The library could wait.
That was my plan, at least. Spend the rest of the morning exploring Lucifer's memories more thoroughly, map out the mansion's layout, maybe find a quiet corner to practice channeling mana without passing out.
Simple. Straightforward. No emotional gut-punches.
The universe, as I was learning, had other ideas.
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I'd made it halfway down the corridor from the dining room when I felt it.
A presence. Heavy. Controlled. The kind of pressure that made the air itself feel thicker, like walking into a room where someone had been holding their breath.
I turned.
And there he was.
Michael Morningstar stood at the far end of the hallway, frozen mid-step as if he'd been about to pass by without acknowledging me at all. The morning light from the tall windows caught his golden hair, making it gleam like burnished bronze. His eyes, the same crimson as mine and our father's, held none of our father's warmth.
The gem of the Morningstar family.
That's what everyone called him. The prodigy. The perfect heir. A hundred and twenty-one years old, A+ rank at an age when most people were still struggling through C, blessed with the Light element that befitted his golden appearance.
In the novel, he'd been a supporting character. Mentioned in passing as the protagonist Aeron's senior at the academy, respected by everyone, admired from afar. The author had given him maybe three scenes total.
But Lucifer's memories told a different story.
A story of cold silences and colder stares. Of conversations that never lasted more than a handful of words. Of a brother who looked at him like a stain on the family's honor.
And underneath all of that, buried so deep that neither the original Lucifer nor anyone else had ever noticed...
He secretly protects me.
The novel had mentioned it once. A throwaway line during one of Aeron's internal monologues, something about how Michael Morningstar dealt harshly with anyone who disrespected his family, "even his disappointment of a younger brother."
I'd thought nothing of it at the time. Just background worldbuilding.
Now, standing here with those cold crimson eyes boring into me, I realized how much I'd underestimated.
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"Lucifer."
His voice was exactly as I'd expected. Low, controlled, utterly devoid of warmth. He said my name like it was a piece of furniture he was acknowledging out of obligation.
"Michael." I managed to keep my voice steady. "Good morning."
Silence.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, fifteen feet away, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Right. Because I'm acting different. Again.
The original Lucifer would have avoided eye contact. Would have mumbled something dismissive and slunk away like a kicked dog. That was their dynamic. Michael's ice, Lucifer's retreat.
But I wasn't that Lucifer.
And apparently, that was noticeable.
"You had breakfast with Mother." It wasn't a question.
"I did."
"She seemed... pleased."
Coming from Michael, that might have been the highest compliment possible. Or a veiled insult. With that tone, it was impossible to tell.
"Did she?" I resisted the urge to fidget under his gaze. "I'm glad."
More silence.
Is this an interrogation? A test? Does he just enjoy watching me squirm?
I searched his face for any crack in the armor, any hint of the secret protector lurking beneath. But Michael's expression could have been carved from marble. Beautiful, cold, utterly unreadable.
A hundred and twenty-one years of practice, I supposed. He'd had time to perfect that mask.
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"Father said you want to take the academy entrance exams."
I blinked at the abrupt shift. "I do."
"Why?"
The question caught me off guard. Not the asking of it, but the way he asked it. There was something underneath the ice, something I couldn't quite identify.
Curiosity? Suspicion? Both?
"Because I'm tired of being a disappointment." The words came out more honest than I'd intended. "Because I want to prove that I'm more than my mana core. Because..."
I trailed off, unsure how to finish.
Because I have a family now, and I'll burn the world before I let them die to the Demon King.
Somehow, I didn't think that would go over well.
Michael's eyes narrowed slightly. The first real change in his expression since he'd appeared.
"You've tried before," he said. "To change. To improve. It never lasted."
Ouch.
"I know." I held his gaze, refusing to look away. "This time is different."
"How?"
Because I'm not the same person. Because I've already died once and I refuse to do it again. Because for the first time in either of my lives, I have something worth fighting for.
"Because I mean it."
It was a weak answer. I knew it. He knew it.
But something shifted in his expression. A flicker, gone too fast to identify.
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He took a step forward.
Then another.
I forced myself to stay still as he approached, even as every instinct screamed at me to step back. The pressure of his presence intensified with each step, the sheer weight of an A+ ranked individual closing the distance between us.
He's not going to hurt me. He's my brother. He secretly protects me.
