I rubbed my temples slowly.
Once. Then twice. And then a third time for good measure.
Sometimes when your brain encountered something completely unreasonable, the correct response was to apply light pressure and hope the problem politely disappeared while you weren't looking.
Unfortunately, when I opened my eyes again, the problem was still sitting on my kitchen counter.
Three of them, actually.
Three very small dragons.
"...Right," I muttered.
Just to confirm reality, I looked at them again. Slowly. Carefully. As if the act of double‑checking might cause them to transform into something more reasonable.
They did not.
The blue one sat neatly on the counter with what I could only describe as an attempt at dignified posture. Its tiny wings were folded politely behind its back, and it stared at me with bright curious eyes like a well‑behaved student waiting patiently for class to begin.
The red one was significantly less dignified.
It was currently sneezing.
Fire.
Small bursts of flame popped out of its mouth every few seconds like a malfunctioning lighter.
"Please stop doing that," I said tiredly.
The red dragon sneezed again.
A tiny puff of fire shot across the counter and singed the edge of a paper towel.
"Fantastic," I sighed. "That's exactly what my kitchen needed today. Random combustion."
The third dragon—the golden one—was completely asleep. It had curled itself into a small glowing ball and was resting peacefully between the other two like the entire situation had absolutely nothing to do with it.
I rubbed my temples again.
"What," I asked slowly, "in the name of all things remotely sane just happened?"
The dragons did not answer.
Which was honestly a little rude considering the circumstances.
Just a few hours ago my biggest concern had been whether tomatoes were a good crop for a future farm. I had been seriously considering soil conditions, seasonal rotations, irrigation methods—important agricultural decisions.
Now I was apparently hosting three mythological creatures in my kitchen.
"Dragons," I murmured.
Even saying the word out loud felt ridiculous.
Dragons weren't just rare. They were legendary. Entire hunter guilds would mobilize if a dragon sighting was reported. Nations would panic. Scholars would hold emergency conferences. Researchers would write extremely long papers filled with diagrams and speculation.
And yet somehow three baby dragons had just hatched on my kitchen counter like it was a perfectly normal household event.
I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms.
"Alright," I said. "Let's discuss the situation."
The blue dragon blinked politely.
The red dragon attempted to chew on a wooden chopstick.
The golden dragon snored quietly.
"First problem," I continued, pointing at them, "you exist."
That was already a fairly serious issue.
"Second problem," I added, "I have absolutely no idea what to do with you."
I began considering my options.
Option one: bring them into a dungeon.
Immediately rejected.
They were babies. Dungeon monsters would treat them like snacks.
Option two: report them to the authorities.
Also rejected.
First of all, the paperwork alone would probably require seventeen separate forms, three interviews, and at least one awkward meeting with a guild inspector who would ask far too many questions.
Second, they would want to know where I found them.
And the explanation "they were abandoned in front of my apartment" would not sound convincing to anyone with functioning brain cells.
Worst case scenario, some government research team would try to take them away for "study."
Which was a polite scientific term for extremely uncomfortable experiments.
I grimaced and rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah, no," I said after a moment. I might be lazy, but I wasn't heartless. The idea of these tiny idiots being locked in some laboratory while a bunch of researchers poked them with measuring devices made my stomach feel weird.
The blue dragon tilted its head at me as if it had somehow understood the entire internal debate.
I pointed at it accusingly. "Don't look at me like that," I told it. "You're the reason my peaceful life is collapsing right now."
It chirped softly.
Then it chirped again.
Very unapologetically.
I sighed and leaned against the counter. "Alright," I muttered. "Temporary solution."
Keeping them here for a while wasn't the worst idea in the world. Just until I figured something out. Temporary dragon storage. Completely manageable. Totally not the beginning of a long series of bad decisions.
I nodded once, satisfied with this extremely questionable life plan.
Then I noticed something strange.
The blue dragon swayed slightly where it sat on the counter. Its wings drooped and its eyes blinked slowly like it was struggling to stay awake.
