Yuuta remained on his knees as the merciless sun burned down on him, turning the balcony into a place of quiet suffering. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking into his shirt, while his arms ached and his legs threatened to give out at any moment. Even his head throbbed faintly, worn down by Sister Mary's relentless scolding.
"Forgive me, Lord. I have failed you. Please guide this humble fool—"
"Papa?"
The small voice cut through his prayer like a blade.
Yuuta froze.
Slowly, almost afraid of what he might see, he turned his head.
Elena stood there.
Her tiny fists were clenched tightly at her sides, and her eyes were red and swollen, as if she had been crying for a long time. She hesitated for a moment, her lips trembling, before taking a small step forward.
"Elena…?" Yuuta whispered, instinctively trying to straighten his posture—only to stop midway, painfully aware of Sister Mary's silent, judging presence behind him.
Before he could say anything more, Elena suddenly ran toward him.
She threw her small arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance, and buried her face into his shoulder. Her tiny body trembled as she clung to him desperately.
"Papa… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
Yuuta's breath caught.
For a brief moment, his hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure of what to do. Then, slowly, gently, he placed them on her back.
"W-wait… what happened?" he asked softly, trying to keep his voice steady as he patted her head. "Did you break something again?"
Elena shook her head quickly, her grip tightening.
"No…! I just… I heard what Sister Human said… about Papa's past…"
Her voice cracked, and the words seemed to crumble before they could fully form.
"…and I…"
She couldn't continue.
Instead, she clung to him even tighter, her small fingers gripping his shirt as if letting go would make him disappear.
"I'm sorry Papa had to be alone for so long!" she cried, her voice breaking into sobs. "I'm sorry no one loved Papa… I'm sorry, Papa!"
Something inside Yuuta shattered.
His chest tightened painfully, and his throat closed as if those words had reached somewhere deep he had long since sealed away.
This little girl… his daughter… was crying for him.
For a past he had already buried.
For a loneliness he never expected anyone to notice.
He pulled her closer.
Tighter.
"Hey… hey…" he whispered, his voice trembling despite his effort to stay calm. "Don't cry… it's okay…"
His hand moved gently through her hair, trying to soothe her trembling.
"Papa's fine now. I'm not alone anymore."
Elena sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her tear-filled eyes searched his face, filled with worry and fragile hope.
"…Really?"
Yuuta forced a small smile.
It wasn't strong. It wasn't perfect.
But it was real.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I have you, don't I?"
He lightly tapped her nose, his voice warming just a little.
"And your troublesome, lizard-queen mother."
A faint, shaky giggle escaped her lips.
Yuuta let out a quiet breath.
"I'm the luckiest Papa in the world."
Elena wiped her tears clumsily with her sleeve, still staring at him as if trying to make sure he wouldn't disappear.
"Promise…?"
Yuuta leaned forward, gently pressing his forehead against hers.
"Promise."
For a brief moment, she simply looked at him.
Then she hugged him again—tighter than before, as if putting all her feelings into that single embrace.
"I love you, Papa!" she cried.
Yuuta's vision blurred.
This time, he didn't try to hold it back.
"I love you too, Elena," he whispered, his voice breaking. "More than anything."
Behind them, the heavy tension in the air slowly eased.
Sister Mary remained silent, but the oppressive weight of her presence softened, just slightly—enough to be felt.
The sun, once harsh and unforgiving, had begun to fade into a warmer glow.
And as Yuuta held his daughter close, the pain of his past—the loneliness, the emptiness, the quiet suffering—began to feel distant.
Like something that no longer had power over him.
For now…
This moment was enough.
Minutes passed.
Yuuta remained kneeling on the cold stone of the balcony, his face tilted toward the sun, his lips still moving in the silent rhythm of apology. He had lost count of how many times he had muttered the words. His knees ached. His back burned where the old scars pulled tight against his skin. The morning light had shifted from gold to white, the shadows shortening, the day growing older.
He did not move.
He could not move. Not until she said he could. Not until she released him from the penance he had imposed on himself.
From the doorway, Sister Mary watched him.
She could not see him. Not with her eyes. The blindfold covered them, the cloth soft and white, hiding the light-sensitive eyes that had forced her to withdraw from the world she had once served so fiercely. But she could feel him. Could sense the shape of his presence, the weight of his guilt, the trembling of his hands pressed flat against his thighs.
