At some point, I decide I've done enough for the day—
Not in a dramatic, heroic kind of way, just a quiet, deeply exhausted conclusion that settles somewhere between my spine and whatever remains of my sanity.
I lean back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as I mentally review everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced I've lived through at least three separate days compressed into one.
I woke up to Karin attempting to cook something that should not have been classified as food. I went out to buy groceries and somehow ended up broke. I entered a dungeon I had no intention of taking seriously and destroyed it anyway. I got dragged into the Guild, investigated another anomaly, confirmed something was fundamentally wrong with the system, and then came home to find my younger sister getting taken down by my own children.
And somehow, that still wasn't the end of it.
Because after all that, I sat down and spent the rest of the night researching how to be a proper father.
…For dragon children.
I close my eyes slowly.
"…I deserve rest," I mutter.
Proper rest. At least eight hours of uninterrupted, responsibility-free sleep. That is not an unreasonable request. That is the bare minimum.
The apartment is quiet. Nothing is on fire. No one is asking questions. No dungeons are evolving into something ridiculous.
Peace. Finally.
My thoughts slow, my breathing evens out, and at some point, I fall asleep.
—
The next thing I register is weight—light, but persistent.
"Papa, wake up!"
I open one eye.
Hikari is on top of me, smiling like the concept of morning exists solely for her benefit.
"Hikari is hungry!"
…Of course you are.
Then I smell it.
Burning.
"…No."
I sit up immediately.
Hikari, still on top of me, adjusts without falling like she's done this before—which she has—and I stand up with her still attached like some kind of overly enthusiastic backpack.
I don't even need to think.
I already know where I'm going.
The kitchen.
I move quickly, expecting to see Karin once again attempting to challenge the concept of cooking with raw firepower.
But when I reach the entrace—
I stop.
Because it's not Karin.
It's Ruri.
She's standing on a barely stable chair, wearing an oversized apron, stirring something in the pan with absolute focus.
The ingredients are recognizable—vegetables and meat—but the cuts are uneven, rigid, inconsistent, like they weren't done with a proper knife, which means she didn't use one.
…That's a relief—and also more concerning.
The pan contains something that technically qualifies as food. Technically. Emotionally, it is something else entirely.
Ruri notices me immediately. "Papa—! I was trying to cook because you looked tired, I'm sorry!"
Behind her, Karin cheers. "Go, Ruri! You can do it!"
I watch the scene for a moment, then sigh. Of course this is happening.
I walk over and gently ruffle Ruri's hair. "It's fine. But next time, just wake me up, okay?"
She nods quickly. "Yes, Papa."
She steps down, removes the apron, and hugs me without hesitation.
I pause, then pat her head. "…Yeah. That's fine."
Karin watches, then looks at me. "Papa, you're not that gentle with me."
"…Karin, you weren't cooking yesterday. You were incinerating meat."
"It still involves fire."
That is technically correct. It does not help her case.
Hikari raises her hand. "Papa, can Hikari cook too?"
"Once you're big enough."
She stands on her tiptoes. "This big?"
"…No."
She climbs onto the chair. "This big?"
I sigh. "…We'll talk about that later."
I guide all three of them to the table before anything else happens.
"Sit."
They listen. That's still surprising.
I cook breakfast—simple and efficient. Toast, sausages, eggs, pickled vegetables. Nothing complicated, just something that works.
They watch while I cook, not loudly or disruptively—just watching, observing, learning.
"…Why are you flipping it like that?" Karin suddenly asks, leaning even closer.
"So it cooks evenly."
"It was already cooking."
"…Not evenly."
She squints at the pan like she's trying to argue with physics.
Hikari raises her hand again. "Papa, why does the egg change color?"
"Because heat changes its structure."
She pauses, processing. "…So it evolved?"
"…No."
Ruri quietly steps a little closer. "Papa, do you always cook like this?"
"Yes."
"…It's very precise."
"…It's called not burning the house down."
Karin nods slowly like she just learned something important.
