The front doors of the residence slid open just as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, spilling gold across the gardens like a farewell blessing.
Rimuru, Morgan, and Raphael stepped in together, shoulders easing for the first time that day.
"We're home," Rimuru called lazily, stretching his arms with a long yawn.
"Welcome back, love," came the reply.
Satria was waiting in the living room, a tablet filled with notes set neatly aside. He rose with a warm smile, crossing the room to meet them.
It was a small ritual, but one he guarded like treasure. For him, the day ended when his family walked through the door. Work, no matter how vital, could wait. He had seen nations wither under the poison of endless labor, seen joy stripped away by duty. Not here. Not in Tempest. Here, even rulers deserved to breathe.
"I trust the day didn't wear you out too much?" he asked, guiding them toward the sofa. His tone softened into a light chiding. "I've been making sure our work culture doesn't fall into that old curse—the Japanese way of overworking until you forget why you live at all. Productivity isn't worth happiness. I've studied other models—New Zealand, Denmark, Ireland, the Netherlands. Ah, the Dutch…" He chuckled, remembering. "Once they found out I was from Indonesia, the hospitality doubled. Some of their brightest minds even offered to help us. They taught me a lot about balance, about weaving innovation and joy together."
Morgan arched a brow, lips tugging into a faint smile. "So, while we were bending kings to the table, you were charming engineers and philosophers over coffee?"
Satria made a smug little face. "Well… technically it was my clones, but that still counts as me!"
The three exchanged a look—then, as if on cue, each felt the same dangerous thought spark across their minds. Their gazes sharpened, predatory, lips curling as if they'd spotted prey.
Satria, oblivious—or perhaps simply fearless—turned back to them. "But enough about me. How was the meeting?"
Rimuru flopped down onto the sofa, sprawling with a grin. "Surprisingly smooth. Gazel's a tough one, but not stupid. The alliance with Dwargon is solid."
"Good," Satria said simply. His approval was quiet, but it carried weight.
Then, without warning, he reached out. Fingers slid through Rimuru's silky hair in a slow, affectionate gesture. His other arm drew Morgan closer at the waist, while his free hand brushed across Raphael's forehead with the gentlest kiss of lips.
The three froze.
"…Wh-What's gotten into you?" Rimuru sputtered, cheeks burning red.
Satria's grin curved into something playful, mischievous. "Nothing at all. Just thought my good girls deserved a reward." His voice dropped, low and warm. "You've all worked hard today. So tell me… what do you want for dinner? I'll make anything. Just for you."
The room stilled for a heartbeat, before the tension cracked.
Morgan's usual edge softened, a rare chuckle slipping past her lips as her emerald eyes glowed with warmth. Rimuru squirmed, torn between embarrassment and delight, while Raphael's perfect composure broke—just enough for the faintest of smiles to bloom, so small it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.
That was the spark.
Great Red immediately clapped her hands together. "Oh! If you're cooking, I call dibs on something spicy. Burn-your-tongue, tear-your-eyes spicy."
Fatalis scoffed, folding her arms with imperial disdain. "Spicy? Hmph. If you want real food, then make something refined. British culinary, perhaps… Chicken Tikka Masala."
Satria blinked. "…That's not British at all."
A portal shimmered open before anyone could argue. Valiana strolled out without so much as a greeting, plopping into her seat. "Doesn't matter. I second the Tikka Masala."
Koneko's ears twitched, her tail flicking once. "…Fish," she declared with unyielding seriousness. "Fish and chips or nothing."
Crom, looming in the corner gave a quiet cough. "Hamburger Steak. Simple, hearty, like the old days."
Jeanne raised her hand politely, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Something sweet, if I may. Cake, perhaps?"
And then, as if summoned by the very word, Ophis appeared silently at Jeanne's side, her voice flat but her eyes shining. "Cake. And pudding."
"…Of course," Rimuru groaned, rubbing her temples. "Don't overwhelm him! You're all acting like spoiled kids."
But Satria only laughed, rolling up his sleeves as if this were the most natural thing in the world. His smile was bright, unshaken by the avalanche of demands.
"Kids or not," he said, voice warm as a hearth, "you'll all get fed. Tonight, no politics. No battles. Just family dinner."
As Satria rolled up his sleeves, ready to begin cooking, a shiver pricked at the edge of his senses.
Another presence had entered his home.
