(Yuuta's POV)
"That… that's the most beautiful tomato plant I've ever seen," I whispered, half to myself.
Elena tugged at my sleeve, her little nose scrunched. "Papa! This Leafy Spirit Plant smells funny!"
I bent down, curious, and inhaled. The aroma flooded my senses—rich soil, ripe tomatoes, and something sharper underneath, like the sting of fresh lightning. It wasn't just food. It was alive with power, humming quietly in the air. My chest tightened with excitement. This wasn't just magic—it was proof. Proof that what Grandpa said about Zani was real.
I turned, ready to bombard him with questions about how long the plant would last, or if it would grow fruit forever—but the words froze on my tongue.
Grandpa was on his knees, his body swaying. His skin had gone pale. Then, without warning, he lurched forward and coughed violently—blood spilling from his lips.
"Grandpa?!" My voice cracked. The sight twisted my stomach into knots.
"Grandpa!!" Elena's scream pierced through the room. She clung to my arm, trembling, too scared to move closer.
I rushed to his side, grabbing his arm. He was heavy, his strength draining away beneath my hands. "Grandpa! What's wrong? Tell me!"
His lips quivered, his breath shallow. "My… mana… it's… disappearing…"
The words hit me harder than a blade. My mind spun. "What? That's impossible! Zani Cina is that powerful—could it… could it actually drain even a dragon's mana?!"
He shook his head, barely. "Not… Zani alone. Someone… interfering… pulling my technique apart, stealing it from me…" His voice was hoarse, broken. Another cough racked his body, more blood staining his lips. "Feels like… someone's hand inside my core…"
I froze. The idea itself was terrifying. "What?! But—how? How could anyone use someone else's Zani Cina?!"
His eyes closed briefly, his brow tight with pain. "The presence I felt… stronger than me… stronger even than Erza… more dangerous… unless…" He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes open. "Unless it was all a hallucination."
His trembling hand lifted toward the glowing plant. "Boy… the tomato. Give me one."
I scrambled forward, plucking a ripe fruit. My hands shook as I pressed it into his palm. He sank his teeth into it, juice dribbling down his chin. For a moment, silence. Then he let out a long, weary sigh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
"Good thing… we made a high-mana tomato," he murmured, his voice steadier now. "Otherwise… this could've been far worse."
"Don't say things like that, Grandpa!" I snapped, fear slipping into anger. My throat burned. "Please, just rest."
Beside me, Elena burst into sobs. "Grandpa! Are you dying?!"
To my shock, he actually laughed. The sound was rough, ragged, but still somehow warm. "No, little demon," he whispered with a grin, his teeth faintly stained red. "Your grandpa isn't dying. I could live another two thousand years if I wanted. This is just… the cost of being careless."
"A careless?" My voice came out sharp.
He nodded faintly. "Zani has flaws too. If the balance falters or someone interfere, it backfires. Vomiting blood, mana drain, chest pain… happens to the best of us." His lips curved in a faint, tired smile. "Nothing I can't fix."
He tapped his chest weakly. "I just need time. Pull the mana back into my core…and it will settle again."
Still, I couldn't stop the words. "…But how could a dragon look this weak?"
His eyes snapped open—sharp, unyielding, cutting through the haze of his pale face.
"Boy," he growled, his voice low but fierce. "Don't mistake exhaustion for weakness. I'm still new to this Zani Cina. I hardly ever use it, Since my own magic dominates too easily. But for you… I let it through use Zani Cina. And I let my guard down… that's why I took damage."
My lips pressed together. I wanted to argue, to yell, but instead I nodded slowly. "…I understand."
With effort, Grandpa pushed himself up. His legs faltered, almost giving way, but sheer will kept him moving until he reached the balcony. He lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs, closing his eyes.
The evening air brushed against his hair, silver under the moonlight. His breathing slowed, steady and deliberate, as he sank into meditation.
