The next morning begins with coffee.
Not peace.
Not hope.
Not the warm glow of a new home and a fresh beginning.
Coffee.
Because apparently, when a man becomes the father of three dragon daughters, purchases a condominium, moves in, survives shopping, cooks a housewarming feast, and wakes up the next day realizing that children require legal documents, school registration, medical records, identity paperwork, guardian forms, and several things involving a mother who does not actually exist, the only acceptable response is caffeine.
I sit on the sofa in the new living room, staring blankly at the coffee table like it personally offended me.
Aaron already left earlier after dropping off a stack of follow-up documents and reminding me, with the calm cruelty of a professional, that the property transfer was not the end of the paperwork.
It was only the beginning.
Then he escaped.
Coward.
Ruruka is in the kitchen making coffee, which is impressive because this kitchen is actually large enough for a human being to move in without needing dungeon-level spatial awareness. The girls are somewhere behind me, roaming around the condominium like tiny surveyors inspecting newly conquered territory.
Karin is probably checking "battle positions."
Hikari is probably naming corners.
Ruri is probably preventing both of them from causing immediate property damage.
So far, nobody has screamed.
That is either a good sign or the silence before catastrophe.
I rub my face with both hands and stare at the stack of documents Aaron left behind.
"...Where should I even start?"
Ruruka appears beside the sofa and places a cup of coffee in front of me.
"Drink this first," she says. "Then we'll think about it."
I look at the cup.
Then at her.
"...You are leaving soon, aren't you?"
"I have my own work, Nii-sama."
"Unfortunate."
"I cannot live here permanently just to stop you from losing to forms."
"That sounds like abandonment."
"That sounds like adulthood."
"Same thing."
She sits down across from me with her own cup, looking far too composed for someone who knows exactly how ridiculous my situation is. Unlike Aaron, Ruruka knows the truth. She knows the girls are not ordinary children. She knows they came from eggs. She knows I am currently attempting to build legal, social, and domestic stability around three small supernatural beings using a fake wife as a structural support beam.
Which is not ideal.
The public story is simple enough on paper.
I have a wife.
The girls are my daughters.
My wife is currently absent due to personal circumstances, family matters, or some other vague adult excuse that sounds normal enough that people stop asking questions.
The truth?
My daughters hatched from dragon eggs, turned into children after a nap, and now require school enrollment.
Life is absurd.
Ruruka takes a slow sip of coffee and glances at the documents on the table. "Aaron prepared the property documents well. The household transfer is manageable. School registration might be easier than you think, depending on the institution. The difficult part will be follow-up records."
"Birth certificates," I mutter.
"Yes."
"Medical history."
"Yes."
"Mother's information."
"Yes."
I close my eyes.
"Can I defeat the paperwork physically?"
"No."
"Can I seal it?"
"No."
"Can I drop it into another dimension?"
"No."
"Rude."
"Responsible."
I sink deeper into the sofa.
From the hallway, Hikari's voice echoes. "Papa! Hikari found another bathroom!"
"There are supposed to be bathrooms," I call back.
"Hikari thinks this house has many secrets!"
"It has rooms."
Karin's voice follows immediately. "Papa! The stairs are still good!"
"Why are you testing the stairs?"
"I'm not testing them. I'm respecting them."
"That means nothing!"
Ruri's voice comes next, slightly strained. "Karin, please don't slide down the railing."
I turn to Ruruka.
She stares back at me.
Then she calmly takes another sip of coffee.
"...School," she says. "Start with school."
I nod slowly. "Right. School."
This is reasonable.
Probably.
Schools have systems. Systems have procedures. Procedures have forms. Forms, while evil, can at least be completed in stages. Aaron mentioned that some schools allow temporary enrollment while documents are being processed, especially for children under irregular family transfer circumstances.
Irregular family transfer circumstances.
That is a beautiful phrase.
It sounds much better than "three dragon daughters appeared in my apartment and now I'm improvising."
After settling the girls down and forcing everyone to eat breakfast like a semi-functional household, I announce the plan.
"Alright," I say, standing in the living room with a folder in one hand and my coffee-fortified dignity in the other. "We're visiting a nearby school today."
