"Are you ready?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Papa? That's a new one."
"Mananan called her daddy Papa and I think it's much cuter."
"Suit yourself."
Children, always picking up new things. Despite his smile, he was not at all happy. There was a reason Leo could not stray too far from his daughter. It wasn't merely out of love. It wasn't because she would learn new things.
It was a necessity.
Phoebe was dying.
A hand placed on her back, Leo closed his eyes and gently filled her up with mana. Phoebe closed her eyes. She whimpered.
"I-it hurts…!"
"I know, I'm sorry. Just…five more minutes."
Five minutes of listening to his little girl slowly breaking down. Five minutes of Phoebe grunting and tearing up.
"I-it hurts! It hurts so much! I…I don't wanna—"
"I'm sorry." He gripped her shoulder and kept her still on the bed. Leo's fingers twitched, his jaw clenching. He hated it. He hated it so much.
She clutched that precious heart of hers, breathing heavily. "P-papa!"
This heart condition of hers—it was impossible to cure. It could only be sated.
If he stopped now, if he hesitated, if he let his emotions get in the way—her heart would fail.
So he kept going. Even as she sobbed. Even as her little body shook. Even as his own heart ached with the weight of it all. He just kept going. Because he had to. It was a father's duty.
Phoebe collapsed against the pillow, her small body finally giving in. The room still pulsed with residual mana.
Leo sighed, lifting the blanket and tucking her in gently.
She had fallen asleep the moment he stopped.
She always did.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. Even now, with exhaustion pulling her into deep sleep, her brows were still furrowed, as if she could still feel the remnants of pain.
Leo exhaled through his nose. Five more days until the next time.
He got up, rolling his shoulders before stepping toward the wooden ladder leading down. The creaking of the steps echoed softly in the quiet attic as he descended. He was so, so tired. The physical injuries and the mental toll, all of it caught up to him.
At the bottom of the ladder, Mrs. Cresswell awaited. Leo wore a faint smile. "Look at you, you brought your old chair."
The café owner sat in her old chair, wrapped in a thick quilt, her snow-white hair even more unkempt than usual. She laughed softly into a handkerchief. "I can lift a measly old chair."
"That's good."
After a beat, Mrs. Cresswell asked, "How is she?"
Leo leaned on the wall, arms crossed and eyes low with guilt. "Sleeping. Probably having nightmare."
Mrs. Cresswell sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She had watched over Phoebe for years now, but she had never pressed too deeply into what exactly was wrong with her.
"…Leo," Mrs. Cresswell said slowly, carefully, "what happened to her?"
Leo stilled.
Mrs. Cresswell frowned. "It's her heart, right? I never asked before—out of respect—but I've been watching. It's getting worse, isn't it? She sleeps far too much for a girl her age."
Leo stared at the floorboards. For a long moment, he said nothing. He didn't want to say it out loud. Every time he did, it broke his heart.
"She's smart for her age though, isn't he?" he joked. He was met with sad eyes and he couldn't help but mutter out the truth. "Phoebe doesn't have one."
"…What?"
Leo's voice was flat, matter-of-fact, as if saying it too emotionally would make it too real. "Phoebe has no heart. There's…a swirl of mana inside her ribcage that acts as her heart. That's why I have to fill her with mana every week. Otherwise, it'll…fade."
Mrs. Cresswell went still.
"…No heart?" the sickly woman echoed. "I…I don't understand, how is that…?"
"Possible? Anything is possible in a world of gods," Leo said, voice distance and jaw clenching. "Anything. Even Phoebe's own life. If I stop—if I forget, if I fail—her body will shut down."
Mrs. Cresswell's hands trembled slightly as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Gods…"
He knew from the day he met her that Mrs. Cresswell was an expert potion-maker, a healer in her own right. She opened up a café shop in her youth in order to hide her primary business. As the years went by, she slowly transitioned from potion-making to sincere coffee-making. But he knew she couldn't help. Look at her, she had never heard of such a condition, not in all her years.
"…This," Mrs. Cresswell murmured, "this is all the more reason you should attend Arcadia Academy."
Leo's lips were flat and unamused. "You really think I'll find someone there who can construct a heart for her?"
Mrs. Cresswell met his gaze, firm despite her frailty. "You don't know that you won't."
Leo exhaled sharply. "It's impossible," he muttered.
"No," Mrs. Cresswell said. "You are thinking too small. You said it yourself, this is a world of gods and miracles, Leo. Anything is possible."
Leo didn't reply.
***
Clover Cafe was the same as ever. Literally. Nobody dared to touch it in his absence. Again, he was something of a strong guy here. He wasn't a huge household name, thieves were simply warned that there was a guy that could fight at Clover Cafe. Better to pick a place with a guy that couldn't fight. Simple logic.
At the front counter, Leo rolled up the sleeves of his dark shirt as he flipped a slice of bread over the stove's open flame. The café was empty and the evening rush had ended. It gave him a moment to just… breathe.
Thump, thump, thump, thump—
Tiny footsteps thundered down the stairs, growing louder with each passing second. Leo barely had time to set the pan down before a small brown-haired blur burst into the room.
"PAPA!"
Leo turned just in time for Phoebe to crash into his side, her arms wrapping around him in an enthusiastic hug. She was bright-eyed, practically glowing with energy—her usual post-mana-transfer high.
Leo chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Your ponytail isn't done."
In a flash, Phoebe got it tied. "Done!"
"Evening then, young lady."
Phoebe blinked up at him. "Evening? Don't you mean good morning?"
"Is it, my humble protégé?"
"It is!"
"Is it?"
Phoebe pouted. "But…but I went to sleep last night! Right on time!"
Leo turned back to the stove. "Mhm."
"So how is it evening?"
Leo flipped the eggs. "Because it's been twenty hours."
Silence.
Phoebe froze.
"…WHAT?!" The little girl whipped around, grabbing at his sleeve. "TWENTY HOURS?!"
"Yeah. You slept like a log."
Phoebe gasped, horrified. "That's a whole day!"
Leo chuckled. "You needed it."
"But—but—" Phoebe clutched her head like the world was collapsing. "I had so much to do! I was supposed to draw! And read! And—OH NO, I MISSED DESSERT!"
Leo set a plate of toast and eggs in front of her. "There, problem solved."
Phoebe sniffed the air, immediately distracted. "Oh, that tastes good. Okay! But desert is cake. Can I get cake after this?"
"No cake."
"Pleeeease!"
"Nope. No sugar. You already had too much at your little sleep over, I bet."
"T-that's not true!"
"Uh-huh, sure it isn't. Don't underestimate your dad, Phoebe."
Phoebe climbed onto a stool, swinging her legs as she dug in, practically inhaling the food. "Can we get cake tomorrow then?"
Leo placed his arms on the counter, watching her with amusement. "You know, if you didn't talk so much, you'd probably get that cake faster."
Phoebe puffed her cheeks. "Talking is important, Papa."
Leo smirked. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!" Phoebe pointed dramatically with her fork. "What if I was a princess and had to give a speech to my kingdom?"
"Trust me, if you were a princess, you would know." Leo sipped his coffee. "Also, I'd feel bad for the kingdom."
Phoebe gasped. "BETRAYED."
And for a long while, it was peaceful.
A simple meal, a simple conversation.
Just a father and his daughter.