I've officially decided something important.
This family outing was terrible.
Genuinely.
Objectively.
Historically terrible.
Out of all possible bonding experiences I could have had with my recently acquired dragon daughters, getting forcibly dragged into an S-rank Abyss Realm, nearly dying, fighting a throne-class monstrosity, detonating a dominion chamber with Origin Collapse, and discovering my children are apparently terrifying anomalies was not high on my preferred itinerary.
We should have gone to the amusement park.
At least roller coasters are supposed to try to kill you.
"…I hate everything," I wheeze weakly, flat on my back in the shattered remains of what used to be an abyssal throne chamber.
My body currently feels less like a functioning human form and more like a deeply unfortunate collection of injuries being held together by spite, unstable mana, and whatever absurd golden miracle Hikari accidentally used earlier. Every breath hurts. My ribs still feel suspicious in ways I would rather not explore. My left arm is somewhere between usable and decorative. My legs technically exist, which is nice, but function feels negotiable.
So naturally, all three girls are still clinging to me.
Not lightly. Not gently. Aggressively.
Like tiny emotional parasites powered entirely by fear, relief, unresolved trauma, and what I can only assume is a collective refusal to let their newly acquired Papa stop existing.
"Papa, don't die!" Hikari sobs directly into my chest with enough emotional devastation to make breathing—already medically complicated—even harder.
"I'm not dead," I groan weakly, which should have been reassuring, but apparently my current state does not visually support confidence.
"Don't become dead!" Karin cries even louder, somehow escalating the situation from emotionally distressing to spiritually concerning.
Ruri says nothing at first, and honestly? That scares me more than the other two combined. Then I feel it—her trembling hands gripping my clothes so tightly it's like she genuinely believes letting go for even one second might cause my soul to immediately vacate my body.
"…Papa," she whispers, her voice shaking so badly it physically hurts me in ways the Abyss Throne Guardian somehow failed to accomplish, "please stay…"
…Yeah.
Nope.
Absolutely cannot die now.
That would be emotionally irresponsible.
"I am," I mutter, despite the fact that my current physical condition strongly suggests I should not be making promises with the word "am" attached to them. "…Probably."
They cry harder.
I immediately regret everything.
"…Alright," I wheeze, forcing what little dignity I have left into damage control, "that may have been the wrong word choice."
Personally, I would love—truly, deeply, spiritually love—to spend the next five uninterrupted minutes lying here in silence while my body reconstructs itself through passive regeneration and poor decision recovery.
Unfortunately, life continues to be aggressively inconvenient.
Because we are still inside a dungeon. A collapsing one. With a core.
And unless someone destroys that core properly, there is still a very real chance this nightmare evolves from "catastrophic family outing" into "somehow even worse," and frankly, I do not currently possess the energy required to hate that possibility properly.
So, against my better judgment, I force one arm upward.
It shakes so violently that I pause halfway just to stare at it with deeply offended disbelief.
"…Wow," I mutter. "That is significantly less stable than I'd prefer."
Karin immediately panics.
"Papa! Don't move! You're dying!"
"I am injured," I correct weakly, fumbling for my smartwatch with all the elegance and physical competence of a half-dead raccoon fighting for tax exemption. "Dying is a strong word. Probably."
"PAPA!"
"…Right," I sigh, because apparently I am still capable of learning from mistakes. "Not using that word either."
After what feels like an embarrassingly difficult boss battle against basic wrist mobility, shattered coordination, and my body's ongoing rebellion, I finally manage to tap my emergency contact.
Ruruka.
Please still be nearby.
Please answer.
Please save me from further responsibility, poor life choices, and whatever fresh nonsense my existence has apparently attracted today.
With what little dignity my shattered body still possesses, I manage to force my barely functioning fingers through the deeply advanced combat trial known as "using a smartwatch while critically injured."
Somehow…
Miraculously…
The call connects instantly.
"…Nii-sama?"
