(Sara POV)
I hadn't expected to see him there.
The market buzzed with life—voices rising and falling over the stalls, the air thick with roasted meat and spice. Ordinary. Familiar. Safe. And then I saw him. White hair catching the light, mismatched eyes locking on mine.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"Ryuta…" The name slipped out before I could stop it.
He gave a small nod, calm, almost detached. But the calm didn't reach his eyes. There was a sharpness in him now—a weight I couldn't put my finger on.
"You look..." The words caught in my throat. Changed? That didn't quite cut it. "...different."
He shrugged it off, as though it were nothing. "Just fatigue. Nothing worth worrying about."
I didn't believe him. But pressing him now would only make him shut down further. So instead, I crossed the few steps between us and sat beside him on the worn bench, beneath the crooked streetlamp.
The market noise carried around us—laughter, haggling, the shuffle of feet—but here in the shade it felt distant, muffled. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, shoulders heavy as if still carrying something he couldn't set down.
I folded my hands in my lap, sneaking a glance at him. His pale hair caught the lantern light, and for the first time, I noticed the way his hand twitched faintly, curling into a fist before forcing itself open again.
We stayed like that for a while, silent, the crowd flowing past us as though we weren't even there.
"How's it been? At the daycare. Adapting all right?" Then Ryuta spoke, his voice softer than I expected, like he was trying his best to sound normal despite the look in his eyes.
The question startled me. I blinked, then nodded slowly. "It's… good," I said, though the word felt too small. "The children are loud, messy. But in a way that's… harmless. It feels different. Safer. Calmer."
He tilted his head, watching me with that quiet focus of his. "You're getting used to it, then."
"Trying to," I admitted. My thumb brushed over my knuckle, a nervous habit I couldn't quite shake. "It feels strange. Like I've stepped into a life that doesn't quite belong to me yet. But it's better than before."
He nodded, as if that alone was enough. But his mismatched eyes still carried that shadow.
I wanted to ask: 'What happened to you? What did you see?'
But I didn't. The wall he'd built around himself was too solid, and I wasn't ready to break it—not if it meant pushing him further away.
So I let the silence linger. He sat beside me, his knee bouncing faintly, his hand curling into a fist before forcing itself open again.
Then, softly, he asked again, "How's it been? Adapting all right?"
The gentleness in his tone caught me off guard. "It's… good," I repeated, then hesitated. "The children are loud, messy. But harmless. Almost like…" My words trailed off.
"Like a life you weren't sure you'd have when thinking from the past?" he finished for me.
My breath caught. I turned to him, startled. His eyes weren't distant now. They were raw—too raw, like he was talking from a genuine feeling.
"…Yes," I admitted quietly.
He leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "That's good. Better than before."
I hesitated, then lowered my voice. "There is… one thing."
His gaze sharpened. "What is it?"
I shook my head quickly. "It's nothing serious. Not compared to…" I stopped.
But he didn't let me go. "Sara. Whatever it is—you can tell me. I won't judge."
The words disarmed me. I swallowed, then confessed: "…The daycare doesn't pay enough. I might need a second job. To cover rent."
His eyes widened faintly. "Your rent?"
I nodded, embarrassed. "Most of the women there manage because they're married. Their husbands work, or they split expenses. I don't have that. So it's… tight. Too tight."
Silence stretched. His jaw tightened, then eased. "…I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, Sara. I was the one who suggested the daycare in the first place."
I shook my head fast. "No, don't apologize. It's not your fault. I like the work. I'm good at it—better than I ever was at adventuring. I don't regret it."
"But still," He grumbled. "I should have figured that funds weren't high enough to begin with. The facility was opened not long after I started going to school here."
"That early?!"
I already knew he was the one who had suggested the idea of a daycare, but like all things, it hits differently when you hear it coming from the person themselves.
For a moment, his eyes softened. "…Even so." He paused, then added, "There's another option."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You could stay at my place." He said it plainly, without hesitation. "I'm hardly ever there. You'd have space, and you wouldn't have to worry about rent."
My chest tightened. "Ryuta…"
He raised a hand, cutting me off before I could protest. "I know how it sounds. But we can avoid rumors. If anyone asks, you can say you're a housekeeper. Little to no people would question it."
The thought tangled in my chest. Housekeeper. Reasonable. Practical. And yet…
As if sensing my hesitation, Ryuta added, "You already come by with Nanahoshi for the cooking sessions, right? It wouldn't be that different."
I went quiet. He was right. It wouldn't be unthinkable. And yet, the idea unsettled me in a way I couldn't name.
"…I'll think about it," I said softly.
And for the first time that day, a faint, genuine smile touched his face.
***
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight pressing through the thin curtains. Normally, exhaustion from the daycare would've pulled me under by now. But tonight, my thoughts wouldn't let me rest.
'Stay at my place.'
The words replayed in my head, looping every time I closed my eyes. Ryuta had said it so plainly, as if it were nothing more than an umbrella on a rainy day. Practical. Simple. A solution without strings.
