The problem with buying a new home is that everyone talks about the big things.
The contract. The money. The location. The rooms. The parking registration, which remains a deeply unnecessary form of psychological warfare.
Nobody warns you about the small things.
Towels. Laundry baskets. Extra plates. Cleaning supplies. Child-safe locks. More towels because apparently children use towels like disposable battlefield flags. Extra blankets. Storage boxes. Kitchen mats. Bathroom stools. Curtain replacements. Tableware that does not look like it was purchased by a man who lived alone and considered one bowl, one cup, and one spoon a complete civilization.
Technically, the condominium is already fully furnished. That should have made everything simple.
Unfortunately, "fully furnished" does not mean "prepared for three dragon daughters."
That distinction is important.
Very important.
Which is why, after breakfast and another round of paperwork confirmation from the condominium office, Ruruka stands in the middle of my apartment with her arms folded, looking around like a commander preparing for war.
"We need to buy supplies," she says.
I stare at her from the dining table, where I am trying to enjoy tea in what might be my final peaceful moment before reality attacks me again.
"…The new place is furnished."
"It has furniture," she corrects. "That doesn't mean it has everything you need."
"That sounds like a trap."
"It's called moving."
"Same thing."
Ruruka ignores me professionally and starts listing things from her phone. "Bedding for the girls, extra pillows, bathroom supplies, cleaning tools, laundry baskets, hangers, school preparation items, storage boxes, kitchen supplies, safety locks, curtains, and probably some childproofing materials."
Karin, who is sitting on the couch with suspicious energy, immediately raises her hand. "Can we buy swords?"
"No," Ruruka and I answer at the same time.
Hikari, sitting beside Ruri, tilts her head. "Can Hikari buy treasures?"
"That depends on what you define as treasures," I say.
"Hikari likes ribbons, shiny rocks, snacks, and tiny spoons."
I close my eyes.
"…Why tiny spoons?"
"Hikari thinks they are cute."
Ruri gently places a hand on Hikari's shoulder. "We should only buy what we need first."
Karin groans dramatically. "That sounds boring."
"That sounds responsible," Ruruka says.
"Same thing," Karin mutters.
I point at her. "Unfortunately, she has a point."
Ruruka slowly turns toward me.
I lower my hand.
"…But responsibility is good."
"Better."
This is how my morning begins.
Not with peace. Not with sleep. Not with a quiet cup of tea while contemplating the fragile nature of existence.
No.
It begins with a shopping list.
A very long shopping list.
And because the mall in our city is still completely destroyed due to a certain S-rank abyss dungeon rudely interrupting our previous family outing, we have to drive to a mall in Chiba instead.
The girls take this news extremely well.
By which I mean they treat it like a grand expedition.
"Hikari is going to Chiba mall!"
"I'm going to inspect everything," Karin declares.
"You are not inspecting everything," I say while grabbing the car keys.
"I'll inspect only important things."
"No."
"What if the important thing is snacks?"
"No."
Ruri quietly picks up her small bag and looks at me. "…Papa, I packed tissues and water."
I stare at her for a moment.
Again.
Responsible child.
Worrying.
"…Good job, Ruri."
She smiles softly.
Karin immediately looks offended. "I packed too."
"You packed a towel sword."
"It might be useful."
"It will not be useful in a shopping mall."
"You said that before the dungeon."
That shuts me up for half a second.
Ruruka notices.
Of course she does.
She clears her throat. "No towel sword."
Karin pouts, but hands it over.
Good.
The last thing I need is my daughter dueling furniture displays in public.
We make it to the SUV after several rounds of shoe-checking, bag-checking, and Hikari trying to bring one ribbon because "Hikari needs luck." I allow the ribbon because I have learned to choose my battles, and a ribbon is significantly less concerning than a towel sword.
The drive to the mall is less chaotic than expected.
Not because the girls are calm.
They are not.
But because yesterday's condominium trip already trained me in the ancient art of answering questions without losing control of the vehicle.
"Papa, will the new mall also be destroyed?" Karin asks.
"Hopefully not."
"Hikari hopes the mall is strong."
"The mall does not need strength if no dungeon appears."
