Chương 75: Chapter 74: Apparently, I Have Mom Friends

Ria's pov The final casualty of the sleepover was my dignity. By Sunday morning, six children had eaten enough pancakes to justify the twelve bottles of juice Ren had mocked me for buying, the blanket fort had partially collapsed across the living room, and at least three pillows had migrated into locations I could not explain.

Hikari was still wearing rabbit-print pajamas beneath one of Ren's old hoodies, Karin had somehow acquired syrup in her hair, and Ruri was helping Mio repack an overnight bag that appeared determined to reject half its contents. I stood near the entrance with Lysa's folded cardigan over one arm while Ren collected dishes from the dining table behind me. The condo smelled faintly of pancakes, coffee, and the particular warmth left behind by too many children occupying one space for too long.

The doorbell rang, and Lysa immediately lifted her head from where she and Hikari were comparing dinosaur stickers on the floor. Her small horns nearly bumped Hikari's forehead when she scrambled upright, clutching her dinosaur plush beneath one arm.

"Mama's here," Lysa announced, already hurrying toward the entrance. Hikari followed closely behind her while reminding Lysa that the shiny triceratops sticker still belonged to Hikari and was only being temporarily inspected. I opened the door and found Lysa's mother waiting outside with an amused smile. Her gaze slipped past me toward the remains of the blanket fort before returning to my face, and for one dangerous second old instinct overtook everything else.

"Good morning, Your Maj—" Lysa's mother began before stopping abruptly when I raised one eyebrow. Lysa reached her mother a moment later and tugged lightly on her sleeve. With the weary patience of a child who had apparently accepted responsibility for reforming an adult's vocabulary, she reminded her, "Mama. Ria-san." Her mother closed her eyes for a heartbeat before looking at me with an embarrassed smile.

"Right. Ria-san. Good morning. Apparently I'm going to need more practice."

"You're improving," I assured her, unable to keep a small smile from forming.

"And Lysa survived the night." Lysa's mother leaned slightly around me to inspect her daughter.

"Did you actually sleep, or did you spend the entire night talking?" Lysa hugged her dinosaur against her chest and nodded enthusiastically.

"We slept! We made a fort, and Ria-san told us about the goose, and Ren-san made pancakes, and Karin started a pillow war." From the living room, Karin immediately lifted her voice in protest.

"It was a tactical exercise, not a pillow war!" I slowly turned toward the sound while Ren stopped midway through stacking several plates. Ruri closed her eyes and covered part of her face with one hand, apparently deciding she wanted no responsibility for her sister's revision of history. Lysa's mother looked from Karin to me. Her lips began trembling with suppressed laughter as she asked, "A tactical exercise?"

"That interpretation did not originate with me," I replied with as much dignity as I could maintain. Ren walked past behind me carrying the dishes toward the kitchen. Without even slowing, my husband added, "It absolutely did." I turned my head sharply.

"You are supposed to support me." Ren glanced over one shoulder, completely calm.

"I support accurate historical records." Lysa's mother laughed openly while I narrowed my eyes at my husband until he disappeared into the kitchen with entirely too much amusement visible in his posture. Mio's mother arrived next, followed only a few minutes later by Nami's. The entrance became crowded almost immediately with shoes, bags, children refusing to finish saying goodbye, and three mothers being forced to listen to six overlapping descriptions of the previous night.

Nami's mother accepted her daughter's overnight bag, then looked toward me with the kind of delight that immediately made me suspicious.

"Nami told me you had everybody's bedtime written down." I straightened automatically and folded my arms.

"Preparation is important when people are trusting you with their children." Mio's mother covered a smile with the back of one hand.

"Mio said you also had everyone's food preferences, emergency contacts, and whether they needed a night-light."

"That is basic hosting," I replied, though I could feel my defense becoming less convincing under three increasingly amused expressions. Ren chose that exact moment to emerge from the kitchen with a dish towel hanging over one shoulder. He stopped beside me, glanced toward the mothers, and calmly supplied the information nobody had requested.

"She almost asked for blood types." I turned so quickly that my silver hair swept across my shoulder.

"You suggested blood types."

"As a joke," Ren clarified, and the complete innocence in his expression made the betrayal significantly worse. All three mothers started laughing at once. I stared at Ren.

"You are giving them ammunition." My husband tilted his head slightly.

"Against what?"

"Me." Ren glanced toward the three women still laughing near the doorway.

"They seem to be handling it responsibly." I elbowed him lightly in the side. Nami's mother laughed even harder. Eventually, the children finished saying goodbye. Lysa hugged Hikari twice before finally allowing her mother to guide her toward the elevator, Mio promised Karin a rematch in some game they had apparently invented inside the blanket fort, and Nami informed Ruri with perfect seriousness that the tunnel section required structural improvement next time. Next time.

I was still processing the fact that the children had apparently authorized another sleepover without consulting the adults when Mio's mother adjusted her handbag and looked back toward me.

"Ria-san, some of us get coffee after school drop-off once in a while," she explained. Her voice was casual, but there was a genuine invitation beneath it.