Karin immediately turns from the window. "School?"
"Hikari knows school!" Hikari raises both hands. "School has children!"
Ruri's eyes widen slightly. "...Will we study there?"
"Eventually," I answer. "Today, we're just asking about enrollment."
Karin tilts her head. "Do schools have training grounds?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Very."
"What if they call it a playground?"
"That is not the same thing."
Hikari gasps. "Hikari wants playground."
Ruri clasps her hands quietly. "...Do we need to behave?"
"Yes," Ruruka says before I can answer.
I point at her. "Listen to Auntie."
Karin grins. "I always behave."
The room goes silent.
Even Hikari looks at her.
Ruri lowers her gaze.
Ruruka slowly raises an eyebrow.
I stare at Karin for several seconds before saying, "...That statement was brave."
"What? I can behave."
"Can and do are different categories."
Karin pouts.
A little while later, we pile into the SUV. The school is nearby, which was one of Ruruka's reasons for approving the condominium in the first place. It is close enough to be practical, far enough from major roads to ease some of my anxiety, and apparently reputable enough that Ruruka said the words "acceptable environment," which I assume is high praise from someone who judges everything with a swordswoman's standards.
The drive is short, but somehow Hikari still manages to ask eight questions.
"Papa, what do children do in school?"
"They learn."
"What do they learn?"
"Letters, numbers, reading, writing, social behavior, and how not to become criminals."
Karin leans forward. "Do they learn fighting?"
"No."
"Then how do they survive?"
"By not needing to fight."
She looks genuinely confused.
Ruruka sighs from the passenger seat. "Karin, school is not a dungeon."
"But what if it becomes one?"
I grip the steering wheel slightly tighter.
"Do not manifest that sentence into reality."
Ruri gently touches Karin's sleeve. "...Let's just watch first."
Karin nods reluctantly. "Fine. I'll observe."
"That word scares me," I say.
When we arrive at the grade school, the girls go quiet in a way that is not fear, exactly, but awe.
The campus is bright and surprisingly peaceful. Children are playing in the yard. Some are singing nursery rhymes with a teacher clapping along. Others are sitting under a shaded area working on simple puzzles. A group near the garden is listening to a teacher explain something about plants. The sound of laughter fills the air, soft and ordinary.
Ordinary.
That word still feels unfamiliar around us.
Hikari presses both hands lightly against the car window.
"Hikari sees many children."
Karin's eyes scan the playground. "They're small."
"You are also small," I say.
"I'm strong-small."
"That is not an official category."
Ruri looks quietly fascinated. "...They look happy."
I glance at her through the mirror.
"Yeah."
And suddenly, the thought hits me.
This is what I want for them.
Not dungeons. Not blood. Not hiding. Not late-night panic over anomalies and old enemies. Not children crying behind barriers while I fight something that should not exist.
This.
Playgrounds. Classrooms. Friends. Puzzles. Songs. Ordinary mornings.
A normal life.
Or something close to it.
Very dangerous emotional territory.
I park and lead them inside with Ruruka beside me. The school receptionist welcomes us kindly, and after a brief explanation, we are brought to a counselor's office. The counselor is a middle-aged woman with calm eyes, a gentle smile, and the quiet patience of someone who has probably dealt with every possible version of nervous parents.
Unfortunately, she has not dealt with me.
Poor woman.
"Arclight-san," she says politely, "thank you for coming. I understand you're interested in enrollment for your three daughters?"
"Yes," I say, sitting properly and trying to look like a normal father instead of a former archmage currently committing emotional fraud against civil bureaucracy.
Ruruka sits beside me, composed and elegant, which helps. She looks like the responsible relative. I look like the man who forgot where to begin.
Accurate.
The counselor looks through the initial form. "Ruri-chan, Karin-chan, and Hikari-chan, correct?"
"Yes."
"And their mother is currently unavailable for direct processing?"
There it is.
The wife problem.
My soul attempts to leave my body.
I keep my expression steady through sheer battle experience.
"Yes," I answer. "She's... away at the moment. Family circumstances."
Technically, that sentence contains words.
