"W-wait... Miss—listen."
Yuuta forced his voice out, trying to breathe through the icy chain digging into his throat. The chill crawled down his spine, numbing everything it touched. His fingers had already lost feeling. His lips were turning blue.
But he couldn't stop now.
Couldn't let her take him without saying this.
"Please..." His voice cracked. "Just listen to me for a second."
Erza's eyes narrowed. The chain pulsed—tighter, colder—but she didn't tighten it further. Didn't kill him. Just... waited.
"What is it?"
Yuuta swallowed hard. Every word scraped against the fear tightening his chest. Every breath was a battle.
"I understand what you're saying." His voice shook, but he forced it steady. "And I'm ready to go with you. I'll accept whatever punishment you decide. I won't fight it. I won't run."
She stepped closer. Her presence loomed over him—ancient, absolute, merciless.
"But what?"
"I..."
His hands trembled. He tried to steady them. Failed.
"I have college tomorrow."
---
For a moment—just a moment—Erza simply stared.
Her expression didn't change. Her eye didn't blink. But something in the air shifted. Confusion. Disbelief. The faintest flicker of what did he just say?
"College," she repeated slowly.
The word was foreign on her tongue. Strange. Alien. Like a sound from a language she'd never heard.
"What does that mean?"
Yuuta blinked. Of all the questions she could have asked, that wasn't what he'd expected.
"It's... a place where I study." He chose his words carefully, aware that the chain was still around his neck, aware that one wrong word could end him. "A place where I learn. So I can build a decent future. It's the only chance I have to become someone wiser. Someone useful."
Erza's expression shifted.
Barely perceptible. Almost invisible. But there—curiosity flickering beneath the coldness.
"Hm." She tilted her head, studying him like a scientist studying a strange specimen. "Interesting."
Another pause.
"So. What do you want from me?"
---
Yuuta exhaled shakily.
This was it. His one chance. His only chance.
He prayed—to whatever god might be listening—that she would understand.
"Please."
His voice was raw. Broken. Honest.
"Let me finish my graduation. Just let me complete this one year. That's all I'm asking. One year."
His voice cracked. Tears pricked at his eyes—not from fear, but from desperation.
"After that..." He swallowed. Forced the words out. "After that, you can kill me. Freeze me. Punish me however you want. I won't complain. I won't beg. I'll accept everything."
He looked up at her. Met her cold violet eye with his own terrified ones.
"Just... give me this one year. Please. I can't lose it."
---
Erza looked down at him.
Unmoved. Unblinking. Unimpressed.
"So what is the point of studying?" Her voice was ice. Clinical. Dismissive. "If I am going to kill you anyway, it is not as if you benefit me in any way. Why should I care about your human education?"
Yuuta shook his head slowly.
"I know." His voice was quiet. Defeated. "I know it doesn't benefit you. I know you have no reason to care."
He looked down at his feet. At the floor. At anything but her.
"I know." The words came out quiet. Resigned. "But the reason I studied so hard... was for someone."
His gaze dropped to his feet. To the floor. Somewhere far away from this room, this moment, this impossible situation.
"Someone I wanted to show that I could survive on my own. That I could pass."
---
A memory rose unbidden.
He was small. Seven, maybe eight. Standing in the chapel of the orphanage, looking up at a figure in a white priest's dress.
"Yuuta, promise me something."
Her voice was warm. Gentle. The only warmth he'd known in those cold years.
"Promise me you'll study hard. That you'll graduate. That you'll become someone."
He'd held up his tiny hand. Pinky finger extended.
"I promise, Sister. I'll graduate for sure."
She'd smiled. Linked her pinky with his.
"I'll be watching, Yuuta. Always."
---
The memory faded.
Yuuta blinked. Realized his eyes were wet.
He didn't wipe them. Didn't hide. Just stood there, frozen in the ice chain, with tears he couldn't stop.
"If you are going to beg about parents, family, or some meaningless promise—"
Erza's voice was flat. Dismissive. The voice of someone who had heard every excuse, every plea, every desperate prayer.
"—don't bother. I have heard such words countless times in my world. Usually right before I tore them apart."
She paused. Let the weight of that settle.
"It will not work on me."
Yuuta didn't look at her.
Didn't meet her eye. Didn't defend himself. Just stared at his feet, at the floor, at nothing.
"I don't have parents," he said.
The words struck harder than any scream.
Erza froze.
He didn't look up. Didn't see her reaction. Just kept staring at the floor, his voice steady—almost numb.