I stood frozen, watching him. For the first time, he looked fragile. Not a dragon. Not a master. Just… a man, worn thin by something I couldn't even comprehend.
My hands clenched at my sides, nails digging into my skin.
Who… who in this world could have the power to interfere with Grandpa's Zani like that?.
The question clawed at me, cold and heavy, refusing to let go.
And Then__
"Papa…" Elena tugged on my sleeve, her little voice pitiful. "Elena is hungry."
I blinked and glanced at the clock hanging above the cupboard. My stomach dropped. Seven o'clock already?
Five hours. I'd been locked up Erza for five hours.
Damn, Erza's going to kill me today.
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, little demon—bring me that Leafy Spirit tomato, quick!"
Elena's eyes lit up. She grabbed the pot with both hands, her tiny feet pattering across the floor as she carried it to me like a soldier delivering treasure.
"Good girl," I said, ruffling her hair before taking the plant.
The knife slid easily through the tomato's skin, and as I sliced, its scent filled the kitchen—fresh, vibrant, humming with that same strange energy. I squeezed a bit of juice into the sauce and layered the slices onto the Babarito sandwich.
The moment the juice touched the pan, the sauce shimmered—then began to glow softly, light spilling like golden threads over the bread. Within seconds, the entire sandwich looked different. Magical. Alive.
My jaw slackened. "…Well. That's new."
Beside me, Elena was practically bouncing. Her little hands pressed against the counter, her eyes glued to the sandwich, drool glistening at the corner of her mouth.
"Papa! Is it ready yet?" she whined, her voice cracking with hunger.
"Almost," I muttered, adjusting the sauce.
"Papa!" She puffed her cheeks, stomping her foot. "Fast! Elena is starving!"
I chuckled, about to tease her—
Knock. Knock.
The sound froze me.
"…Oh shit.!!" I muttered under my breath.
I crouched down to Elena's level, my tone low and serious. "Listen carefully Little Princess. Go to the bedroom and open the door quietly. And no matter what happens… don't tell Mama where I am. Understand?"
Her eyes widened. She nodded solemnly, as if I'd just entrusted her with a sacred mission. Without another word, she dashed off, her little feet pattering against the floor.
I turned back to the sandwich, trying to calm my nerves, but my ears strained toward the hallway. The soft creak of the bedroom door echoed faintly. I braced myself for her usual chirpy voice announcing the visitor.
Instead… silence.
Then, her voice—small, hesitant, and trembling.
"Papa…" she called loudly. "…Sister Mary."
(Sister Mary's POV)
The words struck me like a blade through the chest—sharp, merciless, undeniable. He is alive.
My knees gave way. A cry escaped me, torn raw from my throat before I could stop it.
And then… silence.
The towering shadow dissolved like smoke, the void peeling back as though a curtain had been drawn aside. Darkness unraveled into familiar shapes—the pale walls, the wooden floor, the flicker of a dying candle. The world returned piece by piece, yet I remained trembling, caught between two realities.
I was no longer in that endless abyss.
I was back in Yuuta and Erza's bedroom.
The air smelled faintly of lavender and old wax. But my eyes snapped toward the hallway, where the presence had been strongest. For a heartbeat, I could still see it—two threads of energy trailing into the room. One was black, sharp and thorned, writhing like a living thing. The other shimmered gold, gentle yet faint, its glow weakening as though its very life was being siphoned away.
Both strands converged where the figure had stood. The golden thread flickered once… then died, snuffed out like a candle. And with its last light, the shadow women was gone.
I staggered, drenched in sweat. My heart thundered against my ribs, every beat aching as though the phantom hand still clutched me. I dropped to my knees, clutching my chest, patting myself desperately. No wound. No mark. Nothing. And yet… I could still feel it—the icy grip, the suffocating weight. The memory pressed against my skin like an invisible bruise.
I dragged in a ragged breath, gasping as air finally filled my lungs again. My whole body shook as if I had glimpsed something no human should ever see—something closer to a god than a shadow.
