As usual, Yuuta was having a strange dream.
"Mmm… no, wait… be gentle with the meat," he murmured in his sleep. "Yeah… like that. Don't rush it. Let it stay nice and juicy… good… now turn it slowly."
He shifted slightly under the blanket, still completely asleep.
"Perfect… that's exactly how you cook chicken…"
His voice trailed off as the dream continued, his mind wandering somewhere between cooking and something far more questionable.
Yuuta, of course, had absolutely no idea what he was saying.
He started to drift back under.
Then something warm landed on his face.
---
It was soft. Tiny. Breathing.
Warm little puffs of air hit his cheek in a steady rhythm—huff... huff... huff...
Yuuta's sleeping brain processed this information slowly.
Warm. Small. Breathing. On face.
Must be dog.
"Mmm... good boy..." he mumbled, still half-asleep. "Go back to sleep..."
The thing on his face didn't move.
Seconds passed.
Then—slowly, terribly—his conscious mind caught up with his unconscious assumptions.
Wait.
A dog?
I don't have a dog.
In fact... I hate dogs.
I don't even like pets.
His eyes shot open.
---
Darkness.
Complete, absolute darkness.
Something was on his face. Something with texture. Something that felt—he forced himself to analyze—long, and scaly, and kind of squishy. But also strong. Muscular. Like it could move fast if it wanted to.
Lizard.
The word flashed through his brain like a warning siren.
LIZARD. ON MY FACE. IN MY BED. A FREAKING LIZARD.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"
The scream tore from his throat, raw and primal. His hands moved before his brain could direct them, grabbing the thing and flinging it across the room with all the strength panic could provide.
Something small hit the far wall with a soft thump.
Yuuta didn't wait to see what. He scrambled for the lamp on his nightstand, hands shaking, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his temples.
Click.
Light flooded the room.
---
Yuuta scanned the bed first. The blankets were rumpled, twisted from his panicked escape. He threw them back, searching for—
Nothing. No lizard. No snake. No terrifying reptile waiting to sink venomous fangs into his flesh.
He checked his arms. His legs. His chest.
No bites. No scratches. No signs of attack.
Okay. Okay. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe—
A yawn.
From under the blanket.
A tiny yawn. The kind a baby makes when waking from a nap. Soft. Innocent. Completely at odds with everything Yuuta was feeling.
He froze.
The blanket moved.
Something small shifted beneath it—pushing, stretching, existing—and Yuuta realized with dawning horror that he hadn't thrown the lizard across the room.
He'd thrown it onto the bed.
And now it was under his blanket.
He grabbed the fabric. Took a breath. And yanked.
---
The blanket flew away.
Whatever was underneath—caught off guard by the sudden movement—spun. Once. Twice. Then tumbled off the bed entirely, hitting the floor with a soft thump and an indignant little squeak.
Yuuta leaned over. Looked down.
And his brain stopped working.
---
It wasn't a lizard.
It was a girl.
A tiny girl. No older than four, sitting on his floor in a rumpled nightgown, pouting and rubbing her eyes. Her hair was silver—actual silver, like moonlight made solid—and it fell in waves around her small face.
Two tiny horns poked through that silver hair. Curved. Black. Like a baby goat's, if baby goats came from another dimension.
Little wings stretched from her back—also tiny, also black, also completely impossible—twitching as she yawned again.
And a tail. A small, twitchy tail, poking out from beneath her nightgown, swaying lazily back and forth.
Yuuta stared.
The girl yawned again, rubbed her eyes, and looked up at him.
Her eyes were red.
Not pink. Not light red. Red. Deep and vibrant and glowing faintly in the lamplight.
She smiled.
"Papa."
---
Yuuta's breath caught.
He raised one hand. Very slowly. Very deliberately.
And smashed it into his own face.
THWACK.
"Okay." His voice was muffled by his palm. "Okay. Maybe I've been studying too hard. Yeah. That's it. This is a stress hallucination."
He lowered his hand. The girl was still there.
"Right. Okay. If I keep going like this, I'll start seeing my wife next."