Ruruka steps in smoothly. "Their father is handling the primary guardian procedures for now. We can follow up with additional documents once the household registration process is finalized."
The counselor nods like this is not unusual. "That's fine. We can begin with temporary enrollment forms and emergency contact information. The full documents can be submitted later."
I stare at her.
She smiles kindly.
I feel like I have just survived a trap room.
"...Later?" I ask, perhaps too hopefully.
"Yes. Many families require time to transfer records, especially after moving. As long as we have guardian consent, address information, emergency contacts, and basic health declarations, they can start on a provisional basis."
I glance at Ruruka.
She gives me a small nod.
Beautiful.
I may live.
Behind the glass window of the counselor's office, the girls are visible near the play area where a teacher agreed to let them observe under supervision.
Observe.
That word lasted approximately three minutes.
Hikari somehow makes friends almost immediately. One moment she is standing beside Ruri, clutching her little hands together while looking around. The next moment, she is sitting with two children near a puzzle mat, explaining something with extreme seriousness.
"Hikari thinks this piece goes here," she says.
A little girl beside her nods.
Just like that, friendship.
Terrifyingly efficient.
Karin, meanwhile, has discovered the sandbox.
Naturally.
She stands in the middle of it with her hands on her hips while several other children look at her in confusion.
"This is my domain," she declares.
I close my eyes.
The counselor pauses mid-sentence.
Ruruka slowly turns her head toward the window.
Ruri rushes toward the sandbox from the side, clearly trying to prevent history from becoming worse.
"Karin, you can't claim the sandbox."
"I can if I'm inside it."
"That's not how it works."
A boy in the sandbox raises his hand. "Can I still play?"
Karin thinks seriously.
Then nods.
"Yes. You may enter as my subject."
I put a hand over my face.
Ruruka's shoulders tremble slightly.
The counselor lets out a soft laugh.
"That one is spirited," she says.
"That is a generous word," I mutter.
Thankfully, no one cries. The children seem to accept Karin's sudden sandbox monarchy with the flexible logic only children possess. Hikari waves at them from the puzzle area. Ruri continues trying to negotiate sandbox democracy.
The counselor returns to the forms. "They seem socially curious, at least."
"Yes," I say. "Curious. That is one way to describe it."
We spend the next hour discussing age placement, documents, provisional attendance, health checks, and school routines. Since the girls do not look like kindergarteners anymore, the counselor suggests starting them in lower grade school with observation-based placement. They can attend trial days first while paperwork is completed.
That sounds reasonable.
Dangerously reasonable.
I sign several preliminary forms. Ruruka helps clarify details where necessary. Emergency contact one: me. Emergency contact two: Ruruka. Mother's details: pending follow-up.
I hate that phrase.
Pending follow-up.
It sounds harmless.
It is not.
Still, for now, it works.
By the time we finish, Hikari has made three friends, Ruri has helped clean up the puzzle area, and Karin's sandbox kingdom has somehow become a cooperative construction project involving a "castle wall" and "defense trenches."
The teacher supervising them approaches us with a tired but amused smile.
"They're energetic," she says.
"Sorry," I reply immediately.
"No, no, it's fine. Karin-chan is very... imaginative."
Ruruka coughs once.
I know she is laughing at me internally.
Hikari runs over first.
"Papa! Hikari made friends!"
"Good job, Hikari."
"They like puzzles."
"That's great."
Karin runs over next, slightly sandy. "Papa, the sandbox has potential."
"No kingdoms."
"But they followed orders really well."
"No kingdoms."
Ruri arrives last, brushing sand from her sleeve with a tired little smile. "...They had fun."
I look at her.
"You did too?"
She hesitates.
Then nods.
"...A little."
Good.
Very good.
After finalizing everything with the counselor, we leave the school with trial attendance scheduled to begin the next day.
The next day.
Too soon.
Way too soon.
As we drive back, the girls talk excitedly in the back seat.
"Hikari wants to see friends again."
"I want to build a better castle."
Ruri quietly says, "...The teacher was kind."
Ruruka looks out the passenger window for a moment, then speaks softly enough that only I can hear.
"I can help you with the remaining documents."
