A week passed.
Just like that, life rolled on. Or at least, the illusion of it.
In the morning, I was a student. Uniform on, bag over my shoulder, walking through the school gates like any other teenage guy who definitely wasn't hiding a combat bunker under his house. I blended in, mostly. I took notes in class, answered questions when needed, and nodded along while teachers droned on about Meiji-era politics or mitochondria.
In the afternoon, I played the dutiful heir—shaking hands with stone-faced businessmen, smiling politely at board members who smelled like desperation and cologne, listening to presentations that somehow made nanotech sound like a cure for insomnia. You'd be surprised how many ways people can talk about market shares without using the word "boring."
Then night would come, and the real me would clock in.
Mana Burst training. Physical conditioning. Combat simulation drills. Weapons training. I learned how to infuse my strength, how to regulate the pressure before I ended up cratering the floor again.
I learned the limits of what my body could take, and more importantly—how far I could push it before I snapped something.
I wasn't just training power—I was refining it.
And through it all, no one knew.
Not the maids. Not the staff. Not my classmates. Not even my parents, who were probably too busy running the family empire and pretending I didn't nearly blow up a wine cellar once.
The Cultural Festival came. Another boring event I had to show up to. The usual "dutiful heir" routine—smiling, shaking hands, pretending to care.
I wandered through the booths, barely paying attention.
At the Mishima booth, a few students—recipients of the company's scholarship—stood behind the table, managing it with practiced smiles and polite enthusiasm.
I switched on my "heir" mode. Smile, nod, pretend I cared about the VR thing they were showing off. But then, I felt it.
My enhanced senses are telling me that someone was watching me.
I turned.
Sona Sitri.
The Student Council President. Devil. Heiress to the Sitri Clan. Cold expression, calm posture, clipboard probably tucked somewhere within arm's reach. Smart. Serious. Dangerous.
Also, a little too pretty for my peace of mind.
She didn't say anything at first, just stared like she was analyzing my blood type from across the room. Probably trying to figure out what made the "Mishima Heir" tick.
Then our eyes met. And just like that, she started walking over."
I gave a slight nod. "Leon Mishima," I said, offering a hand. "Though I guess you already knew that."
She looked at my hand for a beat too long before taking it. Her grip was firm. Controlled.
"Sona Shitori," she replied. "Second-year. Student Council President."
"A pleasure," I said smoothly.
"I've heard your company sponsors several school programs," she said. "Including the technology lab."
"And half the library budget," I added. "Though I don't think that gives me a free pass on overdue books."
That got her. The tiniest lift at the corner of her mouth—gone just as fast.
"I appreciate students who support the school," she said.
"I try." I shrugged lightly. "Good PR. Looks nice in a quarterly report."
She didn't answer right away. Just glanced down the row of booths, then back to me.
"You don't strike me as the type who cares about appearances."
"Oh, I do," I said. "I just prefer when they're genuine."
Her brow rose—just slightly. "Is that so?"
I leaned in a touch, just enough to lower my voice. "Which is why I have to ask... is this the official student council face, or do you smile when no one's watching?"
Her expression didn't change for a second.
Then—barely there—a spark in her eyes. Interest. Maybe amusement.
"I don't believe that's relevant to school matters," she replied, calm as ever.
"Right. Of course. Strictly business." I stepped back with a slight grin. "Still, I think you'd pull off a smile pretty well. Dangerous, though. Might start rumors."
"Then it's a good thing I don't smile easily," she said.
"Shame," I said, walking past her, "I was kind of hoping I'd be the exception."
"In fact, I'd say the whole event just got a lot more interesting the moment you showed up." I continued.
Now she was definitely flustered. It wasn't obvious—she wasn't the type to stumble over her words or start blushing like some romance anime character. But the shift was there. The tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth. The way she looked away, just for a breath, before locking eyes with me again.
"You're… more forward than I expected, Mishima-san."
I shrugged. "You're more fun than I expected, Sitri-san."
And there it was. A pause. No snarky comeback. No smooth deflection. Just her, standing there like her brain had briefly stalled trying to process what just happened.
Did I just fluster a high-ranking devil heiress?
Achievement unlocked.
She adjusted her glasses. A little too quickly. "I… have other booths to check. Enjoy the rest of the festival, Mishima-san."
She walked off, a little faster than before. Still graceful, but definitely rattled.
I watched her go, smiling to myself.
Sona Sitri. Flustered.
Well. That was fun.
Then again, neither was surviving a mana burst explosion without cracking a rib, but hey—life's full of surprises.
I moved on from the Mishima booth, still smiling like a guy who just got away with something. The rest of the festival was a blur—games, food stalls, way too many people trying to give me flyers.
Then, like clockwork, chaos.
"BEHOLD!"
I didn't even need to turn around. That voice was too familiar.
Issei Hyoudou, charging down the pathway with Matsuda and Motohama in tow. One of them was wearing a cardboard armor suit that said "Panty Knight" in marker.
I sighed. Deeply.
"Bro!" Issei yelled, spotting me. "You've gotta come check out Class 2-B's haunted house! They've got a ghost girl that actually touches you! I think she's method acting—very hands-on."
Matsuda gave a double thumbs-up. "Totally immersive."
Motohama was nodding so fast I thought his glasses would fly off. "I recorded audio for research purposes."
I stared at them. Then at the line of horrified parents behind them. Then back at Issei.
"You're gonna get expelled."
"Worth it!" they all said in unison.
I walked past them. "Please never speak to me in public again."
"Love you too, bro!" Issei shouted. "Wait, do you think Sona-sama saw us? Is she still around? I need to confess my eternal admiration!"
I didn't answer. Mostly because I was pretty sure if I laughed, I'd never stop.
Sona had seen them. She was standing a few booths down, pretending she hadn't. Clipboard in hand, lips tight, gaze fixed very, very pointedly on a takoyaki stand.
I walked up casually, like I hadn't just witnessed the entire student body's last shred of dignity get torched.
"Your student council's really keeping things under control today," I said.
She didn't look at me, but I saw her jaw twitch. "I will be speaking to Hyoudou-kun. Firmly."
"I'd pay to see that."
She gave me a sidelong glance. Still composed. Still in control. But her eyes lingered for a second too long.
"You're enjoying this," she said.
"Absolutely," I said. "You're way cuter when you're annoyed."
She blinked. Again. I was starting to make a hobby of this.
"You're very bold, Mishima-san."
"And you're very easy to tease, Sitri-san." I gave her a little wink.
For the briefest moment, her ears turned pink.
Just a little.
Then she turned away, flipping a page on her clipboard like she was already filing me under "hazardous interference."
But she didn't walk off this time.
Mission Accomplished.