"Can malls train?" Karin asks.
"No."
"What if it has a gym?"
"That is not the same thing."
Ruruka sits in the passenger seat with one hand pressed lightly against her forehead. "Nii-sama, is this what every car ride is like?"
"Yes."
"…I see."
"You understand my suffering now."
"I understand why you look older."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
Ruri quietly looks out the window, then glances toward me through the rearview mirror. "Papa doesn't look old."
"Thank you, Ruri."
"He just looks tired."
Karin nods seriously. "Very tired."
"Hikari thinks Papa is tired but strong."
I grip the steering wheel and stare ahead.
"…I'll accept that."
The Chiba mall, thankfully, is intact.
Already an improvement.
It is large, bright, clean, and full of people who have no idea that an exhausted former archmage, his terrifyingly competent little sister, and three dragon children have entered the premises with a shopping list capable of crushing a weaker man's spirit.
I park properly. I check the girls' bags. I remind Karin not to run, remind Hikari not to touch everything, and remind Ruri that she is allowed to enjoy herself instead of treating this outing like a military escort mission.
Ruri nods politely.
Which means she will absolutely continue treating it like a military escort mission.
The moment we step inside, the girls freeze.
The mall stretches before them like a kingdom of lights, glass, food smells, colorful signs, and dangerous commercial temptation.
Hikari's eyes sparkle.
Karin's grin widens.
Ruri quietly inhales.
I feel my lifespan shorten.
"Hikari sees so many things," Hikari whispers.
"I want to go there," Karin says, pointing at three different stores somehow.
"We are here for necessities," Ruruka says firmly.
I nod. "Yes. Necessities only."
Three hours later, I realize that was a lie.
Shopping with children is not shopping.
It is attrition warfare.
First, we go to a home goods store.
That seems safe.
It is not.
The girls immediately discover bedding.
Hikari falls in love with a soft blanket because "Hikari thinks it feels like clouds." Karin wants a dark comforter because it "looks strong." Ruri quietly chooses a pale blue blanket and asks if it is okay because she does not want something too expensive, which naturally makes me buy it immediately out of emotional self-defense.
Ruruka watches me carry three blanket sets toward the cart.
"You folded quickly."
"She looked hesitant," I mutter.
"That's all it takes?"
"Yes."
"Dangerous."
"I know."
Next come pillows.
Hikari hugs one and refuses to release it for five minutes.
Karin tests pillows by punching them.
Ruri tests them by politely pressing one hand against the fabric.
A staff member watches us from the end of the aisle, probably wondering if we are okay.
We are not.
Then come towels.
For reasons I still do not fully understand, choosing towels becomes a serious family debate. Hikari wants yellow. Karin wants black. Ruri chooses white, then immediately changes to light blue after realizing white towels are "easier to stain," which proves once again that she is too practical for her age.
"Can I get red?" Karin asks.
"Yes," I say.
Ruruka looks at me. "That wasn't on the list."
"Towels were on the list."
"Not dramatic red towels."
"They're still towels."
She sighs. "Technically correct."
"Best kind of correct."
The cart fills quickly.
Too quickly.
Bedding, towels, laundry baskets, hangers, storage bins, bathroom stools, toothbrush cups, child-safe cabinet locks, extra plates, bowls, cups, utensils, cleaning supplies, slippers, a small step stool for Hikari, and a shockingly large number of things I had never considered necessary until Ruruka pointed at them and said, "You need that."
At some point, Karin disappears for eight seconds and returns holding a decorative wooden sword.
"No," I say immediately.
"You didn't even look."
"I saw enough."
"It's decorative."
"You would undececorate it."
"That's not a word."
"It is now."
Hikari returns from a nearby shelf holding a tiny spoon.
I stare at her.
She stares back.
"Hikari found treasure."
"…Put it back."
"Hikari will use it."
"For what?"
"Tiny soup."
I don't know how to respond to that.
Ruruka, traitor that she is, places the tiny spoon in the cart.
I slowly look at her.
She avoids my gaze.
"…It's cheap," she says.
"That's not the point."
"Hikari will cherish it."
"That is also not the point."
