Located in the Ginza district—still part of Japan even after the dragons came.
The day was overcast, with a light drizzle falling steadily in the background.
In a restaurant named Modest Restaurant, there was an old man cleaning and maintaining his vintage firearm. The firearm took the shape of a flintlock, gold and blue plates adorned its side.
In this era full of semi-automatic weapons, such a gun was clearly outdated and fit only for a museum. But what the world could do—the man liked his gun.
And he especially liked it when he could fire his old weapon—though sadly, there were no suitable targets to shoot at. Maybe there was once… but she had escaped before he could catch her.
A slippery one, that girl. Like a snake, always wriggling free at the last second.
Thanks to that little runaway, he now found himself caught in a different kind of trap—
The twins kept rubbing their heads against his shoulder or arm like overly affectionate dogs.
For most, this kind of trap would be paradise: fluff heaven, an endless skin ship loop with Fuwawa and Mococo. But for him, dreamlike moments with his Oshis had evolved into something else entirely.
A hell of overwhelming attention, relentless questions, and way too much physical affection.
"Hey Grandpa, why won't you adopt us?" 「Mococo」
"Botan that Lion told us you once adopted her. And we also heard that brat calls you 'Father', right? Hey, hey… adopt us, Grandpa?" 「Fuwawa」
The Old Man sighed through his nose, rubbing his temples like a man who'd lost not a war, but a long, exhausting debate. These twin girls never stopped asking him that question.
Morning, noon, or even the day after tomorrow—he just knew they'd ask it again.
It had been days now, and they were still yapping on about adoption this, adoption that.
"...Where's she? That little snake I mean..." 「The Old Man」
"You mean Yjor-chan? She said she had a delivery to make." 「Fuwawa」
"Truth is… she just ran away though." 「Mococo」
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course he did.
It all started with Yjor, when she let slip the truth about their relationship.
When that black-and-green-haired girl called him "Father", something in Fuwawa and Mococo changed. Their behavior, their gaze, even their tone—it all shifted.
They became even more chummy-chummy, constantly clinging to the Old Man's side in much greater frequency than before. Sure, they were Hi-breeds with canine traits, so affection came naturally—but this?
This was a whole new level of tail-wagging obsession.
And he? Well... He didn't like it, but he didn't exactly hate it either. He had no time left. No time to raise another kid, or two, or whatever it was the twins were angling for.
Things got worse when he discovered that the lioness—Shishiro Botan—had, perhaps unintentionally, added fuel to the fire. All she said was that the Old Man had once picked her up during the Fall, when the world began tearing itself apart.
But the twins? They let their imaginations run wild.
In their heads, he became a super father figure—The Big Father, the man who could raise nobodies into legends, a mentor whose adoption came with miracles. And that—that—was the real problem.
They didn't understand what adoption truly meant.
"Once you adopt us, will I be really good with firearms?" Fuwawa asked, eyes sparkling like a puppy waiting for a treat.
"If you adopt us, I'll grow horns like Yjor— I mean, that brat, right?" Mococo added with an eager grin.
"Like I said... that's not how adoption works." 「The Old Man」
Somehow, they had come to believe that adoption was a kind of power-up in this world.
The Old Man knew—this mess was partly his fault. He hadn't paid enough attention to them. Not when they needed it most.
But the real blame fell on that Regust Trope—the rotten organization that had once chained and abducted the twins like they were property.
He had thought they were doing better. But to think it had affected them this deeply... in education.
And just when he thought he'd dealt with enough problem, someone called the Alisce showed up again—just for another shopping trip, cheerfully calling him "Dear Uncle" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It only brought him more complications.
"Will we become rich and beautiful if you adopt us?" Fuwawa asked, tilting her head.
"Will we become strong and cute if you adopt us?" Mococo chimed in, tail wagging.
"...Here we go again," and then the Old Man sighed.
In the end, it all led to one thing: They want the adoption paper.
Meanwhile, somewhere not too far away...
"...Crap. They're still at it. If I get caught now, I'm definitely getting skinned alive!" (Yjor)
Hiding just out of sight, Yjor was torn between excitement and fear as she peeked at the scene unfolding. That troubled look on his face? Priceless. She did enjoy watching that troubled look on his face—
But if that expression ever turned to rage directed at her?
Yeah, no. Hard pass. She'd rather stay missing.
Lately, the maid had been keeping her distance from the Old Man.
Not just because she didn't want to feel the heat of his wrath—but because she was still dying of embarrassment from what she'd accidentally let slip. She wasn't supposed to feel things like that.
She wasn't supposed to want to.
Yjor was a being born of evil—woven from malice, cruelty, and the shattered remains of countless broken worlds. The name they gave her echoed with fear: The Evil Serpent. So why… why had she spoken with such warmth?
Why had she called him Father?
Yes, the heart beating in her chest had once belonged to him—a gift, stubbornly human heart, still pulsing with life and defiance. It remembered kindness. It remembered warmth.
But everything else inside her—the hatred, the rot, the unholy fury—that was still her truest nature. How could the warmth of one heart still shine through the muck—in a pit of evil drawn from so many dying worlds?
How could his kindness still echo in a creature like her?
"Ughhh! What is wrong with me?! How could I say something so stupid!?" (Yjor)
Flustered and spiraling, Yjor slapped both hands over her face—only to scrape her horn against the window with a sharp clink. Her ears twitched. Her soul froze.
"Ah! Yjor-chan's right over there!" Fuwawa suddenly pointed.
"Right! Right! I just saw her peeking from that corner!" Mococo added, tail twitching in excitement.
Yjor peeked out again—barely. Just the tip of her horn brushed past the restaurant wall. But that was enough. The instincts of the canine twins flared to life, their eyes locking onto her with terrifying precision.
Across the table, the Old Man let out a long sigh as he slowly rose from his seat.
Crack.
Pop.
His joints creaked like old floorboards.
He was getting too old for this.
"…Alright. You two stay inside and wait," he said, grabbing his flintlock and loading it with the calm precision of someone who'd done this far too often. "We'll be right back. Then you can hear the full story—straight from her. Capiche?"
