The grand dining hall of the Demon King's castle was alive with a strange kind of silence—the silence of nobles speaking without words.
Obsidian pillars carved with runes stretched high into the shadows of the ceiling, glowing faintly with streams of red mana. Chandeliers of burning crimson crystal swayed gently, their flames casting shifting silhouettes across long banners that bore the sigil of the Demon King's house. The scent of roasted meat, spiced bloodwine, and rare fruits drifted thick in the air. Silver goblets clinked softly, talons tapped against the table, and every movement was calculated to display grace, wealth, and power.
For most demons, dining here was not about food. It was about theater.
And tonight's performance had a new actor.
At the far end of the obsidian table sat Asura Satomi, grandson of the Demon King, hair of silver and horns faintly gleaming in the firelight. He perched in his high-backed chair with one knee tucked beneath him, his chin planted flat against the polished table. His golden eyes were glazed as he poked lazily at a roasted leg of beast-meat with his fork, as though it were the most boring thing in the world.
Selene stood behind him, her posture immaculate, her gaze sharp despite the softness in her violet eyes. She leaned slightly forward, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Young master. Sit up straight."
Asura groaned loudly enough that half the nobles turned their heads. "But I am straight!" he whined, throwing his arms out dramatically. He hunched forward until his nose almost touched the plate. "See? Ninety-degree angle! Perfect posture!"
The murmurs began immediately.
"Shameless."
"Is this truly the prince of the Demon Realm?"
"Hmph. Pathetic."
Others chuckled behind their goblets, their sharp eyes glittering with amusement.
Selene's lips pressed thin as she leaned lower, whispering with urgency. "Young master. If you act like that before the nobles, they will not see a prince. They will see a fool."
"…Good," Asura said brightly, his cheek squished against the table as he grinned. "Then they'll underestimate me."
Selene pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing. "…That is not how court etiquette works."
But her scolding could not stop the nobles' whispers.
A duke with curling horns studded with gold scoffed openly, his jeweled claws tapping against his goblet. "Hmph. Is this truly His Majesty's bloodline? The boy can hardly lift his head, much less a blade."
A baroness with feathers in her dark robes sneered, her lips curling. "The Demon Realm waited for an heir, and this is what we are given? A spoiled child?"
But not all the murmurs were contempt.
An older countess, her black horns polished to a mirror sheen, hid a faint smirk behind her goblet of wine. "Perhaps the young prince is wiser than he appears. Masks can be more dangerous than blades, after all."
Others glanced at her, uneasy, as though her words were an omen.
Asura heard it all. His golden eyes flicked lazily across the room, his grin unwavering. Perfect. Let them laugh. Let them sneer. The more harmless I look now, the easier it'll be to catch them off guard later.
He stabbed his fork into the roasted meat and tore a bite free, chewing with exaggerated noise. "Mmm! So good!" he said, his voice carrying down the table like a child showing off to please his caretakers.
More murmurs followed—some disgusted, others stifling laughter.
Selene leaned closer again, her voice clipped. "Young master, please. Eat properly."
Asura smirked into his plate. Sorry, Selene. But this act has a purpose.
Then, he did something that made the room still. He sat up straight. Perfectly straight. His elbows left the table, his fork and knife moved with flawless precision, and for a single breath, he looked every bit the prince of demons.
The nobles blinked.
Then Asura ruined it with a wide, childish grin. "See? I can do it. But boring, right?"
The hall rippled with uneasy laughter. Some chuckled nervously, others sneered, but none could decide if they had just been mocked.
Selene closed her eyes briefly, whispering under her breath, "…You'll give me gray hairs before my time."
At the head of the table, the Demon King had said nothing. He lounged back against his obsidian throne-like chair, crimson eyes glowing faintly as they watched the exchange in silence. The corners of his mouth twitched—not in anger, but faint amusement.
Asura noticed, and his grin widened.
"…Don't worry," he said suddenly, loud enough for all to hear. His golden eyes gleamed as he set down his utensils with deliberate care. "I'll grow into a fine prince. Eventually."
The laughter that followed was jagged—half mocking, half cautious, half something else entirely.
But in that moment, Asura had achieved exactly what he wanted.
Half the court saw him as a fool. The other half couldn't quite decide.
And the Demon King—his grandfather—was watching closely, crimson eyes burning with silent pride.