Hikari hugs the spoon packaging like it is a sacred relic.
I lose.
Again.
After home goods, we move to the children's section because Ruruka says the girls need practical room items.
This is where Karin discovers storage boxes with wheels.
"This one moves."
"No," I say.
"But it moves."
"That is why no."
"I can ride it."
"That is exactly why no."
Ruri gently touches a desk lamp. "…Papa, if we study, would this help?"
Study.
School.
Right.
That looming future nightmare.
I look at the lamp.
Then at Ruri.
"…Yeah. It would."
She smiles.
Into the cart it goes.
Then two more lamps, because I am weak and fair treatment is important.
Hikari chooses a lamp because "Hikari likes the round button." Karin chooses one because it "looks like a command tower."
Ruruka quietly whispers, "You're spoiling them."
"I am equipping them."
"With desk lamps?"
"Education equipment."
"That is not what you called Karin's towel sword."
"Because that was a weapon."
"So is the command tower lamp, apparently."
"Do not support her terminology."
Then comes the kitchenware area.
This should be simple.
It is not.
Hikari asks whether every bowl needs a purpose. Karin wants the largest rice bowl because she says victory requires portions. Ruri suggests buying enough plates for guests because Auntie and Aaron might visit.
That one catches me off guard.
Guests.
In my home.
A home with enough space for guests.
Very strange.
"…Yeah," I say after a moment. "That's a good idea."
Ruruka notices the shift in my voice, but for once she doesn't tease me.
We buy extra plates.
By the time we reach the checkout counter, the cart looks like we are preparing for either a move or a siege.
Possibly both.
The cashier scans item after item while the girls stand nearby, each holding one personal treasure.
Hikari has the tiny spoon.
Karin has somehow negotiated down from a decorative wooden sword to a black water bottle, which she insists is "battle ready."
Ruri holds the small desk lamp box carefully with both hands like it is something precious.
When the total appears, I stare at it.
Then I stare at the cart.
Then I stare at Ruruka.
"…This is legal?"
"It's normal."
"That total is normal?"
"For moving supplies? Yes."
"Terrifying."
"You defeated the Demon King."
"The Demon King did not charge me for bath mats."
Ruruka presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
I pay.
Of course I pay.
Because apparently this is my life now.
When we finally return to the parking lot, loading everything into the SUV becomes its own logistical operation. Ruruka organizes the bags. Ruri helps by passing lighter items. Hikari attempts to help by holding the tiny spoon, which contributes nothing but morale. Karin tries to lift a large storage bin and nearly topples sideways before pretending that was intentional.
"I meant to do that."
"No, you didn't," Ruri says.
"I was testing balance."
"You failed."
Ruruka shuts the trunk with the satisfied expression of someone who has completed a proper mission.
I, on the other hand, feel like I aged ten years in three hours.
Possibly fifteen.
Mall dungeons are worse than S-rank dungeons.
At least monsters are straightforward.
They attack, you kill them, dungeon cleared.
Shopping attacks through decision fatigue, emotional manipulation, and towels.
We drive back to the apartment with the SUV packed full of supplies and three satisfied children in the back seat. Karin hugs her black water bottle. Hikari carefully holds her tiny spoon. Ruri checks the receipt because she apparently wants to help keep track of expenses.
I nearly stop the car from sheer emotional damage.
When we finally reach the apartment again, I park, unload what needs to go upstairs, and immediately regret every physical object I have ever owned.
Packing begins.
Or rather, my suffering enters its second phase.
The apartment, which already felt small, now feels actively hostile. Every cabinet contains more things than I remember owning. Every drawer contains mysterious objects that may or may not belong to me. Every shelf has items that somehow survived years of neglect and now expect to be transported respectfully.
I stand in the middle of the living room holding an empty box.
"…Why do I own things?"
Ruruka, already holding a marker and tape, gives me a flat look. "Because you live here."
"That was my first mistake."
"Existing?"
"Accumulating."
She sighs. "We are packing properly."
I slowly raise one hand.
A faint spatial ripple forms beside me.
Arcane Storage opens.
Ruruka immediately points the marker at me like a weapon.
"No."
I freeze.