Oh, thank every known divine system, celestial authority, benevolent cosmic force, and whatever exhausted universal administrator still occasionally pities me.
I have never been so relieved to hear my little sister's voice in my life.
Unfortunately…
I do not get to speak.
Because the moment the girls hear her voice—
"RURUKA AUNTIE!"
And just like that…
Any hope of a calm, rational emergency report dies instantly.
Chaos doesn't begin.
Chaos ascends.
Hikari and Karin immediately hijack the call with the kind of emotionally charged, catastrophically incoherent battlefield summary that only deeply traumatized, highly emotional dragon children could possibly produce.
"It was like BAM!" Karin shouts at maximum volume, as if raw enthusiasm alone can improve tactical clarity.
"Then BOOM!" Hikari sobs dramatically.
"Then SWOOOOSH!"
"Papa went WAAAH!"
"The monster went BAM and WAM!"
"Papa screamed dramatically!"
"We were scared!"
"Then Hikari did shiny thing!"
"Then Papa became scary!"
"Then EVERYTHING exploded!"
There is not a single tactically useful detail in this report.
And somehow?
It is still alarmingly accurate.
I close my eyes.
Honestly…
That may genuinely be one of the better summaries of my recent life experiences.
From the other side of the line, there is silence.
Not normal silence.
Not thinking silence.
The deeply concerning kind.
The kind where someone's brain has clearly stopped processing language properly and is now just standing in the ruins of comprehension.
I can practically hear Ruruka attempting to reconstruct reality from sound effects alone.
Then, after one long, spiritually exhausted pause:
"…What?"
Ah.
Yes.
That response feels medically, emotionally, and intellectually appropriate.
"Kids," Ruruka says carefully, using the dangerously controlled tone of someone trying very hard not to panic, scream, or personally hunt me down through sheer sibling rage alone, "can Auntie please talk to your Papa now?"
"…Okay…"
"…Fine…"
I weakly reclaim the call before this somehow devolves into another sound-effect-based apocalypse reenactment.
"…Hey," I rasp.
There's a pause.
Then:
"…What," Ruruka says, and considering she is objectively younger than me, I genuinely do not know how one person manages to sound furious, terrified, confused, and aggressively older-sister all at once, "did you do?"
Honestly?
Fair question.
"Several things," I reply truthfully. "Most of them medically concerning, strategically questionable, and financially promising."
"…Nii-sama."
"Right, continuous version," I sigh, because apparently my life now requires structured disaster reporting. "We got forcibly absorbed into a newly manifested S-rank Abyss Realm during what was supposed to be a family outing, ended up in a throne chamber, discovered the boss was an Abyss Throne Guardian because apparently destiny personally hates me, nearly died several times, the kids became deeply concerning in ways I am not emotionally prepared to process, the boss is dead, I require immediate rescue, and someone significantly less exhausted than me needs to destroy the core before this place finds another way to ruin my day because I genuinely do not want to fight anything else today."
Silence.
Longer silence.
The kind that usually means someone is either processing trauma… or deciding whether murder is justified.
Then:
"…I'm sorry," she says flatly. "Did you just say Abyss Throne Guardian?"
"…Unfortunately."
I hear her inhale.
Not casually.
Not calmly.
That was the inhale of someone whose blood pressure has entered combat mode.
"…Nii-sama."
"…Yeah?"
"What in the world is wrong with your life?"
I stare weakly at the shattered ceiling above me.
"…I ask myself that constantly."
A pause follows, and when she speaks again, professionalism has returned—sharp, immediate, hunter-grade.
"…Understood. Stay where you are. I'm close. Aaron's with me. Do not move."
I glance down at my current condition, where movement is already more theoretical than practical.
"…That instruction feels unnecessary."
The call ends.
Good.
Help is coming.
I would cry from relief, but I strongly suspect my body is currently too dehydrated for dramatic tears, and frankly, I'd rather preserve what little moisture remains for survival.
So instead, I begin healing—slowly, carefully, and with the deeply unpleasant awareness that if my daughters keep clinging to me this hard, passive recovery may become an extreme sport.
