Location: The Church of Saint Sharon Michael
The Church of Saint Sharon Michael stood at the edge of the city, its stone walls worn by decades of rain and wind, its spire pointing toward heaven. It was not the grand kind of church that appeared on postcards. It was old and humble, built by people who had little but had given what they could to something they believed would last.
Inside, children ran through the halls, their laughter echoing against stone walls. A sister chased them across floors worn smooth by generations of small feet, her habit flapping as she called after them in mock anger.
"Slow down! You will hurt yourselves! The Lord did not give you legs to run wild through His house!"
The children did not slow. This was their home, and they knew they were loved here. They had arrived from streets, doorsteps, and places where no one wanted them, carrying little beyond their clothes and the fear in their eyes. Within these walls, they had found beds, food, and the unfamiliar comfort of being wanted.
Their laughter filled the church, but one room remained quiet.
The Saint Room lay at the end of the hall, beyond the chapel and library, past the doors leading to the garden. It was small and humble like the church itself, yet clean and warm. Something about the presence within made people lower their voices as they passed.
Sister Mary sat at her desk with her hands folded, her face turned toward the morning light. Pale golden hair fell over her shoulders in waves, catching the sunlight. Her youthful face often made visitors pause and wonder who she was and why she had chosen to spend her life here.
A strip of white cloth covered her eyes and ears. Some said she had been born blind; others believed an injury had left her that way before she came to the church. There were even whispers that she concealed something far more extraordinary. Mary never addressed the rumors, and no one dared ask.
She was the heart of this place. When she arrived, the roof leaked, the walls cracked, and children went to bed hungry. She brought donors, contacts, and the discipline needed to turn their generosity into lasting support. Under her guidance, the church became a home where children could grow without wondering whether they would eat the next day.
People called her blessed, beautiful, an elf who had wandered into the human world and decided to stay. She paid little attention. There was always work waiting.
That morning, a sister had brought her a letter after noticing its postmark. Mary had felt its weight and traced an unfamiliar hand across the address before opening it. Her fingers moved over the page, reading through touch, through texture, through the shape of ink against paper.
Her breath caught.
She traced the report again. One of the sisters had seen Yuuta near the shopping center—with a woman and a child.
Mary set the letter down. Her hands were steady, her face calm, but her heart raced.
Yuuta. Her Yuuta.
Seven years ago, she had come to this church with a mysterious boy who was lost, fragile, and barely clinging to life. Elijah had saved them that day, offering shelter when they had nowhere else to go.
She had raised that boy with her own hands, taught him patiently, and loved him as her child. As he grew into a man, his calls remained a familiar comfort in her life.
Then, a year ago, they stopped.
She had told herself he was busy and would call when he was ready. Surely he hadn't forgotten her, the church, or the home they had found together.
Mary slapped the letter onto her desk. The sharp sound made the sister waiting by the door jump.
"Ready the car," Sister Mary said. Her voice was calm, but something beneath it prompted the sister to move without question. "We are going to my Yuuta's home."
The sister nodded and hurried out. Mary rose and approached the window, tracing its frame as she turned toward the light.
Beneath her anger lay hurt—and fear of what she would discover. Why had he stopped calling and visiting? How had the boy she raised disappeared so completely from her life?
She draped her cloak over her shoulders and walked toward the door. Her steps remained slow and deliberate, giving no sign of her racing heart.
"Let us see," she said to the empty room, "how far this truth goes."
____________________
Yuuta woke to evening sunlight streaming through the window, casting warm patterns across the ceiling. His hands were freshly bandaged, the wounds beneath already healing. His body still felt heavy from the deep, dreamless sleep that had followed his exhaustion.
Erza slept in the chair beside him, her arms folded on the mattress and her head resting upon them. Silver hair spilled across the sheets. Even asleep, she retained something of the distant expression she wore around others, though the tension had eased from her face.
She had stayed beside him all night.
Yuuta couldn't reconcile that with the woman who had spent weeks calling him pathetic, useless, and a burden she would eventually kill. Yet she had watched over him while he healed instead of leaving.
He sat up slowly and flexed his aching hands. His legs trembled when he stood, forcing him to catch the bed frame and wait for the dizziness to pass.
Erza's breathing remained slow and even. Without her usual guarded expression, she looked younger, softer like someone who hadn't spent centuries learning to be hard.
With a quiet sigh, he slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other under her knees. She was lighter than he expected, though he couldn't tell whether that was because he had grown stronger. She stirred against him and made a small sound, but her eyes stayed closed.
He remembered how quickly she had frozen him when he tried waking her before. Her instincts rarely allowed anyone close without a reaction. Now she slept in his arms, as though some part of her had already decided he was safe.
Yuuta lowered her onto the bed and pulled the sheets around her shoulders, tucking them in as he did for Elena. Her hand rested open on the pillow, and the ring on her finger caught the light.
Its shape had changed. A white dragon coiled around her finger, wings spread and claws holding a flower with a violet stone at its center.
He examined his own ring. A black dragon encircled his finger, holding a red stone that pulsed with light.
He had no explanation for the transformation or how the ring she had worn for centuries had become two. He only remembered finding it and returning it to her. Now they each wore one, and she was still beside him.
He stretched, his joints popping in protest.
"I am really hungry," he said to the empty room.