"Thank you."
"But regarding things that require the mother's information..." She glances at me. "You need to do something about that yourself, Nii-sama."
I exhale slowly.
"...Yeah."
Because that problem is not going away.
The wife cover story bought me time. It gave Aaron a framework, the school a reason not to panic, and the records something normal-looking to lean on. But eventually, systems ask for details. Systems always ask for details.
Name.
Birth records.
Marriage record.
Mother's address.
Signature.
Proof.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
"I'll figure something out," I mutter.
"You always do."
"That sounds optimistic."
"It's not. It's based on repeated evidence of you surviving terrible decisions."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
After spending a bit more time helping us settle back at the condominium, Ruruka finally prepares to leave. She still has her own work, her own apartment, her own duties, and apparently a dungeon report waiting for her.
The girls take the news poorly.
"Auntie is leaving?" Hikari asks, eyes wide.
"For now," Ruruka says gently.
Karin frowns. "But we just moved."
"I'll visit again."
"Tomorrow?"
Ruruka hesitates.
I immediately look away because this is not my battle.
Ruri clasps her hands. "...Please come when you can, Auntie."
That one, as always, destroys Ruruka's defenses.
She kneels slightly and pats all three of them in turn. "I'll come as soon as I can."
Hikari hugs her.
Karin hugs her.
Ruri hugs her last, quietly but firmly.
Ruruka looks at me over their heads with an expression that says this is your fault.
I give her a very innocent look.
She does not believe it.
Before leaving, she pulls me aside near the entrance.
"Call me if anything happens."
"With school?"
"With anything."
I nod.
She narrows her eyes. "And do not try to solve the mother paperwork problem by making up something ridiculous."
I stare at her.
"...Define ridiculous."
"No."
"Unfair."
"Think carefully, Nii-sama."
"I am always thinking carefully."
She looks toward Karin, who is currently trying to balance a pillow on her head.
Ruruka looks back at me.
"...Sure."
Then she leaves.
And for the first time in the new condominium, I am alone with the girls.
Not alone-alone.
Father alone.
Which is worse.
The next morning arrives far too quickly.
School trial day.
I wake up early, prepare breakfast, pack small bags, check the forms three times, make sure the girls are dressed properly, and give what I believe to be a very reasonable speech near the entrance.
"Listen carefully," I say. "Today is your first school trial day. You will stay there for a few hours while Papa handles other work. You must behave, listen to the teachers, stay together when asked, and avoid starting kingdoms, duels, investigations, experiments, or revolutions."
Karin raises her hand.
"No revolutions," I repeat.
She lowers her hand.
Hikari raises both hands. "Can Hikari make friends?"
"Yes. Friends are allowed."
"Can Hikari ask questions?"
"Yes, but not every question in your head at once."
"Hikari will try."
Ruri nods seriously. "...I'll watch them."
I crouch slightly and look at her.
"You don't have to carry everything, Ruri. Listen to your teachers too, okay?"
She blinks.
Then gives a small nod.
"...Okay."
I should have known.
I should have sensed the approaching disaster from the beginning.
But hope makes fools of us all.
We arrive at the school. The teachers welcome the girls kindly. Hikari waves at the friends she made yesterday. Ruri stays close, polite and attentive. Karin looks around like she is evaluating terrain.
I crouch in front of them near the entrance.
"Behave."
"We will," Ruri says.
"Hikari will behave."
Karin gives me a thumbs-up. "I'll behave."
That should have been the warning.
I leave.
For ten minutes, I experience peace.
Ten minutes.
I return to the condominium, sit down on the sofa with a cup of coffee, and open the folder Aaron left regarding household registration.
Then my phone rings.
The school.
I stare at the screen.
No.
Impossible.
Not already.
I answer slowly.
"...Hello?"
"Arclight-san?" the teacher says politely, though I hear tension underneath. "I'm sorry to call so soon, but could you come back to the school?"
I close my eyes.
"...What happened?"
A pause.
"Well..."
Karin happened.
Of course Karin happened.