He laughed—a strained, hysterical little sound.
"That would be the final touch, wouldn't it? Little monster child calls me Papa, and then—"
"So you finally woke up."
The voice cut through his rambling like a blade.
Low. Cold. Irate. The kind of voice that promised violence if the next words out of his mouth weren't exactly right.
"You disgusting mortal."
---
Yuuta turned.
She stood in the doorway like a storm about to unleash.
A woman. Tall. Pale as snow, with hair like moonlight—white and silver and impossibly long, cascading past her shoulders in waves. Her features were sharp. Regal. The kind of face that belonged on a throne or a wanted poster, depending on your perspective.
Both eye fixed him with absolute cold. Violet. Piercing., elegant, somehow making her look even more dangerous.
Her dress was royal. Empress-level. White silk covered in golden flower patterns, flowing to the floor, catching the lamplight like water. She wore it like armor. Like a statement.
Like bow or perish.
Her arms were crossed. Her expression was murder.
And she was looking at him like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe.
Yuuta's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Nothing came out.
---
The little girl—still sitting on the floor—pointed a tiny finger at the woman in the doorway.
"Mama!" she announced happily. "Papa woke up!"
Yuuta's head swiveled slowly back to the girl.
Mama?
He looked at the woman.
Mama.
He looked at the girl.
Papa.
He looked back at the woman.
Mama and Papa.
Together.
Him and her.
A sound escaped his throat. Not a word. Just... air. Moving past vocal cords that had forgotten how to form language.
Then he laughed.
Not his villain laugh. Not his confident laugh. Just a laugh—helpless, disbelieving, utterly broken.
"Dammit." He wiped his eyes. "It really did appear. My wife. Just like I said."
The girl tilted her head, red eyes curious.
"Huh? Papa is brave! He didn't even flinch at Mama!"
Yuuta waved a hand vaguely.
"Well, you see, little one, when you're already hallucinating, adding more hallucinations doesn't really change anything." He nodded sagely at his own logic. "Might as well enjoy the show."
He looked at the woman again. At her murderous expression. At her royal dress. At the way she seemed to radiate danger like a furnace radiated heat.
"Really though." He rubbed his chin. "My subconscious has excellent taste. She's terrifying and beautiful. That's quality hallucination work."
The woman's eye twitched.
Yuuta didn't notice. He was already turning back to his bed.
"Well, excuse me, my imaginary family." He yawned. "Papa needs more sleep. It's been a long day of—"
His foot touched the bedframe.
And stopped.
Cold spread from the point of contact. Fast. Aggressive. Within seconds, his entire bed was coated in a layer of ice—thick, gleaming, absolutely real ice.
Yuuta stared.
He touched the frozen surface with one finger. Cold. Solid. Undeniable.
"Huh?"
He turned back to the woman. Her eye was fixed on him, burning with something that might have been fury or might have been amusement—he couldn't tell.
"Real?" His voice cracked. "This is getting real right now?"
He pinched his cheek.
Hard.
Pain exploded across his face—sharp, immediate, impossible to ignore.
His heart stopped.
Then started again, twice as fast.
"What the hell is going on?!"
The words tore from Yuuta's throat, high and panicked. His voice cracked on every syllable. His hands flew in wild, desperate gestures.
"Who are you?! What is that child?! Why is my bed frozen?! WHY IS THERE A MONSTER CHILD CALLING ME PAPA?!"
The tiny girl on the floor—Elena, the woman had called her—puffed out her cheeks.
"I am not a monster!"
She turned her face away with dramatic offense. Her little arms crossed over her chest—mimicking the woman's posture perfectly.
"Hmph!"
The sound was tiny. Petulant. Absolutely adorable.
"Papa is rude to Elena!"
Yuuta's eye twitched.
"I am NOT your Papa!" He pointed at her, finger shaking. "I don't know who you are! I don't know who she is! I don't know ANYTHING!"
---
The tall woman in the doorway sighed.
It was the kind of sigh that contained centuries of accumulated irritation. The kind of sigh that said I have dealt with idiots my entire existence and I am so, so tired of it.
