Yuuta was overjoyed.
For the first time in weeks, the weight of nervousness had lifted from his shoulders. He had passed the test, and his family had been there to see it.
Chef Vane had declared it in front of everyone, breaking the rules that said no participant should know their results until the end of the day. But Chef Vane did not care about rules. He cared about food. And Yuuta's food had moved him.
The parents applauded, giving Yuuta a kind of public recognition he had rarely experienced. A few students remained silent, however. Rumors about the alleged assault still followed him through the college, and their expressions made it clear that his success had not changed their minds.
For once, Yuuta barely noticed them. Erza, Elena, and Sister Mary were here. Today, that was enough.
"Papa! Papa!"
Elena's voice cut through the noise like a bell. She was running toward him, her small legs pumping, her silver hair streaming behind her, her wings fluttering with excitement. She moved faster than any ordinary child, but Yuuta had long since stopped being surprised by her.
She hit him like a small missile. Her arms wrapped around his leg, and the impact sent him stumbling backward, his arms flailing, his balance gone. He hit the ground with a soft thud, Elena still clinging to him, her giggles filling the air.
"Papa! I was watching you! I saw you beating Mr. Potato like how Mama beats you!"
Yuuta burst out laughing. Only Elena could compare her mother beating him to mashed potatoes and mean it as a compliment.
He lifted her into his arms, settling her on his hip. "Well, little princess, do you want to taste Mr. Potato?"
Elena nodded so violently that Yuuta nearly lost his balance again. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"Then take it slow, okay? Mr. Potato is hot."
Naturally, Elena leaned forward before he had even finished speaking.
But Yuuta held the bowl steady, spooned a small portion of the mashed potatoes, and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth wide, took the bite, and chewed with the intensity of someone who had never tasted anything better in her entire life.
"Papa," she said, her mouth full, "this is the best Mr. Potato Elena has ever eaten."
Yuuta smiled and wiped a little potato from her cheek. From the judges' table, Chef Vane watched him feed his daughter with the same care he had spoken about during the examination. Now he understood whom the young man had been cooking for.
He turned and walked toward the college building, his footsteps slow, his hands clasped behind his back. He had a passing grade to record, and for once, he looked forward to the paperwork.
Sister Mary approached Yuuta from the edge of the field. She was wearing her white robes, the ones that covered her from neck to ankle, the ones she wore when she needed to avoid attention. Her white robes concealed much of her appearance, sparing her the attention she usually attracted.
"Congratulations, my little Yuuta," she said.
Yuuta turned. Elena's face lit up. "Papa! Godmother is here!" She waved both hands in the air, nearly knocking the bowl of mashed potatoes out of Yuuta's grip.
"Sister Mary!" Yuuta's voice was bright, excited, the voice of a child who had just done something good and wanted to share it with the person who mattered most. "Did you see? I won the test! Did you see?"
Sister Mary chuckled.
She had heard Chef Vane announce the result and watched Yuuta speak about his family before the judges. Pride warmed her chest.
"Of course I heard," she said. "And I knew my Yuuta would win."
Yuuta smiled. It was the same smile he had worn when he was a child, the same smile he had worn when he brought her burnt cookies and misshapen bread and asked her to taste them. "Sister Mary, please taste my food. I made plenty of it."
She hesitated. Her eyes drifted to the side, toward the parent seating area where Erza stood, lost in thought, her arms crossed, her brow furrowed.
"Are you sure I should be the first to taste it?" she asked.
Yuuta tilted his head, confused. "What do you mean, Sister Mary?"
She pointed. He followed her gaze.
Erza was standing apart from the crowd, her silver hair catching the afternoon light, her violet eyes fixed on some point in the distance.
She was not watching him.
She was not watching Elena.
She was thinking, deeply, intensely, the way she did when she was trying to solve a problem that had no easy answer.
Yuuta's face went pale. The bowl of stew was still warm in his hands. The mashed potatoes were cooling on the table behind him.
If he let Erza see that he had served Sister Mary before serving her, if he let her think, even for a moment, that he had forgotten her, she would end him. Mercilessly. Without hesitation.
He grabbed the pot of chicken stew, ignoring the heat searing his palms, and rushed toward Erza. His heart was pounding.
He hurried across the field, determined to let his wife taste the food before she could accuse him of forgetting her.
Erza stood in the parent seating area, her arms crossed, her mind racing. She was connecting dots. She was piecing together fragments of information that did not want to fit.
The rebellion of Velthiriel Sylvarion. The intervention of Queen Aerisyl. The child who had appeared from nowhere, whose soul was shattered beyond repair, whose memories had been sealed by elven magic.
She searched her memory. As Queen of Atlantis, she had received intelligence from every corner of the continent, yet she could recall no report of a human child appearing in the elven lands or of Queen Aerisyl personally intervening to protect him.
The Atlantis Kingdom had the best surveillance in the entire continent. Its spies were everywhere, its informants countless, its network unbreakable.
How had a human child survived outside Eden, in a land saturated with mana, without attracting her kingdom's attention?
It was harder to believe that a human had entered the elven domain at all.
She sighed. Her shoulders dropped. She could not solve this puzzle with the pieces she had. She needed more information. She needed to speak to someone who knew the truth.
"I will have to ask the Elf Queen directly," she murmured to herself. "It is not as if I am going to kill him."
She smiled.
It was a small smile, cold and sharp, the smile of someone who had made a decision and was pleased with it.
She had decided Yuuta's fate. He would live, but he would remain under her authority, cooking for her and caring for Elena. She told herself that keeping him by her side was a punishment more fitting than death.
She imagined his indignant expression when he learned that he would never escape her demands. A faint, rather cruel smile touched her lips.