"…I see."
She absolutely does not see.
Karin leans forward slightly like she's analyzing my movements for future combat application. Hikari tilts her head every few seconds, tracking everything like it's a puzzle she's trying to solve. Ruri… just watches quietly, taking everything in without saying anything.
…That's new.
I'm not sure when that started, but it's definitely new.
I serve the food. They eat immediately.
Karin doesn't wait—she dives in like this is a competition. Hikari takes one bite, pauses, then nods very seriously like she's conducting an evaluation. Ruri eats properly, but I can tell she's still paying attention to everything else happening around her.
Karin with energy. Hikari talking between bites. Ruri quietly, composed.
I watch them for a moment, letting the scene settle a little longer than necessary.
Karin finishes her first portion way too fast and immediately looks at mine.
"…Don't even think about it."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"…I was considering it."
"That's the same thing."
Hikari raises her spoon. "Papa, can I have more?"
"You're still eating."
"Yes."
"…Finish first."
She nods, then immediately speeds up.
Ruri glances between them, then quietly pushes her plate slightly toward Hikari.
"…You can have some of mine."
Hikari's eyes light up. "Ruri is nice!"
"…You need to eat too," I say.
"I already ate enough."
She didn't.
I slide her plate back. "Finish it."
"…Yes, Papa."
It's… normal.
Too normal.
No explosions. No arguments. No structural damage.
Just three kids eating breakfast like this is how things are supposed to be.
I lean back slightly.
"…I can't believe I'm doing this."
"Doing what, Papa?"
"…Nothing. Eat first."
Peace.
Temporary, but I'll take it.
Then my phone buzzes.
Bank transfer. From Aaron.
Three million.
"…That's fast."
A-rank materials. High value. Efficient return.
I lean back, thinking.
Three million is a lot—for one person. But not for this.
I glance at them.
Food. Clothes. School. Housing. Future expenses.
"…Not enough."
I tap the screen once, staring at the number again like it might magically increase if I look at it long enough.
It doesn't.
It's a good start, but it's not enough.
I pick up my smartwatch and dial.
It rings twice.
The call connects almost immediately, which is expected because Aaron doesn't miss calls from me, especially not ones made this early and without prior notice.
I don't bother with greetings.
"Aaron," I say. "I need a favor."
"Master," he says, his tone sharpening the moment he recognizes my voice. "You sound serious. Is there any problem?"
I lean back slightly against the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as I consider how to explain this in a way that doesn't immediately turn into a long, exhausting discussion. There are several ways to phrase it, none of them particularly efficient, and all of them leading to the same conclusion anyway.
"…It's not a problem," I say after a moment, choosing the least complicated option. "Not yet."
There's a brief pause on the other end—not confusion, but processing. Aaron has always been quick like that, filling in the gaps before I bother to explain them.
"So it's going to become one," he replies.
"…Yes."
That saves me the effort of explaining the obvious.
I exhale slowly and shift slightly, my gaze drifting toward the hallway where the kids disappeared earlier. The apartment is quiet again, but not in the same way as before. This time, it feels temporary, like something that exists only until the next problem arrives.
"They're growing," I say, keeping my tone even.
Another pause follows, longer this time.
"…I see."
He doesn't—not completely—but he understands enough to not interrupt, which is good enough for now.
"They need a better environment," I continue, letting the thoughts organize themselves as I speak. "Somewhere with an actual school nearby. Somewhere I can get steady income without needing to go too far out of my way. Somewhere with proper infrastructure—hospital access, stores, public spaces, things that are… normal."
I stop there, because listing everything out only makes it sound worse, and it already sounds bad enough.
Aaron hums quietly, clearly thinking things through instead of responding immediately.
"…That doesn't seem like a big problem," he says after a moment.
I close my eyes briefly, already knowing he would say that.
From his perspective, it isn't.
From mine—
"…It is," I reply flatly.
He chuckles softly, not even trying to hide it.
"Fair enough, Master. Then what exactly do you need?"