"…What?"
"No throwing everything into Arcane Storage and praying."
"That is a proven method."
"It is not a method. It is avoidance."
"It worked for years."
"You once lost winter clothes inside your own storage dimension for two seasons."
"They were safe."
"You forgot they existed."
"Still safe."
Ruruka narrows her eyes.
I close Arcane Storage.
Tragic.
Thus begins organized packing.
Ruruka supervises with terrifying precision. Boxes are categorized, labeled, sealed, and stacked. Kitchen. Bathroom. Clothes. Books. Toys. Documents. Dangerous Items, which Ruruka writes in large letters after opening one drawer and finding three sealed monster cores, a cracked mana crystal, and something I honestly forgot I owned.
She holds it up.
"What is this?"
"…Probably not active."
"Nii-sama."
"I said probably."
She creates a separate box labeled Do Not Touch.
Fair.
Ruri becomes useful almost immediately. No, more than useful. She becomes the real commander of the operation.
She labels boxes carefully in neat handwriting. She groups the girls' things by owner. She places fragile items aside. She even makes a small checklist on a scrap of paper, standing near the dining table with a marker in her hand like a tiny logistics officer.
"Papa, kitchen cups go in this box."
"Yes, Commander Ruri."
She blushes slightly. "…I'm not a commander."
Karin walks past carrying three toys, a snack pack, and what appears to be a harmless plastic baton.
"You are today."
Hikari nods seriously while holding a ribbon. "Commander Ruri is strong."
Ruri looks overwhelmed by praise and immediately tries to focus on labels again.
Good child.
Dangerously good child.
Karin's packing method is chaos with confidence.
She places toys, snacks, a flashlight, a sock, and a small training glove into the same box.
I stare at it.
"…What category is this?"
"Important stuff."
"This is a snack beside a glove."
"What if I get hungry while training?"
"And the sock?"
"Emergency."
"For what?"
"I'll know when it happens."
I look at Ruruka.
Ruruka looks at the box.
Then she calmly removes the snack and places it into the food box.
Karin gasps like betrayal has occurred.
"My tactical snack."
"You can have tactical snacks after we move," Ruruka says.
Hikari's packing method is somehow worse, but in a completely different way.
She has a small box labeled by Ruri as Hikari's Important Things.
Inside are two ribbons, a shiny rock, three snack wrappers I definitely told her to throw away before, the tiny spoon, one button, a soft keychain, and a folded paper napkin.
I slowly crouch beside her.
"Hikari."
"Yes, Papa?"
"Why are you packing snack wrappers?"
"Hikari remembers the snacks."
"The snacks are gone."
"But the memories remain."
I look at her tiny serious face.
Then at the wrappers.
Then at Ruruka.
Ruruka silently turns away, shoulders shaking slightly.
Traitor.
"…Fine," I say. "But only clean wrappers."
"Hikari wins memories."
I have no idea what that means.
Meanwhile, my own packing becomes a series of humiliations.
Ruruka opens one closet and finds old cloaks. She opens a drawer and finds expired coupons. She checks a shelf and finds notebooks from years ago. She discovers three identical mugs and asks why I own them.
"They were on sale."
"You live alone."
"I liked having options."
"You used one."
"I had emotional support mugs."
She stares at me.
I look away.
At some point, my phone rings.
Aaron.
I answer while holding a stack of books I forgot I owned.
"Yeah?"
"Master," Aaron says through the phone, already sounding tired despite not being physically present. "The condominium documents are confirmed. Early access has been approved, and I've arranged movers to assist with transport."
I glance around the apartment.
Several boxes are packed.
Many are not.
Karin is arguing over snack classification.
Hikari is polishing a rock with a tissue.
Ruri is labeling box number six.
Ruruka is threatening my storage habits with her eyes.
"…Good timing," I say.
"I assumed you would be underprepared."
"I am offended."
"Am I wrong?"
I look around again.
"…Not entirely."
Aaron sighs. "The movers will arrive within the hour. They have been instructed not to touch anything labeled dangerous."
"Good."
"Why is there a category labeled dangerous?"
"Because Ruruka found a drawer."
A pause.
