It was late evening when Yuuta finally reached his apartment.
The sky had already turned a deep shade of indigo, and the city lights flickered quietly below. His eyes were still swollen from crying, though he couldn't quite explain why he had broken down so suddenly. There had been no single trigger. No dramatic final push.
And yet, he had wept.
Sam had been the one to untie him back at school. He hadn't asked many questions, just helped quietly, brushing off the dust from Yuuta's shoulders like it was nothing unusual. Though Yuuta could tell—Sam was curious. About Erza. About Elena. About everything.
But he didn't press.
For the sake of their friendship, he kept silent.
Yuuta stood now in front of his apartment door, keys in hand.
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
This door had always led to silence. To darkness. To an empty space that echoed when he walked inside.
He slowly unlocked it.
The door creaked open.
Light spilled out.
Yuuta froze.
The living room was illuminated.
He distinctly remembered turning off the lights before leaving for college. He always did. It wasn't like anyone was waiting for him at home.
Or at least—
That used to be true.
Before he could process the thought—
"Papa!"
A small, bright voice rang out.
Yuuta barely had time to look up before a tiny figure rushed toward him. Elena wrapped her arms around his leg, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Papa, welcome back!" she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Papa, welcome back!"
She giggled as she clung to him like he had been gone for years instead of just a day.
Yuuta stood still.
For a long second, he didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He didn't even breathe properly.
What is this feeling?
It wasn't guilt.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't anger.
It was warm.
Unfamiliar.
Overwhelming.
Family.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Yuuta bent down and wrapped his arms around her small body. She was warm. Real. Alive.
"I'm back," he whispered, his voice softer than usual. "I'm back home, my daughter."
Elena beamed up at him like he had just given her the world.
In that small apartment—once silent and empty—something had changed.
And for the first time, Yuuta didn't feel alone when he stepped inside.
Yuuta smiled softly as he brushed Elena's hair away from her face.
"Did you wait for me, my princess?"
Elena nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling like she had been holding onto a secret treasure all day.
"You know, Papa," she began, fidgeting slightly with the hem of her dress, "I wanted to say 'welcome back' properly… but I wasn't sure if Papa would like it or not."
Yuuta's chest tightened.
"I like it a lot," he said gently, pulling her closer. "In fact… I think I needed it."
Elena blinked, then broke into laughter, her small hands wrapping around his neck.
"Papa, carry me!" she demanded playfully.
Without hesitation, Yuuta lifted her onto his shoulders. She squealed in delight, grabbing onto his hair like reins.
"Left! Left! No, right!" she giggled, pretending to steer him as if he were some kind of horse.
Yuuta exaggerated his steps, swaying slightly to make her laugh louder. The sound filled the apartment, bouncing off walls that once knew nothing but silence.
From the living room, Erza lay stretched across the sofa, the television casting flickering light across her face.
She appeared relaxed—almost lazily so—but her posture carried an undeniable dominance. One arm rested along the back of the couch, her legs crossed with natural authority, as though the entire room belonged to her.
Technically, it did.
Her eyes were on the television.
But not really.
Every laugh. Every word exchanged between father and daughter reached her ears clearly. She did not turn her head, yet she missed nothing.
A strange feeling stirred in her chest.
It wasn't irritation.
It wasn't anger.
It was something unfamiliar. Subtle. Quiet.
Yuuta slowly walked into the living hall, Elena still perched proudly on his shoulders. He finally noticed Erza.
She looked like a queen resting after conquest.
Calm.
Untouchable.
Yuuta cleared his throat lightly, suddenly aware of her presence.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Erza did not smile.
But she did not look away either.
The atmosphere shifted—just slightly.
Between the warmth of Elena's laughter and the silent intensity of the dragon queen watching from the sofa, Yuuta stood in the middle.
Yuuta stood there for a moment after setting Elena down, watching Erza from across the living room.
