"Let's eat!"
"Let's eat."
We clap our hands together and start breakfast as usual. Just another day. Or it should've been extraordinary for me. When did it switch? Habit is a terrifying thing.
"Hm, not bad," Himmel says, nodding approvingly. "Tastes better than before."
"Who do you think you are, critiquing my cooking?" I retort.
I'm exasperated by his smug praise—or is it mockery? The table holds breakfast for two: bread, vegetable soup, butter, and milk. My bread's apple-flavored, of course. He's probably commenting on the soup.
"You're not burning the food anymore," he adds. "Plus, these vegetables are from your garden—freshness makes a difference."
"Thanks, I guess," I say dryly. "Force me to do it for half a year, and I'm bound to improve."
"Fair point. But I'm not letting you beat me in cooking just yet."
He nods, inexplicably competitive. His thought process is a mystery—sometimes I think he's more childish than Stroh.
(Half a year already…)
Sipping my own soup, it hits me. Six months since I was imprisoned in this village. "Already" or "finally"? I can't tell. What I know is this has been the densest half-year of my life. No time to brood, just swept along by incomprehensible human values. I might be the most human-savvy demon alive—not that it's something to brag about.
"? Something wrong?" Himmel asks. "If you're not eating, I'll take it."
"No thanks," I snap. "Finish your own."
Even as a hero, he's annoyingly perceptive, catching my distraction. Infuriatingly sharp. He hasn't changed—always pestering me with some excuse. He must be bored. It feels worse than when we started. I don't know what triggered it, but it's exhausting.
My life's changing too. First, chores. We alternate daily, leading to this—me cooking, only to get critiqued. Torture. Then, work. Beyond farmwork, I'm doing all sorts—magic-aided manual labor, from logging to village cleaning. Glorified errands, really. Fitting for a slave, I suppose.
"By the way, Aura, what's your plan today?" he asks.
"It's my day off," I reply, clearing dishes. "I do what I want."
Another change: defined rest days. Roughly three days of work, one off. On breaks, I read and train my magic—precious, uninterrupted time. Well, half of it gets hijacked by Stroh and company. Speaking of, they're due any moment. As I think—
"Funny coincidence," Himmel says. "I'm off today too."
He mutters it like it's nothing.
"…"
"Oh, yeah, rare for me, but I'm free today," he repeats, emphasizing it.
I ignore him, but he keeps glancing at me, practically begging for a reaction. It's infuriating. Engaging means wasting half—no, a whole—day. So—
"Great," I say. "Why not find a job? A jobless hero doesn't look good, you know."
I hit him where it hurts.
"What!?" he sputters. "I told you, being a Hero is a unique job—"
"Hero's a title, not a job," I cut in. "No wonder you don't have a single girlfriend."
"Ugh…"
My verbal jab lands, and he groans—more pathetic than when I enthralled him with Azeliyuze. I learned from books that "Hero" is a title, not a profession. With the Demon King gone, Himmel's just an unemployed hero. He helps the village, but without a real job, he's a bum. And his love life? Nonexistent. I've seen villagers pity him for it. These are my weapons as a slave against my master.
"That's not true!" he protests. "Back in the capital, I've got a proper job. And women? They're all over me—too handsome for my own good."
"Never even kissed a girl," I shoot back.
"T-that's irrelevant! I've had my heart set on one woman since childhood. It was in a forest, one day—"
"Great for you," I interrupt, shutting him down. "I'm training magic today, so don't bother me."
I ignore his delusional ramble with a swift counter. It's his own tactic, but six months have honed my skills. Our master-slave dynamic won't flip, but I'm not done resisting. Victory's mine today. But—
"Morning, Hero! Big sis!"
The ultimate disruptor arrives. For Himmel, it's a late savior.
"? What's wrong, Hero?" Stroh asks. "Fighting again?"
"No, no, Stroh," Himmel says, taking a deep breath to recover. "Morning! You're lively as ever."
"Don't worry, Stroh," I add. "It's just the usual."
Back from his fantasy, Himmel's back to normal. Stroh, clueless, blinks at us. I warn him off—kids shouldn't get caught up in this. But—
"…Stroh?" I say.
He's clinging to my back as I wash dishes, silent. What's he up to? Before I can ask—
"—Gotcha!"
My skirt's yanked up with a flourish.
"—"
Time stops. My underwear's exposed, caught off guard. My fault for letting my defenses down. I turn to see Stroh grinning mischievously and Himmel frozen, eyes wide. Neither moves.
"…So, Stroh, what's this about?" I ask calmly.
"Uh… I-I wanted to surprise you…" he stammers. "You're not mad, big sis…?"
"Nope. Doesn't bother me. Part of yesterday's game, right?"
Stroh's confused by my lack of anger. It was a prank to startle me, apparently. I vaguely recall playing along yesterday—he said I never get surprised. But skirt-flipping? I heard the village chief mention Stroh's prankster streak. Didn't that elf get flipped too? What's the point? Before I can dwell—
"What're you doing, Stroh!?" Himmel roars, angrier than I've ever seen.
"I'll kill you! I wanted to do that!"
"I-I'm sorry!?"
Himmel chases Stroh like a raging fire, while Stroh, genuinely apologetic—or maybe guilty—flees. A grown man chasing a kid over something so absurd. Wanting to flip my skirt himself? A catastrophe worthy of stripping his Hero title. Watching this—
"—You two are loud," I say, my voice chillingly cold.
I don't care about the skirt or my underwear. But this farce dragging on is unbearable. I've never wished for Azeliyuze's power more. Yet, as if it worked, they freeze.
"Bad kids need punishment, don't they?"
Echoing past words, I command their "punishment" with a verbal Azeliyuze, no magic required.
Author's Note
It's shorter than usual, but it felt like a good stopping point, so I'm posting it. I'll aim to post the next chapter sooner to make up for it. Thanks!