"She is your child."
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Yuuta's brain stuttered.
My child?
He looked at the little girl. At her silver hair. Her tiny horns. Her little wings. Her twitching tail.
My... child?
"That's..." His voice came out strangled. "That's not possible. I don't have a child. I've never—I would remember—"
The woman's eye narrowed. Disdain dripped from her expression like poison.
"Tch." The sound was sharp. Dismissive. "I didn't expect you to be this disgusting, pathetic human."
Her gaze raked over him. The look said, clearly and without mercy: you are a worm. You are less than a worm. Worms are more useful than you.
"She is your child." Each word was precise. Final. "The one you ran away from us."
---
Yuuta's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"I... WHAT?!"
He pinched himself. Hard. On the arm. On the cheek. On the arm again. Then again. Then again.
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.
All real. All undeniable.
"No way." His voice climbed higher. "No way this is real! How did you get into my house?! Is this some kind of prank?! Is someone filming this?! Where's the camera?!"
He spun in circles, searching for hidden cameras, for his friends jumping out to yell gotcha, for ANYTHING that would explain this nightmare.
The woman just stared at him.
Her expression didn't change. Her eye didn't blink. She watched his meltdown with the detached fascination of someone observing a bug having a seizure.
Then she sighed again.
Long. Tired. Profoundly exhausted.
The kind of sigh that said she had run out of vocabulary to deal with idiots. That she had used all her words and now only silence remained.
---
Meanwhile, Yuuta's panic was reaching critical mass.
His heart hammered against his ribs. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps. His thoughts raced in circles, each one more hysterical than the last.
Demon child. Ice woman. Frozen bed. Papa. Mama. What. What. WHAT.
His soul nearly left his body. He could feel it trying to escape, to flee this impossible situation, to find peace in the sweet embrace of oblivion.
Then—
A thought.
A stupid thought.
A dangerous thought.
But also... a familiar thought. The kind of thought his brain generated when faced with overwhelming confusion. The kind that had saved him before. The kind that would probably get him killed one day.
Yuuta stopped spinning.
He pointed at the woman. Dramatically. Accusingly.
"No."
Her eye narrowed. "No... what?"
"I'm not falling for this."
"Falling for what, exactly?"
Yuuta's finger remained raised. His expression shifted from panic to smugness—a truly baffling transition given the circumstances.
"I've seen this drama trope!"
Silence.
The woman's expression didn't change. But something in her eye flickered. Confusion? Annoyance? The beginning of homicidal intent?
"You're one of those single moms!" Yuuta announced proudly. "Trying to trick innocent guys like me into marriage so I pay child support!"
---
WHACK.
The fist connected with his skull like a meteor striking earth.
Yuuta flew.
Literally. His feet left the ground. His body arced through the air—a perfect parabola of pain—before crashing violently into his desk.
Papers scattered. The untouched cup noodle from two nights ago toppled over. Yuuta slid to the floor in a heap.
He lay there. Face down. Not moving.
For a moment, the room was very quiet.
Then the little girl—Elena—giggled.
"Papa flew!"
---
The woman stood over him, towering like a vengeful goddess.
Her fist was still raised. Her expression was cold. Her eye burned with something that might have been satisfaction.
"Moron."
The word dropped onto his prone form like a tombstone.
"Why would I need your money?" Her voice dripped with contempt. "When I have an entire kingdom in my hand?"
Yuuta groaned into the carpet.
Kingdom?
What kind of gold-digger backstory was that? Who pretended to have a kingdom? Who—
She rubbed her temples. The gesture was so human, so exhausted, so real that it cut through his panic for just a moment.
"Oh gods." Her voice was quieter now. Almost to herself. "Why did I get bound to you that night? Why did I drink that cursed alcohol? And why—of all beings—did I end up sleeping with a human?"
---
The words hit harder than her fist.
Bound.
That night.
Cursed alcohol.
Sleeping with a human.
Yuuta's brain, which had been happily escaping into denial, slammed to a halt.
He pushed himself up slowly. Rolled onto his side. Clutched his throbbing head.