Ridiculous mortal. You have no idea what awaits you.
The killing intent hit her like a wave.
It was sudden, sharp, unmistakable. It rose from several points around the college grounds.
Her eyes narrowed.
Her body tensed.
Her hand moved to her side, ready to summon her magic, ready to strike.
She scanned the crowd.
The parents, the students, the teachers, they were all still clapping, still celebrating, still unaware of the danger that lurked at the edges of the field. But Erza felt it. She had spent centuries learning to sense threats before they became visible. She knew when she was being watched. She knew when she was being hunted.
She could distinguish human presences among them, along with several chimeras. They were positioned around the complex, waiting for something.
Her eyes found Yuuta. He was running toward her, a pot of stew in his hands, a smile on his face. He had no idea. He had no idea that danger was closing in, that enemies were gathering, that the peaceful afternoon was about to shatter.
The John Bosco Culinary College was built like a fortress. Three large buildings rose around the central field, their walls forming a protective barrier, their windows facing inward like watching eyes. Each building housed a different department, culinary arts, pastry and baking, hospitality management, and each one had its own rooftop, its own sightlines, its own shadows where someone could hide.
On the rooftop of the eastern building, a woman adjusted her sniper rifle. Her AWM rifle rested against the rooftop ledge, its scope trained on the celebration below.
She adjusted the scope. The field came into focus, the stalls, the parents, the students in their white uniforms. She scanned the crowd, searching for her target. He was easy to identify from the photograph they had been given. He was moving toward a woman with silver hair, carrying a pot that steamed in the cool air.
"Target acquired," she said into her earpiece. "Waiting for instructions."
Around the field, the other members of the syndicate took their positions. They blended into the crowd, their weapons hidden beneath jackets, their faces calm, their eyes cold. Some held pistols. Some held knives. Some held the black demonic paper that would extract the sin from the target's soul. Their orders were clear: use the demonic paper to extract his sin first, then kill him and deliver his head to their demonic master.
Their leader spoke through the earpiece. "The artifact comes first. Nobody kills him on head, until we have extracted his sin."
The sniper nodded. "Understood."
Another voice, one of the syndicate heads, spoke. "Do not use the demonic pills unless it is an emergency. They are expensive, and they have side effects. Use them only if the target resists."
The men in the crowd acknowledged. They were ready. They had studied the college layout and its exits. To them, the target was merely a culinary student, someone they expected to overwhelm before he understood what was happening.
The sniper adjusted her scope again. The target was still moving toward the woman with the silver hair, still carrying the pot, still unaware.
"I have a clear shot," she reported.
"Hold," the leader replied. "The team on the ground has to reach him first."
She locked the scope on his chest. Her finger moved to the trigger. She took a breath. She let it out. She waited for the perfect moment.
Erza had already located the armed humans scattered through the crowd and the sniper watching from the eastern rooftop. She even noticed the rifle. Nothing about their movements escaped her senses.
Yet she did nothing. To the Dragon Queen, their weapons were toys, their killing intent no more threatening than a child waving a stick.
No human bullet could pierce her scales, and she had grown accustomed to treating such dangers with contempt. She assumed the mortals would fail before they could accomplish anything worth her attention.
She did not consider that the person they meant to hurt was not a dragon.
She saw Yuuta running toward her. He was holding a pot, his face bright with excitement, his eyes fixed on her.
The stew sloshed over the rim as he ran, droplets falling to the grass, steaming in the cool air. He was smiling.
He was happy.
He had passed his test, and he wanted her to taste his food, and he did not know that he was running toward a woman who had been planning to kill him, who had spent weeks threatening his life, who had only just decided to spare him.
Despite herself, Erza felt a small smile forming as she watched him approach. She was still thinking about the punishment she had chosen for him, about the absurd mortal who would complain endlessly when he learned he had to remain at her side.
"Erza!" he called, still running. "Here! I made you something!"
He was still far away. The pot was still hot. The stew was still steaming.
The sniper kept her crosshairs on Yuuta's chest. Her orders were to provide cover, but the target was moving away from the operatives carrying the artifact.
"He is moving out of reach," the sniper warned. "Do I stop him?"
A tense pause followed. The human boss knew the demon had demanded extraction before execution. But if Yuuta reached the silver-haired woman, their chance to seize him might vanish.
"Chest shot," he ordered. "Keep him alive. The others will use the artifact afterward."
It was a reckless decision, one that violated the sequence their master had commanded.
The sniper steadied her breathing. Through the scope, she could see Yuuta smiling as he carried the steaming pot toward Erza. He looked nothing like the dangerous enemy she had been warned about.
She pulled the trigger.
Erza saw the sniper's finger move. She sensed the intent behind the shot and followed the rifle's aim without effort. Even then, she remained still. A weapon like that could never harm her.
Only when the trigger broke did she finally understand what her arrogance had overlooked.
The bullet was not meant for her.
The rifle cracked across the courtyard, startling the crowd and sending birds scattering from the nearby trees.
The world slowed.
Erza tracked the bullet from the muzzle. To her senses, its path was perfectly clear, almost painfully slow. She could have stopped it with a thought if she had acted a moment earlier. But she had dismissed the danger, and now Yuuta stood directly in its path.
She saw it strike him.
The bullet struck the left side of his chest. His shirt darkened as he stumbled, the impact stealing his breath and sending him down to his knees.
The pot fell from his hands. The stew spilled across the grass, steaming, mixing with the blood that was already pooling beneath him.
Yuuta tried to draw a breath, but only a ragged gasp escaped him. One hand pressed against his chest as he looked toward Erza, confused by the sudden pain.
"Er...za..."
Her name was all he managed.
To be continued...