"Bau bau, roger that!" Fuwawa and Mococo replied in unison. "Have a save return~"
[A few minutes later]
The door creaked open.
In stumbled Yjor—tied up, dripping with what looked like three different colors of paint, a few bandages slapped onto her horn for reasons no one entirely understood.
Her eyes were empty. Her spirit, gone.
She hit the floor with a wet squelch.
The Old Man stepped in behind her, dusting paint from his coat.
Turned out, he hadn't used live rounds on her. Just a handful of extra-painful, solid paintballs—each one leaving perfect polka-dot bruises across the poor girl's body.
Fuwawa tilted her head. "Oooh… Yjor-chan, you look like a dessert."
"Yeah! Like one of those mochi rolls with jam inside!" Mococo added.
"I hate everything and everyone." (Yjor)
Mococo, of course, mocked her mercilessly, completely unbothered by whatever horrors Yjor had just endured. And her twin? No mercy either—Fuwawa went straight for the interrogation of what adoption really mean.
"Ugh... I'm reporting this to Madam!" Yjor hissed.
"Madam?" Fuwawa blinked.
"Who's Madam?" Mococo tilted her head.
"...Not again," and yet again, the Old Man sighed.
Just another day at Modest Restaurant.
————————————
Legends often reflect the way people perceive the world.
They come from the past, carried through time by those who remember them, until eventually they take root in an era where no one truly believes in them anymore.
Across every region and civilization, countless legends have been born.
Let all glory crumble from their grace and may it be reclaimed upon their throne.
Somewhere deep in Asia, there was once a tale of a boat that was kicked and turned into a mountain. In a forgotten part of Europe, people whispered of a witch who lived in a cursed forest swamp.
And in a quiet town in Japan, there lingers a legend of a shrine said to contain a cursed relic—sealed, waiting, watching.
These stories from long ago may sound unbelievable. Were they real? No one can say for certain. But one thing remains true, people will always remember the legends that shaped the world around them.
Because in the end, legends never truly die.
...Or at least, that's how it's supposed to be—within certain circles of society.
Let all glory crumble from their grace and may it be reclaimed upon their throne.
Heroism and legends are often intertwined. Because behind many legends lies the tale of a hero, whose courage turned into a story worth remembering.
But not all heroes wear the title for long.
There are also heroes who find themselves cast as villains—for there is no absolute path to determine what is right or wrong. Perhaps it was the weight of their choices... or simply the circumstances they were forced to face.
But even then... who has the right to decide which path is truly just?
Allow me to give you some examples.
Let all glory crumble from their grace and may it be reclaimed upon their throne.
Tell me, Stranger... to save a million by sacrificing one, or take one life to protect the rest?
Would you live long enough to hear the stories told about you—Tales of glory, sacrifice, and hope? Or fall too soon, your name swallowed by silence, your story buried with the dead?
To arrive as heroes—and when they fall, become legends. Or arrive as villains—and when they're gone, leave behind a tragedy no one dares to remember, yet no one can ever forget.
These are the kinds of questions that offer no clear answers.
Not until you face them yourself.
Let all glory crumble from their grace and may it be reclaimed upon their throne.
...
Sigh...
Don't worry—this side story isn't that deep.
Let the weight lift. Just read and feel... or just read and forget.
Like the title says—this is just the story of a glass filled with honey.
Just a story about a glass: a fragile vessel.
Filled with honey: sweet, golden, and kind happiness.
That honey will never spoil—its sweetness will be sipped by many who come after. But the vessel... it's nearing its end. After everything it has done, an ending like this is hardly surprising.
Still... before everything fades, there's one last thing it hopes for.
Let all glory crumble from their grace and may it be reclaimed upon their throne.
To rest with a quiet heart, without regrets.
To fall asleep with a smile… and someone beside it.
————————————
Location: Modest Restaurant
Time: Late afternoon, slightly warm weather
A few peaceful months had quietly come and gone.
The dragons—once the harbingers of terror and dread across the world—had slowly begun to fade into nothing more than bedtime stories told by parents to lull their children to sleep.
Their presence or aura had grown scarce, their appearances on Earth now few and far between. And it was all thanks to the arrival of two individuals now known as the Champion of Tide and Champion of Övning.
They descended from the sky without warning, and everything about them—their voices, their posture, their acts—felt strangely human. They called themselves the Light. The Protectors.
The heralds of a new order on this planet.
Which, at the same time, meant only one thing: they were not ordinary humans.
Not by any comparison to any species on this planet at least.
"This is the latest update, dear Uncle. You wanted to know about those two people, right?" said Alisce, her tone light and casual. "Also... looks like a major battle is brewing. Will you be taking part? I doubt your work as a Collector and Trader has dulled your skills."
"Please. I've had more than enough of that," the Old Man said, waving a hand dismissively. "Right now, I just want to expand the menu for this restaurant."
"I see… I'm glad to hear that, though I am a little disappointed I won't get to see your gun tricks," Alisce replied with a soft smile. "Still, even if this world becomes calm and peaceful, I'll keep coming back here. I owe you a lot, after all."
"...Yeah. It's nice to know there are still people like you around," the Old Man said, wiping his hands and pulling off a piece of paper stuck beneath his arm. "But you don't have to keep coming back so often. What I did was just a whim. I never expected anything in return."
They claimed they could—and had—defeated the dragons, promising to free the planet from their grip. And true to their word, the dragons have since vanished from sight.
They defeated the Abyss Dragon that emerged in Africa, then went on to destroy the nest of the Forge Dragon, buried deep beneath the Pacific Ocean floor. The Promethium Dragon, whose body radiated deadly levels of radioactivity, was frozen on the farthest planet from the sun.
As for the Supersonic Dragon, they managed to tear one of its wing's apart mid-flight above American skies. The only one left... was the Apocalypse Dragon, who still remains deep within its lair.
"Huh? Bump with them?" Shishiro Botan tilted her head, thinking.
