed walls begin to crack.
Why do I care about him?
The question came again, sharper this time.
He ruined my reputation. He made my life harder. He's the reason I'm stuck on this miserable planet, surrounded by these pathetic humans and their strange ways.
And yet—
And yet, he had also given her things she'd never had before.
A family that felt like more than duty. A home that felt like more than a palace. A feeling of belonging that no throne, no kingdom, no amount of power had ever provided.
She slapped her own face.
Hard.
The sound echoed in the quiet hallway.
"Stop it," she commanded herself, her voice cold and firm. "Stop these distractions. I am here to kill him. I WILL kill him. No matter what."
She forced a smile onto her face. Cold. Cruel. The smile of the Dragon Queen, the smile that had made armies tremble and enemies flee.
"I will see the day when he lies in a pool of his own blood. When his eyes beg for forgiveness. When he finally understands what he took from me."
Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, feeding on the words, building them into a wall against the feelings she didn't want.
"That day, I will stand over him and say: 'You were nothing. A weak, idiot mortal who ruined my life.' "
The smile widened.
"Yes. That will be satisfying."
She nodded to herself, convinced, determined.
"For now, I must keep him alive. He can't die before my revenge."
But how?
How did humans recover from sickness?
She had no idea. Had never needed to know. In her world, beings didn't get sick. They fought. They healed. They died in battle or lived forever. There was no in-between.
Then—
A memory.
Faint at first, like sunlight through fog. Then stronger, clearer, pulling her back across centuries to a time when she was small and the world was full of wonder.
---
She was very small. So small that her feet didn't reach the floor when she sat on the throne. Her mother's arms were wrapped around her, warm and safe, the crystal lights of Atlantis reflecting off the ice walls around them.
"Mama," little Erza had asked, her voice high and curious, "what are dragon special traits?"
Her mother had smiled—that warm, gentle smile she reserved only for her daughter, the smile that made little Erza feel like the most loved child in all the worlds.
"Well, my little one," her mother had said, brushing silver hair from her daughter's face, "when dragons marry and take a mate, special powers awaken between them. Powers that exist nowhere else in all of creation."
Little Erza's eyes had gone wide as saucers.
"Like what?! Tell me, Mama! Tell me everything!"
"Like healing." Her mother's voice was soft, almost dreamy. "When a mate is hurt or sick, the other can heal them with..."
She had paused.
Smiled mysteriously.
"With a kiss."
Little Erza had gasped so dramatically that her mother laughed.
"A KISS?! Like in the stories?! Like the princesses and princes?!"
"Like in the stories," her mother confirmed.
"But Mama!" Little Erza had bounced on her mother's lap, unable to contain her excitement. "Papa is the strongest dragon ever! He never gets hurt! This is just a myth, right?! Just a fairy tale?!"
Her mother had laughed—that beautiful, musical laugh that echoed through the throne room and made the crystal lights sparkle brighter.
"Perhaps," she had admitted. "The royal family is nearly invincible, it's true. We don't get sick. We don't get hurt. We don't need healing like lesser beings."
She had hugged her daughter closer.
"But the teachings of our ancestors exist for a reason, my little one. They knew things we have forgotten. And who knows? Perhaps one day, you will have a chance to try."
Little Erza had frowned.
"Try what?"
"Try the kiss." Her mother's eyes had twinkled. "If your mate ever needs you—truly needs you—you will know. And if you love him—truly love him—the power will work."
"Love?" Little Erza had wrinkled her nose. "That's silly, Mama. Dragons don't need love."
Her mother had laughed again, but softer this time.
"Every being needs love, my daughter. Even dragons. Especially dragons."
---
The memory faded.
Erza sat in the hallway, her face burning crimson, her hands pressed to her cheeks.
"What... what the hell was that?!" She stood abruptly, pacing the small space. "Why am I remembering THAT of all things?!"
She had been looking for practical solutions. Medical knowledge. Human healing methods. Something sensible and logical that would help her keep Yuuta alive until she could kill him herself.
Instead, her traitorous mind had dredged up ancient dragon lore about kissing sick mates.
"This is ridiculous." She paced faster, her silver hair swinging behind her. "Completely, utterly ridiculous. I don't love him. I don't even LIKE him. He's a means to an end. A target. A—"
She stopped.
Pressed a hand to her chest.
Where her heart beat too fast.
Where the memory of her mother's words echoed like a bell.
Where a tiny, treacherous part of her whispered:
But what if it works?
"No." She shook her head violently, as if she could physically dislodge the thought. "Absolutely not. I am the Dragon Queen. I do not kiss pathetic mortals. I do NOT—"
She couldn't finish.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't do anything but stand there, red-faced and confused, caught between centuries of dragon tradition and the reality of her own traitorous heart.
---
To be continued...
---