The classroom was empty now.
After the final bell, students had fled in hurried whispers, eager to dissect the day's events far from the scene itself. The late afternoon light stretched through the tall windows, casting long shadows across empty desks. Dust floated lazily in the golden beams.
Yuuta hadn't moved.
He sat in his seat, staring at nothing, while the weight of the day pressed down on his shoulders.
Professor Melory sat at the front, watching him.
The man had taught at John Bosco for over a decade. He'd seen students struggle with exams, relationships, family pressure. He'd watched dreams bloom and shatter in equal measure.
But he had never seen anything like today.
"Yuuta."
The name cut through the silence.
Yuuta looked up. His eyes were tired. Empty.
Professor Melory folded his hands on the desk. His voice was calm—not the sharp authority from earlier, but something quieter. More human.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand what happened today," he said. "But I need you to tell me something. Anything. Because right now, I have a classroom full of students spreading rumors about one of my best pupils."
Yuuta looked down at his hands.
"Professor… you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Melory raised an eyebrow. "Try me."
Yuuta looked down.
Really looked down. At his hands. At the desk. At the floor. Anywhere but those questioning eyes.
Is it okay to tell him?
He knew the possibility of being believed was maybe 0.1%. Unless someone saw magic—saw the frost, felt the pressure, understood—they would never accept the truth.
But the professor deserved something. Anything.
Yuuta was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke, choosing his words carefully.
"When I was younger… I made a mistake. A bad one." His voice was low. "I didn't know it at the time. I thought it was something else. A dream, maybe. Something that didn't matter."
Melory listened without interrupting.
"But it wasn't a dream. And today… that mistake walked into this classroom. With proof."
---
Melory's expression shifted. Not disbelief—just... processing.
"A mistake," he repeated slowly. "From when you were younger."
"Yes."
"And this mistake resulted in... that woman showing up? With a child?"
Yuuta nodded. Didn't elaborate.
Melory leaned back in his chair. Stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Then he looked at Yuuta again.
"Yuuta, I've known you for three years. You're not a troublemaker. You're not a liar. You're just a kid who works too hard and talks to himself when he thinks no one's listening." He paused. "So whatever this mistake was... I find it hard to believe it was malicious."
Yuuta's throat tightened.
"It wasn't malicious. But that doesn't matter." His voice was quiet. "It still happened. And now there are consequences I never expected."
---
Melory was quiet for a moment.
Chef Melory watched him.
Saw the weight in those shoulders. The burden in those eyes. The exhaustion of someone carrying more than they should.
He also remembered.
Orphanage. Raised alone. No parents. No family.
Yuuta's file. His history. The quiet student who worked twice as hard as everyone else because he had no safety net.
Melory didn't say anything for a long moment. Didn't push. Didn't demand.
Then he reached across the desk. Took Yuuta's hand in his own.
"I don't know what you're facing." His voice was softer now. Gentle. "And I don't know how you'll handle it."
He looked at their joined hands. At this young man who reminded him, in some ways, of himself.
"But do what you think is right." He squeezed once. Firm. Supportive. "If she is your wife, you must take responsibility."
He didn't know the story. Didn't know about dragons or queens or impossible nights. But as a man who understood burden—who saw the weight Yuuta carried—he gave what he could.
Courage.
---
"Responsibility," Yuuta whispered.
The word hung in the air between them.
Chef Melory saw something flicker in those eyes. Doubt? Fear? He couldn't tell. But he worried, suddenly, that he might have pushed too hard.
He tried to lighten the mood.
"Besides." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You're lucky, at least. Beautiful wife? A child?" He chuckled dryly. "Look at me. I'm still single."
Yuuta didn't respond.
Didn't laugh.
Didn't even smile.
He just sat there, staring at nothing, the weight of everything pressing down on his shoulders.
Melory's smile faded.
He reached out. Patted Yuuta's head gently—the way a father might, if Yuuta had ever had one.
"Don't think too much, boy." His voice was warm. Kind. "You're a religious person, right?"
Yuuta looked up.
Chef Melory met his eyes.
"Just blame fate and move on."
---
Yuuta's eyes widened.
Fate?
The word echoed in his mind. Bounced around. Settled somewhere deep.
Fate.
For the first time, he really thought about it. About the chain of events that had led him here.
If he hadn't taken that translation job. If he hadn't fallen into that pit. If he hadn't eaten that corpse.
If that night—fourteen years old, drunk queen, impossible dream—had never happened.
He would be normal.
He would be free.
He would be alive.
But it had happened. All of it. Every impossible, terrifying, ridiculous moment.
Fate.
A cruel fate. A merciless fate. A fate that had somehow decided he—Yuuta Konuari, orphan, nobody, human—would sleep with a dragon queen and become father to her child.
But also...
A fate that had given him a daughter.
A tiny girl with red eyes and silver hair who called him Papa like it was the most natural word in the world.
Something shifted in Yuuta's chest.
His eyes—dull, exhausted, defeated—began to show something else.
Hope.
---
Chef Melory saw it.
The change. The flicker. The moment something clicked into place behind those tired eyes.
He smiled. Nodded once. Stood.
"I guess you know what to do now." He gathered his things. Paused at the door. Looked back.
"I hope you'll be here on Monday, Yuuta."
Then he slid the door closed behind him.
---
Yuuta sat alone in the empty classroom.
The late light painted everything gold. The shadows stretched long. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket.
He looked at his hands.