Then Aaron says, "Of course she did."
He also confirms the parking registration, the unit access, and the remaining transfer schedule. It is all very professional, very efficient, and very Aaron.
Unfortunately, every new confirmed detail makes my life feel more real.
The new home is not theoretical anymore.
It is waiting.
When the movers arrive, the apartment becomes even more chaotic. They are professionals, thankfully, and they do not ask too many questions. That is good because several boxes raise questions by existing.
One mover looks at the Do Not Touch box.
Then at me.
I smile politely.
He looks away.
Excellent survival instincts.
Ruruka directs them efficiently. Ruri helps point out which boxes are light. Hikari politely tells one mover that the tiny spoon is not for moving because "Hikari carries treasure personally." Karin asks if movers are strong enough to move monsters.
The mover laughs nervously.
I decide not to explain.
Slowly, the apartment empties.
The shelves clear.
The kitchen becomes bare.
The living room loses its clutter.
The old couch, which has suffered enough, is left behind for now because honestly, I do not think it deserves to continue into the new life.
It has served its sentence.
As the boxes leave one by one, the apartment begins to look unfamiliar.
Not because it changed.
Because it became what it originally was.
Small.
Plain.
Temporary.
Before the girls, this apartment was just a place to sleep. A place where I could hide from attention, avoid people, eat lazy meals, and pretend retirement meant disappearing from the world.
Then three eggs appeared.
Then three daughters hatched.
Then this small apartment became a nursery, battlefield, dining room, shelter, hospital recovery zone, anime theater, and occasionally courtroom.
It was cramped.
Damaged.
Inconvenient.
But it was also the first place where we became a family.
That thought hits harder than expected.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
The girls notice the emptiness too.
Karin stands near the couch, quieter than usual. Hikari holds her tiny spoon against her chest. Ruri looks around slowly, her expression soft.
"…Papa," Ruri says, "are we leaving now?"
I look at her.
Then at the apartment.
"…Yeah."
Hikari's voice becomes small. "Hikari says goodbye?"
I nod. "Yeah. You can say goodbye."
And somehow, because children are strange and sincere and emotionally dangerous, all three of them do.
Karin pats the old couch. "Goodbye, couch. You were kind of uncomfortable."
"You jumped on it daily," I say.
"It was training."
Hikari waves at the kitchen. "Goodbye, tiny kitchen. Hikari liked snacks from you."
"The kitchen did not make the snacks."
"Hikari thanks kitchen anyway."
Ruri stands near the doorway and bows slightly. "…Thank you for taking care of us."
I look away.
Immediately.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Ruruka notices, of course, but this time she does not tease me.
The movers take the last boxes down. Aaron arrives near the end, somehow perfectly timed, standing at the doorway with his usual tired expression and a tablet in hand.
"Everything is ready at the condominium," he says. "The first transport has already arrived."
"Good."
He looks around the apartment.
Then at me.
His expression softens slightly, though only barely.
"…This was your hideout for a long time."
I nod.
"Yeah."
"You'll still own it?"
"For now," I say. "Maybe I'll renovate it later. Or keep it as storage."
Ruruka immediately looks at me.
"Proper storage," I add.
"Good."
Aaron adjusts his glasses. "It may be useful to keep. A fallback location is never a bad thing."
Trust Aaron to turn sentiment into tactical planning.
Still, he is not wrong.
Eventually, everyone steps into the hallway.
The girls go ahead with Ruruka and Aaron, but I remain in the doorway for a moment.
Just me.
The empty apartment.
And too many memories for a place this small.
I look at the kitchen where I burned dinner once because Hikari asked fourteen questions in a row.
The living room where Karin first tried to declare couch territory.
The spot where Ruri quietly fell asleep sitting up because she refused to rest before her sisters.
The hallway where I carried them after the dungeon.
The door where everything changed.
I let out a slow breath.
"…Thanks," I say quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just enough for the room.
"Thanks for keeping us together."
The words feel embarrassing immediately.
Thankfully, no one is there to hear them.
Except, apparently, Ruruka.
Because my little sister is waiting just outside the door, leaning against the wall with her arms folded and a softer expression than usual.
