(Yuuta POV)
"Alright, alright—I get it. You want to surprise me," I said, trying not to sound annoyed as the car bounced over another bump. "But Erza… can you at least remove the black cloth? My eyes, my hands—everything is tied. I feel like a kidnapped potato."
From the driver's seat, Erza's voice floated back—calm, cold, and completely unbothered.
"No. We are almost there. Be patient already, mortal."
Easy for her to say. She could see. I could only hear things and imagine my future gravestone.
Beside me, Elena kept giggling. Her tiny fingers tapped my shoulder.
"Papa, you look like a ninja turtle!"
"Oh perfect," I sighed. "Now I'm a turtle. Yesterday, I was Batman. At this rate, I'll be the entire Justice League by next month."
Elena's laughter brightened the whole car.
"My papa is all superheroes!"
From the back seat, Allen leaned forward with the seriousness of someone declaring prophecy.
"My master surpasses all heroes. He is the most powerful being in existence—rivaling heaven itself."
I groaned. "Stop exaggerating me, you evil demon."
But Elena gasped softly. "Papa… Uncle Allen said the truth."
"I wish he was right," I murmured. "But your mom? She's stronger than any superhero. Maybe even stronger than a few gods."
"Really?" Elena whispered, amazed.
"Really," I said, turning my blindfolded head toward her. "Remember when you spilled ice cream on your pajamas? And how your mom reacted?"
Elena shivered instantly. "Mama was scary…"
"You idiot mortal!" Erza snapped, finally looking back over her shoulder. "Why do you always make me the villain?"
"I don't make you the villain," I protested. "You naturally—"
The car hit another rough patch. Hard.
"Erza—be on the road! We're going to crash!"
"Hmph. I know," she said, sounding insulted that I doubted her driving skills.
But the sound beneath the tires wasn't a road. It was definitely gravel… or forest… or doom.
Meanwhile, Grandpa—who had been with us since morning—sat silently in the far corner of the back seat. He hadn't spoken a single word all day. Not even a breath. He was so quiet that for a moment I wondered if he'd transcended into a ghost.
The entire car fell into a strange silence, except for the engine humming and my heart praying we weren't heading straight toward my surprise funeral.
The car doors clicked shut one after another until only the quiet countryside surrounded us. The place didn't feel like a city at all—no traffic, no shouting, no engines roaring by. Just the gentle sway of trees and the soft chirping of birds hidden somewhere in the branches. Even with the blindfold tied across my eyes, I could feel the peace settle on my skin like cool morning mist.
Erza stepped out first. I heard the crunch of gravel beneath her boots, steady and confident.
"Wait here," she commanded, her voice sharp enough to slice stone. "Until I come back. And do not remove that blindfold. If you do, I swear you will die."
I held up my bound hands a little. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. No peeking. You don't have to threaten me every time you open your mouth."
"Hmph. If you didn't act like an idiot mortal, I wouldn't need to," she replied.
Then she turned her attention to our daughter, and the shift in her tone was immediate—still strict, but almost… weary.
"And you. I know you. You will try to take off your Papa's blindfold the moment I leave. So you are coming with me."
Elena clutched my arm, tiny fingers tightening like I was her last lifeline.
"No! I want to stay with Papa!"
"No." Erza didn't hesitate.
"Why?" Elena asked, her voice cracking just a little.
"Because you will ruin my surprise," Erza said, crossing her arms as if the argument was already decided.
"I won't! I promise! Pinky promise! Elena never breaks pinky promise!" she pleaded, her voice full of pure toddler sincerity.
But Erza shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."
I let out a long sigh—the kind only fathers make when they know chaos is brewing. I gently tapped Elena's hand so she would look my way, even though I couldn't see her.
"Elena… sweetheart, go with Mama."
"But Papa…" she whispered, sounding betrayed by the universe itself.
"If you listen to Papa," I said slowly, letting the words hang in the air like treasure, "Papa will do anything Elena wants later."
There was a long moment of silence. I could practically feel the gears in her tiny brain churning with dangerous excitement.
