Tug. Tug.
The little bird adorably pulled at Anming's sleeve, blinking up at him with playful eyes.
Anming, meanwhile, stared at a 45-degree angle skyward—mourning his nuclearized bedroom. Black smoke still billowed from the shattered windows.
One "Tai Chu You Wei" later, the Oak Family head's chambers were now a crater.
So there they sat, side by side on the manor steps, admiring the aftermath.
"Anming."
"Hm?"
"For a while, I wondered… maybe what I felt was just familial love. Like with Brother." Robin propped her chin in her hands, gazing at him with a mesmerized smile. "But then I realized—no. My heart only races around you. I want to be closer… to kiss you."
Her cheeks pinked as she glanced away—but not without sneaking another peek. His halo, she noticed, had stabilized. No longer erratic. Just… calm.
Anming exhaled. "I thought rejecting you would spare you pain. But every moment we shared… they were all leading here."
Love didn't guarantee reciprocation. Yet these twenty years of companionship—they were real.
Hurting her by refusing… that was the true sin.
Besides, he'd always loved this little bird—her eyes bright with hope—since the day they met.
Since when did "mutual love" mean "cannot be together"?
No. No more denial.
Good news: Robin loved him back.
Bad news: Every day was now Sunday—literally. (RIP Penacony's structural integrity.)
"Your brother's talented," Anming mused. "Honestly? He'd make a better Family head."
Sunday had Harmonized harder with a single rage-fueled blast than Anming had in years. Give him time, and he'd probably manifest paradise through sheer overprotectiveness.
Robin giggled, swinging her legs. "Brother has been trying to lighten your load. Who knew his breakthrough would come like this?"
Anming knew. For all Sunday's "I'll end you" bluster, he'd quietly shouldered half the Oak Family's duties.
"Our flight to Caspelinat-VIII is set," Robin murmured, suddenly shy. "Just us. The day after tomorrow." A pause. "…Does that count as a honeymoon?"
Cough!
Nearby, Sunday wiped soot off his face. Anming bit back laughter—the man's exploded-hair look was rare.
"Sister," Sunday interjected, feigning nonchalance (and glaring daggers at Anming), "perhaps I should accompany you instead. The Family head is… busy."
"No need. My reliable deputy has everything handled." Anming's smile was serene. No retreating this time.
"You—ugh!" Sunday collapsed onto the steps. "Robin. You've loved him since childhood. What's his secret?"
"Brother~ That's not fair." She smirked. "You like him too. Or you'd have forbidden me ages ago."
Sunday groaned, gripping his head—then whirled, seizing Anming's collar.
"Hurt her, and I'll—"
"I swear," Anming met his gaze, "I'll love Robin all my life."
The ice in Sunday's eyes thawed. Finally, he sighed.
"If it's you… then alright."
Four words. A lifetime of meaning.
For anyone else, Sunday would've fought to the death—even if it made Robin hate him forever.
But this was Anming.
Twenty years. Childhood to adulthood. Every hardship weathered together.
Sunday never gave direct approval. (Pride, and all that.)
Yet here he was—entrusting Robin's happiness to Anming. Because he believed.
Growing up was agony. It meant shattering childhood dreams. Facing darkness you never imagined.
After the Catastrophe, they'd had to grow up.
Sunday's only solace was shielding Robin. But whenever he looked up—there Anming was, ahead of them all, bearing the worst of the world's cruelty.
Those gentle wings had sheltered them.
So yes.
Sunday believed.
Anming would change the world.
Some were born to save others. Sunday was certain—Anming was the god this era needed. The architect of their paradise.
"Brother~!"
Robin beamed, kissing Anming's cheek. Nothing compared to having family's blessing.
Her mind raced ahead—traveling the cosmos, a baby (she'd teach them to sing; Anming would write lyrics), retiring to a flower-filled estate…
"Robin. Thank you."
"Hm? For what?"
"For loving me."
"You're welcome~" She pinched his face. "I'm your little bird now. Stuck with you forever!"
"Forever's a long time."
"Then I'll sing geriatric disco at your wrinkly bedside."
"Idiot Robin."
"Fool Anming!"
She nestled against him, wishing this moment would never end.
Harmony, witness this.
Such joy… surely it's no dream.