The air thickened—then fell silent. Flames froze mid-flicker, shadows stopped shifting, even the hum of the world itself ceased. Within this sealed domain, nothing moved, nothing breathed, nothing existed outside the caster's will.
"…Your existence has stopped in my frozen world," came a voice as cold as death. Velzard emerged from the stillness, pale eyes gleaming with absolute confidence. "I thought I might be overestimating you. If even this much is enough to hold you, then—"
"—Then you're not right in the head, lady."
Her eyes widened. The figure before her flickered—then shattered like glass, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell.
In the same instant, an arm of radiant gold hooked around her throat from behind.
"Since when—?!" Velzard gasped, her body convulsing as something alien surged through her—a sensation she had not felt in eons. Pain.
Her knees buckled under the weight of the presence gripping her. Satria's hand glowed with a golden brilliance, each finger burning with power that wasn't just energy, but something higher. Something that denied what should exist.
It was his new technique—Emperor Deity Haki. A force that did not simply clash with concepts, but unraveled them. A power that broke not only rules, but narrative itself.
Velzard's mind reeled. Her Ultimate Skills should have made her untouchable, immutable. Yet this golden storm tore through it as if it were mist. This wasn't force. This wasn't magic. This was an edit to reality itself.
"You True Dragons…" Satria's voice brushed against her ear, every syllable cutting like a blade. "…are nothing but forces of nature. Terrible, yes—but hollow. You lack what matters most: the will to fight until the end itself. That's why you were never designed to survive against me."
The pressure on her wasn't just physical. It clawed at her essence, squeezing her pride, her identity, her very existence. Her aura quaked, her vision swam.
'Wh-What is this man?! How can he—how can he do this to me?!'
Satria leaned closer, his tone dropping into something maddeningly gentle, almost playful. "So? What now? Will you surrender… or shall I whisper something that even a dragon's soul can never forget?"
Velzard's pride strained, cracked—then shattered. For the first time in her long life, terror flooded her veins. Her aura faltered, her lips trembled, and to her horror, tears welled in her eyes.
"I… I—"
Satria tilted his head, smiling softly, as though coaxing a child. "You what?"
"…I-I give up!" Her voice broke, raw and desperate. "I'm sorry!"
The words rang in the frozen silence. The Frost Dragon Empress—an existence revered as untouchable—reduced to trembling submission in the arms of a man whose smile carried the weight of an emperor.
The crushing golden grip dissolved, and with it, Velzard's ability shattered like brittle glass. Time lurched back into motion—flames flickered, shadows shifted, and the distant chatter of voices returned as if nothing had happened.
Velzard staggered forward, clutching her throat, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. Her frost aura sputtered weakly, leaking like steam from cracked ice. Never before had she looked so undone—her proud posture bent, her pride fractured, her cheeks streaked with the shame of tears she had sworn never to shed.
Satria simply exhaled, dusting his hands as though he'd swatted a fly. His golden aura dimmed, leaving only the warm smile of a man who had been preparing dinner moments ago.
And then—
"Dinner's ready yet?" Rimuru's voice sang as the slime waddled into the room, Morgan and Raphael trailing behind.
The three froze mid-step.
There, standing in their living room, was Velzard—eldest sister of Veldora, the Frost Dragon Empress herself—shaking like a scolded child, her face flushed, eyes wide and watery.
"…Uhh…" Rimuru blinked. "Did… did I miss something?"
Morgan's lips curled into a razor-thin smirk. "Oh, I definitely didn't miss anything."
Raphael tilted her head, expression unreadable, but her gaze lingered on Velzard with the faintest spark of amusement.
Before anyone could comment further, Jeanne skipped in carrying a tray of drinks. She froze upon seeing Velzard. "Oh… a guest? Ah, but… dear, why does she look like she's about to cry?"
Velzard's lips parted, her pride screaming at her not to speak—
But before she could gather herself, Kiyohime sauntered in, eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. "Ara~ ara~ what's this? Our proud guest already on the verge of tears? My, my. Danna-sama, did you bully her?"
Satria raised his hands innocently. "Me? Never. I just… had a talk with her about respect."
Great Red leaned over the back of the sofa, grinning wide. "Pfft. A 'talk,' huh? By the looks of it, you broke her spirit in five minutes flat."
Fatalis chuckled darkly, sipping her drink. "How fitting. The so-called Empress of Ice, melting in your hands."