She sighed.
It was a soft sound. Long and tired, carrying the weight of years she had spent watching this boy grow, watching him struggle, watching him carry burdens that should never have been placed on shoulders so young.
"Yuuta." Her voice was gentle. "You can come in now. I suppose you have repented enough for your sins."
Yuuta's face lifted.
Hope flickered in his eyes—fragile, desperate, the hope of a child who had been given permission to stop being afraid. He tried to rise. His legs, numb from the cold stone and the long stillness, refused to cooperate. He stumbled forward, caught himself, stumbled again.
He was going to fall.
Elena watched from the doorway, her small hands pressed against the frame, her red eyes wide. She saw her father lurch, saw his knees buckle, saw the ground rising up to meet his face.
And she giggled.
"Papa is like Tom!" she announced, her voice bright with delight. "From the cartoon! He falls just like Tom!"
Yuuta hit the ground. His shoulder struck the floor, his legs tangled beneath him, his dignity scattered somewhere beneath the sofa where he could not reach it. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the absurdity of his situation settle over him like a familiar blanket.
Then he laughed.
It was not his nervous laugh. Not his desperate laugh. It was a real laugh, low and warm, bubbling up from somewhere he had forgotten existed.
"You're right, little one," he said. "Papa is exactly like Tom."
Elena giggled harder. Her wings fluttered behind her, her tail curling with delight. She ran to him, her small feet pattering across the floor, and threw herself onto his chest.
"Papa! Get up! Get up!"
He wrapped his arms around her. Held her close. Felt her warmth seep into his chest, chasing away the cold that had settled there hours ago.
"I'm getting up, I'm getting up. Just give Papa a minute."
He did not get up.
He lay there, on the floor of his apartment, with his daughter on his chest and his godmother in the doorway and his wife watching from the sofa.
And for the first time in a very long time, he did not feel like running.
He scooped Elena up with his good arm, ignoring the protest from his stiff muscles, and carried her inside.
Erza was sitting at the table, her hands folded in front of her, her violet eyes fixed on him. She had been watching him through the glass door, watching him kneel, watching him pray, watching him stumble and laugh and pick up their daughter. Her face was serious in a way he had not seen before—not cold, not mocking, not the face she wore when she was threatening to kill him. Something else. Something he could not name.
He met her gaze. He raised an eyebrow.
"What's that look?" he asked, his voice lighter than he felt. "You're staring like I'm some kind of rare creature."
She did not break eye contact.
Her gaze was steady. Unwavering. It pinned him in place, made him feel like she was seeing something he had spent his whole life trying to hide.
But when she spoke, her voice was mocking. Clear. Loud enough for Sister Mary to hear.
"Just checking," she said, "to see if my dear husband has repented from his sins properly."
Yuuta froze.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"His... husband..." The words came out in pieces, his voice trembling. "Husband... me..."
He pointed at himself. At her. At the space between them.
Erza smiled.
It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator who had cornered her prey, the smile of someone who was enjoying herself very, very much. The kind of smile that would have made lesser men run for the hills.
Yuuta's mind went blank.
He could not process. Could not think. Could not do anything except stand there, frozen, while the woman who had threatened to kill him a hundred times called him husband in front of the only person whose opinion had ever mattered.
"Honey."
Her voice was sweet. Too sweet. The kind of sweet that promised pain.
"What happened? Did your godmother hurt you? Should I punish her for making my poor husband kneel in the sun?"
Yuuta's knees buckled again.
Yuuta's soul left his body. He was going to die. Not in a year. Now. Here. In his own apartment, in front of his godmother and his daughter, at the hands of a woman who had just called him her husband and was looking at him like he was something she wanted to eat.
Elena, still in his arms, let out an indignant huff. Her small face twisted into a scowl, her cheeks puffing out, her red eyes flashing with a fire that was unmistakably her mother's.
"Mama!" She crossed her arms. "Do not tease Papa! It is bad manners!"
Erza raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Bad manners?"
"Yes! Very bad! The worst!" Elena's wings fluttered behind her, small and fierce. "Papa was already sad! Mama cannot make Papa more sad!"
Erza's expression softened. Just slightly.
"Fine," she said, reaching out to take Elena from Yuuta's arms. "You little version of me. You do not have to send killing intent at your own mother."