"…Anything?" she repeated, soft but full of power.
"Yes," I answered, already regretting every decision in my life that led to this moment.
Elena gasped dramatically—a sound so pure it could melt mountains. "Okay! Elena will listen!"
I heard her little footsteps patter toward Erza, who muttered something about me spoiling our child too much. Then the car door closed, and their footsteps faded into the distance, leaving me in the stillness of the countryside with only Allen and Grandpa.
For a moment, the quiet felt almost sacred—calm, heavy, expectant. It was the kind of silence that settles over you like a warm blanket, yet carries a weight that gently presses against your skin. A silence where even your own heartbeat seems too loud, and your thoughts echo more clearly than your breath.
I leaned forward slightly. Even though the blindfold kept my world dark, I could feel Grandpa beside me—the ancient, unwavering calm radiating from him like warm sunlight.
"Grandpa…" I whispered.
His voice came softly, as if he already knew the question before it left my lips.
"What is it, boy?"
I swallowed, fingers twitching against the cloth covering my eyes. "You've lived longer than any human. Is… is living a thousand years really something great?"
Grandpa let out a long, quiet breath—one that seemed to carry the weight of civilizations long crumbled into dust.
"Boy," he began, his voice deep and steady, "people admire long life because they only see it from far away. They imagine a thousand years as something wonderful, exciting, full of endless possibilities. But that's because humans don't understand the cost. A cost that is… unimaginable to pay."
Even blindfolded, I could sense his gaze drifting toward some invisible horizon, toward memories I would never be able to comprehend.
"Human life is like a single drop of water—small, simple, and easy to hold. Precious because it's short."
His tone shifted, becoming heavier, older.
"A dragon's life… is like a vast, endless ocean. From the outside it looks breathtaking—deep, powerful, eternal. But that ocean hides storms that tear worlds apart, darkness that never lifts, and creatures so ancient and cold that humans would go mad just knowing they exist."
I frowned, trying to picture it—an ocean that never ends, full of monsters shaped not from flesh, but from time itself.
Grandpa's voice softened, but the weight in it only grew heavier.
"When you live for centuries, the world around you changes again and again. Kings die. Empires fall. Children grow old and soon they go against you. Some dragons fall into corruption and become monsters. Others remain gentle, loving, noble. It doesn't matter which path they took."
He tapped his temple gently. "Both kinds leave behind memories. And dragons cannot forget. Not even if we beg ourselves to. Memory is our greatest strength… and our deepest curse."
His words sank into me like cold water.
"Good memories turn into longing that never fades. Bad memories turn into wounds that stay sharp forever. We gain wisdom, yes—but that wisdom shows us every cruelty of this world. And we see those cruelties not once, but hundreds of times, across hundreds of years."
He sighed again—this time sounding heartbreakingly human for an ancient dragon.
"That is why dragons created memory manipulation. Not for power. Not for domination."
He paused, letting the truth settle.
"But simply to survive."
I didn't breathe. Not for a second.
"Imagine losing your entire family," he said quietly. "Imagine watching them die right in front of you. And then imagine reliving that moment—not for a month, not for a year—but for three thousand years. Every single day. The same pain. The same helplessness. The same scream in your heart that never stops."
His voice trembled, barely noticeable. "Imagine seeing your little daughter playing in your arms one day… and then forcing yourself to accept that she is gone forever the next. Dragons don't move on, boy. We drown."
Something inside me tightened, painfully. I felt the truth of his words—the weight, the fear, the unbearable grief. I couldn't imagine a world without Elena or Erza. I couldn't imagine waking up without them, day after day, for eternity.
"Dragons fear depression more than any enemy," he murmured. "Because once a dragon falls into despair… it doesn't fade. It becomes eternal."
He gave a small, sad smile I could feel even without seeing it.
"That's why dragons are afraid of falling in love. Because love creates the deepest, strongest memories of all. And for us… memories never die."
The countryside air felt colder as his words settled around me like ancient dust carried by the wind.