Responsibility.
He thought of Erza. Cold. Terrifying. Beautiful.
He thought of Elena. Small. Innocent. His.
He thought of the year ahead. The deadline. The death sentence hanging over his head.
And for the first time since this nightmare began—
He didn't feel quite so hopeless.
Fianlly, Yuuta thought the worst of the day was finally over.
The classroom was empty. Quiet.
Yuuta thought he could finally get away from his classmates. He was always the center of attention—even when he tried to blend in using jokes, there was always backtalk behind him. Always whispers. Always judgment.
But today was different.
Because of Erza, something had happened. Something irreversible.
And he couldn't explain it to them. Couldn't tell them the truth. Every story he told would make him look guilty. And no one would believe him anyway.
He took his bag silently. Got up. Thought about leaving.
The classroom door opened.
Yuuta's eyes widened.
Nervousness. Embarrassment. Every uncomfortable feeling crashed into him at once.
Then he saw who it was.
Fiona.
---
His crush stood in the doorway.
But her eyes—those amber eyes he'd dreamed about for years—were no longer the eyes he knew.
They were sad. Horrified. Scared.
Scared of Erza.
Scared of what she'd witnessed.
Scared of him.
"Fiona—" Yuuta started. "It's not like that—"
She stepped forward.
One step. Then another. Getting closer. Closing the distance between them with mechanical precision.
Yuuta stood frozen. Unable to breathe.
He saw it then—a tear forming at the corner of her eye. She shook her head slowly. Disbelief. Denial. Pain.
Then her hand raised.
---
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the empty classroom like thunder.
Not the kind of slap you heard in dramas—soft, theatrical, barely felt.
This was hard.
Genuinely hard.
The force of it snapped Yuuta's head to the side. His cheek bloomed red instantly—a dark, angry bruise forming beneath the skin. The pain spread like fire across his face.
Fiona's hand was red too. She'd put everything into that hit.
Yuuta held his cheek, stunned. Unable to process. It happened so fast he couldn't even speak.
Fiona grabbed his collar. Yanked him close.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with barely contained emotion. "WHAT WAS THAT?!"
She shook him. Hard.
"Who was that?!" Tears streamed down her face now. "What's going on?! Who is that woman?! Who is that child?!"
Yuuta opened his mouth. Closed it.
What could he say?
She's a dragon queen from another dimension? I accidentally got her pregnant when I was fourteen because I thought she was a dream? She came here to kill me but gave me one year to live because I begged her?
It was bullshit. Impossible. Insane.
She would never believe him.
He didn't reply.
---
Fiona's grip tightened.
"Why are you silent?!" Her voice cracked. "Who is that woman?! Who is that child?! And why—"
She stopped.
Her eyes locked onto his face. Onto the evidence she'd just noticed.
"Why does she have YOUR eyes?!"
Yuuta's blood ran cold.
Elena's eyes. Crimson. Just like his.
Fiona had seen it. Had made the connection.
"Why does that child have your eyes, Yuuta?!"
He didn't reply.
Couldn't reply.
Just stood there, cheek burning, heart shattering, as the girl he loved demanded answers he couldn't give.
---
Fiona saw his face.
The guilt. The silence. The way he couldn't meet her eyes.
Her hope shattered.
She had wanted—needed—there to be some mistake. Some misunderstanding. Some explanation that made sense.
But his silence told her everything.
"Just tell me." Her voice was quieter now. Broken. "Is she... is she your child?"
Yuuta looked down.
He couldn't deny it. Elena was his daughter. His own flesh and blood. Those red eyes—his red eyes—stared back at him every time he looked at her.
He couldn't deny it.
His silence was answer enough.
---
Fiona's face crumbled.
"I understand." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I understand."
Yuuta looked up.
Her eyes had changed.
The shift was so sudden that for a second, he thought her personality had just... flipped. Something behind those amber eyes was different now. Harder.
"I get it." Her voice was strange. Unstable. "I get it. It must be their work. Yes. You're a victim. Like me. I get it."
What?
Yuuta's mind raced. Their work? Victim? What was she talking about?
Before he could ask—before he could even process the sudden change—
The door slammed open.
A tall man stood there. Muscular. Golden hair. Sharp features.
Loid.
Fiona's childhood friend.
He crossed the room in seconds, grabbed Fiona's hand, and pulled her away from Yuuta.
"Fiona." His voice was urgent. Commanding. "We have to move. Now."
Fiona didn't resist. Didn't argue. She just let him pull her toward the door.
Yuuta reached out. "Wait—Fiona—"
But they were already gone.
The door swung shut behind them.
---
Yuuta stood alone.
His cheek throbbed. His heart pounded. His mind spun with a thousand questions.
What just happened?
What did she mean by "their work"?
Who is "they"?
Why did Loid take her so urgently?
He looked down at his hands. At the floor. At the empty classroom where, moments ago, the girl he loved had slapped him, cried over him, and then—
Changed.
Like someone had flipped a switch.
"I don't understand." His voice was barely a whisper. "How did this turn out like this?"
He sank into the nearest chair. Pressed his palms against his eyes.
The day had started with a dragon queen in his apartment.
It had continued with public humiliation, death threats, and the exposure of his deepest secret.
And now—Fiona. Acting strange. Saying strange things. Being dragged away by Loid like she was in danger.
What the hell is happening?
Yuuta sat in the empty classroom as the light faded outside.
To be continue...