"I grew up in an orphanage. I never saw my parents—not even their shadows. I was raised in a church. Alone."
He exhaled quietly.
"I don't care if you kill me. It's not like anyone will cry for me. No one will visit my grave. No one will even care where my body ends up."
His hands clenched into fists.
"But I promised someone that I would graduate."
---
For a long second, Erza didn't breathe.
Something stirred inside her chest.
Something unfamiliar.
Empathy.
An emotion she had never known. Never felt. Never understood.
All her life, she had known only one thing—cold, brutal certainty. The certainty of power. The certainty of judgment. The certainty that she was above the petty emotions that plagued lesser beings.
But this feeling...
This ache...
It was new. Unwanted. Confusing.
Why?
Why do I feel this?
Why do I care?
Her hand shot forward.
Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed Yuuta by the neck and slammed him against the wall. Her fingers tightened around his throat—not enough to kill, but enough to control.
"Why?!" The word tore from her—raw, desperate, human. "Why do I feel sad for you?! What spell did you cast on me?! Who are you to make me feel EMPATHY?!"
Yuuta gasped. His hands gripped her wrist, but he didn't fight. Didn't struggle. Just hung there, accepting her fury.
"I told you." His voice was hoarse. Barely a whisper. "I'm human."
"No."
The word was sharp. Certain.
"You are NOT."
Her eyes burned.
"I have killed countless humans. Hundreds. Thousands. They told me the same stories—lost wives, dead mothers, murdered siblings, entire families erased. They begged. They pleaded. They offered me everything they had."
Her voice wavered.
"And I never felt ANYTHING."
She stared at him. At this pathetic, trembling, impossible mortal.
"But your story... it felt like it was MINE. My heart is pounding. My chest aches. I don't UNDERSTAND."
Her eyes widened.
A realization struck her like lightning.
"...Yes."
The word was barely a whisper.
"Yes. That's it."
She looked at him with new eyes. Different eyes.
"You are a Son of Disaster."
---
Yuuta blinked.
"What?"
"Your hair. Your eyes." Erza's voice was intense. Certain. "Black hair. Red eyes. The marks of Zareth's bloodline. The Children of Chaos."
Yuuta stared at her.
"My hair?" He shook his head weakly. "It's... common here. On Earth. Lots of people have black hair."
Erza's expression flickered.
"Common?"
"Yes." He nodded, still hanging from her grip. "It's normal. Asians, Africans—you see it everywhere. It's not rare at all."
She studied his face.
Searching for lies. For deception. For any sign that he was hiding something.
She found nothing.
"Common," she repeated slowly. Tasting the word. Testing it. "Then tell me—do the humans of Earth worship Zareth as a god? Is that how you obtain power so easily?"
Yuuta blinked again.
"Zare—who?"
---
He never finished the question.
Erza stepped forward. Her hand released his throat and seized his head instead—pulling him close, pressing their foreheads together.
"H-Hey!" Yuuta protested, his hands lifting instinctively. "What are you doing?!"
"Do not resist."
Her voice was quiet. Calm. Almost gentle.
"I only seek knowledge."
A faint, pale light shimmered between them.
Yuuta felt it then—not pain, but something colder. A presence brushing through his memories. Skimming the surface. Sifting through years of experience like fingers through water.
Faces. Streets. Crowds.
Humans. Hundreds of humans. Thousands.
Most of them dark-haired. Ordinary. Countless.
After what felt far longer than it truly was, Erza released him.
Yuuta stumbled back. His legs gave way. He landed on the floor with a dull thud and pressed a hand to his head.
"Ouch..." he muttered.
---
Erza turned slightly away.
Her expression was unreadable. But something in her posture had shifted. The absolute certainty was gone—replaced by something more complicated.
"...You were not lying," she admitted.
Her voice was quiet. Almost reluctant.
"Black hair is common on Earth."
Then she turned back. Her eye sharpened again.
"But red eyes are not."
She looked at him—really looked. At his crimson irises. At the faint glow that still lingered beneath the surface.
"That still makes you dangerous."
Yuuta swallowed.
He was still sitting on the floor. Still shaking. Still terrified.
But somewhere beneath the fear, something else stirred.
She listened. She actually listened.
"I'm human." His voice was quiet. Steady. "I was born here. This is my world."
He paused.
Then, after a hesitation—a long, careful hesitation—he added two words.
"My queen."
---
Erza stared at him.
My queen.
The title she'd heard a thousand times. From servants. From subjects. From enemies begging for mercy.