The television light flickered against her crimson hair, turning it almost violet in the dim evening glow. She lay across the sofa as if it were a throne, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed yet commanding. Even in silence, she dominated the space.
The laughter Elena had filled the room with moments ago still lingered faintly in the air.
Yuuta swallowed.
He had meant to let it go.
He had meant to enjoy the small warmth of coming home to someone who waited for him.
But the image of her standing in his college classroom refused to leave his mind, How she ruin his image.
The whispers.
The humiliation.
The fear.
He finally broke the silence.
Still, he forced himself to speak.
"Why did you come to my college?"
His voice wasn't loud. Not yet. It carried something heavier than anger—exhaustion.
Erza did not turn.
She remained reclined against the sofa, one arm resting lazily along the backrest, her posture composed and effortless. The glow from the television flickered against her red hair, painting shifting shadows across her face.
If she heard him, she gave no sign.
Yuuta took a step closer.
"I'm talking to you."
Nothing.
The narrator on the television calmly described the fall of a forgotten dynasty.
Yuuta let out a breath through his teeth.
"Stop ignoring me."
His voice hardened.
"Do you even know what you've done to me?"
Erza adjusted slightly, crossing her legs with deliberate elegance. Her eyes never left the screen.
The indifference cut deeper than any insult.
"Because of you," he continued, taking a step closer, his voice tight with restrained anger, "they look at me differently now."
He let out a short, humorless laugh.
"They think I assaulted you. They think I have children at this age. Some of them whisper that I'm some kind of playboy—married to a beautiful woman and still chasing others." His jaw clenched. "Others just think I'm a freak."
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to steady himself.
"My career…" he muttered. "My peaceful college life… it's gone.""
He hesitated, as if the next name might wound him simply by being spoken.
"And Fiona… she's gone too."
The room seemed to grow still around that confession.
"I lost everything I struggled for."
For a fleeting second, he hoped she might respond. Even a cold remark would have been something.
But Erza remained silent.
Watching.
Listening.
Ignoring.
The quiet became unbearable.
"Are you listening to me?" he demanded, his voice rising despite himself. "Stop pretending you don't hear me!"
Still no reaction.
The sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears.
"ERZA ANSWER ME...!"
Her name rang sharply through the living room.
And then—
The air shifted.
It wasn't sudden like thunder.
It was slow.
Heavy.
Like the deep ocean beginning to stir.
Erza's eyes narrowed.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by degrees. A faint, dark violet aura began to rise from her, almost invisible at first—like heat distortion above fire.
Then it thickened.
The lights flickered once.
Yuuta felt it before he fully understood it.
Pressure.
Not physical, but existential.
His lungs tightened. His spine stiffened instinctively. Every survival instinct in his body screamed at him to lower his gaze.
It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff while something ancient rose from the depths below.
Erza slowly turned her head.
Her White hair slid over her shoulder like flowing embers.
When she looked at him, it was no longer as a Women.
Not even as a Dragon.
It was as something older.
Higher.
"How dare you," she said quietly.
Her voice was calm—but beneath it was something vast and cold, like the crushing weight of the ocean floor.
"How dare you call me by my name… you disgusting mortal."
The aura intensified.
Yuuta's knees trembled despite his will. His vision blurred at the edges, as if his body itself rejected the idea of standing upright before her.
In that moment, he finally understood the distance between them.
She was the Queen of Atlantis.
A sovereign of a kingdom beneath the sea.
A ruler.
A being whose existence dwarfed his.
To her, he was temporary. Fragile. Replaceable.
A being who commanded forces he could not even comprehend.
And he—
He was human.
Fragile.
Replaceable.
Insignificant.
The pressure intensified. His lungs struggled to draw air, as if invisible hands were squeezing his ribs.
He dropped to one knee without realizing it.
Then—
"Mama!"
Elena's voice pierced through the room.
"Papa fighting is bad!"
The aura vanished.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
The suffocating weight dissolved like mist under sunlight.