"Yeah… I think I did. I was part of the sniper squad in their operation to take down the Supersonic Dragon a few weeks ago. Gotta admits, they really do feel like characters straight out of an anime." Shishiro Botan
"What did they look like?" 「The Old Man」
"The guy called Övning wore a coat, and the girl named Tide had this simple, easy-to-move dress. Both of 'em looked pretty damn good—like they were custom-made to be flashy and appealing. Why're you asking, Pops?" Shishiro Botan
"Just curious what you thought of them. Was the guy handsome? Maybe you should shoot your shot. Don't end up growing old and alone like me, alright?" At that, Shishiro Botan—the Lioness—gave him a sharp, unamused glare.
As for the battle between the two Champions and the Apocalypse Dragon, none of the Champion Users had yet faced this particular beast. The general consensus was clear: the Apocalypse Dragon was unlike any of the other four dragons.
Whispers and rumors, however, suggested that the two Champions were preparing for something big—a full-scale assault, one that could shake the very foundations of this world.
If the Apocalypse Dragon truly is the strongest of the five, then it stands to reason that people from all corners of the world would unite to fight back against its overwhelming power—alongside those who are the strongest the planet has to offer.
With the combined might of all nations, META humans, and relics, the two Champions are preparing for an all-out assault on the Apocalypse Dragon's lair, determined to free the planet from its oppressive grip once and for all.
Massive preparations are underway to ensure victory. The operation is scheduled to take place in two weeks, and it will be broadcast globally thanks to the restoration of the global network.
"...You again, wretched presence, more loathsome than any dragon. The darkness within you grows thicker by the day," Okemi said, her voice dripping with disdain. "And yet… how can it reside within you without tearing you apart? I've been curious for some time now."
"Yapyapyap, thank you, and now, let me do my job." (Yjor)
"I'm just reminding you… but soon, the dragons will leave this planet. And you'll be the vilest presence to remain. I hope those two foreign stars never learn the truth about you. For they will not hesitate to cast you down," Okemi continued, a cold edge to her words.
"Hah! Keep talking to yourself," Yjor sneered, the dark flicker of evil serpents dancing in her eyes. "Their original goal was never to stay here. You can believe in those two amateur Champions if you like, but I'll trust in mine."
"…That star you're believing in is beginning to fade," Okemi said with chilling finality, halting Yjor in her tracks. "If you're truly fond of that star... don't take your eyes off it. For it will be gone before you even realize."
In the end before she left, Yjor spoke the final words.
"You know nothing about the end of the stars." (Yjor)
Yet despite all that was happening in the world…
The atmosphere inside the Modest Restaurant remained unchanged.
The world may tremble outside—but ice cream still melts if you don't eat it.
"Eyyy! Bratty Yjor! Give me a piggyback ride!" 「Mococo」
"Huuuh?! Isn't she your little sister?! Take care of her yourself!!!" Yjor snapped, immediately turning toward Fuwawa—who was calmly enjoying her ice cream like nothing was happening.
"Moco-chan just wants to play with Yjor-chan~ So there's nothing I can do," Fuwawa said, feigning helplessness. "Besides, it's just a piggyback ride, right? You carried all those boxes to the storage room—surely one little Mococo won't be a problem."
"You are the strongest, Yjor-chan~!" 「Fuwawa」
"…You think I'm that easy, huh?! Come here, you little gremlin!" Yjor growled, lunging toward Mococo, who immediately burst into giggles and bolted toward Fuwawa for cover.
The ice-cream-eating girl yelped and joined the chase—still holding her dessert as she ran.
Inside Modest Restaurant, the three girls—Mococo in the lead, Fuwawa in the middle, and Yjor chasing after them from behind—were now racing around the tables in a chaotic, laughter-filled game of tag.
Chairs slid, silverware rattled, and a couple of napkin holders toppled over in the process. Fortunately, the restaurant was empty that day—no customers to witness the ruckus or complain about the noise.
Either way, Yjor always circled back to clean up whatever mess they made. That small, quiet reliability meant the Old Man rarely had to intervene—spared from risking his back again, which he quietly appreciated.
Especially now that Yjor had grown a little closer to the twin—ever since that whole "Adoption Incident" had come to an end.
Though he wasn't at the restaurant today, this kind of thing was exactly what he often left behind: a mess of laughter, mild chaos, and a strange sense of harmony. And he liked it.
"Don't climb on the tables, you dirty mutts!!" Yjor snapped, pointing furiously.
"Oh? Like this?"—and, just as expected, Mococo immediately did exactly what Yjor told her not to do, springing up onto a table with a cheeky grin.
"Moco-chan~ So daring~" Fuwawa chimed, giggling softly behind her hand.
Today, the Old Man was out—apparently summoned to the Imperial Palace for an important meeting. Something about his presence being needed as a Collector and Trader, especially with the plans for the upcoming operation against the Apocalypse Dragon.
He'd be coming home late tonight, and left a message saying it was fine to close the restaurant if they wanted. Though in the end, Yjor kept it open—she figured no one would bother coming to such a quiet and remote place anyway.
Unless they really need something.
Not that she cared much about things like that anyway. And Fuwawa and Mococo? Even less. So the two of them were left behind at Modest Restaurant under the watch of their reluctant babysitter—Yjor.
They had been playfully chasing each other, tugging at hems and giggling like children. But then, without warning, Mococo began to slow down. Her footsteps faltered—until she came to a complete stop.
She stood still, eyes fixed on the entrance with a blank, unreadable look.
Fuwawa, distracted by her sister's sudden stillness, wasn't watching where she was going.
Her foot caught on something—maybe her own momentum—and she stumbled.
Splatt!
"You're not going to catch me~ Oof! H-Hey, that hit my shirt... and my chest... Moco-chan? What's wrong?" 「Fuwawa」
"...Ah." 「Mococo」
The ice cream she'd been proudly carrying launched into the air, only to crash back down onto her own shirt. Sticky. Cold. A complete mess.
And as if the universe hadn't had its laugh yet, Yjor appeared behind her and—without warning—jabbed her horn directly into Fuwawa's backside.
"Bau?! Yjor-chan! You totally did that on purpose!" 「Fuwawa」
"Oooh absolutely." Yjor replied, completely unapologetic.