Arcane Manipulation redirects what remains of my mana reserves inward while High-Speed Regeneration and mana stabilization begin the deeply unpleasant process of dragging my body away from "corpse with opinions" and back toward the significantly more desirable state of "functional disaster."
It is, medically speaking, horrible.
Pain tears through me in waves so aggressive I briefly consider simply passing out on purpose, but unfortunately, fatherhood once again demands competence.
"…Ow…"
"Papa!" all three immediately panic, which honestly feels fair.
"I'm healing," I grunt through clenched teeth, forcing mana through damaged pathways while my ribs loudly object to existence itself. "This is advanced suffering. Entirely different category."
That explanation does absolutely nothing to reassure them, but at least it keeps them focused long enough for me to continue. Slowly—painfully, offensively—my breathing becomes less catastrophic, my vision stops actively trying to dissolve into abstract shapes, and after several agonizing minutes of magical self-repair, I finally manage to sit upright.
This is apparently a mistake.
Because the moment I do, all three girls cling harder.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
"…I appreciate the affection," I wheeze, now being crushed by love, trauma, and questionable spinal pressure simultaneously, "but if all of you continue applying emotional and physical pressure at this exact level, I may actually stop functioning again."
That gets their attention.
Thankfully.
They loosen slightly—very slightly—but considering recent events, I'll take whatever microscopic victories life is currently willing to offer.
Once my vision steadies enough for reality to stop swaying like an offended boat in magical turbulence, I glance toward the smoking ruin where the Abyss Throne Guardian finally stopped being my problem.
…and immediately feel significantly better.
"…Oh."
Now that…
That is beautiful.
Not aesthetically.
Financially.
Because scattered across shattered dominion stone, fractured abyssal architecture, and the remains of one extremely expensive life-threatening experience…
Is loot.
A lot of loot.
Even through exhaustion, near-death, emotional trauma, and several currently unresolved internal injuries, my inner financially unstable father activates instantly with terrifying clarity.
Because despite technically being an S-rank dungeon boss, an Abyss Throne Guardian is effectively an SS-rank variant.
Which means this is less "monster remains" and more "future economic recovery plan."
Jackpot.
Supreme Mana Core.
Abyss Fragment.
Throne Synchronization Crystal.
Abyssal Armor Shards.
Throne Guard Plating.
Voidsteel Bone Frames.
Core Vessel Fragments.
And then—
"…Abyss Reactor Heart?"
I stop.
Stare.
Then stare harder, because no, that is not a hallucination, and yes, that is absolutely worth an unreasonable amount of money.
"…Girls," I say weakly, but with the kind of emotional gravity usually reserved for divine revelation, "we might actually be able to afford a better house."
"…Really?" Hikari sniffles, tears still clinging to her face.
"…Potentially a very good one," I correct, because accuracy matters when discussing life-changing financial salvation.
Karin, in perhaps the fastest emotional recovery I have ever witnessed, immediately wipes her tears.
"…Papa won."
"…Papa invested," I correct, because this distinction is important.
Ruri, somehow still emotionally devastated, adorable, and heartbreakingly sincere all at once, looks quietly at the absurd wealth pile and asks in the smallest voice imaginable:
"…Does this mean… school too?"
…Yeah.
That one lands directly in the chest.
I look at her.
Then at the loot.
Then at the broken throne room.
Then at the deeply upsetting realization that nearly dying may have actually been financially responsible.
…I hate this.
But still.
"…Yeah," I say softly, because for once I actually can say it with confidence. "I think it does."
For one strange, deeply cursed moment, becoming a nearly deceased single father in an abyssal death chamber somehow feels weirdly productive.
A few moments later, footsteps echo through the ruined chamber—fast, urgent, and very much not abyssal.
Two people.
One familiar problem.
One professional headache.
Then:
"Nii-sama…"
Ah.
That tone.
That very specific tone.
I know that tone.