✦ The Lesson
After the feast, while nobles scattered back to their chambers, Selene wasted no time. She led Asura through the quieter wing of the castle, past shelves of law scrolls and tapestries of demon kings past. The walls here whispered of history, of lessons that weren't about blood or steel but about survival through cunning.
They stopped in a chamber lit by blue fire, lined with shelves of books bound in leather. The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting their shadows like a mirror. Tapestries depicted ancient demon courts—demons bowing before kings, emissaries kneeling, assassins executed mid-throne room.
Selene gestured sharply to a cushioned chair draped in crimson cloth. "Sit."
Asura hopped into it with a bounce, slouching instantly. His legs swung like a pendulum as he crossed his arms.
"So what's the big deal? I just have to look scary, right? I'm a demon prince. Instant respect."
Selene's expression didn't change, though a vein pulsed faintly at her temple. "Respect is earned, not assumed. Especially in this court. Every noble that watched you today judged you, measured you. Some sneered. Others smiled. Do you know why?"
Asura tilted his head, feigning cluelessness. "'Cause they're jealous of my good looks?"
Her lips pressed into a line. "…Because they were deciding whether you're worth following—or betraying."
That made Asura pause. His golden eyes narrowed faintly, though his grin didn't fade. So that's how it is. One wrong move here, and someone would use it as an excuse to strike.
Selene moved to the center of the room and straightened her posture. Her transformation was subtle yet complete.
"Watch carefully," she said. Her back was straight, shoulders relaxed but strong, chin tilted high enough to command without arrogance. Her hands folded loosely at her waist, her movements fluid and deliberate. Even without magic, her presence filled the chamber.
"This is how a demon noble sits. Shoulders high, chin firm, but never stiff. Confidence—not arrogance."
Asura puffed his chest out, spine so rigid he looked like a pigeon about to charge into battle. "Like this?"
Selene blinked once. Slowly. "…That is a war stance, young master, not etiquette."
"Good enough," Asura said cheerfully. "If they think I'm ready to fight, they won't mess with me."
Selene pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. "…This will take longer than I thought."
But she continued. She guided him through every detail—how to rest his elbows, how to hold his fork and knife without looking brutish, how to sip from a goblet without showing his fangs like a predator.
Each time, Asura found new ways to frustrate her.
"Why can't I just drink straight from the bottle?" he asked, tipping the goblet back too far until the wine nearly spilled.
"Because you are not a barbarian."
"But barbarians are cool!"
When she demonstrated how to bow slightly without lowering one's pride, Asura bent so low his forehead touched the floor. "Like this?"
Selene's eye twitched. "…That is groveling."
"Groveling gets sympathy points," he countered.
When she tried to teach him the formal greeting used among demon nobles, Asura mimicked her movements perfectly—then added a spin and finger guns.
"'Sup, fellow demons?" he said, grinning wide.
Selene stared at him for three seconds straight, then muttered under her breath, "…The Demon Realm will fall before this boy learns."
But what she didn't realize—what Asura kept carefully hidden behind his smirk—was that he was learning. Every correction, every detail, he absorbed silently. His system reinforced it, his memory flawless. While he pretended to fumble and joke, his mind cataloged each lesson: posture for intimidation, gestures for manipulation, words for command.
This isn't just etiquette, he thought. This is another kind of weapon. And if I master it… I'll never just be underestimated. I'll control how they see me.
At the end of the lesson, Selene stood before him, exhaling through her nose, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
"You are troublesome, young master," she said, her voice softer than before.
Asura leaned back in the chair, grinning like a cat. "But fun, right?"
Selene's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "…Troublesome. But perhaps fun."
And as they left the chamber, the tapestries of demon kings seemed to watch them closely, as if whispering: Even kings must learn to wear a mask.
✦ The Bow
"Next, greetings," Selene announced, stepping into the center of the training chamber. Her tone had that clipped, formal edge she used when she meant business, though the faintest shadow of weariness lingered in her eyes.
The blue torches hissed quietly on the walls, their light gleaming against the obsidian floor. Above them, tapestries of long-dead Demon Kings watched from their woven thrones, as though judging the lesson themselves.
Asura tilted his head, swinging his legs from the cushioned chair he had claimed. "Greetings? You mean like, 'Yo, sup fellow demons?'" He shot her finger guns, grinning.
Selene didn't even blink. "…No. Bows."
Asura groaned. "Ugh. Formalities."