Probably.
Michael stopped three feet away. Close enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to meet his eyes.
Up close, I could see details that Lucifer's memories had glossed over. The faint lines of tension around his jaw. The slight shadows under his eyes, suggesting he hadn't slept well either. The way his hands, hanging loose at his sides, weren't quite as relaxed as they appeared.
He's worried.
The realization hit me like a splash of cold water.
This wasn't just cold older brother disapproval. This was something else. Something more complicated.
"The academy is not kind to the weak," Michael said quietly. So quietly I almost missed it. "Nobles with grudges. Commoners with points to prove. Teachers who favor the talented."
"I know."
"Do you?" His eyes searched mine. "You would enter that arena with a room-sized mana core and a reputation for failure. They would eat you alive."
Ah.
Suddenly, his coldness made a different kind of sense.
It wasn't just disappointment. It wasn't just shame.
It was fear.
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"Michael." I kept my voice soft, almost gentle. "I appreciate the concern."
His expression shuttered instantly. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." I held up a hand before he could argue. "And that's... I don't know how to feel about it, honestly. But I'm going anyway."
For a long moment, he just stared at me.
Then, slowly, something in his posture shifted. Not softer, exactly. But less rigid. Like a sword being lowered a fraction of an inch.
"You're different today."
Second time I'd heard that in an hour. At this rate, I should just get it tattooed on my forehead.
"So I've been told."
"Mother noticed it too." It wasn't a question.
"She did."
Silence again. But this time, it felt less like a wall and more like... a space. An opening.
Space suits you, Mother had said.
Maybe it does.
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Michael turned away, presenting me with his back. The universal signal for "this conversation is over."
But he didn't leave.
"The library's restricted section," he said, not looking at me. "Third floor, east wing. The lock responds to Morningstar blood. Don't bother asking Aldric, he doesn't have access."
I stared at the back of his golden head, temporarily speechless.
Did he just... help me?
"I thought Aldric was arranging access for me."
"He would have. Eventually. After paperwork and formalities." A pause. "This is faster."
And just like that, he started walking away.
"Michael."
He stopped but didn't turn.
"Thank you."
The silence stretched for three heartbeats. Four. Five.
"Don't thank me." His voice was ice again, any hint of warmth carefully smothered. "I simply don't want Mother wasting her time on logistics."
He continued down the corridor, each step measured and precise.
I watched him go, a strange warmth spreading through my chest.
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He's lying.
I knew it with absolute certainty. Not because of any special insight or borrowed memories, but because of what the novel had told me, combined with what I'd just witnessed.
Michael Morningstar didn't waste time. Didn't involve himself in affairs that didn't concern him. Didn't stop in hallways to offer unsolicited advice about libraries and blood locks.
Unless he cared.
You've been protecting me this whole time, haven't you? Dealing with the people who mock me behind closed doors, making sure the truly dangerous nobles never get too close.
And I never knew. The original Lucifer never knew.
He thought I was different. Mother thought I was different.
They were right. I was.
But maybe, just maybe, they were different too. Different from what I'd expected, different from what the novel had shown, different from what even Lucifer's memories could capture.
The cold older brother who was secretly a guardian. The distant father who broke down and hugged his trash son. The elegant mother who offered unconditional acceptance.
This family...
I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite everything.
I really did get lucky, didn't I?
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The rest of Day Two stretched before me, full of possibilities.
Library. Training. More family encounters. The slow, methodical process of turning trash into something the Demon King wouldn't see coming.
But for now, I let myself stand in that empty corridor, replaying the conversation in my head.
Michael hadn't said he believed in me. Hadn't offered encouragement or warm wishes. By any normal standard, our exchange had been stilted, uncomfortable, borderline hostile.
And yet.
Third floor, east wing. The lock responds to Morningstar blood.
He'd given me a shortcut.
The golden brother, the perfect heir, the ice-cold prodigy who'd spent years making his disappointment of a sibling feel two inches tall...
Had just made my path a little easier.
Without asking for credit. Without expecting gratitude.
Don't thank me. I simply don't want Mother wasting her time on logistics.
I laughed softly, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.
"You're a terrible liar, brother."
The walls didn't answer.
But somewhere in this vast mansion, I imagined a golden-haired man pausing mid-step. Just for a moment.
Just long enough to not quite smile.