That is Ruruka's "I am overwhelmingly relieved you are alive, catastrophically angry at your choices, and currently deciding whether to hug you or kill you myself" tone.
I slowly look up.
Ruruka stands there visibly horrified, furious, emotionally strained, and considering she is younger than me, still somehow radiating aggressive older-sister authority.
Beside her is Aaron.
Who, impressively, has somehow achieved the exact facial expression of a man witnessing both a miracle and an administrative nightmare simultaneously.
Honestly?
Fair.
"I think," I say after one long, painful pause, "I saw my life flash before my eyes."
I cough immediately afterward, which unfortunately adds realism.
"…And if I was a cat, I probably only have one life left," I continue weakly. "And that life is… barely hanging on."
Aaron just stares.
Not respectfully.
Not calmly.
Just… stares.
"…Master."
"Not now," I mumble, because mentorship feels significantly less urgent than survival.
With what little strength remains, I weakly point toward the absurd mountain of loot.
"…Please do something about that," I say, summoning what may genuinely be my final functional priority. "I'll use it as our startup fund."
Aaron follows my finger.
His expression changes.
Then changes again.
Then, somehow, becomes even more emotionally compromised.
"…What," he says slowly, with the deeply haunted tone of someone afraid of the answer, "did you kill?"
I close my eyes.
"…Retirement."
Ruruka visibly looks like she may strangle me on principle alone.
The girls, being supportive, adorable, and wildly overconfident in my structural integrity, immediately help me stand.
Which would be touching…
If my body agreed.
The moment I reach full upright posture, my vision instantly blurs so violently that reality itself appears to file for resignation.
…Oh.
That's bad.
The chamber tilts.
My legs reconsider existence.
My balance submits formal resignation.
Ruruka's voice sharpens instantly.
"Nii-sama?"
Aaron moves.
"Master!"
"Papa?!"
Ah.
Right.
I may have…
Slightly.
Catastrophically.
Overestimated myself.
Again.
The last thing I really register is panic—three terrified daughters, one furious younger sister, one deeply stressed guild master, all calling out at once while darkness aggressively drags me under like unconsciousness itself has finally decided I've had enough.
Honestly?
Rude.
My final coherent thought before everything goes black is painfully simple:
…Fuck this hellhole.
…This is why I want to retire.
***
The first thing I notice is the smell.
Antiseptic.
Clean, sharp, aggressively medicinal antiseptic.
Not blood.
Not ash.
Not abyssal corruption.
Not the sulfuric stench of demonic murder architecture.
…Well.
That already feels like an improvement.
The second thing I notice is the ceiling.
White.
Plain.
Uncracked.
Uncursed.
And, most importantly, not actively attempting to collapse on me.
For several long, deeply disoriented seconds, I simply lie there staring upward while my brain performs the painfully slow process of reconnecting consciousness, memory, pain, identity, and the deeply unfortunate reminder that I apparently survived.
Hospital.
Right.
That tracks.
Because generally speaking, if your last coherent memory involves fighting an Abyss Throne Guardian, detonating an S-rank throne chamber with enough force to aggressively offend reality itself, and then collapsing while internally declaring your desire for retirement… waking up somewhere that smells medically expensive feels statistically reasonable.
Then pain arrives.
Not catastrophic pain.
Not "I am currently dying again" pain.
More like…
"I have made deeply irresponsible life choices and my body would now like to submit seventeen formal complaints" pain.
It starts in my ribs.
Then my shoulders.
Then apparently every single muscle I have ever used in my entire life collectively decides to remind me they exist.
"…Huh," I mumble weakly, which is less an intelligent observation and more the sound of a broken man rediscovering suffering.
Unfortunately, that one tiny sound is apparently enough.
Because the moment I stir, the peaceful silence around me dies instantly.
Three small presences jolt awake so fast it almost feels coordinated.
Oh.
Right.
The girls.
I turn my head slightly, which is a mistake because apparently neck pain has also joined the rebellion, and immediately spot them.