"Nothing organized. We mostly talk about school, our families, whatever happened that week, and occasionally complain about our husbands." Nami's mother nodded beside her, her mouth curving immediately.

"Sometimes the husband complaints take longer if somebody did something especially stupid." Lysa's mother smiled as well.

"Would you like to join us sometime? We were thinking Wednesday." I froze. The question should not have been difficult. I had spoken in front of generals while entire armies waited outside. I had negotiated treaties, argued with Guild officials, confronted sovereign authority, and recently endured enough SS-rank administration to make national bureaucracy feel like an enemy classification. Coffee should not have been intimidating.

Yet none of those situations had involved three women asking me to join them simply because they wanted me there. Lysa's mother seemed to notice my hesitation. Her expression softened, and for a fraction of a second I saw the old title threatening to return before she deliberately corrected herself.

"You wouldn't have to come as anything special," she said gently.

"You can just come as Ria-san." Warmth pressed unexpectedly beneath my ribs. I looked at the three women standing outside my home, then at the children behind me who were still waving toward their friends.

"I'd like that," I replied. Mio's mother brightened immediately.

"Wednesday, then. There's a little café near the school. We'll message you the details."

"That works," I said, surprised by how easy the answer felt once I had actually given it. A few minutes later, the elevator doors closed behind them and our condo finally became quiet. I remained standing near the entrance. Ren walked past carrying his coffee. I turned toward him.

"What do mothers talk about over coffee?" Ren stopped halfway across the living room. He looked at me. I looked back with complete seriousness.

"You're a mother," my husband pointed out. I frowned.

"That was not helpful." Ren took a slow sip of coffee.

"Children, husbands, school, home, groceries, hobbies. Whatever comes up."

"That is not an agenda."

"There isn't an agenda, Ria." I stared at him. That sounded dangerously unstructured. Ren apparently recognized the expression on my face because he sighed, stepped closer, and rested one hand against my waist.

"You're making the treaty face."

"I do not have a treaty face."

"You absolutely have a treaty face," Ren replied, his eyes already smiling.

"And you are using it because three mothers invited you for coffee." I narrowed my eyes at him, but his hand remained warm against my side and the irritation never developed properly. Wednesday morning proved that I did, in fact, possess a treaty face. It also proved I had no idea what a normal mother was supposed to wear to coffee. I stood in front of the bedroom mirror holding two different tops while Ren sat near the foot of the bed watching me with increasing amusement.

The girls had already gone to school, and I had spent enough time changing clothes that Hikari had eventually asked whether Mama was dressing for "coffee battle." I held a soft cream blouse against myself, then switched to a pale blue knit top and studied my reflection. Neither looked wrong, which somehow made choosing significantly more difficult.

"Which one says normal mother?" I asked. Ren looked from the cream blouse to the blue top. He considered them with exaggerated seriousness before meeting my eyes through the mirror.

"Both say shirt." I slowly lowered them.

"Why did I marry you?" Ren leaned back on both hands and smiled.

"Excellent judgment." The blue top hit him in the chest a second later. He caught it and laughed.

"I am serious," I told him, folding my arms while turning back toward the mirror.

"The blouse might look too formal. The other one might look as though I didn't put any effort into this. I don't want them thinking I'm treating coffee like an official meeting, but I also don't want to look careless." Ren's laughter faded into something softer. He stood and crossed the room until he was behind me.

"You're nervous," he said.

"I am not nervous."

"You've changed four times."

"Three."

"Five if we count the cardigan you wore for forty seconds." I looked over my shoulder.

"Nobody asked you to count." Ren smiled before taking the cream blouse from my hand and holding it up against me. His eyes moved from the fabric to my face with the casual familiarity that still had the unfair ability to make my chest warm.

"You look cute in this one," he said. That settled the question immediately. I hated that it settled the question immediately. My posture relaxed despite myself.

"Cute?" I repeated, pretending skepticism. Ren nodded.

"Very." I stared at him for approximately two seconds before walking into his space and wrapping both arms around his neck. His hands settled automatically at my waist.

"You're supposed to leave," Ren reminded me, though he made no attempt to move me.

"I know."

"You're traveling in the opposite direction." I rested my cheek against his shoulder.

"I am preparing emotionally." A quiet laugh moved through his chest.

"Checkpoint?" I closed my eyes and tightened my arms.

"Checkpoint." Ren held me for several seconds while the nervousness I had refused to acknowledge gradually eased. When I finally stepped away, I made it as far as the bedroom door before returning, catching the front of his shirt, and kissing him. Ren's eyebrows rose when I pulled back.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied, although his smile said otherwise.

"Have fun." I lifted my chin.

"Obviously." I spent the entire elevator ride wondering what mothers talked about over coffee. The answer, apparently, was socks. Mio's mother, Nami's mother, and Lysa's mother were already seated near the café windows when I arrived. Morning sunlight spilled across the wooden table between half-finished drinks, a plate of pastries, handbags, and several phones, while the soft noise of other customers filled the warm room around them. Mio's mother noticed me first and raised one hand.