"...Huh?"
"Hey," I said quickly, leaning forward.
The dragon wobbled once, then sat down weakly as if its legs had suddenly stopped cooperating.
My brain immediately jumped to worst‑case scenarios.
"Oh no," I muttered. "Is it dying?"
I grabbed my phone instantly and switched into emergency research mode.
"How to take care of a dragon," I typed into the search bar.
Search.
The internet thought about it for a moment.
Then returned absolutely nothing useful.
Apparently humanity had thousands of guides about taking care of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles, and even extremely niche reptiles.
But dragons?
Zero results.
"Right," I sighed. "Because nobody is insane enough to keep a dragon as a pet."
I looked back at the blue dragon again. It looked tired, weak, and slightly wobbly, which was not a reassuring combination for something that had been born approximately ten minutes ago.
"Okay," I muttered to myself. "Think, Ren."
Small creatures usually got weak when they were hungry. That was basic biology, right? Puppies got hungry. Kittens got hungry. Even baby birds screamed constantly for food.
Which meant the solution was probably simple.
Food.
I opened the fridge and stared inside for a few seconds before pulling out a package of meat. It wasn't exactly gourmet, but it was protein, and protein seemed like a reasonable starting point for feeding a creature that breathed ice.
"Alright," I said confidently. "Dragons are carnivores, right?"
I tore off a small piece and placed it in front of the blue dragon like I was presenting an offering to a very tiny, very judgmental king.
The dragon looked at the meat.
Then it looked at me.
Then, with the slow deliberate motion of someone rejecting a restaurant menu, it turned its head away.
"..."
"You're kidding," I said.
Maybe the red one had better taste.
I slid the meat across the counter toward it. The red dragon sniffed it suspiciously, sneezed a small flame onto it—which technically cooked it—and then simply stared at it like the concept of eating it was deeply offensive.
"Incredible," I muttered. "Two dragons and both of them are picky eaters."
I leaned back against the counter and sighed, trying to think of alternatives. That was when I noticed something strange.
The blue dragon wasn't looking at the meat at all. Instead, its eyes were fixed on the counter beside me.
Specifically.
On the plastic convenience store bag.
The same bag that contained the last three onigiri I had bought earlier.
I slowly followed its gaze to the bag, then looked back at the dragon.
"...No way," I said.
The dragon stared at the bag again, then back at me. Its tail wagged slightly.
"You cannot possibly be serious," I continued.
The dragon nodded.
Actually nodded.
I stared at it for a long moment.
"You like onigiri?"
Another enthusiastic nod.
"You're a dragon," I said slowly. "Not a college student."
It chirped impatiently.
"Unbelievable," I sighed.
Still, if it worked, it worked.
I grabbed one of the onigiri from the bag and handed it over. The blue dragon devoured it instantly with the efficiency of something that had clearly been starving.
"..."
"Well," I admitted, "that solved that problem."
The red dragon immediately hopped closer and stared at the remaining onigiri with intense focus.
"Oh no," I said.
It nodded rapidly.
"You too?"
Another nod.
"This is extremely concerning for dragon biology," I muttered, though I handed it one anyway.
The red dragon inhaled it like a vacuum cleaner.
Then both dragons slowly turned their heads toward the sleeping golden one.
"Right," I said.
I gently poked the golden dragon.
"Hey. Wake up."
It yawned sleepily, blinked a few times, and then noticed the onigiri in my hand. Its eyes immediately sparkled.
"Of course," I sighed.
I handed it the last one, and it happily munched on it with small contented noises. Within seconds, all three dragons were full and visibly more energetic.
I carefully picked them up and carried them back to the living room.
"Congratulations," I told them. "You are now officially the strangest dinner guests I have ever hosted."
I placed them gently on the center table where they sat quietly for a moment—blue, red, and gold. Three tiny disasters.
I stared at them for a long moment.
"Hmm," I said. "Now what?"