Hikari.
Karin.
Ruri.
All three are stationed around my hospital bed like emotionally devastated dragon sentries who have apparently spent the last week personally guarding my continued existence through sheer stubbornness alone.
Their eyes are swollen.
Their faces are tear-stained.
Their hair is a mess.
And judging by their positions—one partially collapsed on my bed, one using my blanket like a defensive perimeter, and one somehow clutching my sleeve in her sleep—they absolutely refused to leave.
That realization lands somewhere uncomfortable in my chest—somewhere deep beneath the sarcasm, exhaustion, and aggressively deteriorating physical condition.
Then Hikari notices my eyes are open.
And immediately proves that peace, like my retirement plans, was never meant to last.
"PAPA?!"
The sheer emotional force behind that one word could probably qualify as a sonic attack skill. If weaponized properly, I'm fairly certain it could shatter low-rank defensive barriers.
Karin reacts next, shooting upright with enough speed and force to make me genuinely question whether dragon children possess normal spinal limitations or if biology simply gave up trying to regulate her specifically.
"PAPA'S AWAKE!"
Ruri, however, doesn't move.
Not immediately.
She just stares.
Frozen completely still, like her brain physically cannot process what she's seeing, as though after an entire week of fear, exhaustion, and worst-case scenarios, the concept of me actually waking up is somehow too overwhelming to trust right away.
Then her expression breaks.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just… completely.
So sudden. So raw. So heartbreakingly relieved that it somehow hurts more than getting punched through a throne chamber by an Abyss Throne Guardian.
"…Papa…?"
And then?
I am attacked.
Not by monsters.
Not by abyssal horrors.
Not by demonic kings, corrupted entities, or magical death architecture.
By love.
All three girls launch themselves at me simultaneously in what I assume was intended to be an emotionally powerful reunion and heartfelt familial affirmation.
Unfortunately, because my body is currently wrapped in enough bandages to qualify as a magically traumatized corpse burrito held together by medicine, mana, and deeply questionable structural integrity…
It instead becomes a direct assault on my continued survival.
"GAAAH—!"
Pain.
Immediate, catastrophic, deeply affectionate pain.
The kind of pain that somehow feels emotionally wholesome and physically devastating at the exact same time.
"OW—WAIT—LOVE HURTS—LOVE HURTS!"
That declaration, tragically, does absolutely nothing to stop them.
If anything, they cry harder.
Which somehow makes me feel guilty for being injured in a way that inconveniences their emotional recovery.
"Papa, don't die again!" Hikari sobs directly into my side with enough sincerity to make my internal organs feel morally responsible.
"I only did it once!" I wheeze immediately in self-defense.
"You were sleeping forever!" Karin cries, which feels deeply unfair considering I was not sleeping recreationally.
"It was mana collapse!" I protest weakly, because medical clarification feels important.
Then Ruri—because apparently this child was specifically engineered by fate itself to emotionally assassinate me—tightens her grip just slightly and whispers the one sentence my exhausted heart was absolutely not prepared for.
"…We thought you left…"
…Yeah.
Nope.
That one bypasses every defensive mechanism I have ever developed.
Straight through.
No sarcasm.
No jokes.
No lazy deflection.
Just direct emotional damage.
For one dangerously quiet second, I genuinely have no response.
Because what exactly am I supposed to say to that?
"Sorry for the near-death experience?"
A little weak.
So instead, I do the only thing that currently feels right.
I force one functional arm upward—slowly, painfully, like my skeleton is actively charging interest on movement—and gently ruffle her hair first.
Then Karin's.
Then Hikari's.
One by one.
Deliberate.
Present.
Real.
"…Hey," I mutter, my voice rough, exhausted, and held together by approximately the same amount of force as the rest of me. "I'm here."
They're still crying.
Honestly?
Fair.
"…Not dead," I add after a moment, because apparently reassurance still requires uncomfortable levels of specificity around these children.
That helps.
Slightly.
Not enough to stop the crying entirely.
