[MashUp] Ch 19: Ugly Dragon, You Look Pathetic

— — — — — — 

The scent was overwhelming, almost tyrannical.

It clamped down on her very core like an invisible hand, squeezing her life force.

Her dried-up dragon blood began to surge again.

Every weak, withered cell shrieked with hunger, begging, clawing for more.

Takuma moved without a single wasted gesture.

Flip. Sprinkle salt. Pinch of black pepper.

Timing and heat—flawless.

Through his Lv.3 skill, this wasn't just meat anymore.

It was a precise, intricate structure of fibers and fat.

Every bubble of oil, every caramelizing strand of muscle—All converging toward one inevitable outcome: perfection.

He picked up the seared slice, crisped outside, bursting with juices inside, and held it in his chopsticks.

Brought it right up to Tohru's massive snout.

No extra words. Just one.

"Eat."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. A feeding.

Her dragon pupils shrank.

The pride of the Chaos Dragon roared in her veins, telling her to turn away.

But her body betrayed her. Instinct screamed louder than pride ever could.

Her jaws opened.

The meat slid past her fangs.

And then—

Boom.

The world exploded.

This wasn't flavor.

This was raw, condensed life force itself.

A flood of warmth crashed down her throat, racing through her broken body.

Flesh eroded by curses mended in seconds. Magic that had nearly bled dry was surging back.

Impossible.

It was just mortal livestock—ordinary meat!

How could it outshine every divine elixir she'd ever consumed tenfold?

"…Good?"

Takuma's voice was quiet, but it echoed in her skull like a bell.

Tohru froze.

Her pride urged her to scoff, to say "average."

But the next second—

A single tear welled in her golden slit pupil, hot and crystalline, slipping free.

A dragon's tear.

It wasn't sadness. It wasn't humiliation.

It was pure, unshakable bliss—something she had never once known in thousands of years of life.

Takuma chuckled and kept cooking.

One piece after another.

Each slice fed into that wide, trembling maw at exactly the right moment, until she couldn't close her jaws fast enough.

Tohru stopped thinking.

Like a starving fledgling, she devoured everything he offered, powerless against him.

Time blurred. When it ended, the meat was gone.

Only that intoxicating aroma lingered in the clearing.

Tohru slumped onto the ground and let out a burp, feeling reborn.

Her strength—at least a tenth of it restored.

A miracle.

She lifted her head, eyes full of awe, fear, and confusion.

What… was this man?

"Why…" Her voice trembled, without her noticing.

"Why does mortal food carry power equal to divine authority?"

"It's not the food."

Takuma wiped the pan clean, voice flat.

"It's me."

He glanced at her, a playful edge in his eyes.

"All I did… was take every chaotic, disordered energy—"

"Sort it, refine it, and return it to where it always should have been."

Her baffled look only made his smile curl higher.

"As for this so-called 'divine authority'…"

He gave a short laugh.

"No. I'm just a housekeeper with OCD."

"Do you understand?"

Tohru's mind went blank.

To channel the full essence of something so mundane, with no loss at all… What kind of mastery was this?

Her heart pounded.

This man—

He wasn't human.

He was a dreamlike being wrapped in human skin, something she couldn't begin to comprehend.

Takuma looked at the dragon sprawled on the ground, caught between shock and bliss, and finally asked the question.

"That sword. Who put it there?"

Her whole body jolted.

The words were a key, unlocking a prison that had rotted in her soul for countless years, thick with blood and hatred.

Her pupils flooded with scarlet rage.

"The gods!"

Her voice was soaked in venom.

"The arrogant gods who preach righteousness! They envied dragon power, feared our freedom!"

"They branded us abominations, children of chaos! They dressed it up in holy words, goaded greedy heroes, roused ignorant humans—"

"And made dragon-slaying the highest honor! And the strongest of them…"

"He ambushed me, drove that so-called divine sword into my reverse scale, all to steal my body and forge a new weapon!"

"I hate them!"

"I hate every god!"

Her roar shook the skies, centuries of resentment pouring out for the first time to another being.

She expected fear in his eyes. Or pity.

But Takuma's face showed nothing.

He listened, then answered with a voice flat as stone.

"A so-called god who can't even control his weapon. Leaves a sword stuck in a dragon like an idiot."

Tohru's roar cut off.

"…W-what?"

"I said." His gaze turned scornful.

"That god is trash."

"He had a good sword, but used it clumsily, striking at the wrong angle."

"He couldn't finish the kill. Couldn't even pull the blade back out."

Takuma's words pounded into her soul.

"It proves his control, his grasp of structure, was crude and laughable."

"He wasn't delivering justice. He wasn't forging glory. He was a butcher with poor skills."

"Defiling a masterpiece he had no right to touch—you."

His eyes locked with hers, calm and merciless.

"So your rage is pointless. You shouldn't be angry about being hurt by trash."

"You should be disgusted that he defiled the art of battle itself."

Tohru's thoughts collapsed into silence.

Of all the responses she imagined, this wasn't one.

He hadn't validated her hatred.

He hadn't condemned her enemy.

He had dismissed the god's very worth, as though saying: your foe isn't even qualified to be your foe.

It was a strange, backhanded recognition.

But it soothed a wound that pride and hatred had gnawed for centuries—because he affirmed her perfection.

While she reeled, unable to speak, something soft fell over her head.

A coat, still warm with his body heat, draped across her dragon brow, hiding her reddened eyes.

From above came his voice, tinged with impatience.

"Ugly dragon. You look pathetic when you cry."

And with that, he turned away.

Only his back remained.

.

.

.