The blue dragon yawned and curled up against my side. The red dragon immediately claimed the other side like it had been waiting for the spot. The golden dragon climbed into my lap with the confidence of something that had clearly decided this was its seat all along.
I looked down at them.
"...Well," I said slowly, "I guess you're sleepy."
They were already drifting off—small breaths, tiny snores, three warm little dragon bodies using me as a mattress.
I leaned back into the couch.
"Alright," I murmured. "You rest."
Because honestly, after today, I probably deserved a break too.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Just a quick rest. Nothing dramatic. Definitely not the beginning of a very complicated new chapter of my life.
Just a peaceful nap.
Probably.
***
At some point, I apparently fell asleep.
I would like to clarify that this was not my fault.
Anyone placed in my current situation—suddenly responsible for three newly hatched mythical creatures—would also require a brief recovery nap. My body had simply chosen the most reasonable solution available: temporary system shutdown.
Fatigue.
Stress.
Possibly emotional damage.
Or maybe my natural laziness had simply won the internal argument against "solving complicated problems today."
Either way, I had fallen asleep on the couch.
And for a while, everything was peaceful.
Very peaceful.
In fact, it was the kind of peaceful silence that only existed in the rare moments when absolutely nothing catastrophic was happening. No explosions, no magical surges, no spontaneous fire incidents involving curtains.
Just quiet.
Unfortunately, that peace did not last.
Because something moved.
A soft scuffling sound came from somewhere behind me. Then another small shift happened near my lap, like someone adjusting their weight.
My brain, which had only recently begun recovering from the shock of dragon parenthood—temporary dragon supervision, I corrected internally—slowly began rebooting.
I rubbed my eyes lazily.
"Mmm..." I muttered.
Something warm moved against my side.
Another small weight shifted on my lap.
Right.
The dragons.
That made sense.
They were probably just adjusting positions or fighting over who got the most comfortable spot on my hoodie.
I opened my eyes.
Then I screamed.
"WHAT—?!"
I shot upright from the couch so fast I nearly launched myself across the living room. My heart immediately started racing like it had just been informed that my peaceful retirement had officially ended forever.
Because sitting on the couch where the dragons had been were now three children.
Three.
Human.
Children.
My brain shut down.
I blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time just in case my eyesight had malfunctioned or my brain was still halfway inside a dream.
Nope.
Still children.
A girl with long blue hair was sitting quietly where the blue dragon had been earlier. Two small sapphire horns peeked through her hair, and tiny blue wings rested against her back like folded decorations. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked up at me with calm curiosity.
Another girl with bright red hair was stretching lazily while sitting cross‑legged on the couch cushion. Small crimson horns curved above her forehead, and a pair of tiny red wings twitched behind her as if they were impatient. Small flickers of flame danced between her fingertips like she had nothing better to do.
And the third—smaller—girl with golden hair was still asleep in the exact spot where the golden dragon had been resting earlier. Two small golden horns rested above her bangs, and delicate little wings shimmered faintly on her back while she slept peacefully.
I slowly turned my head toward the ceiling.
"No," I said.
Then I looked back down.
"Absolutely not."
The blue‑haired girl tilted her head.
Then she spoke.
"Papa?"
A cold chill ran down my spine.
My soul attempted to leave my body.
"Y—you!?" I stammered. "Who in the world are you guys!? And why are you calling me that?"
The red‑haired girl yawned loudly, stretched her arms above her head, and then looked at me with a huge grin.
"Papa! You're awake!" she said happily. "We were wondering when you would wake up."
"That sentence raises several problems," I replied immediately. "First of all, I am not your papa. Second of all, why are you talking like this is normal? And third—"
I gestured wildly between the three of them.
"—why are you humans now!?"
The blue‑haired girl seemed to think about that very seriously.
"We are not humans," she said calmly. "We are dragons."
"Yes," I said, pointing at her. "That was the one part of the situation I had already figured out. The confusing part is the sudden transformation into children while I was taking a nap."
The red‑haired girl leaned forward excitedly like she had just discovered a crucial piece of evidence.