When I arrive back at the school, I am guided to a small office near the entrance. Inside are the teacher, the counselor, Ruri looking deeply apologetic, Hikari looking proud for reasons I do not like, Karin standing with her arms crossed, a little boy holding tissue to his nose, and an angry mother glaring hard enough to damage furniture.
Wonderful.
First day.
Excellent start.
I bow slightly. "I'm sorry. What happened?"
The teacher gives me a strained smile. "There was... a misunderstanding during playtime."
The angry mother immediately snaps, "Your daughter punched my son!"
I slowly turn toward Karin.
Karin looks up at me.
Then says, with complete honesty, "He asked for a duel."
I stare at her.
"He what?"
"He said he was the strongest in the class and asked if anyone wanted to fight."
The boy mumbles through the tissue, "I didn't mean for real..."
Karin points at him. "Then you should say pretend duel."
I take a slow breath.
Very slow.
"Karin."
"What? I used a light punch."
The teacher winces.
The mother's glare intensifies.
Ruri quickly steps forward, near tears from stress. "...Papa, I tried to stop her."
"I know, Ruri."
"Hikari cheered for Karin," Hikari says proudly.
I slowly turn toward Hikari.
"Hikari."
"Hikari thought it was a game."
I put one hand over my face.
The headache arrives immediately.
Powerful.
Accurate.
Possibly fatal.
I bow again, deeper this time. "I apologize. I'll take responsibility for this."
The mother crosses her arms. "She needs discipline."
"She will be disciplined," I say calmly.
Karin stiffens slightly.
Good.
Fear.
Useful.
The counselor, thankfully, tries to mediate. The boy's nosebleed is mild. Karin did not use full strength, which is the only reason we are not dealing with a hospital visit and national news. The school understands that children sometimes misunderstand play challenges, but a physical response is unacceptable.
Yes.
Obviously.
Very unacceptable.
I apologize again. Karin is made to apologize properly.
She does.
Awkwardly.
"I'm sorry I punched you."
The boy sniffles. "It's okay..."
"And I'm sorry you lost."
"Karin," I say.
She clamps her mouth shut.
The teacher closes her eyes.
The mother makes a sound that suggests she is reconsidering society.
By the time everything is settled, I have aged another five years.
Outside the office, I crouch in front of the girls.
"Karin."
She looks down. "...Yes, Papa?"
"No duels at school."
"But he asked."
"No duels."
"What if they ask nicely?"
"No duels."
"What if it's pretend?"
"Ask the teacher first."
She thinks about it.
"...Okay."
I turn to Hikari.
"Hikari."
"Hikari will not cheer for duels."
"Good."
"Hikari will cheer for puzzles."
"That is acceptable."
Then I look at Ruri.
Her shoulders are tense.
I place a hand gently on her head.
"You did your best."
Her eyes widen slightly.
"...I couldn't stop her."
"You're not responsible for stopping every disaster."
Karin mumbles, "I'm not a disaster."
I look at her.
She looks away.
Ruri swallows, then nods quietly.
The school allows them to continue the rest of the day after a long discussion, though I suspect several teachers immediately begin updating internal safety procedures.
Fair.
The next few days become a blur.
Not a peaceful blur.
A fatherhood blur.
Morning school drop-offs. Afternoon pickups. Forms. Household registration appointments. Calls from Aaron. Questions from school. Emergency contact confirmations. Ruruka checking in between dungeon work. Karin learning that "play fighting" requires teacher approval. Hikari making friends at alarming speed. Ruri quietly adapting to classroom routines better than anyone expected.
Every day, I become more tired.
Every day, the girls become more settled.
This seems like an unfair exchange.
One afternoon, Hikari comes home with a drawing of the family.
I have suspiciously large hair.
Karin is holding what appears to be a flaming stick.
Ruri is drawn with a tiny crown labeled "Responsible."
There is also a blank figure beside me.
I stare at it for a long moment.
"Hikari," I ask carefully, "who is this?"
"Hikari drew Mama because teacher said families can have Mama."
Ah.
There it is again.
The wife problem.
Karin leans over. "But we haven't met Mama."
Ruri looks at me quietly.
Very quietly.
I fold the paper carefully.
"...We'll talk about that later."
Terrible answer.