But to me… it wasn't simple.
I rolled onto my side, curling my arms around the thin blanket. My room was small. Barely more than a bed, a table, and a shelf with a chipped vase. It wasn't much, but it was mine. Mine to hold onto, even if the rent gnawed at me like a hungry rat. To leave it… felt like letting go of something.
And then there were the whispers. Sharia had a way of talking. If I moved into his house—even under the title of "housekeeper"—how long would it take before people decided I was something else? Could I bear that weight again?
I pressed a hand over my chest, trying to still the tightness there.
But another thought slipped in, softer, harder to ignore: Would it be so bad?
Living under the same roof. Seeing him not only in stolen moments at the market, or when Nanahoshi called me over for cooking sessions. Being part of his everyday, in ways that weren't bound by excuses.
The idea made my heart stumble.
I turned over again, restless. I shouldn't even think of it like that. He hadn't meant it that way. Ryuta was practical—too practical. To him, it was nothing more than easing a burden. A logical solution to a problem I hadn't been able to solve myself.
Still, I couldn't help remembering the look in his eyes when he said it. Calm, yes. But also… steady. Certain. Like he wouldn't take the offer back, no matter how long I hesitated.
I exhaled slowly into the darkness.
"…I'll think about it," I whispered again, echoing my words from earlier.
But the truth was, I already had been thinking about it. And the longer I did, the harder it became to tell myself that all I wanted was the practical answer.
***
Sleep must have taken me at some point, though I couldn't remember when. One moment, I was tangled in restless thoughts, and the next—I was standing in an open field.
A bow was in my hands. Straw targets lined the edge of the clearing. And beside me—Ryuta.
He was holding a bow of his own, though it looked awkward in his grip, as though the weapon wasn't made for him. When he drew the string back, the wood creaked dangerously under the strain of his strength.
"Careful," I warned. "You'll snap it in half."
He gave a lopsided grin. "It'll be fine."
The arrow loosed with a sharp *twang*, vanishing into the distance with so much force it tore through the upper branches of a tree and disappeared from sight. Not even close to the target.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying—and failing—to hold back my laughter. "You missed completely!"
"Just warming up," he said, feigning confidence, though the corners of his lips twitched.
The next shot went wide again, slamming into the dirt with enough force to leave a small crater. We both burst out laughing then, the sound ringing bright and easy across the empty field.
But as the laughter faded, something tugged at me. I looked at him again—and froze.
He looked younger. His hair still white, his eyes still mismatched, but his face was… softer. Less burdened. Almost like a boy I had never seen before, and yet one I knew.
My chest tightened. 'What…?'
The question barely formed before the world around us shivered, like glass cracking under strain. The bright sky fractured, and the field dissolved.
When I blinked again, I was standing in a grey void. Fog rolled across the ground, curling around my ankles. The targets were gone. The bow had vanished from my hands. The laughter had been swallowed whole.
I spun, searching for him. But instead—
A figure stood just behind me, its back turned.
It was a silhouette, deep black, its form blurring at the edges. From its shoulders stretched wings—vast, scaled, and unmistakably draconic.
My breath caught.
The figure shifted, turning slowly.
And then I saw its eyes. Black sclera. Golden irises. Silver slit pupils that locked onto mine, cutting through the fog like blades.
For a heartbeat, I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Then the world shattered again.
***
I gasped awake in my bed, heart hammering, the sun already spilling through the curtains.
I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my chest as if that could still the frantic beating inside. The curtains glowed with morning light, too bright, too normal, after what I had just seen.
The dream lingered, sharp in pieces, blurred in others. Ryuta is beside me, clumsy with the bow, both of us laughing until our sides hurt. Then the shift. The fog. Those eyes that had looked straight into me.
What did it mean?
I drew my knees to my chest, resting my forehead against them. The first part—Ryuta—was easier to understand. Maybe it was just my own mind, showing me what I already knew but didn't want to admit. That part of me wanted to be near him. That part of me felt lighter when we shared those moments, rare though they were. Maybe the dream was nothing more than my heart betraying itself, weaving my feelings into something I couldn't ignore.
Or maybe it was because of what he'd said last night. Stay at my place. The thought had tangled itself around me so tightly I couldn't escape it. Perhaps my dream was just the echo of that choice pressing down on me.
But then there was the other part—the shadow with wings, those terrible, gleaming eyes. That I didn't understand. And the not-knowing unsettled me, leaving a cold weight in my stomach.
I shook my head, trying to scatter the unease. Whatever the dream meant, I couldn't let it paralyze me. Not when there was a simpler truth waiting for me.
Because the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wanted to say yes. Not just because of rent, or practicality, or avoiding a second job. But because… I wanted to see what it felt like. To be closer to him, not only in stolen moments, but in the everyday.
My cheeks warmed, and I buried my face in my arms. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was reckless. But I couldn't deny it anymore.
I wanted to know what my feelings for Ryuta really were. And I couldn't do that by keeping him at arm's length.
"I'll accept his offer."
///