"Ria-san! Over here." I approached and sat in the empty chair beside Lysa's mother. For the first few minutes, I paid far too much attention to everything: when someone took a sip, when another person changed subjects, whether I was supposed to ask about the children immediately, and whether casual conversations had some invisible structure nobody had bothered to explain to me. Then Mio's mother sighed and dropped her forehead into one hand.

"Mio lost another sock this morning," she said, irritation and exhaustion mixing in her expression.

"Not both socks. One. She had the other one on her foot while accusing the laundry basket of eating its partner." My attention sharpened immediately. Nami's mother leaned forward sympathetically.

"Was the missing one actually missing?"

"No," Mio's mother answered, lifting her face again.

"It was exactly where I put it last night. She simply never looked there." A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. All three women turned toward me. For half a second, I wondered whether I had interrupted something. Then I realized I knew this problem.

"Karin did almost the same thing a few weeks ago," I admitted, relaxing slightly into the chair.

"She announced that someone had moved her sock and spent several minutes accusing everyone in the house. Ruri eventually found it beneath the sofa." Mio's mother immediately pointed toward me with delighted recognition.

"Exactly! Why is it always one sock?" I leaned forward without even thinking about it.

"And why do they announce that the item has disappeared forever before checking beneath anything?" Nami's mother laughed and stirred her drink.

"Because checking would remove the drama." Lysa's mother smiled and lifted her cup.

"Lysa once declared her favorite hair ribbon lost forever. It was around her wrist." I stared at her. She looked back at me. Then all four of us started laughing. Somewhere during the missing-sock conversation, I forgot there was supposed to be an agenda. The discussion moved from morning disasters into school lunches, and from school lunches into the inexplicable ability children possessed to reject food at home before happily eating the same thing somewhere else.

Nami's mother shook her head while tearing a small piece from one of the pastries.

"Nami insists she hates carrots when I cook them. Yesterday she came home telling me Mio's carrots were delicious." Mio's mother raised both hands defensively.

"They were the same frozen carrots. I didn't even season them differently."

"That makes it worse," Nami's mother replied, laughing as she looked toward me. I smiled into my coffee before Lysa's mother asked how my daughters behaved with food.

"Ruri is reasonable," I explained.

"She tries almost anything, and if she dislikes something she'll tell us normally. Karin refuses to admit she dislikes food once she has decided eating it somehow counts as winning, so she occasionally forces herself through an entire serving purely out of spite." Nami's mother laughed, her shoulders bouncing slightly.

"That sounds exhausting."

"It is," I admitted, unable to keep the affection out of my voice.

"And Hikari somehow gets fed everywhere we go. Stores. School events. Velmora. I've stopped understanding who is responsible." Lysa's mother tried to hide her expression behind her coffee. I noticed immediately.

"You too?" She looked away. I narrowed my eyes. Lysa's mother finally laughed and admitted, "She asked very politely."

"Hikari always asks politely," I said, putting my cup down with a sigh.

"That is exactly why everyone gives her food." Mio's mother nodded as though the problem had already been solved.

"Then everyone feeds Hikari." Apparently they did. The conversation shifted naturally toward the children themselves, and the humor gradually softened. Lysa's mother wrapped both hands around her cup before speaking. Her expression became more thoughtful as she stared at the faint steam rising from the coffee.

"Lysa has changed a lot since starting school," she said.

"Before, she worried about everything. Whether people were staring at her horns, whether she was being too loud, whether she needed to behave perfectly because someone might judge every Velmoran through her." The warmth around the table grew quieter. I listened without interrupting. Lysa's mother's mouth curved into a gentle smile.

"Now she comes home complaining about homework. She talks about dinosaurs, Hikari sharing snacks, Karin arguing about fort design, and Ruri reminding everyone about assignments. Half the time she forgets to worry about her horns at all." Something tightened softly beneath my ribs.

"Good," I replied. Lysa's mother looked toward me. I rested my fingers around the warmth of my cup and smiled.

"Let her complain about homework instead. She has enough years ahead of her to worry about serious things." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Lysa's mother nodded slowly, emotion flickering visibly through her eyes.

"I thought you might say that." I looked briefly toward the café windows. There had been a time when I feared children like Lysa would inherit nothing from Velmora except grief, suspicion, and pressure to represent everyone who had survived. Now she was apparently arguing about blanket architecture. That was better. Mio's mother let the silence settle naturally before turning the conversation toward me.

"Ruri seems so responsible whenever I see her. Is she like that at home too?" A fond sigh escaped me.

"More than I would like sometimes." Nami's mother raised her eyebrows. I explained, "Ruri checks whether her sisters packed everything for school. She remembers notices. She organizes schedules if I become distracted, and sometimes she starts handling things before I've even realized there is something to handle." Mio's mother smiled knowingly.

"Oldest-child problem."

"Exactly," I replied, rubbing one thumb along the side of my cup.

"I love that she is dependable, but I don't want her believing she needs to hold everything together simply because she can." Lysa's mother leaned slightly closer.

"Do you tell her that?"

"Often," I said.

