SSR Waifu Summoner

The man didn't know where it all started.

Maybe it began that afternoon when he was 8 years old, standing alone in front of a fresh grave with a single white flower clutched in his small hands.

His parents had been everything to him.

The people who'd taught him pretty much everything.

The figure father who'd laughed at his terrible jokes, and scolds him if he ever made a mistake.

The figure mother who'd stayed up late helping with homework even when she was exhausted from double shifts.

They, who were the figure parents who had provided him warmth and home when he didn't have one before…

That's right, he was adopted by them.

He doesn't know his real parents.

When he grew up, he was already in the slums, scavenging for trash, scraping for anything that could keep him alive to see the next day.

Perhaps it was a coincidence or fate when he met his foster parents on that day.

But he couldn't care less, as the boy at that time was very much alive and thankful for providing him with genuine figures who provided him reason and home to go back to…

Until one day, they were just... gone.

While they were out to shop for necessities, despite how many days he waited… they didn't return.

They were involved in a car crash accident, they'd said when he picked up a call.

The "relatives" had come to the funeral with somber faces and whispered condolences.

His "aunt" had hugged him, promising he'd come live with her family and everything would be okay.

His "uncle" had patted his shoulder, saying they'd take care of him no matter what.

"Cousins" he barely knew had surrounded him with sympathy.

And for a brief moment, standing there surrounded by "family", his naive self thought maybe things really would be okay.

That he wouldn't be alone.

Maybe these people who knew his parents would be decent…

It was a hopeful thought.

But the funeral ended.

Sympathy has an expiration date, apparently.

Within weeks, the promises started crumbling like dry leaves.

His aunt's husband didn't want "another mouth to feed" during tough economic times.

His uncle had his own kids to worry about and couldn't afford the extra burden.

The cousins stopped calling, stopped visiting, their brief connection dissolving like it had never existed.

One by one, they all walked away.

And he'd watched their backs disappear, clutching that same white flower that had long since wilted in his small hands.

It wouldn't be bad if it was just that.

But all the benefits and properties of his parents were claimed by them, shamelessly.

Like a pack of hungry wolves hiding behind the sheeps' clothing, the facade they showed disappeared immediately when faced with riches in front of them.

Shameless bastards.

All of them.

After that, perhaps it's by some law or some sort of a losing bet or argument, but he was adopted by his "uncle" albeit with a bitter look on his face.

And the boy at that time who possessed maturity and knowledge older than his age somehow knew what was happening around him.

But the boy kept his silence all this time.

Observing those around him, letting them do whatever they want.

And not because he wanted to.

But because he was painfully aware that he was powerless to do what he felt.

So the boy at that time observed for a long time, letting himself grow and accumulate what he needed.

The foster system that followed under his uncle's home had been functional.

Not abusive, not terrible, just coldly impersonal in ways that taught him early that emotional investment was a luxury he couldn't afford.

He'd learned to smile when expected, to be polite and grateful, to never ask for too much or complain too loudly.

And so time passed, and he grew numb.

Wearing the facade of smiles, learning to be comfortable wearing the mask he didn't know would affect him deeply more than he thought.

That's why he didn't know if that was the start…

… Or perhaps it started later, during his college years when he'd finally thought it's now fine to trust someone's smile.

That he finally found a genuine person much like his parents.

She was pretty, smart, with a laugh that made him forget about all the walls he'd carefully built around himself.

She'd pursued him actually, breaking through his usual distance with persistent charm and what seemed like genuine interest.

He thought at first that the beginning of their relationship was a bit forceful and one-sided, but he grew to love and look forward to seeing her silly smile.

… For the first time since his parent's death, he finally allowed himself to believe.

To hope that maybe he could have something real, something lasting.

And during those days, she loved to talk about moving in together after graduation.

Both of them somehow made plans for a future that seemed solid and tangible.

He'd even started looking at expensive rings, saving tons of money from his job for something she'd deserve.