But from him...
It sounded different.
She didn't know why.
Didn't want to know.
She stared.
Not with anger. Not with cruelty.
With scrutiny.
The room had gone so quiet Yuuta could hear his own heartbeat. Could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Could hear Elena's tiny breaths as she watched from the corner, uncertain what was happening but smart enough to stay silent.
Erza's violet eye moved over him like a blade assessing where to cut first. She didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Didn't do anything except look at him—studying his desperation, the sincerity cracking through every word, the fear shaking through his body like he was standing naked in a blizzard.
Seconds stretched.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
Yuuta's legs burned from standing so still. His throat ached from where the ice had been. His heart pounded so hard he was sure she could hear it.
Finally—
She closed her eyes.
"…Very well."
Her voice came out quiet. Almost thoughtful. The kind of quiet that made Yuuta's skin crawl because he couldn't tell if it was genuine or the calm before something worse.
"My mana has not fully recovered anyway. I will allow you to live for one year."
Yuuta's breath left him in a rush. His knees nearly buckled.
"R-really…?"
She opened her eyes.
Cold. Unyielding. The temperature in the room seemed to drop another few degrees.
"But understand this."
The chain around his throat dissolved. Not dramatically—just stopped existing, crumbling into frost that vanished before it hit the ground. Yuuta gasped as the pressure released, his hands flying to his neck, feeling the cold still clinging to his skin.
"I will stay with you during that time." Her voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like she was discussing the weather. "I will observe you. And the moment your graduation ends—"
She paused. Let the words hang.
"—your life ends as well."
---
Yuuta stood frozen.
The words settled into his chest like stones. Heavy. Cold. Permanent.
Your life ends.
Your life ends when graduation ends.
One year. Maybe less. Depends on the calendar.
"I… understand." His voice came out barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure if he was talking to her or himself.
Erza turned away.
Her expression gave nothing away. No satisfaction. No cruelty. No emotion at all—just the blank mask of someone who had made a decision and moved on. She walked to his sofa and sat down with a quiet exhale, settling into the cushions like a queen lowering herself onto a throne made of lesser materials.
Her presence filled the room. Sharp. Heavy. Suffocating.
Yuuta stood where he was, rubbing the faint frost marks on his neck, trying to process what had just happened.
He had bought time.
Not salvation. Just time.
---
ONE HOUR LATER
Yuuta hadn't moved.
He sat on the floor in the same spot, back against the wall, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. His brain had stopped trying to process and had moved straight into numbness.
What was he supposed to do?
How was he supposed to act?
How did you behave when a demon queen decided to move into your apartment and promised to kill you in exactly one year?
He felt like a hostage.
Because he was a hostage.
---
Erza moved through the apartment like she owned it.
Which, he supposed, she basically did now.
She examined everything with the deliberate attention of someone measuring a prison cell—or perhaps someone deciding if this space was fit for habitation. Her violet eye took in every detail, cataloguing, assessing, judging.
The bedroom first.
Yuuta watched from the hallway as she pushed open the door and stood there, taking it in. The bed—small, barely big enough for two if they didn't mind being close. The second bed pushed against the wall, even smaller, clearly meant for a child. The desk buried under mountains of books and papers. College notes. Highlighters. Half-empty coffee mugs from God knows when.
She said nothing. Simply observed and moved on.
---
The hallway.
She ran one pale finger along the wall, examined the dust on her fingertip, and continued without comment.
---
The main hall.
The television got a long stare. She didn't know what it was—that much was obvious from her expression. The sofa. The coffee table buried under more books. Philosophy. History. Quotes from famous people. The kind of books you bought hoping to learn something but never actually opened.
Dust on the covers. She noticed. Her lip curled slightly.
---
The bathroom.
She opened the door, glanced inside, and closed it immediately. Her expression didn't change, but something in her eye suggested she found it adequate enough not to comment on.
---
The kitchen.
Erza stopped.
Yuuta, still sitting in the hallway, saw her pause at the threshold. Saw her eye move slowly across the space.
Of all the rooms in this cramped apartment, the kitchen was the only one that made her hesitate.
Clean counters. Organized utensils. Pots hanging in careful arrangement on a rack he'd installed himself. Spices lined up in neat rows, labeled in his own handwriting. No dust. No mess. No chaos.
Someone took care of this space.
Someone cared about it.
Erza turned. Her eye found him still sitting in the hallway, trying to breathe quietly enough to avoid attention.
