The next morning, during breakfast, Muen enthusiastically jumped off her chair after finishing her meal and ran to the training ground in the backyard to wait for Leon, eagerly preparing for the day’s magic lessons.
On the other side of the table, Leon and Roswitha were also nearly finished eating.
Roswitha didn’t have much of an appetite. With one hand propping up her cheek lazily and the other idly fiddling with a piece of bread using a fork, she looked utterly uninterested.
The queen lowered her eyes and spoke slowly, "Last night, I..."
The moment Leon heard the words "last night," his actions froze immediately. He turned to Roswitha with a slight tension in his expression.
Could she have figured out what happened with the prenatal education last night?
"I had a nightmare last night," Roswitha said.
She set the fork down and looked up at Leon. Her expression wasn’t accusatory, as if she had no intention of piecing together what he’d been up to.
It appeared that she really had just experienced a nightmare.
Leon let out a subtle sigh of relief in his heart. "What kind of nightmare?" he asked.
"I dreamt..." Roswitha took a deep breath, as though even merely describing the nightmare would take an immense amount of courage.
"I dreamt I became a human... and even praised their greatness... Dragon God, that was absolutely horrifying."
Leon’s eyes darted slyly. He thought to himself, *I don’t know if last night’s prenatal education worked on the second baby, but it sure seems to have had an effect on you.*
Initially, Leon had been worried about his ability to recite poetry, doubting whether he even possessed the talent for it.
But if his poetry could make a dragon have nightmares, then it certainly deserved to be called *great poetry*.
Since that seemed to be the case, Leon decided he would double down and introduce even more of humanity’s cultural essence to the second baby. Surely, the little one would appreciate it!
*(Second Baby: Father, for the sake of me calling you "father," I beg you to stop! Doing it once was embarrassing enough. Please, no second time!)*
But since last night’s endeavors hadn’t been discovered, Leon decided not to comment on Roswitha’s "nightmare" any further.
The less said, the fewer chances to mess up.
Lowering his head, he resumed eating the remnants of his meal.
Seeing that Leon didn’t seem interested in discussing the topic further, Roswitha changed the subject and asked, "What are you planning to teach Muen today?"
Leon’s mind worked quickly. "Basic fire magic."
He wasn’t about to risk another eggplant-filled feast just because he neglected to teach his daughter fire magic.
Besides, part of why he initially focused solely on lightning magic was out of spite.
But Leon wasn’t *that* much of a petty man.
Muen was a rare dual-element prodigy, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste. Of course, she’d need to train in both elements simultaneously.
Roswitha nodded. "Teaching her how to control the elemental forms of fire is sufficient. As for Dragon Flame, I’ll personally teach her in a couple of days."
Dragon Flame was akin to a signature technique exclusive to the Dragon Clan. Even if beings of other species learned how to wield it, it wouldn’t be of much use to them.
"Alright," Leon replied while placing his fork down and getting up. "I’ll head over to find Muen now."
Roswitha withdrew her gaze as he left, turning back to her plate. After a moment’s hesitation, she tried taking a small bite of the bread.
A wave of nausea swept through her instantly.
She furrowed her elegant brows, quickly grabbing her water glass and taking a sip, suppressing the unpleasant sensation.
"Ugh... This is really exhausting," she murmured.
Leaning back into her chair, she rubbed her still-flat belly and said softly, "Baby, your mom is enduring quite a lot for you, you know."
She gazed at the ceiling, originally intending to follow up with something like, "So once you’re born, you’d better look out for me."
But on second thought, that was still eight months down the line—there was plenty of time for that later.
Instead, she changed her tone and said, "How about this? Let’s transfer some of these trials to your daddy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all."
After all, suffering doesn’t just disappear—it can indeed be transferred from one person to another. Don’t you agree, dear captive husband?
...
Ever since awakening her dual elemental affinities, Muen’s daily routine had been divided between morning magic study with her dad at the training ground and afternoons dedicated to reinforcing her foundational knowledge in the library.
After all, talent alone wasn’t enough—continuous effort and learning were essential for progress.
Each afternoon, after imparting enough lessons to Muen, Leon would take some time to check on his personal magical situation.
Quietly, he would head to the library’s restroom, lock the door behind him, and stand in front of the mirror. Pulling aside the fabric at his chest, he would reveal the silvery Dragon Mark etched into his skin.
Ever since discovering the true cause of his magical depletion, Leon had started implementing countermeasures.