"Done saying goodbye, Nii-sama?"
I sigh.
"…You heard that?"
"Yes."
"Forget it."
"No."
"Cruel."
"Accurate."
She steps closer and pats my shoulder once.
Her hand is steady.
Warm.
Familiar.
"You can always come back here," she says. "Renovate it. Keep it. Use it when you need quiet. But you have your own family now. Your daughters. Of course some things must change."
I look back into the empty apartment.
She is right.
Again.
Very irritating habit.
I smile faintly.
"…Yeah. It's been fun living here."
Ruruka smiles too.
"Then lock it properly."
"There it is."
"What?"
"The emotional moment ruined by logistics."
"Someone has to do it."
Fair.
I take out the key, step into the hallway, and lock the apartment door.
The click sounds final.
Not sad exactly.
Just real.
Then I turn away.
The drive to the condominium feels different from the previous trips.
The girls are tired from shopping and packing, but their excitement has not disappeared. Karin keeps asking if her room is still hers. Hikari asks if the sunshine room remembers her. Ruri holds the labeled folder of important papers on her lap like a sacred duty.
Aaron follows behind with the movers, because apparently he decided this operation required oversight.
Honestly, he is probably correct.
When we arrive at the condominium, the first truck is already parked near the service entrance. The staff greets us politely, the movers begin unloading, and the girls immediately brighten the moment they step into the lobby.
"Hikari is home!"
"I'm going upstairs!" Karin shouts.
"No running," Ruruka says.
Karin slows down immediately.
Powerful auntie.
We take the elevator up, and when the unit door opens, the girls rush inside with the kind of joy that makes all the fatigue feel slightly less fatal.
Hikari runs to the window first.
"Hikari's sunshine room is waiting!"
Karin runs toward the stairs. "I need to check my battle position!"
"No battle position!" I call after her.
Ruri steps inside slowly.
She looks around the wide living room, the kitchen, the staircase, the sunlight, the space.
Then she smiles.
"…We're really here."
That almost gets me again.
I am under heavy emotional attack today.
Aaron steps in behind us, looking around with approval. "Good choice."
Ruruka folds her arms and smiles. "I agree."
I glance at both of them.
"…Don't start."
"Start what?" Aaron asks.
"Acting like I made a mature decision."
"You did," Ruruka says.
"Very suspicious."
Aaron adjusts his glasses. "Congratulations, Master."
Ruruka smiles. "Congratulations, Onii-sama."
I stare at them for a moment.
Then at the girls running through the new home.
Then at the boxes slowly being brought inside.
Something settles in my chest.
Heavy, but not unpleasant.
"…Thanks," I say.
Quietly.
Sincerely.
Aaron nods. Ruruka's smile softens, and for once, neither of them mocks me immediately.
Miracle.
The movers spend the next several hours bringing boxes in. Ruruka coordinates where everything goes. Aaron checks final access details and building registration. Ruri helps place labels on room doors. Hikari proudly carries her tiny spoon to the kitchen like a sacred housewarming relic. Karin tries to drag her box of toys toward her room and nearly trips because she refuses to admit it is too heavy.
I carry it for her.
She complains.
Then thanks me quietly when she thinks no one hears.
I hear.
Of course I do.
By late afternoon, the worst of the moving is done.
Not finished.
Never finished.
But done enough.
Boxes are stacked in the right rooms. Bedding is unpacked. Basic kitchen supplies are ready. Towels are in the bathroom. Hikari's tiny spoon has somehow been placed in the utensil drawer like it pays rent.
The girls are exhausted but glowing with happiness.
Ruruka looks satisfied.
Aaron looks tired, which is his natural state.
And I look at the kitchen.
The large, open, actually usable kitchen.
Then I make a decision.
"Alright," I say.
Everyone looks at me.
"I'll cook a feast."
Karin immediately appears.
"A feast?"
"Hikari wants feast!"
Ruri's eyes brighten. "…Really?"
Ruruka smiles knowingly.
Aaron adjusts his glasses. "A housewarming meal?"
"Something like that," I say.
Honestly, it feels right.
A new home deserves food.
Not takeout.