After becoming the unwitting victims of a chain collision, their attention slowly turned toward the original culprit. They turned to the one who'd started it all, Mococo.
However, as it turned out, strangely Mococo wasn't laughing. Her eyes, once wide with surprise, had narrowed into a sharp, predatory gaze—like a wolf sensing danger on the wind.
"Yjor... Fuwawa... I… I can't move…" 「Mococo」
"...Huh? What do you mean, Moco-chan?" 「Fuwawa」
Her older siblings tried to understand what Mococo was saying by standing next to her.
That's when she understood what Mococo meant. Her bodies also suddenly became very hard to move. When they looked toward the restaurant entrance, that feeling became even heavier.
They didn't know why their bodies felt shackled, as if some unseen force had forbidden them from moving. Nor did they understand why Yjor—standing so casually beside them—seemed completely unaffected.
But they knew, with a cold certainty, that something… or someone… stood just behind that door.
"Bwahaha! You two got paralyzed just from a bit of killing intent!?" (Yjor)
"...Yjor... this is... scary... please... help..." Mococo whimpered, her voice trembling.
"I-It's getting hard to breathe... Do something..." Fuwawa gasped, her knees trembling.
"Relax. Just hold out a little longer—you'll be fine. Worst case, you'll faint or something. But try to stay conscious, alright? Because stuff like this... it's gonna happen more often from now on." (Yjor)
And then—the door creaked open.
Framed in the doorway was a man.
Or rather, something shaped like one.
Towering. Broad-shouldered. His face and arms were hidden by the too-narrow doorframe, as if the restaurant itself was too small to contain him. He didn't speak. He didn't move.
He only stood there, radiating that suffocating killing intent Yjor had warned them about.
The twins began to tremble.
Their skin turned pale, drained by the sheer pressure pouring from the doorway like a storm wind made of fear.
"I... can't... hold on..." Fuwawa gasped, her knees buckling.
"Yjor... please... help... Fuwawa..." Mococo whimpered, eyes wide with panic.
"Hmm..." Yjor tilted her head, amused. "Well, since you asked nicely... I guess I'll step in."
The girl in the maid outfit walked toward the man at the entrance without a hint of difficulty. The man noticed her—of course he did—but didn't budge. It was as if he had no intention of moving at all.
From Yjor's angle, now that she stood so close, her view was unfortunately dominated by the man's crotch. Classy, she thought dryly. This man was even taller than the Old Man.
The man's eyes didn't follow her. Instead, he seemed focused on something inside—like he was sensing something from inside. A presence. A relic. A monster. Or maybe… someone?
So, the maid guess: 'Maybe he's not fully targeting this place after all?'
"...Sigh, I guess I'll just hit your stomach instead of balls." (Yjor)
Yjor gave a short hop and drove her fist straight into the man's abdomen.
A ripple burst from the point of impact—like shockwaves cracking through still water.
The man staggered back, caught completely off guard. He stumbled more than a few steps, boots scraping across the floor, but somehow managed to steady himself. Still upright. Still silent.
"Huh... was that a relic?" Yjor flexed her hand, frowning slightly. "Felt something prickly in my fist."
The two of them locked eyes.
Measuring each other in silence.
The man's attire was a mix of military-grade vest and armor-like leather relics.
Whether it was his pants, those oversized boots, or even his gloves, each piece was Relics imbued with enchantments or charm effects, each one amplifying the intimidating presence he carried.
Yjor glanced back at Fuwawa and Mococo, giving them a quick nod to keep an eye on the situation from the window. Then, with a slight grin, she stepped outside.
Now outside the restaurant, Yjor could finally take in the full picture—his face, his bulk, the armor-like clothing he wore. The man seemed just as surprised as she was, still processing the fact that she was the one who'd just punched him.
"Heh... are you some Joestar or something?" Yjor asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I am... Matsushita Gida, gaijin."
The man's voice was thick, like gravel rolling off his tongue.
"Gaijin? Huh, you're not wrong. Don't really care either way, though." Yjor's gaze sharpened, her tone nonchalant but direct. "So why are you standing in front of our store? We've got little kids who are more scared of your big ol' crotch than anything else in here."
Matsushita Gida blinked, as if surprised by the punch and the words that followed.
He took a moment to adjust his stance, exhaling deeply as if releasing a held breath. Slowly, he raised one hand in a gesture of apology, his massive frame still intimidating despite the shift in his demeanor.
"…I see, my apologies. I am looking for a place to eat… Botan-san recommended me somewhere around here. As for my killing intent, I did not mean to release it. It… slipped out when I got hungry. Once again, my apologies." 「Matsushita Gida」
In an instant, Yjor understood the meaning behind the large man's explanation. With a lazy blink, she stretched her arms and legs, letting a quiet sigh escape as the tension drained from her limbs.
So, it turned out this messy hair, a faint scowl etched on his face, and eyes that hadn't slept well in days was the one recommended by the Lioness. And apparently, he'd let his killing intent slip just because he was starving.
Well… it was a brief enough explanation, but enough to prevent any further conflict.
Still—what if he was lying? Doesn't matter. Humans are made of many useful parts anyway.
"Sigh, now I'm in trouble again," Yjor muttered to herself.
"If it's money… I have it. Please, just give me something to eat," Matsushita Gida said, his voice low and tinged with awkward desperation. "Anything is fine... even if it's not Japanese cuisine."
"Yeah, I've got money too, but that's not the point," Yjor replied flatly, glancing back toward the restaurant. "Forget it. I'm not apologizing for being rude, though—you're scaring the kids in there," she then jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.
"Now, if you wanna eat inside, take off those Jordan shoes and reel in that killing intent of yours." Yjor
Matsushita hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"Understood. That's a fair request… People say I become someone else when I'm hungry. Again, I apologize." He paused, his tone softening. "By the way… what's your name? Are you the owner of this place?"
Yjor gave a half-shrug. "I'm just an employee."
Since the Old Man had left behind some ingredients, Yjor figured she could whip something up for the guy. Not ramen, though—she wasn't anywhere near that level.