A letter on the nearby desk caught his attention. It bore the Morning Star Academy's crest and was addressed to the Konuari family. He picked it up and carefully broke the seal with his bandaged fingers.
He read it once, then again, struggling to believe the words.
The Konuari family has been accepted into the Morning Star Elite Academy on a full scholarship. Elena Konuari will begin her studies next month. We congratulate you on your success and look forward to welcoming your family to our community.
His hands trembled. He kept returning to the same lines until his eyes burned and tears blurred the page.
Congratulations. We have accepted you into the Morning Star Academy.
They had done it. Elena would attend the school and have the future he had wanted for her since she first appeared in his life.
Lost in the letter, he missed the opening door and the small footsteps racing toward him. Suddenly, Elena was flying through the air with her arms outstretched.
"PAPA!"
She hit him like a missile. Still weak, Yuuta lost his footing and fell with her on top of him, her arms around his neck and laughter ringing in his ears.
"Papa! Papa! Elena loves this place!" She pulled back, eyes shining. "There are so many rooms! So many gardens! So many people to play with! Elena made so many friends!"
He held her against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. Her warmth made the letter feel real in a way the words alone hadn't. She was here, she was happy, and she would have opportunities he had never known.
"I am glad you like it, my princess," he said, his voice unsteady. "I hope you will make many friends here. I hope you will be happy here. I hope you will have everything you deserve."
She giggled and pointed toward the door.
"Papa, look! The Headmaster is here!"
The Headmaster stood in the doorway with his hands behind his back, watching them with a warmth Yuuta couldn't quite distinguish as pride or relief.
Yuuta scrambled upright, straightened his clothes, and smoothed his hair. He tried to recall Erza's lessons about posture and manners before offering a careful bow—not too deep, not too shallow.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Headmaster," he said.
The Headmaster smiled.
"Do not be so formal, Mr. Konuari. After what your family has been through, I think we can dispense with the formalities."
His gaze settled on the letter, now creased from Yuuta's tight grip.
"Congratulations," the Headmaster said. "You have been accepted into the scholarship program. Your daughter will begin her studies next month."
Yuuta stared at him.
"But how? I do not remember taking any test. I do not remember"
He stopped. He remembered the field, the long night of searching, his bleeding hands, and Erza's face when he returned the ring. None of it explained a scholarship.
The Headmaster drew a thick envelope from his coat, its seal bearing the academy's crest.
"We have prepared a detailed report of the test," he said, handing it to Yuuta. "It explains everything, how we evaluated the families, what we were looking for, how you were selected. I believe it will answer your questions."
He paused, studying the confusion and hope on Yuuta's exhausted face.
"But I will tell you this now," he said. "You were selected because when you thought you had lost something precious, you did not ask for compensation. You did not ask for money. You did not ask for anything except the chance to search for what was lost. You spent the night on your hands and knees, looking for something that was already gone, and you did not stop. You did not stop when your hands began to bleed. You did not stop when your body began to break. You did not stop until you found what you were looking for."
He smiled.
"That is the test, Mr. Konuari. That is the scholarship. That is why your daughter is here."
Yuuta looked down at the envelope. Elena tugged his sleeve, asking what the letter said and why he was crying. Beyond her, Erza slept with her hand open on the pillow, the ring gleaming in the evening light.
He turned back to the Headmaster.
"Thank you," he said. His voice steadied, and he finally loosened his grip on the papers. "Thank you for giving her a chance."
The Headmaster shook his head.
"We did not give her a chance, Mr. Konuari. You did. You and your wife. The scholarship is yours. You earned it."
He offered a small bow and turned to leave, pausing at the door.
"Get some rest," he said. "You have earned it."
After he left, Yuuta remained standing with the letter in one hand and the report in the other. His daughter waited beside him, Erza rested nearby, and he didn't know how to contain everything he felt.
Elena tugged his sleeve again.
"Papa, why are you crying? Did something bad happen?"
He knelt and pulled her close.
"No, little one. Nothing bad happened. Something good happened. Something very good."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled against his shoulder.
"Good," she said. "Then why are you crying?"
A laugh escaped him as tears fell into her hair. He hadn't realized how freely they were flowing until she asked.
"Because I am happy," he said. "Because I am so happy."
She pulled back and wiped his cheeks with her small hands.
"Papa is silly," she said. "Crying because he is happy."
He laughed again, lifting her and spinning her until she shrieked with delight.
"Yes," he said. "Papa is silly. Papa is very, very silly."
When he set her down, she ran to the window and pressed close to the glass. Beyond it lay gardens and fountains waiting to be explored. He watched the light catch her hair and her wings flutter with excitement, grateful that she could greet her future with such eagerness.
His gaze returned to Erza. The ring on her resting hand pulsed gently, matching his heartbeat. He still didn't understand why it had chosen him or what awaited them when the year ended and she had to decide his fate.
For now, the sight of her sleeping in his bed was enough to keep those questions at a distance.
Yuuta sat carefully beside her and opened the report. Page by page, he began learning how his search had become a test, and why the academy had chosen their family.
At the window, Elena's voice rose eagerly.
"Papa, look at the garden! There are so many flowers! Can we go there? Can we go today?"
"Soon," he said. "Soon, little Princess."
To be continued...