Not convenience store meals.
Not emergency snacks eaten over half-packed boxes.
Actual food.
A proper meal.
A celebration.
Because tomorrow, life will attack again.
There will be children's paperwork. Birth certificates. Resident registration. School consultations. Medical records. Explanations for three daughters who appeared under circumstances that would make any government employee consider retirement.
Tomorrow will be exhausting.
Possibly more exhausting than shopping.
Maybe even more exhausting than fighting monsters.
But that is tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, we eat.
Tonight, this place becomes less like a property and more like a home.
I roll up my sleeves and step into the kitchen.
Karin cheers from the living room. Hikari starts chanting "feast" in third person somehow, which is grammatically confusing but emotionally effective. Ruri starts helping without being asked. Ruruka leans against the counter, watching me with that annoying proud little-sister expression. Aaron quietly takes a seat, probably relieved that for once the crisis involves dinner.
I look around at all of them.
My daughters.
My little sister.
My exhausted guild master accomplice.
My new home.
Then I sigh.
"…This parenting era is getting dangerous."
Ruruka smiles.
"You're doing fine, Onii-sama."
I pick up the knife and begin preparing dinner.
"Don't say that yet," I mutter. "Tomorrow involves paperwork."
Aaron's expression darkens immediately.
Ruruka laughs.
The girls cheer.
And somehow, despite the boxes, the exhaustion, the shopping trauma, the old apartment goodbye, and the terrifying future waiting in the form of legal documents…
The new kitchen feels warm.
The house feels alive.
And for once, I think, maybe this is a disaster I don't mind surviving.
*****
End of Chapter 24
Dad Status Report:
Name: Ren Arclight
Former Occupation: Retired Archmage / Former Demon King Slayer
Current Occupation: Full-Time Dragon Dad
Primary Objective:
Successfully relocate family into their new home without losing children, paperwork, or sanity.
Daughters Under Supervision:
*Karin – Fire / Chaos / Tactical Packing Specialist
*Ruri – Ice / Logistics / Acting Moving Commander
*Hikari – Light / Treasure Collector / Keeper of Tiny Spoon
Today's Activities:
*Conducted large-scale family shopping expedition
*Acquired household essentials
*Survived three hours of mall warfare
*Purchased supplies for new home
*Defeated shopping-induced decision fatigue
*Rejected decorative wooden sword
*Approved tiny spoon under suspicious circumstances
*Coordinated apartment packing
*Prevented Arcane Storage abuse
*Worked alongside professional movers
*Said farewell to first family home
*Successfully relocated household to Chiba condominium
*Declared official housewarming feast
New Developments:
*Family officially moved into new condominium
*Former apartment vacated
*Movers completed first transport
*Household supplies secured
*Hikari's Tiny Spoon officially registered in kitchen drawer
*Commander Ruri successfully organized relocation
*Karin's Battle Room remains under negotiation
*New kitchen officially operational
Threat Level (Environment):
Peaceful
Box Filled
Emotionally Dangerous
Threat Level (Household):
Elevated
*Hundreds of unpacked items
*Battle Room discussions ongoing
*Tiny Spoon successfully infiltrated kitchen
*Arcane Storage privileges temporarily suspended
Daughter Safety Status:
Happy
Settled
Excited About New Home
Dad Stress Levels:
Physically Exhausted
Emotionally Attacked
Packing-Induced Fatigue
Parenting Skill Growth:
39.5% - 48.7% (Successful Family Relocation Bonus Applied)
Current Dad Status:
Moved In
Emotionally Compromised
Cooking Again
Immediate Priorities:
*Finish unpacking
*Organize household rooms
*Cook first family feast
*Prepare legal documents
*Begin school enrollment process
*Child-proof entire condominium
*Prevent Karin from weaponizing furniture
Operational Assessment:
Mission Type: Family Relocation Operation
Difficulty: More Difficult Than Demon King Extermination
Emotional Status:
Nostalgic – Grateful – Hopeful
Future Outlook:
A New Chapter Begins
Dad Personal Statement:
"Thanks... for keeping us together."
Reality's Response:
"The apartment was never just four walls. It was the first place... your family called home."