Wait. Actually, the Old Man had cooked three bowls of ramen earlier for breakfast.
One for her. The other two for Fuwawa and Mococo.
Well, hers was off-limits. So maybe the twins could "share" a bit of their generosity today.
"Alright, lucky day for you," Yjor muttered, cracking her knuckles as she headed for the kitchen. "Don't expect good ramen, though. I'm not a ramen master. I'll just heat something up and make it edible."
As they stepped into the restaurant, Yjor casually explained the situation to Fuwawa and Mococo—leaving out the tiny detail that their breakfast was being reallocated.
The twins blinked up at her, wide-eyed. Before they could ask anything, the large man stepped forward, bowed low, and offered a solemn apology.
It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep the peace.
Thankfully, there was no need to stretch this moment out unnecessarily, so it didn't drag on.
No real conflict had flared between them, and things had settled—at least on the surface. Still, Fuwawa and Mococo couldn't help but sit a little stiffly, casting quick glances at the man across from them.
Honestly, who could blame them?
The guy stood over two meters tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a tank—Matsushita Gida looked more like someone who should be wielding a greatsword on a battlefield than sitting quietly in a ramen shop.
After a brief wait, Yjor returned from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder.
"Alright, here's what's on the menu. Some stuff's not available since the Master's out right now, but most of it's still okey. As for the miso soup… hmm, Japanese customers do tend to ask for it a lot. I think I can whip one up." (Yjor)
She eyed him. "You got the money for that?"
Without a word, Matsushita reached into his coat, pulled out a small pouch, and placed two gleaming gold bars on the table with a quiet clunk.
Fuwawa blinked. Mococo's jaw dropped.
Yjor stared at the gold, then looked back at him.
"...Okay." (Yjor)
"Thank you very much, Yjor-san. I'll take the miso soup, please," Matsushita Gida replied, his tone respectful. "And if you could... I'd like some rice as well. Do you have any?"
"Yeah, yeah. As long as you're paying." Yjor waved a hand, already turning back toward the kitchen. Then she shot a glance at the twins. "And you two—don't bother the customer."
"Bau bau! Roger Yjor-san!" 「Fuwawa」
"Alright! Sooo... what can we do to help?" Mococo asked, bouncing slightly—only to be met with a broom and mop shoved into her hands by Yjor. "No way, right?"
"Get to work. Clear your mess." (Yjor)
"Nooooo! But it's not my fault! It was Fuwawa who spilled the ice cream! Because of her big oppai in the way—ow! Did you just hit me?!" 「Mococo」
But it wasn't Yjor who had swatted her.
Fuwawa stood there, smiling sweetly with one hand raised.
"I am... Moco-chan." 「Fuwawa」
For reasons only known to sibling justice, Mococo found herself being gently but firmly punished by her older sister—who swatted her head with the grace of a seasoned teacher.
Mococo staggered back, clutching her head like she'd been mortally wounded.
"Violence isn't the answer, you know..." 「Fuwawa」
"Then stop slandering my oppai, this is our family treasure," Fuwawa muttered, still smiling.
As he watched the scene unfold before him—the bickering, the broom-swatting, the easy laughter—Matsushita Gida couldn't help but feel... out of place.
The casual banter, the bickering—it was all too normal on the surface. But beneath it, there was something unsettling. Something hidden just beneath the layers of everyday life.
Now that his hunger had dulled and his head was clearer, the questions came flooding in.
The presence of two Hi-breeds within one room, the unmistakable dragon scent lingering in the wall of this restaurant, and also about this maid with green and black hair, Yjor.
Especially that girl, there's just something about her. The sheer pressure she exuded wasn't normal.
Even when she was casually handing out a mop or flipping an egg in the back kitchen, her presence loomed large. Like something ancient... something resting just beneath the surface.
"Botan-san... what place have you introduced me into..." 「Matsushita Gida」
In this world, Hi-breeds had only recently appeared with the arrival of dragons.
But that didn't mean they were common.
There were only a handful of them scattered across the land, their presence guarded and protected as if they were an endangered species—rare, elusive, and incredibly valuable.
Even someone like Shishiro Botan, who presented herself with a humble demeanor, possessed a network of connections powerful enough to make her a person of significant influence in the country.
It wasn't just their rarity that set them apart.
They are extraordinary.
They're individuals of exceptional abilities, excelling in countless areas far beyond what ordinary humans could achieve. It was no wonder that many coveted them—whether for their power, bloodline, physique, or any number of reasons.
And yet, here he found three of these rare beings in the same room.
"What's wrong... is something missing? Oh, right! Wait, I'll grab the towel!" Yjor hurriedly rushed off to fetch the serving she had forgotten.
"...And especially her, she's not your usual Hi-breeds." 「Matsushita Gida」
The man was someone who resembled Shishiro Botan.
He was accustomed to living in the wilderness and enduring harsh treatment. He knew which opponents could be provoked and which ones were better avoided, which ones were like cats and which ones were like bees.
Looking at Yjor now, she seemed like nothing more than a cute, working maid with horns and a perpetual frown.
But when she confronted him earlier, Gida had felt like he was standing in front of a hornet's nest—except the hornet was the size of a wolf and ready to sting him to death.
His instincts had screamed at him.
She wasn't just a Hi-breed.
She wasn't even just dangerous.
There was something off about her—something coiled and quiet.
And he trusted those instincts.
He had to.
After all, they were forged through blood and fire, honed in battles against disaster-class dragons. He'd seen too many of his comrades burned, crushed, or eaten alive to ignore a feeling like that.
"...Ohhh..." Fuwawa murmured, her mop pausing mid-swipe.
"What're you staring at?" Mococo huffed, still scrubbing. "Keep mopping."
"That thing on his belt… I saw it in Grandpa's book." 「Fuwawa」
If ranked by modern standards, Matsushita Gida would easily qualify as an associate of both the Hunter and Adventurer Associations of Japan—a rare dual title reserved for those who'd survived the kind of threats most people never even saw.