"Usually I take whatever she's trying to organize away from her and tell her, 'Ruri, you are six. Go play.'" Mio's mother laughed.

"Does she listen?"

"Eventually," I replied, smiling despite myself.

"Usually after asking whether there is anything else she should finish first." That earned another wave of laughter. Karin was considerably easier to explain. Unfortunately.

"Karin turns everything into competition," I told them, leaning back in my chair.

"Getting dressed, walking to the elevator, cleaning toys, finishing homework, eating, games. Somehow even brushing her teeth has become competitive." Mio's mother blinked.

"How does someone compete at brushing their teeth?" I stared at her for several seconds.

"I have stopped asking." Nami's mother nearly inhaled her drink. I laughed with them, then felt my expression soften as I continued.

"She's also the first one who runs toward her sisters if anything happens. Karin will argue with them herself, but if somebody else makes Ruri or Hikari cry, she becomes furious." The irritation in my voice shifted into pride without permission.

"She is brave," I added.

"Sometimes too brave. I'm trying to teach her that courage and charging at everything are not necessarily the same thing." The other mothers nodded with the quiet understanding of people who knew how easily pride and worry could exist together. Then Mio's mother smiled.

"And Hikari?" I sighed dramatically. All three women started laughing before I had said anything.

"Hikari is Hikari," I replied, which seemed like the most complete description available. Mio's mother covered her mouth.

"Mio started saying 'Mio wants snacks' for two days because of her." I stared at her. Nami's mother immediately lifted one hand.

"Nami did it too." My eyes widened.

"No." Both mothers nodded. I covered part of my face with one hand.

"I apologize." Mio's mother laughed.

"Don't. It was adorable for approximately six hours." Nami's mother nodded beside her.

"Then my husband started doing it." I slowly lowered my hand and stared at her.

"That is no longer Hikari's responsibility." Nami's mother laughed harder.

"No. That was entirely his fault." By then my cheeks had started hurting from smiling. The sleepover came up not long afterward. Nami's mother leaned forward with obvious interest, resting one elbow beside her drink.

"Nami told me the pillow fight became serious after somebody hit you." I straightened immediately.

"That is an inaccurate account." Mio's mother's mouth curved.

"Mio said you started giving tactical instructions."

"I made one observation," I replied defensively.

"Their formation was poor." Lysa's mother stared at me for several seconds before covering her mouth. I frowned.

"What?" She failed to contain the laugh.

"Lysa came home saying, 'Ria-san knows military pillow strategy.'" I closed my eyes. Nami's mother laughed loudly enough that a nearby table glanced toward us.

"It was not military strategy," I insisted when I opened my eyes again. Mio's mother leaned back with obvious delight.

"Did you or did you not tell six-year-olds their formation was poor?" I folded my arms.

"That detail is being given unreasonable importance." Nami's mother continued smiling.

"Nami also said Ren-san lost first." My irritation disappeared immediately.

"He did," I confirmed, unable to stop the smug satisfaction from entering my voice. Lysa's mother lifted her eyebrows.

"Should we tell him everyone knows?"

"No," I replied quickly.

"He has enough confidence." The three women laughed again. The conversation reached husbands almost by accident. Mio's mother mentioned that her husband had forgotten his work badge on the kitchen counter three mornings in a row despite needing the same badge every day. Nami's mother answered with a story about her own husband leaving empty cups throughout the house as though furniture naturally generated them. I listened for several moments. Then something clicked.

"Ren leaves socks beside the bed," I said. The table became quiet. Three faces turned toward me. I frowned.

"What?" Mio's mother's mouth twitched first. Nami's followed almost immediately, while Lysa's mother lasted only another second before all three broke into laughter. I stared at them in disbelief.

"Why is that funny?" Nami's mother tried to answer between laughs.

"Because you said it like he committed treason."

"The laundry basket is less than three meters away," I replied, leaning forward with genuine frustration.

"He removes the socks beside the bed and simply leaves them there. There is no obstacle between him and the basket." Mio's mother immediately pointed toward me.

"My husband leaves his jacket on the chair directly beside the closet." I stared at her.

"Exactly." Nami's mother lifted her cup in agreement.

"Mine says he'll put everything away later."

"Ren says that too," I replied, feeling increasingly validated. Lysa's mother sighed with theatrical exhaustion.

"My husband keeps telling me he'll repair the loose cabinet hinge tomorrow." I narrowed my eyes.

"Does tomorrow actually mean tomorrow?"

"No." I leaned toward her.

"Then why do they say tomorrow when they mean eventually?" The table erupted. Mio's mother lowered her forehead toward one hand while laughing. Nami's mother had to move her drink away before she spilled it, and even Lysa's mother wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. I sat back and looked between them. Apparently husbands were a shared international phenomenon. This was genuinely useful information. The complaints eventually softened into stories told with much more affection.

Mio's mother described how her husband had stayed awake almost an entire night when Mio was sick despite claiming the next morning that he had never been worried. Nami's mother rolled her eyes while explaining that her husband pretended to dislike their daughter's cartoons but somehow knew every character and several opening songs by memory. Lysa's mother looked down into her coffee before quietly admitting that her husband still checked their daughter's room every night before going to bed.