I take a slow breath before answering, because this is where it starts getting inconvenient.
"At first, I was considering moving to Nexus—the dungeon city in Switzerland," I say.
That gets his full attention immediately. I don't even need to see him to know that.
"The dungeon city?" he repeats.
"Yes."
I pause briefly before continuing.
"Then I remembered how expensive it is."
Aaron laughs this time, completely unrestrained.
"That would be… problematic."
"That's one way to put it," I reply. "Astronomical would be more accurate."
Even if I could afford it, maintaining that kind of lifestyle long-term would be unnecessarily inefficient, and that alone makes it a bad option.
"And it's abroad," I add. "Which complicates things further."
"Understood."
"So I'm reconsidering," I conclude.
There's a brief silence before Aaron shifts into a more structured response, his tone becoming more focused as he starts listing options.
"If you want to remain in Japan," he begins, "there are several viable locations. Tokyo offers the highest level of accessibility, infrastructure, and proximity to guild operations."
I grimace slightly.
Too crowded.
Too loud.
Too many people.
"…Next," I say.
He doesn't question it.
"Yokohama—slightly less congested, still highly developed, with strong access to major systems."
"…Next."
"Osaka—"
"No."
"Understood."
He adapts immediately, shifting direction without hesitation.
"If you're open to moving overseas, Seoul is a strong candidate. High development, efficient infrastructure, and a strong hunter economy with consistent dungeon activity."
I consider it for a moment. It's not a bad option, all things considered, but it doesn't quite settle right either.
"…Keep going," I say.
"China offers multiple urban centers, though regulations may complicate independent operations. New Taipei in Taiwan is also viable—balanced cost of living, stable environment, good infrastructure."
That one actually makes me pause a little longer—balanced, efficient, manageable… still not quite enough to settle the decision. It checks most of the boxes, at least on paper, and under normal circumstances I probably would have accepted it immediately without thinking too much about it. But this isn't normal anymore.
Three kids.
Three separate variables that don't follow predictable patterns.
And somehow, I'm responsible for all of them.
I exhale slowly through my nose, running the option through my head again, weighing convenience against long-term stability. Efficiency is still the priority, but now it has to account for things that didn't matter before—education, safety, accessibility, consistency.
…Troublesome. Before I can respond, Aaron continues.
"And in Southeast Asia—Manila."
I pause again, this time longer. It lingers in a different way: affordable, developing infrastructure, active dungeon presence, and a lower barrier of entry compared to most major cities. The kind of place that doesn't look perfect at first glance, but works if you understand how to move within it.
I tap my finger lightly against the armrest, thinking it through.
Lower costs mean less pressure.
Less pressure means fewer forced decisions.
Fewer forced decisions means… fewer problems.
In theory.
…In practice, it's never that simple. Chaotic, but manageable. …Not terrible.
Aaron suddenly stops mid-thought. "Wait."
I get a bad feeling immediately.
"Isn't your wife overseas?"
…Ah. Right. That lie.
For a split second, I actually blank—which is impressive, considering everything else I've handled recently. Of all the things to trip over, it had to be that.
I should've prepared a consistent story.
I didn't.
That's on me.
I recover quickly enough, forcing a response out smoothly before the silence stretches too long. "…Yes. In Canada." Barely smooth, but it holds.
There's a pause, and I can practically feel him analyzing that answer, so I add before he can follow up, "I already talked to her. She said it's not ideal." It's vague enough to work, and vague is efficient.
Aaron hums. "Well, she isn't wrong. The life there is prosperous, but at the same time it can be chaotic and dangerous in certain areas—similar to the situation in the United States."
That works. I nod slightly, even though he can't see it. "Exactly." The topic shifts naturally after that with no further questions, which is exactly what I wanted.
"Is that all?" Aaron asks. "Or do you need something else?"
I hesitate briefly, then exhale. "…There's one more thing."
His tone sharpens a little. "I thought so."