Erza's expression did not soften, but the violence in the air receded. She looked down at her daughter.
For all her ruthlessness, for all her pride, she did not unleash her cruelty in front of Elena.
She simply couldn't.
"Next time," Erza said coldly, though her tone had lost its crushing force, "think a hundred times before speaking my name, mortal."
Yuuta coughed, finally dragging air into his lungs. His chest burned.
"I will remember," he managed, voice rough. "My Queen."
Elena had moved in front of him without hesitation, tiny arms spread as though shielding him from something she didn't fully understand.
Erza clicked her tongue in irritation.
"How can you be so weak?" she said, her gaze drifting over Yuuta with open disdain. "I do not understand how someone like you survives in this world… nor how I am expected to remain beside you."
The words stung more than the aura had.
Yuuta slowly lifted his head.
There was still fear in his eyes—but beneath it was something else. Exhaustion. Frustration. Years of being looked down on.
"You would never understand," he said quietly, each word steady despite the tremor in his body, "what it means to struggle as someone weak… unless you stand in my shoes."
Silence fell.
The temperature seemed to drop again—not from power this time, but from offense.
Erza's eyes sharpened.
"What did you say to me?" she asked, her voice thin and dangerous.
The air began to tighten once more—
But Elena stomped her foot.
She puffed her cheeks and marched directly between them, raising both hands like a tiny wall.
"Mama bullying Papa is bad!" she declared loudly. "If Mama is mean, Elena will never talk to you!"
The words were childish.
Simple.
Yet they landed with undeniable force.
Erza froze.
For a brief second—so brief it might have been imagined—something flickered in her expression.
Not anger.
Not dominance.
Something quieter.
She turned away abruptly and crossed her arms.
"Tch."
Without another word, she returned to the sofa and sat down stiffly. The television continued playing a documentary about ancient civilizations on earth and lost Alexander empires, the narrator's calm voice filling the silence she left behind.
But the volume was lower than before.
Yuuta remained kneeling for a moment, catching his breath.
Elena turned around and wrapped her arms around him.
"Papa okay?" she asked softly now.
Yuuta looked at her small face—so earnest, so unaware of the storm she had just stepped into.
He smiled faintly and pulled her close.
"Papa's okay," he whispered.
Across the room, Erza kept her eyes on the television.
Yet she was not truly watching it.
For the first time since Yuuta had stepped into the apartment, the invisible clash between ruler and commoner came to a halt—
Not because one overpowered the other.
But because a small pair of hands stepped between them.
"Papa… are you okay?"
Elena's voice was soft, genuinely confused. She looked from Yuuta to Erza as if she couldn't quite understand why the air had suddenly grown so heavy.
Yuuta was still kneeling, his lungs slowly recovering from the suffocating pressure of Erza's aura. He forced himself to straighten, even if only a little. He didn't want her to see him shaken.
He gave Elena a small, tired smile.
"Of course I'm okay," he said gently. "Sorry you had to see me like that. You must feel embarrassed… seeing your father so weak."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Elena's expression changed instantly. She grabbed his hand with surprising firmness for someone so small.
"No, Papa," she said, shaking her head. "Elena's Papa is not weak."
She glanced toward the sofa, then leaned closer and whispered as if revealing a great truth.
"It's just Mama is super strong."
Yuuta blinked at her.
Then he laughed.
Not bitter. Not forced.
Just… human.
"Ah," he nodded. "That's one way to look at it."
He studied her face for a moment. The way she found brightness in everything was almost magical. Where he saw humiliation, she saw difference. Where he saw weakness, she saw balance.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Tell me something," he murmured near her ear. "Why was your Mama so angry today? Did something happen?"
Elena's eyes sparkled immediately.
"Papa, Mama found your photo."
Yuuta stiffened.
"What photo?"
"The one where Papa was sticking with a human girl."
A slow, dreadful understanding crept across his face.
"Oh."