"He says he's only checking the window," she added, smiling to herself.

"The window has apparently needed checking every night for six years." Then all three women looked toward me. I immediately sensed danger. Mio's mother smiled.

"What about Ren-san?" I crossed my arms.

"He is lazy." Nami's mother nodded solemnly, as if taking notes.

"Good start."

"He hates paperwork," I continued.

"He naps whenever circumstances permit it, leaves socks where socks should not exist, and recently decided our car needs financial security." Lysa's mother blinked.

"Fluffy?" I looked toward her sharply.

"Lysa told you about that too?"

"She told me Ren-san said the SS-rank retainer could pay for Fluffy's maintenance for centuries." I closed my eyes for a moment. My husband was never escaping that. When I looked back at them, the other mothers were still waiting for the rest of the answer. I sighed, and the sarcasm gradually became harder to maintain.

"He cooks almost every day," I admitted.

"If I'm tired in the morning, he handles breakfast without making it an issue. He lets the girls climb all over him while pretending he would rather they stop, even though everyone in the house knows he doesn't mean it." My fingers moved slowly around the edge of my cup.

"If one of the girls has a nightmare, Ren wakes up before I do half the time," I continued.

"He knows what snacks each of them likes, remembers when Ruri is quietly worrying about something, and somehow notices when Karin is about to do something foolish before Karin does." The other women had stopped laughing. I barely noticed.

"He lets me steal his coffee," I added with a small smile.

"He complains when I move onto his side of the bed, but he always makes room anyway. And when something is bothering me, he usually knows before I ask him for anything." My voice softened further.

"Sometimes he knows before I know how to explain it." Silence settled gently around the table. Only then did I notice the expressions on the other mothers' faces. All three were smiling. I frowned.

"What?" Mio's mother immediately shook her head.

"Nothing." I narrowed my eyes.

"That was absolutely something." Nami's mother hid her grin behind her cup. Lysa's mother was kinder.

"You really love Ren-san," she said softly. Heat climbed quickly into my face. For one brief instant, an older version of myself tried to assemble a denial. I let the impulse pass. My eyes dropped toward my coffee, and a small smile formed instead.

"Yes," I admitted. The word no longer felt frightening. I took another sip before adding, "He remains extremely irritating." Nami's mother laughed.

"Those things can coexist." I looked toward her. Then I slowly nodded.

"Unfortunately, they can." This time, I laughed with everyone else immediately. After that, I began asking about their marriages instead of allowing the entire table to interrogate mine. Mio's mother had been married for eight years and met her husband because he accidentally took her umbrella from a convenience store. She had chased him halfway down the block before realizing he had the same cheap black umbrella and genuinely thought it belonged to him. Nami's mother met her husband during Hunter training.

According to her, their first several conversations consisted almost entirely of arguing about equipment maintenance, and their first unofficial date happened because both of them refused to leave a repair shop until the other admitted being wrong. Lysa's mother had known her husband since they were teenagers in Velmora. Her story was quieter. They survived the collapse together. Started again together. Raised Lysa together.

Yet even that story eventually became ordinary when she complained that after all those years, the man still folded towels incorrectly. I listened to all of it with genuine fascination. Their marriages had started in completely different ways from mine, but the lives that followed sounded strangely familiar. Mio's mother stirred the melting ice in her drink before smiling.

"Romance changes after children." I tilted my head.

"How?" She considered the question before answering.

"Sometimes romance is somebody remembering to buy milk before you ask." Nami's mother nodded immediately.

"Or packing the school lunch because you accidentally fell asleep on the couch." Lysa's mother smiled into her coffee.

"Or making tea and leaving it beside you without saying anything." I stared down at my cup. Ren did that. He made my coffee exactly how I liked it without asking. He plugged my phone in when I forgot. He remembered which cereal Hikari liked, which brand Karin complained about, and which tea Ruri preferred when she was reading. Sometimes he warmed my side of the blanket before I climbed into bed and pretended afterward that he had done nothing.

"Ren makes my coffee," I said. Mio's mother pointed toward me with immediate authority.

"That counts." A ridiculous amount of satisfaction filled me.

"Good." The conversation wandered onward through grocery shopping, school paperwork, cleaning toys, household expenses, weekend plans, children monopolizing televisions, and the strange purchases husbands occasionally made without consultation. When I explained Ren's theory that our SS-rank retainer could fund Fluffy's maintenance for several centuries, Nami's mother stared at me.

"Centuries?" I sighed.

"Our car apparently requires generational wealth." Mio's mother immediately nodded as though she understood the problem.

"My husband bought a fishing chair last month." I waited. She looked at me.

"Does he fish?" I eventually asked. Mio's mother shook her head.

"No." I stared at her. She stared back.

"Why?"

"I asked exactly that." Suddenly Ren's concern for Fluffy seemed significantly more reasonable. At some point, Nami's mother asked what I did when I actually had free time.

"Games," I admitted. Mio's mother looked interested.