And then one evening, he walked into her apartment with her favorite takeout food and surprise flowers…

At last, the day has finally come to verbally confess his feelings and to fully reciprocate her emotion with his, genuinely.

It should've been a romantic night.

One where he finally found his fateful one.

An everlasting love, where he would promise he wouldn't let go of her.

… But instead, what he found was her in the bed with his roommate.

With his best friend he made during highschool, no less.

The two people he'd trusted most in the world, tangled together and looked at him with expressions ranging from shock to immense guilt.

All kinds of excuses were thrown out of the window.

He felt sick down to his core.

He felt revolted at the fact that he thought they were genuine people.

With every ounce of his being, he felt disgusted and loathful.

In the end, they were the same as everyone else.

Faker and shameless bastards.

Every single one of them.

What happened next was a bit blurry from his memories.

But he could faintly remember his bloodied hands and the faint screams of that woman calling for help.

But he couldn't care less, as after that…

"..."

He left without a word.

Moved out that same night with whatever fit in his car.

Cut off contact with both of them and pretty much everyone else from that part of his life by destroying his phone.

And after moving far far away from all of those bastards, he finally settled into an apartment, living a simple and lazy life where nobody knew his past.

He spent most of his time enjoying what he could, doing whatever time he had in his life.

And then time passed.

Just like they said, all wounds heal in time… or is it?

The external change of how he interacted with others wasn't drastic, which made it harder for him to recognize.

He didn't become some edgy loner who hated humanity or some sort.

He also didn't develop obvious trust issues that would make people comment or worry.

And he still socialized when necessary, maintaining friendly relationships with others.

But there was always distance now.

An invisible barrier between him and everyone else that he wouldn't consciously cross.

He felt disconnected with the people around him.

He'd make friends but never real friends.

Keep conversations pleasant and surface-level, sharing jokes and opinions but never the deeper parts of himself.

It wasn't voluntary.

It wasn't something he consciously decided each morning.

The actions were small, unconscious, defensive mechanisms his psyche had developed without permission.

Ending conversations before they got too personal.

Making excuses to avoid gatherings where emotional intimacy might develop.

Keeping an exit strategy ready in every relationship, professional or personal.

Building walls brick by brick until he was safely isolated behind barriers he didn't even know existed.

And for years, he thought himself he was fine.

That he had moved on from those shitty bastards.

That the past was just the past and didn't affect his present anymore.

He had his hobbies, his games, his online communities where relationships stayed comfortably virtual.

He had his routine, his apartment, his carefully managed life where nothing unexpected could hurt him.

It wasn't exciting, but it was safe.

And safe felt like enough.

Until the apocalypse started.

Until he'd summoned Aurelia.

Until he'd met someone who made all those carefully constructed walls feel less like protection and more like prison.

***

They walked in silence through the stone corridors of their makeshift settlement, their footsteps echoing softly against rough-hewn walls.

The violet sky visible through gaps in the structure cast everything in surreal twilight that matched Nero's turbulent thoughts.

Aurelia kept glancing at her Lord Nero from the corner of her golden eyes, with concern growing with each passing moment as they moved through the transformed landscape.

All this time during their walk, Lord Nero had been oddly quiet.

His gaze remained downcast, a frown creasing his features in ways she'd rarely seen except during the most dangerous battles.

Whatever thoughts occupied his mind were clearly troubling, though she couldn't guess their nature through their mental connection.

Just a jumbled mess of emotions too complex to understand clearly.

But if she were to put it into words it was,

Regret… mixed with determination?

A sort of fear tangled with hope.

Sadness braided with something that felt almost like... longing.

She wasn't a sociable person.

Never had been, even in her previous life spanning eons of service and combat.

Communication beyond tactical necessity had never been her strength, and reading emotional nuance was something she'd always delegated to more empathetic comrades.

She does remember… Sigrid had been the one who could sense morale issues before they became problems.

She was also the type who could perfectly verbalize her determination and emotions through words, along with that little student of hers, Brunhilde…

The point is, there were other Valkyries who could comfort the grieving or counsel the troubled.