I lean forward, resting my elbow on my knee as I glance at the now-empty table. "The materials—from the Titan Guardian."
"Yes."
"You sold them."
"Yes."
"They fetched a decent amount."
"Yes."
I pause, then finish the thought. "…It's not enough."
There's a short silence before he answers. "That sounds about right."
Of course it does.
I run a hand through my hair and organize the numbers as I speak, mentally breaking everything down the way I would any resource allocation problem.
Initial relocation cost.
Monthly expenses.
Emergency buffer.
Education.
Food consumption—higher than average, considering Karin.
…Definitely higher than average.
I exhale lightly before continuing. "Moving costs, long-term living expenses, education, daily needs—it stacks faster than expected. Even with high-value materials, it won't hold unless I maintain a steady income flow."
"And you want to avoid long-term complications," Aaron adds.
"Exactly."
Another brief pause, then—"…So?"
I close my eyes for a second. This is the part I don't like—the part where I knowingly choose more work.
There's still time to not say it.
To pretend I didn't think this far ahead.
To delay the problem a little longer.
…That would create more problems later.
Unacceptable.
So I say it anyway.
"…Give me the hardest dungeon quest the guild currently has," I say.
Silence follows, and then I can practically hear the grin forming on the other end.
"…I'll lessen your burden," I add flatly. "I'll raid it myself."
There's no attempt to hide it now—Aaron is definitely enjoying this.
"Alright, Master," he says, his tone noticeably more energized. "Come to the guild office later."
Of course. Nothing is ever simple.
I end the call and stare at my phone for a moment longer than necessary before setting it down, then lean back into the couch.
"…I really have to work now," I mutter under my breath.
No response—just silence, which somehow makes it worse.
I close my eyes and let the reality settle properly this time. This is not how my retirement was supposed to go—not even remotely close—but at this point, there's no avoiding it.
I exhale slowly. "…Fine."
Because if I'm doing this, then I might as well do it properly—even if it means everything gets worse before it gets better.
*****
End of Chapter 15
Retirement Status Report:
Owner: Ren Arclight
Former Occupation: Demon King Slayer / World-Saving Archmage
Current Occupation: Reluctant Breadwinner
Peaceful Life Goal:
Sleep, eat, avoid responsibility, repeat.
Today's Activities:
*Survived first full morning as a functional parent
*Prevented kitchen-based disaster (Ruri edition)
*Managed three children simultaneously without casualties
*Prepared breakfast (successfully, no fire incidents)
*Conducted financial evaluation
*Confirmed current funds insufficient
*Analyzed relocation requirements
*Consulted Guildmaster for viable city options
*Maintained fabricated marital narrative (barely)
*Identified long-term sustainability issue
*Accepted necessity of steady income
*Voluntarily requested highest-risk dungeon assignment
New Developments:
*Children now actively learning from observation
*Ruri attempting independent support behaviors (high concern / high value)
*Karin remains high-risk variable (fire + confidence)
*Hikari continues curiosity-based questioning (non-stop)
*Household food consumption increasing rapidly
*Current income model deemed unsustainable
*Relocation confirmed as inevitable
*"Work" officially reintroduced into lifestyle
Financial Status:
Funds: Acquired (Temporary)
Sustainability: Low
Expenses: Increasing
Future Cost Projection: Uncomfortable
Peaceful Retirement Stability:
SYSTEM ERROR
VALUE OVERFLOW
CANNOT CALCULATE
Current Retirement Status:
Terminated
Immediate Consequences:
*Mandatory dungeon re-engagement
*Increased guild involvement
*Exposure risk rising
*Work-life balance: nonexistent
*Responsibility scaling exponentially
Operational Assessment:
Mission Outcome: Successful
Life Outcome: Compromised
Efficiency: Declining
Burden: Increasing
Emotional Status:
Acceptance - Resignation - Mild Suffering
Future Outlook:
Escalation Guaranteed
Archmage Personal Statement:
"I asked for peace. I got responsibilities."
Reality's Response:
"Hard mode enabled."