"Formalities," she countered sharply, "are survival. A bow too shallow is an insult. Too deep, and you submit yourself to humiliation. Do you know how many duels have begun over a single misplaced bow?"
He smirked. "Five?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Fifty wars."
That shut him up, at least for a heartbeat.
Selene stepped forward, her back straight, her chin tilted at the perfect angle. Her hands folded neatly at her waist, her horns catching the torchlight as though even they bowed with her.
"To an equal," she said, dipping just so, her movement precise, "you bow lightly. Enough to show courtesy, but never enough to surrender ground."
She straightened, then dipped her chin faintly, almost imperceptibly. "To those beneath you, a nod suffices. Anything more elevates them unnecessarily."
Finally, she inhaled, lowering herself until her waist bent almost ninety degrees, her horns pointed toward the polished floor. "And to His Majesty… you bow deep. Pride set aside, will restrained. This is the only time a true noble humbles themselves."
Her voice was hushed, reverent. Even in a lesson, the act carried weight.
Asura tilted his head, scratching his cheek. "So if I bow wrong, Grandfather kills me?"
"…No," Selene said smoothly, "but the nobles will test you. And the King will notice."
"Same difference." He hopped to his feet, bouncing on the balls of his heels. "Got it! Easy!"
He bent forward in the sloppiest bow imaginable, his arms flailing like broken wings. His horns clacked against the chair, and with a startled yelp, he toppled flat onto the floor.
Thud!
Selene gasped, her composure cracking. "Young master!"
Asura sat up, rubbing his nose, golden eyes glittering with mischief. "See? Nailed it."
"…That was not even a one," Selene muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
He bounced up again before she could stop him. "Okay, okay, second try! This time I'll be cooler." He leaned forward barely a fraction of an inch, chin dipping lazily. His grin widened. "Behold, the Bow of Eternal Swagger."
Selene's brow twitched. "That would be a declaration of war."
"Good," Asura said, flashing his fang. "Then at least dinner would be interesting."
Her exhale was slow, dangerously calm. "…Again."
He spun dramatically in a circle, cape he didn't have fluttering in an imaginary breeze, and dropped into a bow so low his forehead brushed the floor. "Grand, majestic, awe-inspiring!"
"…That," Selene said flatly, "is still groveling. A servant would be flogged for less."
"Harsh crowd," Asura muttered, hopping back up. "Fine, new technique: Ninja Bow!" He flipped himself forward, landing on his palms, then tried to bend while upside down. His horns scraped the floor.
Selene's jaw actually dropped this time. "What in the—?"
Asura toppled, rolling onto his back with a triumphant grin. "See? Perfect balance of grace and intimidation!"
"…That was not etiquette. That was acrobatics."
"Thanks," he said proudly.
Selene dragged a hand down her face, muttering softly, "…The gods test me."
But even as she scolded, even as her patience thinned, her sharp eyes noticed something unnerving.
For every ridiculous bow, every exaggerated spin, Asura's timing was improving. His balance steadied. His movements—however cloaked in comedy—were memorizing the exact depth and weight of each gesture.
And when he thought she wasn't watching, his grin would fade. His golden eyes narrowed with focus, his small body adjusting posture with frightening speed.
He's learning, Selene realized, her stomach tightening. He's turning even etiquette into a weapon.
Still, when Asura gave her another deliberately wobbly bow, nearly falling on his face again, she only sighed. "…You are impossible."
"Impossible?" He straightened, grinning wide. "Nah. I'm just versatile."
Selene shook her head, hiding the faintest smile. "…Troublesome. But perhaps not hopeless."
The blue torches flickered as though laughing with them, and in the silence of the chamber, the long-dead kings woven into the tapestries seemed to watch closely—judging whether this boy would wear a crown one day, or burn it all to ash.
✦ The Slip of Genius
Hours passed in the study chamber, the blue torches on the walls burning low as Selene drilled him with lesson after lesson. The table between them was cluttered with scrolls, parchment, and a silver set of cutlery arranged in precise order.
"Address a duke as 'Your Grace.' A marquis as 'Your Excellency.' Barons may be referred to as 'My Lord,' though tone matters greatly…" Selene's voice flowed steady and patient, but her eyes flicked up often to ensure he was listening.
Asura slouched forward, chin in his hand, golden eyes half-lidded with boredom. "So many titles… why not just call them 'Hey, you with the horns'?"