Elena nodded enthusiastically, enjoying the storytelling.
"Mama got super angry," she continued. "She broke the picture. It went crack! Then she left the house and went to your college."
Yuuta exhaled through his nose.
So that was it.
"But how did she even find my college?" he asked quietly. "It's far from here."
Elena answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Papa, Mama used your scent."
My scent.
Of course.
He glanced subtly toward Erza. She was still seated on the sofa, posture composed, eyes on the television. The documentary had shifted to a segment about ancient wars and territorial disputes.
Fitting.
Jealousy.
That was what this had been.
The thought settled in his mind—but it tangled with something else. If she was jealous… why did she still speak so casually about killing him? Why did she keep reminding him of how insignificant he was?
The contradictions didn't make sense.
But for once, he chose not to overthink it.
Slowly, he rose to his feet.
His legs still felt slightly unsteady, but he walked toward the sofa anyway. Each step felt heavier than it should have. Not because of fear this time—but because of pride.
He stopped beside her.
Erza did not look at him.
Her attention appeared fixed on the screen, though he had the faint impression she was listening to every breath he took.
Yuuta stood there quietly for a moment before speaking.
"I'm sorry."
His voice was calm now.
"Truly. For yelling at you."
No reaction.
The television continued its steady narration.
He swallowed.
"I was angry. I spoke without thinking."
The apology lingered between them.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the low murmur of the television and the faint hum of the city outside the window. Yuuta began to think she would ignore this too.
Then—
Erza spoke.
Quietly.
"I didn't mean to ruin your image, mortal."
Yuuta blinked.
Her eyes were still on the screen, but her voice had lost its sharp edge. It wasn't warm—but it wasn't cutting either.
"It's just… I didn't know."
"What?" Yuuta turned toward her, disbelief written plainly across his face.
And just like that, Erza seemed to realize what she had said.
Her posture stiffened.
She quickly lifted a hand to her mouth as if she could push the words back inside.
"I mean," she corrected sharply, "you ruined my image in my kingdom. I ruined your image in your college. So we are equal. Do not be angry at me, idiot mortal."
She crossed her arms with exaggerated dignity, as though the matter had been settled by royal decree.
Yuuta stared at her.
Then—
He laughed.
Not mockingly. Not loudly.
Just a soft, incredulous laugh that slipped out before he could stop it.
Erza turned toward him immediately, cheeks faintly flushed.
"Why are you laughing?" she demanded. "Are you crazy?"
She puffed her cheeks slightly, looking more offended than threatening.
Yuuta shook his head.
"It's just… I didn't expect to hear that tone from you," he said calmly. "Or see that expression."
Then he said which he shouldn't speak her name
Yuuta said "Erza".
For a fraction of a second, Erza's face reddened more deeply.
She quickly looked at Yuuta.
"You," she muttered, then without warning she drove her fist into his stomach.
It wasn't full strength.
But it wasn't gentle either.
"Ouch—!"
Yuuta folded forward, clutching his abdomen, gasping for breath.
"Don't you think," she said coldly, though her ears were still faintly pink, "you are getting too comfortable with someone of royal blood like me?"
"I'm sorry… my Queen," he managed between breaths. "I didn't mean to take your name so casually. That was my mistake. I apologize."
She did not look at him immediately.
Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the wall across the room, her expression carefully neutral.
After a moment, she spoke again—quieter this time.
"I do not mind if you call me by my name."
Yuuta straightened slightly.
"I'm sorry… what?"
Erza's head snapped toward him.
"I mean," she said quickly, voice returning to its usual icy composure, "when you address me, use my full name."
She lifted her chin.
"Erza Vely Dragomir."
The name carried weight. History. Authority.
Yuuta looked at her for a long second.
Then, gently—carefully—he nodded.
"Yes… Erza Vely Dragomir."
For once, she did not correct him.
And though she returned her attention to the television, the faint redness in her cheeks did not completely fade.
To be continue.