And Aurelia had always been the silent-action type, the one who solved problems through decisive action rather than careful words.

"..."

So she didn't know what to say to her Lord Nero now.

And the silence was making her a bit unsettled to be honest.

She didn't know how to address whatever was causing that frown and the unsettling emotions flowing through their bond like turbulent water.

She already inspected every part of his body both internally and externally when they'd left the medical wing, using her enhanced perception to look for any issues in his body.

Checking for hidden injuries that might have escaped initial notice.

Residual toxins from the battle with Vincent's transformed monstrosity.

Magical corruption that could be eating away at his life force.

Any sort of abnormalities after his miraculous revival.

Anything that might explain his unusual behavior and troubled expression.

… But she'd found nothing wrong.

His heart beat steadily, his mana circulated normally, his muscles showed the expected fatigue from recent combat but nothing concerning.

And this only led to one conclusion,

'Lord Nero must be exhausted.'

Extreme fatigue.

Both physically and mentally.

It was the only logical conclusion given recent events.

He'd just come from a brutal battle against an SR-tier opponent that should have been far beyond his capabilities.

Had died after taking a lethal blow meant for her, his heart completely destroyed.

Had somehow returned to life through means she still didn't fully understand.

Had immediately summoned a new powerful ally and dealt with a medical crisis.

And not to mention all of these abnormal changes and travels that they did that had spanned non-stop for more than a month.

Of course he must be exhausted from the accumulated stress.

"..."

They reached his room, one of the private quarters carved from the stone formation.

"We have arrived."

Aurelia moved ahead and opened the door for him. The angel was already planning how to ensure he got proper rest as she walked in followed by her Lord Nero.

"Lord Nero, it is best if you rest and–"

*Click!*

But before she could even speak, the door closed behind them immediately.

And it was locked.

The sound of the mechanism engaging made her pause mid-sentence, surprise flickering across her normally composed features.

"... Lord Nero."

She called out to him, voice carrying a note of concern now.

"..."

But he didn't respond to her words.

His expression remained hidden, dark hair falling forward to obscure his face completely.

His shoulders were tense in ways that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

Worry spiked through Aurelia, sharp and insistent.

… Perhaps there was a problem after all that she'd missed during her examination?

Some internal damage that even her enhanced perception couldn't detect?

A sort of hidden trauma that was only now manifesting?

She couldn't let him suffer in silence.

Just as she raised her hand to shake his shoulder, to force him to look at her and explain what was wrong…

*Grab!*

Her wrist was caught in his grip before her fingers could make contact.

"!!!"

The touch sent unexpected sensations racing up her arm.

Warm.

His hand was warm against her skin, the heat of living flesh somehow surprising despite its obviousness.

Rough from a month of intense training that had transformed his body from scrawny to lean muscle.

Calloused from countless hours wielding Dawnbreaker and practicing techniques she'd taught him.

The texture of his hand against her wrist made her unconsciously flustered in ways she didn't understand, her usual composure cracking.

"... L-Lord Nero?"

Her voice came out shakier than intended as surprise overwhelmed her normal stoic control.

Heat crept into her cheeks as awareness of their proximity suddenly registered.

They were alone in his room.

He was holding her wrist with surprising gentleness despite his obvious tension.

And standing close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Why did that make her heart race faster than any battle had?

And then he looked up.

Dark hair swept back as he raised his head, revealing his expression fully.

His eyes were resolute and clear.

All traces of the downcast confusion from moments before had vanished, replaced by determination so intense it made the air between them feel charged.

A serious light flashed within those brown depths that held no hesitation, no uncertainty.

This was the same look he'd worn when facing impossible odds.

When making decisions that would change everything.

She recognized that expression from countless battlefields, though the context here was completely different from anything they'd faced together.

"..."

His lips parted as he took a deep breath.

Drawing in air like someone preparing to jump off a cliff with no guarantee of landing safely.

And the words that came out made her entire world stop.

"Aurelia, will you be my wife?"