But enough that the panic starts loosening its grip.
Then…
I notice something.
Something small.
Something innocent.
Something deeply, spiritually concerning.
Hikari is holding a candle.
A candle.
An actual, literal memorial candle.
And beside her…
Is a drawing.
Of me.
I stare.
Not briefly.
Not casually.
Long enough that several important questions about my own premature funeral begin forming simultaneously.
"…Hikari."
She sniffles immediately, still visibly emotional but now also carrying the distinct energy of a child who may or may not have been caught doing something unintentionally horrifying.
"…Yes, Papa?"
I slowly point.
"…Why," I ask with all the exhausted gravity of a man who has survived an abyssal death realm only to awaken inside his own pre-funeral arrangement, "do you have a memorial candle?"
The room goes silent.
Karin, displaying the survival instincts of someone who absolutely intends to avoid blame, immediately points at Ruri.
"Ruri said maybe it helps if Papa became a ghost!"
Ruri gasps with the full force of betrayed innocence.
"I said if Papa became a ghost, we should help him find us!"
I close my eyes.
Take a breath.
Then another.
"…That," I finally say, "is somehow both significantly better and dramatically worse."
Ruruka, from somewhere beside me, immediately snorts.
Ah.
Right.
My younger sister.
I slowly turn my head.
And there she is.
Sitting in a chair beside my bed, arms crossed, posture stiff, eyes half-lidded from what is clearly severe sleep deprivation, emotional stress, and—judging by the expression—multiple near-homicidal thoughts over the past week.
She opens one eye fully, sees me conscious, and without missing a beat says:
"…Oh. Nii-sama. How was the afterlife?"
I stare at her for a long, deeply unimpressed moment, which is honestly difficult considering my current condition, then inhale slowly through pain, exhaustion, and the growing realization that surviving near death apparently does not exempt me from sibling harassment.
"…Smells like antiseptic," I answer at last.
For one beautiful, deeply sibling-coded moment, she actually laughs.
Not loudly.
Not elegantly.
Not even particularly gracefully.
Just enough.
A tired, cracked little sound forced out through accumulated stress, relief, sleep deprivation, and what I can only assume was seven straight days of younger-sister rage management.
And honestly?
That sound alone is weirdly comforting.
Because beneath the sarcasm, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the very visible urge to strangle me for existing this recklessly…
She's relieved.
"…Good," she mutters, rubbing one eye with the kind of exhausted resignation only younger sisters forcibly promoted into emergency crisis management can truly master. "So your sense of humor survived. Barely."
I test a breath.
Immediately regret it.
"Same can't be said for my ribs."
That earns another laugh.
Still small.
Still tired.
But real.
And for the first time since waking up, the room settles into something that almost resembles peace.
Not perfectly, obviously.
The girls are still clinging to me like emotionally traumatized dragon-shaped life insurance policies.
I still feel like I lost a fistfight against gravity, architecture, and my own bad decisions.
And Ruruka still has that very specific expression that suggests one poorly timed sentence could absolutely result in immediate violence.
But despite all that…
It's quieter now.
Safer.
And after surviving what may genuinely qualify as the single worst family outing in modern history, safe feels so overwhelmingly foreign that I almost don't know what to do with it.
So naturally?
I ruin it.
Because apparently self-preservation still isn't my strongest skill.
"…How long was I out?"
Ruruka's expression changes instantly.
Not panic.
Not anger.
Not even frustration.
Just that very specific look people get when they're about to casually destroy your emotional stability with factual information.
"…One week."
I blink.
Then blink again, because clearly my hearing is still recovering.
"…What?"
"One week," she repeats, far too calmly for the psychological violence she just inflicted. "Seven days. Full mana-collapse induced recovery state."
I slowly turn my head back toward the ceiling.
White.
Peaceful.
Deceptively calm.
The kind of ceiling that absolutely does not deserve the burden of what I'm currently processing beneath it.
"…Wow."
That's it.