She lifted Elena up, settling her on her hip the same way Yuuta had been holding her moments before. "Mama was just playing. You see that, sweetheart? Just playing."
Elena eyed her suspiciously. "Promise?"
Erza pressed her forehead against her daughter's. "Promise."
Elena huffed again, but her small arms wrapped around her mother's neck, and her face pressed into Erza's shoulder, and she was quiet.
Sister Mary chuckled.
The sound was soft. Melodic. Almost surprising, coming from someone as stern as she appeared. Her blindfolded eyes had turned toward the three of them, her head tilted slightly, her lips curved into a smile that reached somewhere deeper than her face.
She had been watching. Listening. Feeling the shape of their family through voices and silences, through the way Yuuta's breath caught when Erza called him husband, through the way Elena's small feet had pounded across the floor to reach him, through the way Erza's voice softened when she spoke to her daughter.
She took a deep breath.
She turned her head toward Yuuta, her blindfolded eyes somehow finding him in the clutter of the small apartment, somehow seeing him through the years and the silence and the distance that had grown between them.
"Yuuta," she said. "I do not know when or how you got married and became a father. I do not know why you did not tell me. But I am truly happy for you."
Yuuta froze. The words hit him harder than Erza's punch ever had, harder than Sister Mary's lectures, harder than the hours of kneeling on the concrete. They settled into his chest, warm and heavy, and he felt his throat tighten, felt his eyes sting, felt something crack inside him that had been sealed for a very long time.
He looked away. He could not look at her. He could not look at Erza. He could not look at anyone.
"I wanted to tell you," he said. His voice was low, rough, barely audible. "I was just... scared."
Sister Mary's head tilted. Her voice, when it came, was softer than he had ever heard it.
"Scared? Of what, Yuuta?"
He could feel Erza's eyes on him. A silent warning. Do not mess this up.
He could not tell her the truth. He could not tell her that he was married to a dragon, that his daughter had wings and a tail, that the ring on his finger had changed shape and was bound to his soul. She would not understand. She would not believe. She would call him cursed, the way the others had called him cursed, the way they had called him a demon, the way they had thrown holy water on him while he slept.
He looked at his hands. At the ring on his finger. At the woman who was watching him with her violet eyes, the woman who had called him her husband, the woman who had held him in the field when he gave her the ring.
"I was scared you would not accept us," he said. His voice was careful, measured, the words chosen with care. "I was scared you would see me as a disappointment. Or worse—a sinner."
The room was quiet. The afternoon sun, which had been so bright, seemed to dim. The shadows, which had been so long, seemed to shorten. He could hear his own heartbeat, could hear Elena's breathing, could hear the soft rustle of Sister Mary's robes as she moved.
She reached out. Her hand, warm and familiar, settled on his head. She was not tall—he had grown past her years ago—but in that moment, with her hand on his head and her presence beside him, he was seven years old again. He was the boy who had been left on the steps of the church, the boy who had been called cursed, the boy who had cried in the dark and learned to smile through the pain.
"Oh, Yuuta," she said. Her voice was warm, softer than he had ever heard it, softer than he remembered. "Family is a blessing. You have made one now. I may not understand everything about your choices, but I am happy that you have found people to love. People to protect."
His chest tightened. The warmth that had been building in him since she put her hand on his head spread through his whole body, filled him up, made it hard to breathe.
Sister Mary did not ask.
Yuuta had braced himself for the questions. Had spent years building lies upon lies, stacking them like cards, waiting for the moment someone would come along and ask how he had met his wife, how he had a daughter, how any of this was possible. He had prepared answers. Excuses. Stories that would hold together just long enough to get him through the conversation.
But Sister Mary did not ask.
She sat on the floor, her hands folded in her lap, her blindfolded eyes turned toward him with an expression that was not curiosity, not suspicion, not the hungry demand for explanation that he had seen in everyone else.
She was simply... happy.
Happy that he was married. Happy that he had a daughter. Happy that he was not alone.
She had raised him like a son. Had watched him grow from a small, frightened boy into a man who smiled too much and laughed too loudly and never let anyone see the cracks. She had seen the scars on his back. Had found him crying in his room. Had held him when there was no one else to hold him.
She did not need to know the details.