"—Sister Mary!" Erza's voice snapped me back.
Her Voliet eyes searched my face, wide with alarm. She knelt beside me, her hand brushing against my shoulder with rare gentleness. "What happened? Are you alright?"
I forced myself to smile, though my lips trembled with every syllable. "It's… it's nothing. I must be a little tired."
Erza's gaze hardened instantly. She crossed her arms, her tone sharp as a blade. "Tired?" She scoffed. "You look like death itself just paid you a visit."
I swallowed, my throat tight. "I… I only felt a little suffocated. That's all."
The words sounded weak even to me.
Erza's fists clenched. A crack split across the wooden floor beneath her feet, sharp as lightning. The air thickened. A White aura spilled from her body, pressing against the room until it felt hard to breathe.
Her voice was low, dangerous, trembling with fury. "How dare this mortal… trap us like this. Even when you were so weak—so sensitive—you still felt it. How dare he!"
My stomach dropped. The shadow had shaken me to my core, but Erza's fury was something else entirely—wild, relentless, uncontainable.
I raised my hands quickly, my voice trembling. "Please… it's alright, my queen. Truly—"
But she was no longer listening.
Her aura swelled, black and searing, her voliet eyes glowing with unrestrained fire. "No, Sister Mary. You don't understand. Your love has spoiled him far too much. If this continues, he'll never learn respect Women. Today, I'll teach him a lesson."
The air crackled, vibrating with her rage.
My heart clenched. I forced a laugh—weak, brittle, false. "Y-You must be joking, my queen…"
But inside, my soul cried out in despair not actually cried but teasing one.
Yuuta… forgive me. Forgive me for letting this happen.
And she walked toward the door.
The moment Erza's fingers curled around the door handle, I could feel her strength gathering in the motion. She was ready to rip the hinges off if it resisted her.
But the door didn't resist.
It swung open too easily, as if mocking the effort she had braced herself with.
The sudden release of force threw her off balance. She stumbled backward, pulling Elena along with her.
Thud!
Her back struck the corner of the bedframe, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet room. Elena, still clinging to her arm, tumbled awkwardly into her lap.
"Ouch, Mama! It hurts!" Elena squealed, her tiny voice half a cry, half a complaint.
Erza groaned under her breath, sitting up slowly. She gathered Elena into her arms at once, checking her as if the girl were made of glass. "Where does it hurt, my little one?"
Elena blinked at her, then burst into giggles. "Mama… we both fell like cartoons!"
A sigh escaped Erza, heavy and exasperated, but her lips softened despite themselves. Then her eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. "So… it was you who opened the door."
Elena tilted her head, feigning innocence, her small fingers twisting in her dress. "Papa told me to."
For a heartbeat, the queen only stared. Then she let out another long sigh, this one edged with annoyance. "That fool… he remembered us at last. Hmph. Looks like your father is going to lose his head tonight."
"Mama, no!" Elena cried, tugging desperately at her sleeve. "Fighting is bad! Don't hurt Papa!"
The sharp tension in the air cracked, just for a moment. I felt a laugh escape me before I could stop it. A warm, unguarded laugh. Watching them like this — bickering, scolding, teasing — it was a simple, ordinary scene. Almost… human.
But the warmth drained from me the instant Elena's gaze shifted.
Her big eyes found me where I stood. They widened, her curiosity bubbling over. "Mama… who is this?"
I stepped forward, folding my hands neatly, a practiced smile on my lips. "It's me, dear. Sister Mary."
She blinked at me once. Twice. Then her expression lit up with sudden realization.
"Papa!" she cried out, her voice carrying through the entire room. "Papa! Sister Mary can see!!"
The world tilted beneath me.
My heart stopped cold.
Only then did I realize the mistake. My blindfold — gone. My eyes laid bare.
Exposed.
And her innocent little voice had announced it like a trumpet to the heavens.
To be continue....
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When the author promised today… but forgot it's still "draft mode."