"Ow..." The groan escaped before he could stop it. "That punch felt really real..."
Too real.
No dream punch hurt this much. No hallucination left you with a skull that felt split in two. No stress-induced breakdown made your vision swim and your ears ring.
This is real.
The realization crashed over him like cold water.
"This is real?" He whispered it, hoping somehow she'd say no.
"Yes." Her voice was flat. "Unfortunately for both of us."
---
Yuuta pushed himself up fully. Sat on the floor. Held his head.
"No, no, no, no..." The word repeated like a prayer. "That can't be right. That CAN'T be right."
But the truth was already sinking in.
He looked around the room. Really looked. Not through the lens of panic, but through his actual eyes.
The lights were on. His posters were still crooked—that One Piece print he'd never bothered to straighten. His desk was a mess, papers scattered everywhere. The cup noodle from two nights ago sat sadly on its side, uneaten.
His room. His space. His real space.
But also—
A literal dragon child sat on his bed. Her tiny legs swung back and forth. Her red eyes watched him with curious innocence. Her tail twitched lazily behind her.
And a very tall, very annoyed woman stood over him. Her arms were folded. Her horns curled back over snow-white hair like some high-class anime villainess. Her single visible eye glared down with the promise of more violence if he said something stupid again.
Okay. So maybe not that usual.
Yuuta squinted up at her.
"...What are you doing in my apartment?" His voice was hoarse. Broken. "And who the hell are you people?!"
The woman's eye twitched.
For a moment—just a moment—something flickered in her expression. Exhaustion. Frustration. The desperate desire to be literally anywhere else.
Then it was gone.
"I am the Blade of Atlantis."
Her voice was ice. Sharp enough to cut. Cold enough to freeze.
"Queen of the Atlantis Kingdom. Ruler of the Atlantic Continent. The proud descendant of Seraphina."
She paused. Her eye fixed on him with absolute, deadly focus.
"And your death."
---
Yuuta's blood turned to ice.
"My... my death?!"
The words came out as a squeak. His voice cracked on every syllable. His legs trembled beneath him.
The tall woman—the Queen of Atlantis, his brain supplied uselessly—didn't respond with words.
Her aura erupted.
It exploded outward like a physical force, filling every corner of the room. The temperature plummeted. The walls seemed to groan. Yuuta felt it press against him—heavy, suffocating, absolute.
"I am the judge of your life." Her voice echoed, layered with power. "The sin you have committed must be answered."
She moved.
One second she was across the room. The next—
Her hand was around his throat.
---
Yuuta didn't even see it happen.
One moment he was standing, shaking, trying to process her words. The next, his feet were off the ground and her fingers were wrapped around his neck like iron bands.
He choked. Gasped. His hands flew to her wrist, tugging uselessly.
"You." Her face was inches from his. Close enough to see the fury burning in her violet eye. "I thought you were a Child of Chaos. A warrior. Someone worthy of respect."
Her grip tightened.
"But you are NOTHING. Just a human who didn't know his boundaries. Who ruined my reputation."
Yuuta's vision started to blur. Spots danced at the edges.
"What—" He forced the word out through a crushed throat. "What are you talking about?! What reputation?! What did I DO?!"
She didn't answer. Just stared at him with that cold, beautiful, murderous face.
His feet kicked uselessly. His lungs burned. His heart pounded with pure, primal terror.
I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die. Right here. In my apartment. Strangled by a crazy queen lady.
"I AM GOING TO DIE FOR REAL.."
To be continued…
Author's Note
Hello everyone, thank you for giving my novel a chance.
I want to share something honestly with you.
The story, the characters, and the plot are all completely mine—I created everything from my own imagination. However, since English is not my first language (actually, it's my fourth!), I sometimes use AI tools for small assistance in grammar or polishing sentences.
This doesn't change the heart of the story at all. Every emotion, every twist, every piece of worldbuilding comes from me. I simply use tools to make sure the reading experience is smoother and easier for you.
I hope you'll enjoy the journey, and thank you so much for supporting my work—it truly means a lot to me.