Some secrets, she had learned long ago, were better left buried.
Erza watched the woman carefully.
She had been expecting lies. Had prepared herself for them, had braced for the moment when Yuuta would spin some elaborate story about how they met, how they married, how Elena came to be. She had been ready to play along, to nod and smile and let the lies flow like water.
But Sister Mary did not ask.
Not one question. Not one demand for explanation. Not one hint of suspicion in her voice or her face.
She trusted him.
Blindly. Completely. Without condition.
Erza's chest tightened.
She does not know what he is. Does not know what he has done. Does not know that he is the kind of man who—
She stopped the thought before it could finish.
Yuuta hugged Sister Mary.
It was a clumsy embrace, the way he always hugged her—too fast, too hard, his face pressing into her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear. His voice was muffled against her robes.
"I'm sorry, Sister Mary."
He still could not say it. Could not tell her the truth. Could not explain why he had not told her about Erza, about Elena, about the life he had built without her knowing.
Sister Mary patted his head gently. Her fingers found his hair, the same way they had when he was small, when the world was too big and too cruel and she was the only one who made it bearable.
"Oh, Yuuta." Her voice was soft. Warm. "Do not be weak in front of your family. I know you have done things you are not proud of. But every action—every choice—is part of a plan. A plan you cannot see. A plan you cannot understand."
She paused.
"Trust it. Trust Him. And trust yourself."
Erza's eye twitched.
"God's plan," she muttered under her breath, her voice flat, her arms crossed. "Bullshit."
She did not believe in divine plans. Did not believe in gods who cared about the lives of mortals. She had seen too much, lived too long, watched too many good people suffer while those who claimed to speak for heaven did nothing.
But she did not say it aloud.
Because Yuuta was smiling. Because Elena was watching. Because Sister Mary's words had landed somewhere she could not reach.
She turned away. Rolled her eyes. Let the moment pass.
Elena had been watching.
She saw Yuuta's arms wrapped around Sister Mary. Saw the way he pressed his face into her shoulder, the way he held her like she was something precious, something he had been missing for a very long time.
Her small hands curled into fists.
She ran.
"Papa! Lift me!"
She launched herself at him, small and fierce, her arms reaching up, her face set in an expression that was pure determination.
Yuuta laughed. He caught her easily, lifting her into his arms, settling her on his hip the way he always did.
Elena wrapped her arms around his neck. Pressed her face against his cheek. Glared at Sister Mary from over his shoulder with all the ferocity a four-year-old could muster.
Sister Mary laughed.
"I think your daughter is jealous, Yuuta."
Yuuta grinned. "She's protective."
Elena patted his head. Her small hand moved through his hair, clumsy but determined, the way she had seen Sister Mary do moments before.
"Papa," she announced, her voice serious, her red eyes fixed on his face. "Do not worry. Elena is here for you. Elena will always be here."
Yuuta's smile softened.
"Yes, little princess. I know."
Sister Mary watched them.
She could not see—not with her eyes—but she did not need to. She could hear the warmth in Yuuta's voice. Could feel the way Elena's small body relaxed against his chest. Could sense the shape of the family they had built, fragile and strange and utterly, completely real.
She was happy.
For years, she had prayed for this. For Yuuta to find someone who loved him. For him to build a life that was his own. For him to know, even for a moment, what it felt like to belong.
Her prayers had been answered.
She folded her hands in her lap. Her face grew serious.
"By the way, Yuuta."
Yuuta stiffened.
He knew that tone. Had heard it a thousand times in the orphanage, whenever he had done something he should not have done, whenever he had forgotten something he should have remembered, whenever Sister Mary had caught him hiding from the world.
"Why," she said, her voice sharp, "are you not in college? Why are you here, in your apartment, when you should be in class?"
Yuuta's blood ran cold.
College.
He had forgotten. In the chaos of the interview, in the exhaustion of the night in the field, in the relief of seeing Sister Mary again—he had forgotten that there were classes. That there were lectures. That there were professors who would notice his absence.
"College," he said weakly. "Yes. College. I do... I do go to college. I have been going to college. Very diligently. Every day. Almost."
Her eyes narrowed behind her blindfold.
Without warning, her hand shot out. Her fingers found his ear with the unerring accuracy of someone who had spent decades disciplining wayward children.
"OW! Ow! Hey! What was that for?!"