Staring at the Dragon Mark on his chest, he carefully assessed the flow of magic within him and muttered,
"It seems the countermeasures are starting to work. If I keep this up, I should be able to stockpile a decent reserve of magic before Noa’s winter break."
The principles of his solution were rather simple.
When researching the causes of his magical exhaustion, he had realized that something within his body was stealing his magic whenever he attempted to condense it.
This "something" had a "partner-in-crime," or "little accomplice," which was the Dragon Mark.
The two worked in silent cooperation, splitting the gains in an eighty-twenty arrangement.
Leon began focusing on this point in his plan.
Since the magic stored in the Dragon Mark wasn’t siphoned away by that "something," he opted to store part of his magic directly into the Dragon Mark.
In simpler terms, the Dragon Mark had become Leon’s magical bank, allowing him to deposit and withdraw magic as needed.
To be honest, even Roswitha probably didn’t know the Dragon Mark had such a function.
Fate had it that Leon stumbled upon this quirk.
And as it turned out, his solution was proving highly effective.
Every night, Leon would dedicate a few hours to condensing magic.
A small portion would be deposited into the Dragon Mark, while the larger share was inevitably pilfered as "tribute" to that mysterious "big boss" entity.
Though this method wasn’t the fastest way to store magic, it was undoubtedly better than ending up completely empty-handed like before.
Earlier in the week, Leon had held some concerns about this approach.
Would the magic he stored in the Dragon Mark get "confiscated" during those moments of homework submission?
After all, the crux of turning in homework was transferring a part of one’s essence into their partner’s body. Would magic inadvertently transfer along during that exchange? If so, how much would?
What if, after painstakingly stockpiling half a month’s worth of magic, Roswitha ended up receiving it all during just one "submission"? That would be devastating for Leon.
However, after confirming Roswitha’s pregnancy and delving into a flurry of "post-pregnancy knowledge" books, Leon learned something which put him entirely at ease—
It turned out that engaging in such *homework assignments* was not recommended during pregnancy.
This finally gave Leon a legitimate excuse to avoid submitting homework for the next eight months!
"Dragoness, for the sake of our child’s well-being, you’ll just have to endure," Leon thought.
Adjusting his clothing, he left the restroom, walking away with a light heart.
...
Time flew during study periods.
At dinner, Muen eagerly recounted her day of lessons to Roswitha, who listened attentively, her face adorned with a doting and warm smile.
Leon didn’t interrupt the mother-daughter interaction. After silently finishing his own meal, he returned to his room.
He had been spending more time alone these days, cutting back on evening playtime with Muen. With the need to focus on storing magic, other activities had to take a back seat.
Once back in his room, Leon sat cross-legged on the bed and began condensing magical energy.
As always, the majority of his magic was transferred to that mysterious untraceable place within his body, while a small portion sat securely in the Dragon Mark.
Leon regulated his breathing, focusing without distraction, and meditated deeply.
Time slipped by unnoticed. When Leon eventually opened his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall, he found it was already past two in the morning.
"Wow, it’s already that late," he muttered.
Leon had a habit of immersing himself entirely in the task at hand. Since condensing magic demanded his full attention, the hours always seemed to vanish.
Yet he felt no fatigue.
His gaze drifted to the stack of pregnancy-related books on the nightstand, and a thought struck him.
"Time to implement the second-baby plan!"
Having vowed to continuously instill human cultural refinement into his unborn child, he couldn’t let it slip even on day two.
Leon had already prepared the evening’s "program," confident it would delight the second baby.
Collecting his prenatal education tools, he repeated the covert process from the night before—scaling the balcony, opening the balcony door, and sneaking stealthily into Roswitha’s bedroom. After entering, he shut the door gently behind him.
Under the pale moonlight, he crept towards Roswitha’s bed.
Yet, just as he reached out to verify whether Roswitha was asleep, Leon froze in surprise upon discovering that the queen wasn’t in her bed at all.
A flicker of unease crossed Leon’s mind. He quickly reached out a hand to feel the sheets.
The bed was still warm—she had left only moments ago.
But the bathroom light wasn’t on, meaning she wasn’t simply up for a midnight visit to relieve herself.
As his thoughts raced, Leon suddenly heard the distinct click of the door lock turning.
Then came the sound of approaching footsteps...
Leon’s eyes widened slightly, fixed upon the bedroom door.
"Oh no," he whispered.