But it is the only one I have.
That night, after the girls finish dinner and settle in the living room with coloring books, I sit on the sofa and call Ruruka.
She answers with dungeon noise in the background.
Something roars.
Something explodes.
Then Ruruka says calmly, "Nii-sama?"
"...Are you busy?"
"A little."
Another explosion.
I stare at the ceiling.
"Are you raiding a dungeon while answering my call?"
"Yes."
"That seems unsafe."
"I'm fine. What happened?"
I glance toward the girls. Karin is coloring something that looks like a dragon. Hikari is coloring the sun with far too much yellow. Ruri is carefully writing names under each drawing.
"...School happened."
Ruruka is silent for a moment.
Then: "Karin?"
"Karin."
"I see."
"She accepted a duel."
"Of course she did."
"She caused a nosebleed."
A pause.
"...Was the other child seriously hurt?"
"No. Mild nosebleed."
"Good."
"Ruruka."
"I mean good that it wasn't serious, not good that it happened."
"Clarify faster next time."
She exhales. "How are you holding up?"
I sink deeper into the sofa.
"I think I aged several years."
"You said that after shopping."
"This is a different aging."
"That sounds serious."
"It is. Forms are involved."
Ruruka's voice softens slightly. "I'll try to come over after work."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"You have your own life."
"I know that too."
"Then why?"
"Because you sound defeated."
I stare at the ceiling.
"...I am sitting on the sofa reconsidering every life choice that led me here."
"That sounds like parenting."
"It sounds like a curse."
"Sometimes those are similar."
In the background, another monster roars.
Ruruka says, away from the phone, "Cut left. Watch the flank."
Then she returns to the call like nothing happened.
"Sorry."
"You are terrifyingly calm right now."
"I'm working."
"I'm suffering."
"You're parenting."
"Again, same thing."
She laughs softly.
That helps more than I want to admit.
"I'll come when I can," she says. "Until then, breathe. Feed them. Keep them alive. Fill out one form at a time."
"That is your advice?"
"Yes."
"Terrible."
"Practical."
"Same thing."
The call ends after another minute because Ruruka apparently has to finish raiding a dungeon like a functioning professional.
Unfair.
It is Saturday now, and somehow my exhaustion has not realized weekends are supposed to exist.
I sit on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
The girls are on the floor in front of the coffee table, coloring together. Karin's picture has flames. Hikari's has suns, ribbons, and the tiny spoon. Ruri's is neat, careful, and labeled properly because of course it is.
The condominium is still new.
Boxes remain in corners.
Forms sit on the table.
School notices are clipped together.
The fake wife problem lurks in the background like a hidden boss.
And I, Ren Arclight, former archmage, slayer of the Demon King, exhausted father of three dragon daughters, lie half-dead on my own sofa after losing repeatedly to basic civilian life.
I stare at the ceiling.
"...This is my life now."
Karin looks up. "Papa, are you dying?"
"No."
"Hikari thinks Papa looks flat."
"I feel flat."
Ruri quietly stands, walks over, and places a small blanket over my legs.
"...Rest a little, Papa."
Ah.
Damage.
Critical again.
I stare at the ceiling a little harder.
"...Thanks, Ruri."
Hikari immediately brings me the tiny spoon.
"Hikari offers treasure for healing."
"...Thank you, Hikari."
Karin brings me her drawing.
It is a dragon standing on top of a school.
"This is me conquering education."
"No conquering education."
"Learning education?"
"Better."
"Fine."
I close my eyes.
The room is noisy.
The paperwork is unfinished.
The future is complicated.
The wife problem is getting worse.
School has already produced one incident report.
Ruruka is busy.
Aaron will probably call again.
And somewhere deep inside me, past the exhaustion and irritation and constant sense that adulthood is an elaborate trap, I know something very inconvenient.
I still don't regret it.
Not even close.
***
******'s pov
The final chain snaps.
For the first time in years, I hear silence.
Not the silence of peace.
Not the silence of rest.
The silence of freedom.
My eyes open slowly, and the darkness around me trembles as if it remembers what I am. The ancient restraints carved into the chamber walls flicker weakly, their symbols cracking one by one after years of desperately trying to hold me in place.