"What kind of games?" I hesitated for only a second.

"Honor of Kings." Nami's mother immediately smiled.

"My husband plays that." My posture changed automatically.

"What rank?" She blinked at the speed of the question.

"Grandmaster, I think." My cup stopped halfway toward my mouth.

"How many stars?" All three women stared at me. I slowly lowered the drink.

"What?" Mio's mother's grin widened.

"You changed completely."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did," Nami's mother replied, already laughing. I ignored both of them and looked directly toward her.

"How many stars?" Still smiling, Nami's mother checked her phone.

"Twenty-two." My eye twitched. Ruri had nineteen stars. I remained Diamond. Life was offensive. Mio's mother leaned forward with visible delight.

"What rank are you, Ria-san?" I turned toward the café window.

"Diamond." The table became suspiciously quiet. I slowly looked back. All three mothers were smiling.

"Say nothing." Nobody obeyed. By then, almost two hours had passed without me noticing. My phone had vibrated several times throughout the conversation, and when I finally checked the screen beneath the edge of the table, I found a message from Ren. How's the summit? My mouth curved immediately. I typed back: They are talking about their husbands. Ren's response appeared almost at once. I'm in danger. I smiled more openly. Mio's mother noticed.

"Ren-san?" she asked, her eyes dropping knowingly toward my phone. I turned the device facedown.

"Yes." Nami's mother rested her cheek against one hand and smiled.

"You've checked your phone several times."

"I have children," I replied. Lysa's mother lifted one eyebrow.

"The children are at school." I looked toward her. She looked completely innocent. Traitor. The conversation continued beyond lunch without anyone really deciding that it should. Drinks were replaced, the pastry plate emptied, and the sunlight shifted slowly across the table while we discussed class events, grocery stores, school uniforms, weekend plans, and whether children possessed some supernatural ability to become hungry immediately after eating.

Eventually, I checked the time and discovered nearly another hour had disappeared. Then I opened Ren's messages again. I stared at the empty text box for several seconds before typing: I miss you. I sent it. Regret arrived immediately. Ren's answer appeared less than a minute later. You left this morning. My eyes narrowed. I typed back with unnecessary force. That was not the correct response. Three dots appeared beneath the message. Then a second reply came. I miss you too. Every trace of irritation vanished.

A smile appeared before I could stop it. When I lifted my eyes from the screen, all three mothers were watching me. I slowly lowered the phone. Mio's mother smiled.

"Definitely Ren-san."

"We are married," I replied, attempting dignity.

"Communicating with my husband is normal." Nami's mother nodded with exaggerated seriousness.

"Of course, Ria-san." I narrowed my eyes. Lysa's mother laughed quietly into her drink. The group chat happened sometime after that. Mio's mother picked up her phone and looked toward the others.

"We should add Ria-san." I frowned slightly.

"Add me to what?"

"Our school moms chat," Mio's mother explained.

"It's mostly reminders, photos, homework questions, and somebody asking which classroom event is happening because their child lost the paper." Nami's mother smiled.

"There is also complaining." Lysa's mother added, "And coupons." That sounded manageable. I gave them my number. My phone vibrated. Then vibrated again. Then again. I opened the chat. Twenty-seven unread messages appeared immediately. There were photographs of lunches, a reminder about indoor shoes, three stickers, a coupon, somebody's child sleeping in a car, a discussion about homework pages, and one completely unexplained photograph of bread. I stared at the screen.

I had commanded military communication networks less chaotic than this. Nami's mother sent a waving cat sticker. The three women looked toward me expectantly. I considered the appropriate response. Then I typed carefully: Thank you for adding me. I look forward to communicating with everyone. I sent it. Silence settled across our table. Mio's mother stared down at her phone. Then she slowly looked toward me.

"Ria-san."

"Yes?" Her lips twitched.

"This isn't the Guild." My face warmed.

"It was polite." Nami's mother started laughing again. Then Lysa's mother sent a ridiculous sticker of a tiny horned cat waving a flag beneath the word WELCOME! I stared at it. The cat had red eyes. Tiny horns. A little cape. I hated how cute it was. Mio's mother leaned across the table and showed me where the sticker menu was. That was a mistake. Five minutes later, I had downloaded two sets. I found a small silver-haired cat holding a cup of coffee. I sent it. Then I froze. The sticker appeared beneath my name.

All three mothers looked at the screen. Nami's mother smiled slowly.

"There she is." I placed the phone facedown.

"Nobody speaks of this." They laughed anyway. By the time we finally prepared to leave, nearly four hours had passed. I looked at the time in disbelief, then glanced toward the café windows as though the passage of several hours might somehow be visible outside. Mio's mother began collecting receipts while Nami's mother finished the last of her drink. Lysa's mother was checking something in the group chat, already smiling at whatever new nonsense had appeared. I opened Ren's messages.

For a few seconds, I considered simply walking home. Then I typed: Come get me. His answer came quickly. Need rescue? I smiled. No. I hesitated before adding another message. I want you. My face became warm the instant I sent it. Ren replied: On my way. Mio's mother glanced toward me while putting her wallet away.