Selene's lips twitched, but she pressed on. "When swearing loyalty, the right hand rests here." She placed her palm gently over her heart. "The left hand remains at your side. Never reversed. To do so would symbolize deceit."
Asura copied the motion lazily, yawning so wide it cracked his jaw.
"And," Selene continued, setting out forks and knives in ordered rows, "each utensil corresponds to its course. Salad, meat, fish, dessert—"
"—snacks," Asura interrupted, stabbing a fork into an empty plate. "Got it. Forks are for snacks."
Selene closed her eyes briefly, inhaling. "…Snacks are not a noble course, young master."
Asura grinned, stretching back in his chair. His golden eyes gleamed faintly with amusement. He looked every bit the brat who wasn't paying attention.
Until she said the wrong word.
"…and of course, one must be prepared when attending gatherings in Valoria."
"Oh, right," Asura said instantly, his tone shifting without thinking. "That's the one with the golden banners, endless plains, knights who preach chivalry above efficiency, and an outdated taxation system that'll collapse within fifty years."
The words left his mouth smoothly, like water from a stream. Too smooth. Too practiced.
Silence followed.
Selene blinked once. Slowly. "…What?"
Asura froze. His brain screeched to a halt. He felt his own grin stretch far too wide, his cheeks aching as sweat prickled the back of his neck.
"…Uh…" He waved his fork lamely. "I mean… knights go clink-clink in shiny armor?" He mimicked marching, banging the fork against the plate with fake cheer.
Selene's violet eyes narrowed. The silence between them grew heavier. For one terrifying moment, Asura thought she would press him, demand answers, tear the truth out of him with questions.
But then… she didn't.
Instead, her lips curved into the faintest smile. Her gaze softened, though her eyes still glittered with sharpness.
"You are hiding something, young master," she said quietly. "But… whatever it is, I will trust you to share it in your own time."
Asura blinked, stunned. His chest tightened unexpectedly.
She knows. She definitely knows. And yet… she still trusts me?
Quickly, he puffed out his cheeks, turning his head away in mock sulkiness. "…I'm just a kid. I don't know anything."
Selene laughed quietly, a sound like soft bells in the still chamber. She shook her head as though indulging a stubborn child.
"Then let us start from the beginning again," she said, rearranging the silverware with calm precision. "This time… no jokes."
Asura sighed dramatically, flopping back into his chair with all the grace of a sulking prince. But behind the act, his golden eyes gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
She trusts me. Even knowing I'm not normal. Maybe… maybe it's okay to trust her too.
✦ The Bond Deepens
By the time night draped itself over the Demon King's castle, Asura felt like his body had been through a battlefield—not of swords and monsters, but of posture, bows, and endless corrections.
"Back straight, chin level, no slouching," he muttered in Selene's voice as he flopped face-first onto his bed. "Don't glare too long. Don't smirk too much. Fork in the left hand, knife in the right…"
He rolled onto his back with a groan, staring up at the dark canopy above his bed. His limbs ached—not from physical strain, but from the sheer mental exhaustion of pretending to be a child and pretending to be a noble all at once.
Yet… a small smile crept across his lips.
"She knows I'm not normal," he whispered into the empty room. His golden eyes glimmered faintly in the moonlight filtering through the curtains. "But instead of pressing me… instead of demanding answers… she just trusts me."
Trust.
In his old world, it had been fleeting, conditional, often betrayed. Friends, classmates, even family—none had ever truly seen him for who he was. But Selene… she was different. She saw too much, asked too little, and yet somehow managed to stay by his side.
"Rare," he murmured. His fingers curled into the silk sheets, a faint frown tugging at his mouth. "Dangerous… but rare."
The door creaked softly. Selene stepped inside, carrying a candleholder that bathed the chamber in gentle golden light.
"You should be sleeping, young master," she said softly.
Asura turned his head toward her and grinned weakly. "If I sleep, I'll just dream about bows and forks."
She chuckled quietly, setting the candle on the desk. "Then perhaps you're learning, after all."
He pouted playfully. "Slave driver."
She only shook her head, smoothing the blankets over him with practiced care. For a fleeting moment, her hand lingered on his hair, brushing a silver lock from his eyes.
"…Rest well, Asura," she murmured. "Tomorrow, we begin again."
Asura closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her touch linger even after she pulled away.
Maybe… I don't mind her being my maid after all.
And for the first time that night, he fell asleep smiling.