(Yuuta's POV)
What a quiet, peaceful morning.
A cup of warm tea in my hand. Sunlight gently spilling over the desk. For once, the house wasn't on fire. Literally.
I took a deep breath, opened my brand-new notebook, and smiled to myself.
> "What a nice day to start my new life,"
I whispered dramatically, clicking my pen like I was about to sign a peace treaty
I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.
And just as I began to write the first word—
"Papa? What are you doing?"
A small, sleepy voice broke the silence.
I turned, and there she was—my daughter. Elena.
She stood in the doorway, hair sticking out in every direction like she'd fought a wind dragon in her sleep. Her dragon-print pajamas were half tucked in, one sock missing, and she had that particular brand of morning pout only kids could pull off.
Honestly? Cutest thing I'd ever seen. Hands down. Not even a contest.
I smiled and gestured for her to come closer. "Morning, princess. I'm writing a diary."
She blinked up at me. "Dai-ree?"
"Yep. It's something people use to remember special things. Like, if something nice happens today, I can write about it and read it again later when I'm old and boring."
She squinted. "Are you already old and boring?"
"…Rude."
She giggled and climbed onto the chair beside me, curling up like a cat. Her little hands reached for the notebook, eyes wide.
"Can I write a dai-ree too?"
I chuckled. "Sure. As soon as you learn how to hold a pencil without accidentally stabbing your own eyebrow."
She puffed her cheeks. "But pencils are hard! They keep running away from my fingers."
"They do that," I nodded solemnly. "Pencils are sneaky like that."
Before she could respond, a voice drifted in from down the hallway.
"Can you two not yell so early in the morning? Some of us are trying to read."
Ah. There it was.
Enter: Erza—Queen of Dragons, my wife, literary warlord, and owner of the household's most intimidating eyebrow raise.
She stood by the bedroom door, arms crossed, holding the manuscript I'd been writing for the past month.
I tried to play it cool. "Reading our novel again, my queen?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Because someone keeps making the same spelling mistakes. Also—why does every other sentence sound like it came from a dramatic stage play?"
"I just… like making things sound epic?"
She closed the book with a loud thud. "Well, screw your epicness. Let me edit it again—and don't disturb me unless the house is on fire."
And with that, she turned and shut the door. Not a slam. More of a firm, final do-not-disturb kind of close. The literary version of a mic drop.
I stared at the door for a moment, sipping my tea.
"…Why is your mama mad?" I muttered.
Elena climbed onto my lap like it was her throne and shrugged. "Dot because Mama didn't get Rank Two on that fandom web-thingy."
"Oh." I blinked. "That's… fair."
She leaned against my chest, gaze drifting to the notebook again.
"Can we still write it together, Papa?"
I looked down at her, heart full. "Of course we can."
I flipped to a fresh page and wrote, in big, bold letters:
My Dragon Family Diary — Page One.
Then I glanced at her. "Ready?"
"Ready!" she giggled, her voice bright.
And just like that, the morning felt even warmer. Not because of the tea. Not because of the sunlight.
But because of this little moment—quiet, silly, ordinary—and yet, worth remembering.
To be continued…