"But you hatched us!" she declared proudly.
"That was an accident," I said immediately.
I paused, then added with a tired sigh, "A cooking accident."
The blue‑haired girl processed that information with impressive seriousness.
"I see," she said.
"Good," I replied.
"Understood, Papa."
I closed my eyes.
"That is the opposite of understood," I said slowly.
The red‑haired girl suddenly sneezed.
A small burst of flame shot upward like a miniature firework.
I grabbed the nearest pillow and smothered it instantly.
"NO FIRE INSIDE THE HOUSE," I said loudly.
"But it's fun," she protested.
"Fun is not the same thing as safe," I replied. "Also, fire damage is not covered by my current level of emotional stability."
Meanwhile, the golden‑haired girl shifted slightly in her sleep. She mumbled something quietly, rolled onto her side, and continued sleeping as if none of this chaos concerned her in the slightest.
I stared at her for a moment.
"At least one of you understands the value of resting," I muttered.
The blue‑haired girl raised her hand politely like a student in class.
"Papa?"
"Not my title," I replied automatically.
"Then what should we call you?" she asked.
I opened my mouth.
Then paused.
Then closed it again.
"…We will address that later," I said carefully. "For now, let's focus on the larger problem of why three dragons are currently occupying my living room."
"Where are we?" she asked.
"My apartment," I answered.
"Why?"
"Because that's where I live," I said.
She blinked again.
"Why do you live here?"
"Because rent exists," I replied.
The red‑haired girl clapped her hands excitedly while looking around the room.
"This place is small!" she announced happily.
"Thank you," I said dryly.
"That was not a compliment," she clarified.
"I figured," I replied.
I leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling again, wondering what cosmic chain of events had led to this exact moment.
"Alright," I sighed. "New rule."
Both girls immediately looked at me.
"Rule number one," I said, pointing at the red‑haired girl, "nobody breathes fire."
"Rule number two," I continued, pointing at the blue‑haired girl, "nobody freezes my furniture."
Then I gestured toward the sleeping golden girl.
"And rule number three: nobody explodes into sunlight or whatever she does."
The red‑haired girl nodded enthusiastically.
"Okay Papa!"
"Stop calling me that," I repeated weakly.
"But you hatched us," she insisted.
"Accident," I reminded her.
"Still counts," she replied.
I rubbed my temples again, once… twice… then let out a long breath.
"This is not how my day was supposed to go."
*****
End of Chapter 3
RETIREMENT STATUS REPORT
Owner: Ren ArclightFormer
Occupation: Demon King Slayer / World-Saving Archmage
Current Occupation: Extremely Confused Apartment Resident
Peaceful Life Goal:
Watch anime, eat snacks, and eventually start a quiet tomato farm far away from chaos.
Today's Activities:
*Successfully fed three baby dragons with onigiri
*Allowed said dragons to nap on the couch
*Fell asleep due to emotional exhaustion
*Woke up to discover dragons had transformed into children
*Survived first instance of being called "Papa"
*Prevented indoor fire incident caused by red dragon child
*Attempted to establish household rules
New Household Members:
*Blue Dragon Daughter (Ice)
*Red Dragon Daughter (Fire / Arson Enthusiast)
*Golden Dragon Daughter (Light / Currently Sleepy)
Current Living Room Situation:
Three dragon children occupying couch and calling me their father.
Peaceful Retirement Stability:
100% Start of Chapter 10% Dragons Hatched
–25% Dragons Ate All Onigiri
–70% Dragons Fell Asleep On me
–150% Dragons Became Children
–300% First "Papa"
Current Retirement Status:
Irreversibly Destroyed
Major Concerns:
• Three dragon daughters now believe I'm their father
• Fire magic already demonstrated indoors
• Dragons capable of human transformation
• Apartment definitely not designed for childcare
Future Outlook:
Extremely Loud
Archmage Personal Statement:
"I just took a nap."
Reality's Response:
"You are now a parent."