"You know this café is only about fifteen minutes from your condo." I lifted my chin.

"My husband has a car." Nami's mother laughed.

"That is not actually a reason."

"It is an excellent reason," I replied. Lysa's mother looked toward me over the edge of her phone with a smile that suggested she had learned far too much about my marriage today. Ren arrived fifteen minutes later. I noticed him through the window before he entered the café, and my expression brightened automatically. I realized too late. The three women noticed even earlier. The café door opened, and Ren stepped inside wearing a dark jacket with both hands initially tucked into his pockets.

He scanned the room, found our table near the windows, and began walking toward us. Nami's mother looked from him to me. Her smile grew.

"Oh," she murmured. I frowned.

"What?"

"You really did miss him." Heat climbed immediately into my face. I stood before anyone could make the situation worse. Ren reached the table, and without thinking about the other women watching us, I walked straight to him and slipped both arms around one of his. His eyebrows rose as I pressed myself comfortably against his side.

"Successful diplomatic summit?" Ren asked, glancing toward the scattered cups and empty plates. I looked up at him.

"I have a group chat now." Ren's expression became solemn.

"My condolences." All three mothers laughed. I tightened my hold around his arm while Ren looked from them back toward me. Suspicion entered his eyes.

"You talked about me." I lifted my chin.

"They asked." Ren's eyebrow rose.

"That is not a denial." Before I could construct a better defense, Nami's mother leaned back in her chair with an innocent smile.

"Your socks are apparently a serious issue, Ren-san." My husband slowly turned his head toward me. I looked toward the window.

"Ria."

"The laundry basket is right there," I replied without looking back. Mio's mother burst into laughter, and Ren closed his eyes as though reconsidering whether coming to retrieve his wife had been a strategic mistake. Then Mio's mother managed to regain control of herself.

"Mio also wanted me to thank you for the curry. She kept talking about it after she got home." My attention returned to Ren immediately. Pride rose in my chest, and I slid one hand along his forearm with complete satisfaction.

"See?" I told him.

"Handsome and useful." Ren opened his eyes.

"I'm glad my classification has improved." I smiled up at him. While Mio's and Nami's mothers went to settle their portions of the bill, Lysa's mother remained beside the table for another moment. Her expression had softened again.

"Ria-san," she said. I turned toward her.

"Hm?" Lysa's mother looked around the café before continuing. Her eyes moved across the abandoned cups, the empty pastry plate, our phones scattered beside handbags, and the remains of several hours spent discussing children, husbands, groceries, games, laundry, and school.

"When I was younger, I never imagined I would someday sit in a café with Astrea von Velmora and complain that my husband keeps delaying a cabinet repair." A laugh escaped me.

"Neither did I." Her smile deepened.

"I think I prefer this." I looked toward Ren. He had stepped slightly aside while waiting for me and was now holding my handbag because at some point I had apparently passed it to him without noticing. When he caught me looking, his expression softened in that quiet way I knew so well. I turned back toward Lysa's mother.

"So do I." She hesitated for a moment. Then her smile became warmer.

"I like Ria-san." The words caught me unexpectedly. For several seconds, I simply looked at her. Not Your Majesty. Not Astrea. Not Demon Queen. Ria-san. I felt my own smile forming.

"So do I," I replied. This time, I knew exactly what I meant. The drive home was quiet in the comfortable way silence with Ren usually was. I spent most of it holding his hand over the center console, occasionally brushing my thumb across his fingers while watching Saitama pass beyond the window. Ren glanced toward me once. Then again. The second time, I caught him.

"What?" I asked. My husband returned his eyes to the road.

"You've been smiling since we left."

"I had coffee."

"For four hours."

"We talked."

"I gathered that from the classified intelligence concerning my socks," Ren replied. I squeezed his hand.

"Fix the problem and the intelligence network will lose interest." Ren sighed. My smile widened. That evening, I ended up in my usual place on Ren's lap while the girls occupied the living room around us. Ruri sat cross-legged on the floor with a book resting open across her knees, Karin was arranging something on her tablet with intense concentration, and Hikari had surrounded herself with plush toys while explaining an elaborate story involving dragons, rabbits, and something called the Great Snack Kingdom.

My phone vibrated against my thigh. I checked it immediately. Ren, whose arms were loosely wrapped around my waist, looked down over my shoulder. The mothers' group chat had produced another photograph. Nami was asleep face-first against a pillow, one ear flattened awkwardly beneath her head while one sock remained missing. I laughed. Ren looked at the picture.

"Critical intelligence?" I ignored the comment and opened the sticker menu. Without thinking, I selected a laughing cat and sent it. The instant the sticker appeared beneath my name, I froze. Ren saw it. I slowly turned my head toward him. His expression became unbearable.

"You've been assimilated," he said, amusement already entering his eyes.

"I have not," I replied, lifting my chin despite the fact that I was still sitting comfortably on his lap. My phone vibrated again. I immediately checked it. Ren looked pointedly at the screen.

"This could be important," I told him. It was another sticker. Ren's eyebrow rose. I leaned backward against his chest and deliberately refused to acknowledge the accusation. His arms tightened around my waist.

