Noa was fortunate to have a father who could pick up on her subtle gestures;

Her father was equally fortunate. Even when Noa initially struggled to accept him, his love for her was no less than it was for Muen. That same love eventually melted away the barriers between father and daughter.

The two of them exchanged a glance. No words were necessary; everything that needed to be said had already been conveyed through the essay. Now, mere eye contact was enough to understand each other's thoughts.

Roswitha observed the scene unfold, feeling quite gratified.

Though, when it came to their daughter, she and Leon always found petty and peculiar points of debate or an insatiable need to "win."

But over the past few months, she'd watched everything evolve—from the initial "I don’t allow you to even touch me," to the heartfelt cheer of "Go, Daddy!" during the sports day, and now culminating in the proud declaration, "I have the best dad in the whole world." Roswitha had witnessed it all.

She was the silent witness to the thawing of the icy barrier between Leon and Noa. No one understood Leon's current feelings of gratitude and emotion better than she did.

Originally, she had intended to tease their daughter afterward about why she had devoted so much writing to her father. "Your mom's jealous, you know," she might have joked.

But on second thought, she decided against it. The most important thing was ensuring her daughter had a happy and complete childhood. Nothing else mattered more.

The vice-principal, standing beside the homeroom teacher, clapped his hands as he whispered, "What do you think? It’s not favoritism if I say their kid's essay is exceptional, is it? Noa really nailed it this time.”

The homeroom teacher nodded repeatedly, offering genuine praise rather than empty flattery. "The emotions feel so sincere, and the flow of the writing is seamless. No wonder Principal Olett looks forward to seeing her write more. Honestly, even I can’t wait to read more from her."

The vice-principal jested, "Well, why not organize a few more essay competitions, then?"

The homeroom teacher replied, "That’s actually a great idea."

Sitting in the front row, Leon and Roswitha vaguely overheard snippets of the exchange amidst the applause.

Organize more?

Oh, no, please don’t!

Attending this essay ceremony already pushed us to our social limits as a couple!

If there were any more of these events, I can’t guarantee I won’t hang you, old Dragon, up in Sky City as our final sightseeing destination for date night!

As the small award ceremony came to a close, parents—those close to one another—began chatting privately. Others headed to find the homeroom teacher to inquire about their young dragons’ recent performance and academic progress.

Meanwhile, the vice-principal detained Leon’s family in the classroom.

Leon immediately knew it. There was no way the old Dragon would refrain from getting his fill as an "executioner" today. He wasn’t about to let them off so easily.

"Mr. Leon, Miss Roswitha, Noa’s essay is by far the most heartfelt one I’ve read in my centuries of service. I’m even tempted to hang it on my office wall and replace Principal Olett’s bust."

The couple frantically shook their heads. "Oh no, absolutely not, Vice-Principal. No matter how well Noa writes, it wouldn’t be right to disrespect the principal. Right, Noa?"

Noa nodded ardently in agreement.

She understood perfectly that her mom and dad stood no chance against the vice-principal, so whatever they asked her to do, she immediately complied.

At its core, this was a united front: the three of them banding together against the vice-principal.

"Such essays are rare and extraordinary. To demand a replica would insult its uniqueness! It deserves to remain one of a kind!" exclaimed the vice-principal with exaggerated praise.

The three of them maintained awkward, forced smiles, their expressions synchronized to perfection.

"Oh, and one more thing. Since Noa wasn’t included in the class rankings for this competition, Principal Olett wanted to make up for this small oversight and asked me to present Noa with one of her personal fountain pens."

As he spoke, the vice-principal retrieved a pen from his pocket, bending down slightly to hand it to Noa.

Noa accepted it with both hands, carefully examining the pen.

Its body gleamed with a unique metallic luster, the interplay of black and silver mirroring the brilliance of stars against a night sky.

The pen carried some weight, resting in her grasp as if she were holding a quiet piece of history.

Leon knew that in human society, fountain pens were a symbolic retirement gift, often presented to highly respected scholars to signify honor and recognition.

Among the Dragon Clan, though the meaning might differ slightly, such a gift undoubtedly represented acknowledgment and approval.

"Principal Olett rarely shows such favor to students, Noa. Your talent and hard work have earned her recognition. Keep it up, alright?" The vice-principal patted her shoulder encouragingly.

"Alright. Thank you, Vice-Principal, and please thank Principal Olett as well," Noa replied politely.

The vice-principal straightened up and glanced at the couple. "And thanks to you two for raising such an outstanding child. Rest assured, the academy will honor your expectations and nurture Noa well."

Roswitha offered a polite smile, engaging the vice-principal in obligatory small talk.

Leon, too, considered saying a few courteous words.

But then the thought struck him: This academy trains elites for the sole purpose of combating Dragon Slayers...

He suddenly didn’t know what to say.

Ah, all he could do was silently hope his daughter wouldn’t graduate too quickly—or worse, skip grades. Otherwise, Otherwise, his little princess might turn into a thorny vest.

After some brief pleasantries, the vice-principal excused himself to attend to other duties, walking off briskly.

It was Friday, and the award ceremony had taken up the last class of the day.

This meant Noa could now head home with Leon and Roswitha for the weekend.

As the family of three left the school building and walked toward the academy gates, Noa gazed down at the fountain pen in her hand.

Although it had been a gift from Principal Olett, she knew the essay’s success wasn’t purely her own doing.

She glanced up at her father, then at her mother, a conflicted expression on her face.

"What’s wrong, Noa?" Roswitha immediately noticed that her daughter seemed to have something on her mind and proactively asked her about it.

"Ah... I was thinking, earning Principal Olett’s recognition is thanks in large part to you two as well. That’s why I think this pen should go to one of you. But there’s only one pen..."

Noa hesitated. "I don’t know who I should give it to."

How honest and straightforward this child was—if she didn’t know what to do, she simply admitted it.

Leon and Roswitha exchanged a glance. Roswitha spoke first, "Give it to your dad. He helped build your educational foundation before you enrolled. He’s done so much for you."

Oh, dear dragon, when did your vision become so broad? I thought you'd vie with me over this.

But now that you’ve said this, it makes me look narrow-minded in comparison...

Leon pondered for a moment. Nope. If you can be this big-hearted, I’ll have to one-up you.

"Actually, give it to your mom."

Leon said, "I don’t have much use for a fountain pen, but your mom might find it handy for work."

He wasn’t making this up. The last time he went into Roswitha’s study to grab the library keys, he’d noticed her signing papers with a fountain pen.

Using a pen gifted by her daughter might make her work even more dedicated, wouldn’t it, mother dragon?

Roswitha raised an eyebrow. Dragon Slayer, such benevolence? Trying to establish yourself as the noble, selfless parent in front of our daughter, huh?

Hmph, I won’t let you win so easily.

"Give it to your dad," she insisted.

"Give it to your mom instead," Leon countered.

"Dad."

"Mom."

"Dad~!"

"Mom!"

Noa felt dizzy from the back-and-forth.

But just before she succumbed to the spinning dialog, she placed the fountain pen firmly into Roswitha’s hand.

"I’ll listen to Dad and give the pen to Mom."

What a diplomatically smooth answer. Oh, sweet daughter, you’ve learned the art of delicate compromise well here at the academy!