That is genuinely all I've got.
No dramatic revelation.
No witty comeback.
Just… wow.
"…I was in a freaking coma."
"Technically—"
I immediately lift one hand as much as my bandaged, battered existence allows.
"That," I interrupt weakly, "was not an invitation for medical accuracy."
Karin gasps like this is somehow the most important detail she has heard all week.
"PAPA WAS COMA?!"
"…Not helping," I mutter.
"Hikari thought Papa was super dead," Hikari adds with deeply unnecessary honesty.
"…Also not helping."
Ruruka sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in a way that strongly suggests I personally reduced her lifespan by several years.
"Aaron secured your loot, dealt with the guild, prevented multiple investigations, answered approximately too many questions, and spent most of the week alternating between logistical efficiency and aggressively complaining about you."
I don't even need clarification.
"…Sounds like him."
"I carried you here myself," she adds.
That one actually makes me pause.
Not joking pause.
Not dramatic pause.
A real one.
Because beneath all the sarcasm and mutual sibling violence…
Yeah.
That mattered.
"…Thanks."
She immediately looks away, as if direct acknowledgment of emotional sincerity might physically damage her.
"…Obviously," she mutters.
Sibling translation?
You terrified me, idiot.
I don't say that out loud.
Mostly because I enjoy living.
Then, because life apparently refuses to let me recover without consequences, she continues.
"And your daughters spent the first two days begging me not to bury you yet because you might still be alive."
Silence.
Not normal silence.
Absolute silence.
The kind of silence where even my remaining brain cells stop functioning just long enough to fully appreciate what I just heard.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
I turn my head.
Toward the girls.
Who, for reasons that become immediately obvious, suddenly cannot maintain eye contact with me, the walls, or apparently reality itself.
"…Girls."
Karin fidgets first, because of course she does.
"…You looked super dead."
I stare at her.
"…That is," I say carefully, summoning every ounce of exhausted fatherly restraint I possess, "an incredibly rude visual assessment."
"Hikari said maybe wait first!" Hikari blurts immediately, raising her hand like this is a legal defense. "Hikari said Papa might still be Papa!"
I stare at her for one long second.
Then, despite everything, I actually feel my soul recover slightly.
"…Thank you, Hikari," I reply, because frankly, at this point third-person cautious optimism deserves full recognition. "I appreciate Hikari's moderate faith."
Then Ruri—small, quiet, devastatingly sincere Ruri—looks down at the blanket, grips it slightly tighter, and says in the softest, most dangerous-to-my-emotional-stability voice imaginable:
"…I told them Papa promised…"
…Right.
That promise.
That impossible, terrifying, life-defining promise.
The one I made when they were scared.
The one I made because they trusted me.
The one that somehow matters even more now.
I swallow.
Not because speaking hurts.
Because that sentence did.
Then, slowly, carefully, I reach over and gently ruffle her hair again.
Not casually.
Not jokingly.
Deliberately.
"…Yeah," I say softly, and this time there is no sarcasm, no lazy humor, no deflection anywhere in me. "I did."
And this time?
I mean it even more.
***
******'s POV
For what felt like an eternity, there was only darkness.
Not ordinary darkness, but something older—buried beneath ancient stone, ruined mana, and silence so absolute that even time itself seemed to have stopped. I no longer knew how long I had been imprisoned here. Days and years had long since lost meaning.
Only one thing remained.
Hatred.
Hatred for that mage.
Even now, I remember him clearly. Those cold blue eyes, that overwhelming power, that infuriating calm—as though sealing me was not some great battle, but merely a necessary inconvenience.
I hated him for that.
So I waited.
Bound by countless chains forged from mana itself, layered with enough arcane law to suppress even my existence, I endured. I studied every seal. Every weakness. Every flaw.
And eventually…
Crack.
The sound was small.
But to me?
It was everything.
One seal broke.
Then another.
Then more.
Ancient chains began snapping one after another, their carefully woven laws collapsing beneath the sheer persistence of my hatred.