For the first time, I understood why Erza guarded her heart like a fortress—why she feared weakness, why she hesitated to rely on anyone, why love was both her greatest strength and her greatest terror.
Loving a dragon, I realized, was the greatest blessing… and the greatest tragedy.
I let out a long breath, the kind that comes from somewhere deep in your chest. "Grandpa… be honest with me."
He shifted slightly beside me. "What is it now, boy?"
I hesitated, fingers curling on my lap. "Is it… is it possible to make my lifespan a little longer?" My voice cracked before I could stop it. "I can't imagine Erza falling into despair because of me. I can't imagine her breaking apart after I'm gone. And Elena… she loves us both so much she would do something stupid too. I can't let that happen."
Grandpa sighed, and even without seeing him, I felt the weight of it. "No, boy. It's impossible to extend a human's lifespan."
"Why?" I asked, frustration tightening my chest. "Nova is a magical world, right? Isn't there some kind of spell? A miracle fruit? An immortal flower? Anything?"
He chuckled softly, but the sound carried sadness, not amusement. "Those are fantasies. Stories humans created because they fear the end. There was never such a thing to begin with."
"Then what about gods?" I pressed. "Dragons? Fate? Someone must have the power to—"
"No one," Grandpa said firmly. "God wrote everyone's life. Every birth, every death, every tragedy, every reunion. We can change small events… but the ending? The lifespan? The final breath? Those things are threads tied directly to the Universe. Anyone who tries to break that law pays the price one way or another."
My throat tightened. "I… I still don't understand."
He softened his tone. "It means even if it were possible, even if I found a way, the cost would be too great. The Universe would demand something in return, something worse than death. And I refuse to put you or Erza or Elena in that kind of danger."
"Oh…" I murmured. My voice trembled despite myself. "So I'm really going to die one day… and Erza will have to watch it."
Grandpa didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, it was slow and solemn. "Yes. She will."
A cold ache spread inside my chest. I swallowed it down and breathed carefully. "Grandpa… can you promise me one thing?"
"What is it, boy?"
"When my time comes… and I die… please remove my existence from Erza and Elena mind." My throat tightened painfully. "Use your memory manipulation. Let them live peacefully, without grief, without clinging to the past. I don't want them following me into death. I want them to live… happily. Even if I'm not in their memories anymore."
For a long moment, Grandpa didn't speak. His expression softened, his eyes glimmering with something ancient and heavy.
"I can't even begin to understand," he said at last, voice filled with awe, "how deeply you love her. You're willing to erase yourself… just to spare her pain."
I forced a shaky smile.
"It's okay. For me… Erza's happiness matters more than anything."
A low, warm laugh escaped him. "You two are so similar. Truly… a foolish pair."
Before the moment could settle, Allen suddenly spoke from the backseat, his tone strangely proud. "My master, do not worry. Even if you die and must wait for eternity, I will be there to serve you in the afterlife."
I turned my blindfolded head toward him with a deadpan expression. "Can you not ruin my emotional moment, Allen?"
He lowered his head immediately. "My deepest apologies, my eternal master."
The soft click of a car door opening reached my ears, followed by Erza's calm voice drifting through the quiet air.
"Everything is ready. Come out."
Her tone held no excitement, yet there was something underneath it—a faint tremble she tried to hide. I stepped out slowly. With the blindfold still tied around my eyes, the world felt distant, like I had stepped into someone else's dream. The only thing that kept me balanced was Erza's hand holding my arm, guiding me with surprising gentleness.
We walked a few steps before she stopped.
"Remove it."
I swallowed, fingers brushing against the cloth. It felt strange—like peeling away the last bit of darkness before something big. I untied the blindfold, and the sudden rush of sunlight made me flinch. My eyes watered, vision blurring, before the world slowly sharpened into focus.
And then—I froze.
A mansion stood before me . Not just a house. A proper mansion. It was the same mansion, I have replicate many time in Minecraft
Two floors.
Broad wooden doors.
A clean stone path leading through a garden filled with bright flowers.
