Morning light crept through the cracked windows of the manor like a thief, soft and hesitant. Inside, chaos was already brewing.

"I will NOT take a bath!"

Toby's voice echoed through the hallway, high-pitched and defiant. His small feet slapped against the cold stone floor as he ran, his thin frame moving with surprising speed for a kid who'd been sick just days ago.

"Toby, stop right there!" Mira's voice chased after him, breathless and exasperated. She rounded the corner, her dark hair messy from sleep, her new handmade dress—the one with strategically placed holes she'd made for Viktor—thankfully covered by an outer robe. Her bare feet padded quickly as she tried to catch up to her son.

The little boy's face was flushed, his eyes bright with mischief. "Rawr! Dragon Toby doesn't bathe!"

In the sitting room, Kaida sat slumped on the couch, her red hair falling messily around her half-scarred face.

Dark circles shadowed her eyes—evidence of a sleepless night.

Viktor had sprawled across her body for hours after passing out from building that damn loom, his weight pinning her down, his warmth seeping into her skin in ways that made her uncomfortable and confused.

She was stretching her arms above her head, groaning as her muscles protested, when Toby suddenly crashed into her.

"Aunt!" The boy wrapped his small arms around her waist, his face pressed against her stomach. "Tell Mama to stop! No bath!"

Kaida blinked down at him, still half-asleep. She lifted her gaze toward Mira, who stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring.

"Elder sister, you—" Kaida started.

"He will fall ill," Mira cut her off sharply, her green eyes flashing with maternal determination. "Don't disturb me."

Kaida visibly trembled, shrinking back like a scolded child. She looked down at Toby, guilt and helplessness warring on her face.

"I'm sorry, Toby," she said quietly, her voice defeated. "You already see your mother..."

Before she could finish, Toby released her waist like she'd betrayed him personally.

"Useless!" he declared with the brutal honesty only a six-year-old could muster.

"Ugh—" An invisible arrow pierced Kaida's heart.

She froze, mouth slightly open, as dramatic darkness seemed to descend around her.

The word echoed in her mind: 'Useless... useless... useless...'

She slumped further into the couch, depression settling over her like a heavy blanket.

Toby, meanwhile, had already bolted toward the kitchen area where the smell of cooking drifted through the air.

Viktor stood at the makeshift stove—a cleverly repaired stone hearth he'd fixed using his Craftsman Genius ability.

Shirtless except for the bandages wrapped around his torso, his soft belly protruding slightly over the waistband of his trousers, he stirred a pot with practiced ease.

Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the morning chill.

Helena stood beside him, her brown hair tied back in a simple bun, her thick body wrapped in a plain dress that did nothing to hide her curves.

She was chopping herbs with surprising precision, her movements careful and methodical.

"Young Master, let me handle the stirring," she said softly, reaching for the wooden spoon.

"I've got it," Viktor replied without looking at her.

His dark eyes were focused on the greenish porridge in the pot—made from processed grains he'd salvaged and enhanced with nutritious herbs. "Go set the table."

Helena hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, Young Master."

Just as she turned away, small hands grabbed Viktor's leg.

"Hey!" Toby cried, using the title he'd started calling Viktor over the past few days. The boy looked up with wide, pleading eyes. "Tell Mama to stop! No bath!"

Viktor glanced down, his expression unchanging. Then, with a grunt of effort that made his bandages pull tight, he bent down and scooped Toby up into his arms.

"Victor!" Mira's voice rang out from the doorway, sharp with worry. "Your wounds! Don't lift him!"

Helena spun around, her face pale. "Young Master, please—"

Viktor just chuckled, low and rough. The sound sent a shiver through both women. "Stop it."

He adjusted Toby in his arms, settling the boy against his hip despite the dull ache radiating through his stitches.

Toby's thin arms wrapped around his neck, face pressed against Viktor's shoulder.

Viktor turned his gaze to Mira, and something in his expression made her words die in her throat.

"Hey, Mira," he said, his tone casual but carrying an edge of command. "Stop. If Toby doesn't want to bathe, then so be it. Don't force him."

Mira's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her eyes flickered with a dozen emotions—frustration, concern, but ultimately... submission.

"...Yes, My Lord," she finally said, her voice soft.

She nodded once, then turned away, her shoulders tight with suppressed maternal instinct.

'!'

'HeeeeeHHHHH—!?'

In the sitting room, Kaida's mouth fell open.

'He just... she just 'listened' to him?'

Her elder sister—the woman who'd argue with anyone, who'd fought tooth and nail to protect her son—had backed down with a single sentence from that perverted bastard.

Kaida's hands trembled slightly as she gripped the armrest of the couch. Her jaw clenched.

'Why does she listen to 'him'... but not to me?'

A bitter taste filled her mouth, something ugly and jealous twisting in her chest.

Back in the kitchen, Viktor set Toby down on the dining table—a sturdy wooden surface he'd repaired and cleaned himself. The boy sat cross-legged, grinning triumphantly.

Bella was already seated at the opposite end of the table, perched on a rickety chair.

Her silver hair was still damp from the bath Mira had given her earlier, cascading down her back in wet waves.

She wore the simple dress Mira had made—one with a carefully tailored hole in the back for her tail, which swished nervously behind her.

Her cat ears twitched atop her head, flattening slightly when Viktor glanced her way.

She still didn't understand. None of it made sense.

'Why am I here? Why are they feeding me? Why hasn't he punished me for attacking Helena?'

Her small hands gripped her knees beneath the table, knuckles white.

Viktor moved between the hearth and the table, carrying bowls of food. The porridge—thick and greenish from the herbs—smelled surprisingly good.

The bread looked strange too, softer than anything they could've gotten in the village, with an odd greenish tint that made Bella's nose twitch.

"Kaida!" Viktor called toward the sitting room. "Helena! Mira! Get in here and eat!"

One by one, they filed in.

Helena moved with quiet efficiency, taking her seat with practiced grace despite her thick body.

Mira entered with her usual calculated confidence, though her eyes lingered on Viktor longer than necessary.

Kaida trudged in last, still looking like someone had stolen her soul.

They all sat around the table—Viktor at the head, Toby beside him, Bella across from Toby, and the three women filling the remaining seats.

Viktor placed bowls in front of each of them. The greenish bread. The strange porridge. Water in clay cups.

They all stared.

Helena and Mira exchanged glances. They'd eaten Viktor's cooking before—they knew it would be delicious.

But the color...

Bella's ears flattened completely. 'What... what is this?'

Kaida poked at the bread with her finger, suspicious.

"So, ladies," Viktor said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "Eat and tell me how it is."

Before anyone could respond, he turned to Toby and scooped up a spoonful of porridge. He held it to the boy's lips, his voice dropping into that silly, playful tone that made Toby giggle.

"Come on, little warrior. Magic slime time. Rawr!"

Toby opened his mouth obediently, eating the porridge with a grin. "Rawr!"

The women watched in varying states of shock and confusion.

Helena's chest tightened with pride. 'He's so gentle with children...'

Mira's lips curved into a soft smile. 'Perfect husband. Perfect father... My Husband, Indeed.'

Kaida just stared, her mind a confused mess. 'This perverted bastard... why does he look so... normal?'

Bella's thoughts were even more chaotic. 'Why is a nobleman feeding a sick child? Why does he care? Why—'

BANG!

The front door of the manor slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls.

Everyone froze.

A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light. Panting. Gasping for breath.

A young man—petite in build, almost delicate. His clothes were good quality, his face smudged with grime a bit as if to make himself intentionally ugly. His eyes were wild, desperate with saliva dripping through his mouth.

"Can I... can I get some food?"

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