Fuwawa's sharp eyes had already caught sight of the metallic tags hanging from his chest and waist. Engraved with symbols few civilians would recognize regarding those title.
He wasn't a civilian.
He never had been.
"Umm… are you an Adventurer?" Fuwawa asked, tilting her head as she mopped nearby. "But… that tag on your waist… isn't that a Hunter's mark? How come you have both?"
Her voice was filled with innocent curiosity, the kind that could disarm even the most battle-hardened soldier. Then she added, sheepishly, "...Sorry if I'm interrupting your meal, Uncle."
Matsushita Gida froze.
Uncle?
"...Yes," he replied, trying not to sound as startled as he felt. "I'm registered with the Public Guild of Adventurers in Japan, and I'm also an Associate of the National Hunter Guild in South Korea. That's why I carry both tags. They come in handy sometimes."
"Ohhh... as expected! That means you're some big shot, right?!" 「Fuwawa」
"Fuwawa... Yjor said not to disturb the customers..." 「Mococo」
"It's fine~" Fuwawa sang, twirling her mop once before continuing. "Besides, Yjor-chan's busy cooking in the back. She's not that bothered, right? Ah!"
Then she turned to Gida with a sheepish smile. "Uh, sorry about my little sister. Lately she listens more to Yjor-chan than to her own big sister~ But anyway! Please enjoy your meal—have a fine dining~!"
As Fuwawa got dragged away by her little sister, Gida didn't answer right away. He was still a bit thrown off by the "Uncle", but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
It felt strange, seeing such cheerful bickering in a world so broken.
Still… he was glad.
Glad that those two could laugh and chatter so freely—like children should.
"Yjor... which language is that..." 「Matsushita Gida」
Hearing the maid's name, the man subconsciously rubbed his stomach.
A faint ache pulsed there.
Not from hunger—but from memory.
Perhaps it was this that made him feel uneasy.
'For a Hi-Breed with that much strength... what is she doing in a place like this?' Especially when he remembered that last punch. It had been enough to send him flying like a mere fly, and he knew she hadn't even been serious.
Yet here she was, in a place near the Imperial Palace, disguised in this small restaurant. He did trust Shishiro Botan's recommendation about this place, but there was something... off about it.
And oddly enough, the more he thought about it—the hungrier he got.
After a few minutes, Yjor returned with another round of dishes. She immediately told Fuwawa and Mococo to go back to cleaning the floors and tables, instead of goofing off in the corner.
"Here you go," Yjor said as she set the dishes on the table, one by one. "A mushroom feast with various edible types prepped for hotpot, two servings of special ramen, miso soup, warm rice, and refillable tea. All yours. Eat up."
"AH!! That's our ramen breakfast!!" Fuwawa and Mococo shouted in unison.
"Gramps cooked that—!"
Before either could stage a dramatic protest, Yjor casually shoved a pair of ice cream cones into their hands—pulled from the back freezer like some emergency bribe.
The twins froze mid-complaint.
Still, both began licking the ice cream like it was normal.
While the ramen theft was still a sore spot, their curiosity gradually shifted toward the rest of the spread—especially the mushroom dish and miso soup, both of which Yjor claimed to have made herself.
Fuwawa leaned in close, eyes wide as she sniffed the hotpot, her tail wagging in eager little swishes.
Mococo, still pouting with arms crossed, licked her ice cream in defiance—but even she couldn't hide the slow wag of her tail.
Before either of them could start drooling into the customer's meal, Yjor swooped in like a hawk, grabbing them both by the collars and yanking them back like a pair of misbehaving puppies.
Their tails stopped wagging instantly.
"All of this... I'm very thankful." 「Matsushita Gida」
"Waaow! Yjor-chan's cooking! It's been a while since we've seen her dishes!" 「Fuwawa」
"...Well, you should eat all of it, Sir. She'll be upset if you leave even a drop," Mococo warned with a grin.
"I-I'll do my best," Gida replied, sitting a little straighter as he reached for his chopsticks, clearly taking that warning to heart. "Ittadakimasu!"
The man eagerly spooned, chewed, and swallowed all the food that had been served to him. He looked as though he hadn't eaten in days, with an appetite that could rival several starving people combined.
He even asked for seconds multiple times, to the point where Yjor had to give him some of her own breakfast from the fridge.
As usual, the twins couldn't help but laugh at the karmic retribution that had befallen their horned friend.
"We can share this ice cream, though? I'll give you half the cone." 「Mococo」
"…Are you… serious?" Yjor replied, her expression a mixture of disbelief and annoyed.
"What? Not for free, of course," Mococo responded with a smirk. "Give me a piggyback ride first!"
Despite all the teasing and light-hearted chaos, everything passed without incident. The day ended with a satisfied customer and the peaceful hum of the restaurant.
And now, this is just a piece of what happens next.
The big man, Matsushita Gida, had become a regular at the Modest Restaurant.
Every two days, without fail, he'd walk through the door, eager for his favorite dish—the Miso Soup Yjor had made—and the tea that he insisted she brew herself.
"Her tea just tastes different," he always said, though no one quite understood what made it so special.
This, of course, didn't escape Fuwawa and Mococo's attention.
As always, their imaginations ran wild, weaving elaborate tales of romance between the two.
However, like many things, this piece of the story would remain hidden. It would be buried beneath layers of time, slipping into the quiet corners of their memories—forgotten, perhaps, but never completely gone.
————————————
Greenland, somewhere remote.
While Fuwawa, Mococo, and Yjor enjoyed their quiet slice-of-life moment back at the restaurant, far away, a different story was unfolding—one carried by snow, wind, and silence.
The Old Man trudged through the blizzard, his steps steady despite the biting cold.
"There it is," he muttered.
Armed with nothing but a roll-up bag slung across his back and a flimsy jogging jacket that barely shielded from the chill, he followed a message left for him—one that began after he concluded his business at the Imperial Palace of Japan.
And now, it had led him here: a lone house standing in the white of Greenland's wilderness.
There were no clear signs of who summoned him, but he had his suspicions.
He pushed the door open slowly.
Two presences were already waiting inside.