A swimming pool glimmering like a piece of the sky had fallen into it.
Even the fence and gate looked new, shining under the daylight.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"Erza…" I whispered. "We… we can't trespass here. This place looks expensive as hell."
Erza crossed her arms proudly, chin lifting slightly. Her tail would've been swishing if she were in dragon form; the confidence was that obvious.
"Have you even read the board yet, foolish human?"
"How exactly am I supposed to read anything when you covered my eyes!" I shot back.
"Idiot. The sign is on the side wall of the gate. We are not even inside the property."
"Oh." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Right… sorry."
I walked to the gate, curiosity growing with every step. The moment my eyes landed on the nameplate, my heart dropped into my stomach.
"Kounari Residency."
My breath hitched.
That was… my name.
My last name.
Written boldly, proudly, as if the place had belonged to us for generations.
A tremor passed through me, and my vision blurred for a second—not from the sunlight, but from something warm rising in my chest. When I turned around, they were all watching me.
Erza, standing tall with keys dangling casually from her fingers.
Elena, bouncing with excitement, trying her best not to shout.
Allen, strangely civilized for once.
And Grandpa leaning on my old blue car, smiling like he knew this moment better than I did.
Erza lifted her chin. "Surprised, you mortal?"
"Surprised?" My voice cracked. "Erza… this… this is…"
I didn't finish the sentence. I couldn't.
My feet moved before my brain caught up, and I rushed toward her. I pulled her into a tight hug, burying my face against her shoulder.
"Thank you… Erza. Thank you so, so much…"
Her entire body stiffened. Her ears turned red, her cheeks redder, and she clicked her tongue—her usual reaction when she was embarrassed.
"Wh-what are you doing…? This behavior is so stupid," she muttered, but her arms didn't push me away.
I couldn't stop smiling, even though my vision was blurred with tears.
My hands trembled. My breath shivered. My heart felt too loud in my chest.
"Erza…"
My voice cracked as I pressed my forehead against her shoulder.
"Please… just let me hold you. I—I'm scared this is a dream. It feels too real… too warm… and I don't want to wake up to disappointment."
My words broke, dissolving into shaky breaths.
"Even if it is a dream… let me thank you."
The tears slipped down silently, landing on her clothes, one drop at a time.
For a long moment, Erza didn't move.
She just stood there, rigid, almost frozen—like she didn't know how to react to a human hug so full of emotion.
Slowly, carefully, she raised her arms… and held me back.
Not tightly.
Not confidently.
But gently, like she was learning this feeling for the first time.
Her cold cheek brushed against my temple.
Her breath steadied.
Her posture softened.
Time seemed to slow around us.
A home.
She bought me… a home.
Someone who had billions, someone who could have anything in the world…
chose this.
Chose me.
Not for luxury.
Not for glory.
Not for herself.
But because she noticed something I tried so hard to hide.
I felt her fingers move—hesitant, timid—and then settle on the back of my head, stroking lightly.
Her touch was cold, but comforting. Soft. Careful.
"Yuuta…" she whispered, voice barely audible.
I didn't look up.
I couldn't.
If I saw her face right now, I knew I'd break into even more tears.
So I stayed in her arms.
And she didn't push me away.
Slowly, she rested her chin on top of my head, as if accepting the moment… as if accepting me.
In that quiet, in that fragile closeness, she finally spoke.
"You were saving money for a house, weren't you?"
Her voice trembled—not from coldness, but from something deeper.
"It was too expensive for you," she murmured. "I saw it in your diary. The one with the pictures…"
Her fingers tightened slightly around me.
"So I bought this one for you."
My chest tightened painfully and beautifully at the same time.
I couldn't speak—not because I didn't have words, but because no combination of words could match what I was feeling.
For the first time in a long time, everything felt real.
A house meant stability.
Stability meant a future.
A future meant a family.
I stood there silently, letting the emotions settle inside me—the weight, the warmth, the overwhelming gratitude.
A new life.
A new beginning.
A real home.
And this time, I wasn't alone.
To be continued.