"When did my sweet, responsible Yuuta become such a troublemaker?" She twisted. "Skipping class? Hiding from your responsibilities? Is this the example you want to set for your daughter?"
"S-sorry! I'm sorry! It was just one day! One day, I swear!"
Her grip tightened. "One day is how it starts. Tomorrow it will be two days. Next week, a month. Before you know it, you will be sleeping on park benches and calling it 'finding yourself.'"
"That seems extreme!"
She released his ear. Sighed.
"Well." She smoothed her robes. "To be honest, I did not come here to scold you about college. Though clearly someone needs to."
Yuuta rubbed his ear, still wincing.
She released him with a sigh.
"Well. To be honest, I came here to tell you something." She folded her hands in her lap. "I will be coming to your practical cooking exam tomorrow."
Yuuta blinked.
"My what?"
Sister Mary's lips pressed together. "I knew it. My Yuuta is still as innocent as ever." She shook her head. "Tomorrow you have a practical exam. The college called me—since you were not answering your phone, they reached out to your guardian."
She smiled.
"I told them I would be there to watch."
Erza had been half-listening, half-watching, her attention drifting between the conversation and the morning light outside the window.
But now—
"Practical cooking exam," she said slowly. "What is that?"
Sister Mary turned toward her voice.
"It is an activity given to students. They are provided with limited ingredients, chosen by the instructors, and must create a dish to present to the judges." She smiled. "It is how they prove what they have learned."
Erza's eyes gleamed.
She thought of the kitchen. Of the meals Yuuta had made for her—the steak, the soup, the bread he had brought this morning. She thought of the way he moved when he cooked, confident and sure, nothing like the stumbling, stuttering mortal he was in every other part of his life.
"I see," she said. "Humans have a different education system than I expected."
Sister Mary laughed softly. "It is a small thing. But important."
She paused.
"You know, Sister—" She used the title naturally, as if Erza were one of her own. "—you should come. Taste his food. See what he has learned."
Yuuta's soul left his body.
"No." The word came out too fast, too high, too desperate. "No, that rule has changed. It is a new rule. Very new. Just changed this morning. Parents and—and guardians—are not allowed. College policy. Very strict."
Sister Mary's eyebrows rose. "I spoke to them yesterday. They said nothing about new rules."
"It changed! Just now! While you were—while we were—" He was flailing. He knew he was flailing. He could not stop.
Erza saw her opportunity.
"Oh, my." She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice dripping with false piety. "Heaven must have blessed me indeed. To see my dear husband win his test, to taste the food he makes with his own hands, to witness his triumph before the world..."
She looked at Sister Mary.
"I would be honored to attend."
Yuuta's face went white.
"No! Like I said—Sister Mary must have misunderstood—the rules are very clear—"
Sister Mary's hand shot out. Her fingers found his ear again.
"You," she said, her voice sweet and terrible, "will not lie to me, Yuuta Konuari. If I do not see your wife and daughter at your exam tomorrow, you will regret it. Do you understand?"
He understood.
He understood that his life was over.
Elena bounced in his arms.
"Yes! Yes! Papa school! Papa school!" Her wings fluttered with excitement. "Elena wants to see Papa cook! Elena wants to taste Papa's food!"
Yuuta looked at her.
At her bright eyes. Her eager smile. The way she trusted him, believed in him, thought he could do anything.
He looked at Erza.
At the evil smile spreading across her face. The glint in her eye. The anticipation of watching him squirm.
He looked at Sister Mary.
At the stern set of her jaw, the fingers still pinched around his ear, the absolute certainty that she was doing the right thing.
He sighed.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"It is better I die now," he whispered, "than a year from now."
TO BE CONTINUED
[Credit Scene]
Yuuta: "Well, it's been a while, huh? How are you guys doing? I know the story might feel a bit slow right now—but I'm focusing on building the foundation. Once it's solid, you'll witness a masterpiece!"
Erza: "It's been months, and all you've done is deceive us."
Elena: "Yes, Papa! We're still waiting!"
Yuuta: "Oh, come on! Every plot point has a purpose. Trust the process!"
Erza: crosses arms "Oh really? Is that what you're going with?"
Yuuta: nervous chuckle "Well… who knows? I just wanted to say—stay tuned, okay? The real show's about to begin!"