And then, finally…
the last chain shattered.
Power returned to me in violent, unstable waves. Not all of it—no, my full strength was still far from restored—but enough.
Enough to stand.
Enough to move.
Enough… to kill.
For the first time in ages, I rose from the ruins of my prison, dark mana spilling from my body as broken seals crumbled beneath my feet.
"…Finally," I whispered, my voice rough and fractured from disuse.
Freedom.
Even weakened… it felt glorious.
I looked at the shattered chains, then slowly clenched my hand as power gathered once more.
That wretched mage.
Even now, traces of his mana still lingered here.
"…Just you wait," I muttered, smiling despite the fury twisting inside me. "I may not have my full power yet… but I have enough."
Enough to find him.
Enough to hunt him.
Enough… to make him pay.
I stepped forward, leaving my broken prison behind.
And for the first time in an eternity…
I smiled.
"I will find you, mage… and whatever it takes… I will kill you."
*****
End of Chapter 19
Dad Status Report:
Name: Ren Arclight
Former Occupation: Retired Archmage / Former Demon King Slayer
Current Occupation: Full-Time Dragon Dad
Primary Objective:
Survive catastrophic family outings while ensuring three dragon daughters remain alive,
emotionally stable, and enrolled in future education.
Daughters Under Supervision:
*Karin – Fire / Chaos / Tactical Arson / Emotionally Loud
*Ruri – Ice / Loyalty / Emotional Devastation / Promise Retention
*Hikari – Light / Hope / Unknown Miracle / Memorial Candle Risk
Chapter 19 Activities:
*Survived post-Origin Collapse physical failure
*Prevented daughters from emotionally assuming permanent death
*Maintained consciousness through catastrophic bodily damage
*Contacted emergency support under critical injury
*Endured battlefield explanation via child sound effects
*Provided structured disaster report to younger sister
*Initiated painful self-recovery while functioning as emotional support
*Secured SS-rank Abyss Throne Guardian loot
*Immediately converted trauma into financial planning
*Confirmed potential housing + education funding
*Collapsed again due to excessive overestimation
*Entered one-week mana-collapse coma
*Survived hospital recovery
*Successfully reassured daughters post-coma
*Discovered premature ghost contingency planning
*Reaffirmed Papa Promise
Major Achievements:
*Did not die
*Did not stay dead
*Did not become ghost
*Did secure startup capital
*Did emotionally devastate family
*Did recover
New Developments:
*Daughters now possess severe Papa separation trauma
*Hikari demonstrated moderate faith
*Karin's medical assessments remain offensively blunt
*Ruri's trust in Papa Promise upgraded to absolute
*Ruruka's lifespan reduced through stress
*Aaron's administrative suffering increased dramatically
*Retirement now considered structurally impossible
*Near-death now categorized as financially productive
Threat Level (Current Life):
Recovery Phase (Temporary)
Future Catastrophe Probability: Extremely High
Daughter Safety Status:
Alive
Clingy
Traumatized
Relieved
Dad Physical Status:
Hospitalized
Bandaged
Recovering
Medically Expensive
Dad Stress Levels:
Exhausted
Functional
Sarcastic
Parenting Skill Growth:24% (unchanged due to coma)
Current Dad Status:
Coma Survivor
Promise Keeper
Trauma Investor
Still Not Retired
Immediate Priorities:
*Full recovery
*Secure housing upgrade
*School enrollment planning
*Emotional stabilization for daughters
*Prevent future ghost assumptions
*Avoid additional S-rank family outings
Operational Assessment:
Mission Type: Survival + Recovery + Emotional Damage Control
Difficulty: Historically Terrible
Emotional Status:
Alive - Sore - Loved - Deeply Tired
Chapter Outcome:
Retirement Failed
Fatherhood Strengthened
Family Bond Increased
Medical Bills Pending
Dad Personal Statement:
"This family trip… was not fun at all."
Reality's Response:
"Understood. Recovery granted. Escalation pending."