"I'm proud of you," he murmured near my ear. I turned just enough to kiss him before he could say anything worse. Ren's surprised laugh disappeared against my lips, and when I pulled away a few seconds later, the amusement in his face had only grown.

"That was censorship," he said.

"It was effective." My phone vibrated again before he could answer. This time Lysa's mother had sent a photograph of Lysa sitting on her bed with the dinosaur plush from the sleepover tucked beneath one arm. Her little horns were visible above messy hair, and she was smiling directly at the camera. Beneath the photograph, Lysa's mother had written: She already wants another sleepover. I smiled down at the screen. Then I looked across the room toward our daughters.

Hikari was laughing at something Karin had said, her rabbit plush squeezed against her stomach. Ruri had lowered her book and was pretending not to listen despite the smile already forming on her face. My home was warm. My husband's arms were around me. Inside my phone, three women were currently arguing about school lunches and whether Friday's class activity required a second pair of indoor shoes. I had once commanded a royal intelligence network spanning an entire kingdom.

Apparently none of that had prepared me for a mothers' group chat. I opened the sticker menu again. After a moment of consideration, I sent Lysa's mother the tiny horned cat giving a thumbs-up. Ren saw it. I felt his chest shake beneath my back. Without turning around, I warned him, "Say nothing." Ren wisely kept his mouth shut, but his arms tightened around my waist and he pressed a soft kiss against my temple. I smiled at the screen while another message arrived. Then another.

I had spent most of my life surrounded by ministers, soldiers, servants, advisers, and people who measured every word they spoke to me. Today, three women had laughed at my Honor of Kings rank, informed my husband that his socks were a problem, taught me how to send ridiculous cat stickers, and told me stories about lost socks, broken cabinet hinges, school lunches, bedtime arguments, and marriages that had somehow become more romantic because somebody remembered to buy milk.

Nobody had needed anything from Astrea von Velmora. They had simply wanted Ria to sit with them. I relaxed farther into Ren's chest and rested one hand over his where it remained around my waist. My phone vibrated again. This time Mio's mother had sent a message asking whether anyone remembered which workbook the children needed tomorrow. I knew the answer. Ruri had mentioned it during dinner. I typed the page number into the chat, hesitated, and then added a tiny cat holding a book. Ren saw that too.

His shoulders started shaking again. I turned my head enough to glare at him. My husband immediately kissed my cheek. The glare became considerably harder to maintain. I looked back toward the group chat and smiled. I liked this network considerably more.

End of Chapter 74 Arclight Parenting Status Parents: Ren Arclight — Retired Archmage / SS-Rank Dragon Dad / International Sock Offender Ria Arclight — Former Demon Queen / Dragon Mom / Newly Assimilated School Mom Current Family Objective: Recover from sleepover Attend completely normal coffee Avoid treating motherhood like diplomacy Children Under Protection: Ruri — Ice / Emotional Anchor / Household Information Source Karin — Fire / Chaos / Tactical Pillow Historian Hikari — Light / Reality Risk / Third-Person Speech Contagion Vector Today's Activities: Returned sleepover guests successfully Attended first school-mom coffee gathering Exchanged husband complaints and parenting stories Joined mothers' group chat Learned advanced sticker diplomacy New Developments: Ria officially has ordinary mom friends Ren's sock crimes have entered international circulation Ria openly admitted she loves her husband Former royal communications have been replaced by cat stickers Household Status: Socially Integrated Sticker Enabled Husband Intelligence Compromised Warm Parents Stress Levels: Ren Unaware Publicly Exposed Sock-Related Reputation Damaged Ria Initially Nervous Rapidly Assimilated Suspiciously Happy Parenting Skill Growth: Ren: 100% (Apparently Excellent Husband Despite Sock Crimes) Ria: 100% (School-Mom Social Integration Complete) Family Synergy: 100% (Domestic Intelligence Network Fully Operational) Current Parents Status: Ren Papa Husband Subject of Group Discussion Ria Mama Friend Sticker User Immediate Priorities: Move Ren's socks three meters Respond to tomorrow's workbook question Prepare emotionally for future coffee meetings Never admit how many cat stickers were downloaded Operational Assessment: Mission Type: Ordinary Friendship + School-Mom Integration Difficulty: Unstructured Conversation Emotional Status: Ren Amused — Loved — Mildly Betrayed Ria Accepted — Relaxed — Belonging Future Outlook: Mom Coffee Meetings Will Continue Group Chat Notifications Will Become Unmanageable Ren's Household Crimes Will Remain Public Knowledge Ria's Honor of Kings Rank Will Become Community Entertainment Additional Sleepovers Are Already Being Negotiated Cat Sticker Collection Will Expand Parents Personal Statement: Ren:"You've been assimilated."

Ria:"They simply wanted Ria to sit with them." Reality's Response:"Ria once commanded people who measured every word around her. Now three mothers teased her, shared complaints, sent ridiculous stickers, and invited her back simply because they liked her. She preferred this network considerably more."