"You two dragged me all the way out here. What is it that you really want? I should be at my restaurant right now, not freezing in some forsaken place like this." 「The Old Man」
"Thanks for coming, Udna," said the Champion of Övning, his tone calm and measured.
"You've aged like dried fish, Udna," added the Champion of Tide, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
They were the two figures the world had been buzzing about lately—Champions who had defeated four of the five Harbinger Dragons of destructions.
Judging by the expressions on their faces and the powerful aura radiating from their bodies, there was no doubt—these two were formidable beings. As expected of those who carried the title of Champion.
Compared to the old man, they looked far younger. Their faces were smooth, untouched by time, their hair still vibrant with color. Unlike him—whose face bore the deep marks of age, and whose hair had long since turned white.
If the two were to jump on him, it might appear as if a pair of young warriors were beating down a frail old man. But when comparing the essence of their souls... there wasn't much difference in age at all.
Though only a few years apart, they were all born of the same era.
And perhaps that was why, despite the staggering power each one carried, there was no hostility between them. No tension thick in the air. No clashing of wills.
Certainly not the kind that would lead to sudden confrontation or a battle to the death.
It was proven when the petite woman—known to the world as the Champion of Tide—hopped toward the old man with a wide grin, her energy as carefree as the sea breeze.
"Udna gramps, high-five!" 「Champion of Tide」
The old man let out a quiet sigh, recognizing that beneath her playful energy was a warrior who had lived through the rise and fall of nations. And yet, her spirit remained untouched—light and free as ever.
"Even if your appearance has changed a little... deep down, you haven't changed at all, Little Tide. Haven't I told you not to get too friendly with your enemies?" 「The Old Man」
"That's not it~ I just missed an old friend after all this time! Now, give me your hand—high-five! Even if we're enemies now... you'll always be my friend. What was it... bro before hoes?" 「Champion of Tide」
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The old man then raised his hand and gave her what she wanted.
"Are you two done?" said the Champion of Övning, shaking his head as he approached the old man. Her boots thudded lightly against the wooden floor as he approached the dap-up distance. "Honestly, the two of ye bicker like old mates, despite knowin' you're enemies now."
"…Well, I'm not one to talk either. Dap me, old man." 「Champion of Övning」
His grin was half-teasing, half-serious.
"What's up, O-V." 「The Old Man」
"Never been better, O-G, my man." 「Champion of Övning」
They clasped hands with a thunderous CLAP, a dap so powerful it echoed like a firecracker through the tiny wooden cabin—rattling the walls, shaking the windows, and knocking a ladle off its hook.
The sheer impact of their "dap power" made the only woman in the room immediately slap her hands over her ears. The impact of their handshake wasn't just heard—it was felt.
"Gah! Could you two tone it down?" grumbled the Champion of Tide, covering her ears with an exaggerated pout. "You're gonna make this house fall apart!"
"You still doin' that parenting job, eh?" 「Champion of Övning」
"It's not a job, but a whim of mine. How's the other?" 「The Old Man」
"Still bustin' and kickin'! Hehe! Glad you do the same!" 「Champion of Övning」
There was no shortage of banter between the two champions. They'd dropped every shred of formality, tossing nicknames at each other—Big Dog, Cheese Paws, Dig Dug, and a dozen more offbeat monikers.
Watch them closely and it was clear they shared a bond that ran deep, like brothers from different mother. Their camaraderie was effortless, even as circumstances had forced them into opposing sides.
What force had driven them to disregard their bond, only they truly knew.
"Övning, the reason we called Udna here—don't forget it." 「Champion of Tide」
"Never could forget aboot that! Well, you know... we're here to get you locked up in Parhelion again. Know how them old dogs, the president, treat their heroes, aye?" 「Champion of Övning」
"They still want the core of the System that you created with Neumann—the Astra Sphere. Along with Azatoth's remains you've kept safe with Cera. The rest? Just their usual grudge. They want you to do nothing that could harm them." 「Champion of Tide」
They both knew that the old man's actions had earned him enemies from many sides.
But as they remembered those pivotal moments that had set him on this dangerous path, they realized how much it had cost him—how deeply his decisions had scarred the world around him.
And one memory, in particular, still haunted their minds... the moment when he had crossed a line, sealing the fate of so many. The man in coat, Övning, eyed this particular culprit of that nightmare.
"...No way they let New Gen Hitler roam free right?" 「Champion of Övning」
"How is our current Guide doing?" 「The Old Man」
"Take a seat, old guy. I don't like making you people standin' around too long." 「Champion of Övning」
Once the greetings were out of the way, the group wasted no time diving into the real matter at hand—after the Old Man had eased himself into the chair that had been prepared for him.
The modestly-sized woman moved quietly to the fireplace, tapping her shoes together with a soft clack before striking the flint. A gentle flame flickered to life, soon casting a warm orange glow across the wooden walls.
Heat began to seep into the room, but it still didn't compare to the earlier flare of energy that erupted when the three of them greets each other.
"Current Guide's still the same Angel, it's that Angel of the Blade. But... upon thinking the task was too much to bear, that Angel called upon another four Angels to serve as Guides, just like her." 「Champion of Tide」
"...Who exactly thinks that Angel's having trouble with her role?" The Old Man asked, eyebrow raised.
"Who else but those extremist groups? They believe one Angel isn't enough, so they want to make more Guide. Don't they realize what'll happen if System Inflation becomes a reality?" Champion of Övning muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.
It seemed a crisis was brewing—one that revolved around the Guide of their current era.
The relationship between the Guide and the Champions had always been like that of a lamp and the stars—separate, yet inseparably bound by the same distorted night.
"The problem isn't just the Angel… Several heads of state agreed to imprison her within the so-called 'Mitochondria,' while also planning to create more System Users. Only the Guides can grant access to the System's functions... but for us Champions..." Champion of Tide trailed off.
If the Guide was a faintly glowing lamp in the darkness, then the Champions were bright, pulsating variable stars—each blinking periodically, casting brilliance that pierced the night.