"You."
Yuuta flinched. "Y-yes?"
"Are you a beggar?"
---
The question was so unexpected that Yuuta blinked.
"I—what?"
"A beggar." She said it slowly, like he might not understand the word. "Someone who lives on the streets. In squalor. With nothing."
"No!" The word came out sharper than he intended. He immediately regretted it, shrinking back against the wall. "I mean—no, Your Highness. I'm not a beggar. I have... difficult times, but I'm not that suffering."
Erza's eyebrow rose slightly. A small movement, but it made his stomach drop.
"Then explain this." She gestured at the apartment. "This cramped space. Barely any room. It's like a prison filled with strange objects and nothing else. How does anyone live like this?"
Yuuta opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
He wanted to argue. Wanted to defend his home—the only home he'd ever really had. Wanted to explain that this was all he could afford, all he'd ever known, all he'd managed to build for himself through years of work and struggle.
But he remembered the chain. The ice. The promise of death in one year.
He kept his mouth shut.
---
Erza continued her inventory, apparently taking his silence as acceptance.
"And the other rooms." She shook her head slowly. "All messy. I am shocked to learn you live like this and call it okay."
She paused at the kitchen entrance again.
Then, with something almost like approval:
"At least the kitchen is not messy. I don't know how the chef is, but at least they clean properly."
---
Yuuta blinked.
"Chef?"
Erza looked at him like he was slow. "Yes. Chef. The one who prepares food. How else would you eat?"
Understanding dawned slowly.
She thought someone else cooked for him. Some servant, some staff, some chef who came and went while he did... whatever mortals did with their time.
Yuuta exhaled.
Then, despite everything—despite the fear, the chains, the death sentence hanging over his head—something stirred in his chest.
Pride.
He pushed himself up from the floor. Slowly. Carefully. His legs were stiff from sitting so long, but he managed to stand.
"I am the chef."
The words came out before he could stop them. Bold. Certain. Proud.
---
Elena clapped.
The tiny girl had been watching everything from her spot near the bedroom door, red eyes wide and curious. She bounced on her toes, her little hands coming together in applause.
"Papa cooks! Elena knew it! Papa is amazing!"
Yuuta felt his heart warm despite the circumstances. Despite everything.
Then Erza's voice cut through like winter wind.
"If you are joking, I suggest you stop."
Her eye was cold. Flat. Unimpressed.
"Being a chef requires centuries of experience. Decades of training. Knowledge passed down through generations." She looked him up and down. "You look like you were born yesterday. You expect me to believe you are a chef?"
Yuuta felt it.
A physical sensation. A stab through the chest. An insult so profound, so personal, that it bypassed his fear entirely and struck straight at his soul.
He fell.
Literally. His knees gave out. He dropped to the floor, one hand clutching his chest, the other reaching toward her in desperate protest.
"Miss..." His voice was strained. Wounded. "I think you don't understand. I am a well-known chef in my culinary college. No one—NO ONE—can look down on me the way you just did."
He gasped. Gathered himself. Pushed up to his knees.
"What you said was disrespect. Professional disrespect. Personal disrespect. Culinary disrespect."
---
Erza's eye narrowed.
"Miss?"
The temperature dropped.
"How dare you address me as some stranger?" Her voice was quiet. Dangerous. "You know who I am. Do you not fear death?"
Yuuta froze.
The ice chain. The frozen bed. The promise of execution in one year.
Reality crashed back into him.
He dropped his head. Pressed his forehead to the floor.
"Your Highness." His voice was muffled but clear. "Please forgive this servant. He spoke out of turn. He forgot his place. He begs your forgiveness."
---
Silence.
Long. Heavy. Judging.
Elena watched with wide eyes, her small hands pressed together like she was praying.
The frost continued spreading.
Then—
"Hmph."
Erza turned away.
But something in her expression shifted. Just slightly. Almost imperceptibly. The frost stopped spreading.
"At least you learn quickly."
She walked past him, back toward the sofa, and sat down with the air of someone claiming territory.
---
Elena bounced over to Yuuta and patted his head.
"Papa is silly."
Her tiny hand patted his hair with gentle, repetitive motions.
"But Elena likes silly Papa."
Yuuta stayed on the floor, forehead pressed to the ground, wondering how his life had become this.
A death sentence hanging over his head.
A demon queen on his sofa, examining his television like it was alien technology.
A dragon child patting his head like he was a sad puppy.
And one year.
One year to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.
To Be Continue....
Author's Note:
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