Pathetic.
Even now, even after all this time, traces of his power still linger in the seal.
Ren Arclight.
That mage.
That arrogant, infuriating monster wearing the face of a man.
I slowly rise from the center of the ruined seal, my body heavier than it should be, my power far weaker than it once was. The chains took almost everything from me. My strength. My freedom. My pride.
But not my hatred.
Never that.
I remember his eyes.
I remember his voice.
I remember the way he looked at me before sealing me away, calm and exhausted, as if imprisoning me for years was nothing more than another troublesome task on his endless list of annoyances.
That was what I hated most.
Not the seal.
Not the defeat.
His indifference.
He stole everything from me, and he had the audacity to look tired.
My fingers curl slowly as the last fragments of the binding circle collapse beneath my feet.
It took years to break his spell. Years of tearing apart each layer from the inside. Spatial locks. Cursed chains. Mana suppression. That flawless sealing formula he carved into my prison like a signature.
Even weakened, I know the truth.
I am not what I once was.
Not yet.
But I do not need all my power to kill him.
The chamber doors groan open for the first time in years, and cold air rushes against my skin.
I take one step forward.
Then another.
The darkness beyond the seal welcomes me like an old friend.
A faint smile curves across my lips.
"Ren Arclight," I whisper.
My voice is rough from disuse, but my hatred remains clear.
"I survived your seal."
The cracked stone beneath me trembles as I walk out of the chamber, carrying years of humiliation, rage, and revenge with every step.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance."
My eyes glow in the dark.
"Because now..."
I breathe in freedom for the first time in years.
"I will have your head."
*****
End of Chapter 25
Dad Status Report:
Name: Ren Arclight
Former Occupation: Retired Archmage / Former Demon King Slayer
Current Occupation: Full-Time Dragon Dad
Primary Objective:
Successfully integrate three dragon daughters into normal civilian life while surviving bureaucracy.
Daughters Under Supervision:
Karin – Fire / Chaos / Duel Enthusiast
Ruri – Ice / Responsibility / Future Class Representative
Hikari – Light / Friendship / Tiny Spoon Ambassador
Today's Activities:
*Successfully completed preliminary school enrollment
*Negotiated provisional student registration
*Defeated multiple paperwork encounters
*Maintained fake family cover story
*Survived parent-counselor interview
*Witnessed Hikari make friends within minutes
*Prevented Sandbox Kingdom from expanding
*Managed first school incident
*Issued first official Dad Lecture
*Continued household registration process
*Began adapting to full civilian parenting
New Developments:
*All three daughters officially entered school
*First school disciplinary report acquired
*Hikari rapidly established friendships
*Karin discovered school dueling is illegal
*Ruri adapting exceptionally well
*Wife cover story becoming increasingly unstable
*Civilian responsibilities escalating daily
Threat Level (Environment):
Elementary School
Government Paperwork
Social Expectations
Threat Level (Household):
Moderate
*Karin's Duel Instinct remains active
*Hikari continues asking unlimited questions
*Ruri quietly carrying everyone's burdens
*Fake Wife problem approaching critical levels
Daughter Safety Status:
Healthy
Attending School
Socially Adapting
Dad Stress Levels:
Sleep Deprived
Paperwork Overloaded
Mentally Flattened
Parenting Skill Growth:
24.0% (No Growth Applied — Majority of Week Spent Recovering From Mana Collapse)
Current Dad Status:
Civilian Mode
Parent-Teacher Compatible
Chronically Exhausted
Immediate Priorities:
*Complete remaining legal documents
*Resolve mother registration issue
*Continue school adjustment
*Prevent additional playground duels
*Keep household functioning
*Survive parenthood one form at a time
Operational Assessment:
Mission Type: Civilian Integration
Difficulty: SS-Rank Bureaucracy
Emotional Status:
Exhausted – Protective – Determined
Future Outlook:
Normal Life Successfully Initiated
Complications Guaranteed
Dad Personal Statement:
"I still don't regret it."
Reality's Response:
"Congratulations. You have successfully defeated the Demon King... Now survive elementary school."