But should one of them falter—if the lamp dimmed or a star ceased its pulse—the dark night would only grow deeper, and the very reasons they once stood for would lose their meaning.
"...As beings capable of rendering the System obsolete, the Champions would one day be seen as threats," the Old Man said, finishing the thought.
His voice was quiet, but the weight of his words filled the room like a storm cloud rolling in.
"And when that day comes... another conflict will begin."
A heavy silence fell.
The only sounds were the crackle of firewood slowly burning into ash, and the distant wail of the Arctic wind slipping through the edges of the windowpanes like a forgotten ghost.
No one moved.
The warmth of the room no longer comforted—it merely framed the stillness, like a painting too afraid to breathe. The silence lingered, stretched taut, until finally the Old Man broke it.
"...How is Cera?" 「The Old Man」
"That Outer God busy in her own crib, can't ask for help." 「Champion of Övning」
"If I'm not mistaken... there's trouble brewing within their Pantheon. And since Cera is the granddaughter of Azathoth, she's been tasked with resolving it. I agree with Övning—it'll be tough to rely on her this time." 「Champion of Tide」
"Heh. As if the rest of us Champions are doing any better," Övning added with a wry grin, his voice dropping in irony. "We're all shackled by our nations now. Just like you and me—caught between duty and silence."
Then he stepped forward and placed a firm hand on the Old Man's shoulder, the gesture both grounding and pleading, "That's why… big dog, we're counting on you again."
The finely-built woman said nothing, but her smile was soft, familiar—a quiet acknowledgment of a pattern that had repeated for far too long. No matter how fractured the world became, no matter how deep the night grew... they always turned back to him.
Even before the System existed.
Even before the so-called Angels took flight.
He had always been their light.
For a moment, the Old Man drifted into silence—his thoughts circling countless matters.
But above all, what occupied his mind most… was himself.
Could he still meet the expectations placed upon him? In his current state, even finding a reason to fight—no, a reason to live—was becoming increasingly difficult.
And yet...
"...I will serve." 「Champion of Udna」
He couldn't find a reason to refuse either.
With that solemn declaration, the Old Man rose from his chair, his movement steady but heavy with age and thought. Without another word, he made for the door—his business here, at least for now, was done.
A part of him simply wanted to go home.
And deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling…
That something might have happened at the restaurant while he was away.
On the other side, the two other Champions let the Old Man leave without a second thought. Behind him, the two Champions exchanged a glance—Övning's jaw clenched, Tide's hand twitching at her side.
But neither made a move.
Despite their words, despite their claims that they would detain him, it was clear they had no intention of doing so. They made no move to follow him, no attempt to stop his departure.
Outside the modest wooden cabin, the Old Man paused, shoulders straightening beneath his travel-worn cloak. He cast a single backward glance at the flickering hearthlight spilling through the doorway—
Then tugged his hood onto place.
"They have no idea about the dragons... good. It means I can still proceed with the preparations for Operation Elecra." 「The Old Man」
With that, he stepped out onto the snow-dusted path. Each footfall was unhurried, almost pedestrian—yet beneath that calm gait lay the resolve of a man with a mission.
No one could guess which road he would choose on his way back to Japan.
The sound of the Old Man's footsteps crunching through the snow was the last thing they heard. And when they confirmed he was truly gone, something inexplicable happened—both Champions crumpled to the floor.
It was as if an invisible hammer had struck them on the head.
They collapsed with a sickening thud, blood pouring from their mouths.
"Ghuukh… thankfully we managed to hold it down till the last second." 「Champion of Tide」
"...Ahh, god, I think I broke a lung or something," the Champion of Övning groaned. "Those restrictions... they're no joke. Almost killed us just now. You good? Pretty sure you've spit out more blood than I have."
Indeed, earlier the chest-heighted lady had spoken too much—revealing far more than she should have to the Old Man. But she didn't regret it. No, she didn't regret it at all.
The petite lady exhaled shakily, eyes half-closed as she tried to steady herself. "I don't care anymore. As long as Udna knows what he needs to know, I'll spill my guts—literally. But he can't get mad. If he sees us like this... it'll be bad. He's not the type to forgive weakness."
The Champion of Övning's grimace twisted into a mocking smile. "That's why I dubbed him 'New Gen Hitler,' blurrgh!" His body spasmed as the internal restrictions fought back with painful intensity. "What a sucker. To still relying on someone who should've retired long ago."
The Champion of Tide let out a small laugh, shaking her head.
"Yeah... pathetic. But a Champion belongs to their country. Our country depends on us in all kinds of ways. But Udna? He doesn't live for his country or his people. That's what makes him different. That's what makes him free—free in a way we could never be." 「Champion of Tide」
The petite lady coughed again, her throat raw from the blood she kept coughing up.
Her face was deathly pale, but it wasn't enough to kill her—not yet, at least.
"Unlike us Laelaps, he's a selfish champion, right? That's what everyone says about him. But not me," the Champion of Övning muttered, his voice strained as he fought against the pressure of the restrictions on him.
Once again, Champion of Tide laughed softly.
Her laughter was bitter, yet it held a faint trace of acceptance
"That sounds nice... but I think Udna is enough for him," she said with a slow, deliberate exhale, her breath and heartbeat now gradually stabilizing. It was almost as if the very act of speaking helped ground her in reality again.
After a brief pause, she continued, her voice firmer this time, "Now, let's get back to what we do best—saving this world."
"About those dragons, though... it feels like Udna's hiding something." 「Champion of Övning」
"That may be true, but seeing as he didn't stop us when we were fighting those dragons... let's just keep at it. Saving a planet might even be added to your bio—and maybe, just maybe, we'll get some leniency for breaking our restrictions," Champion of Tide said with a sly grin.
Now it was the man in the coat's turn to chuckle quietly, clearly amused by the statement.
Because honestly—she had said it so casually that "saving the world" were just another bullet point on a person's résumé. What kind of job would ever require that on a CV?
Name: Chimmy CungusPrevious Workplace: Kuvuki LandExperience: Planetary Defense
What kind of job, he mused, would ever ask for that?
And more importantly—what kind of lunatic actually applies?