Velzard snapped her head up, her cheeks blazing red, her pride lashing back despite the trembling in her voice. "S-Shut up! I didn't— I wasn't— He cheated, that's all!"
But her protest only made the others burst into laughter, the heavy tension dissolving into a warmth Velzard had never felt before.
And through it all, Satria simply turned back toward the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves once more.
"Alright then," he said, voice calm, steady, almost gentle. "Dinner won't cook itself. You can all tease later."
Velzard stood there, trembling, humiliated… yet unable to tear her eyes away from the man whose presence had crushed her world—and whose laughter filled a home so alien, yet so achingly alive.
•
After dinner, the atmosphere in the living room shifted.
Velzard sat stiffly on the sofa, hands clenched in her lap, shoulders trembling despite her effort to look composed. The Frost Dragon Empress who had once frozen entire nations now seemed smaller, almost fragile. Around her, the household gathered—Rimuru, Morgan, Raphael, Jeanne, Great Red, Fatalis, Fran, Kiyohime, Crom, Ophis, Valiana, and Koneko—each quietly sipping tea, their eyes drawn to the unfolding scene.
Satria stood before her, leaning lightly against the table, arms crossed. He wasn't radiating power, not even a shred of his earlier force. No, this was worse. It was only his words—and they carried more weight than any attack.
"Velzard," he said evenly, "you came in here flaunting your authority as a True Dragon. But the second I touched your pride, you collapsed."
Her jaw tightened. "I-I was only testing you—"
"Stop." His voice cut her off like steel. No magic, no coercion, just presence. She froze. "That's the excuse you feed yourself. The truth? You didn't come here as some untouchable dragon. You came here as a girl still hiding in her brother's shadow."
The room went utterly still. Velzard's breath hitched, her icy composure cracking.
"You love to speak of 'balance,' of 'duty,' of what Velzard the True Dragon must uphold." Satria's eyes narrowed, his words deliberate. "But tell me—when was the last time you chose something for yourself? Not what your brother decreed. Not what fate demanded. You."
Velzard's lips parted, but nothing came.
Satria leaned forward slightly, gaze unyielding. "You're not afraid of me. You're afraid I'm right. That without Velda's shadow to hide under, you don't know who you are."
Her nails dug into her palms. Her breath grew shallow, uneven.
Then he smirked. A sharp, merciless tilt of the lips. "You don't have 'duty issues,' Velzard. You've got daddy issues. The worst kind. You've chained yourself to the approval of someone who's gone, and in return he left you nothing but rules dressed up as love."
Velzard's eyes glistened. She shook her head, voice breaking. "S-Stop it…"
Satria spread his hands in mock helplessness. "What do you want from me? Comforting lies? Sorry—I'm not a Licensed Snowflake Rider. I deal in truth."
Across the room, Valiana bristled. "Seriously? Why are you roasting her like a comedian on caffeine? If there was a therapist review site, you'd get zero stars."
Fran touched her husband's arm gently. "My Lord… maybe that's enough. She's had—"
"Not yet." His voice softened, but his eyes never wavered. "You want to know why you lost to me, Velzard? It wasn't strength. It wasn't power. It was purpose. I fight for my family, for something real. You fight for a ghost. And ghosts don't hug you back."
The silence that followed was crushing. Velzard's proud mask shattered; she covered her face, but the sobs slipped through anyway, raw and unrestrained.
The family traded glances.
Great Red mouthed damn.
Jeanne covered her lips in sympathy.
Fatalis let out a low whistle.
Rimuru leaned closer to Morgan, muttering, "Dear… you didn't have to end her entire bloodline like that."
Finally, Satria sat beside Velzard, his voice gentler, his hand steady on her trembling shoulder. "I'm not your enemy. I'm not here to break you. But you can't keep living like this. Stop asking, 'What would Velda do?' and start asking, 'What does Velzard want?' Until then… you'll always be trapped."
She looked at him through tear-streaked eyes, speechless.
And then Ophis blinked and deadpanned, "That was harsher than being denied pudding."
The tension broke just a little—enough that some chuckled awkwardly.
Satria leaned back, rubbing his neck. "…Speaking of pudding. Where's Kurumi? Haven't seen her since earlier."
Fran lowered her cup. "Kurumi-san said she had business in her original world. She'll be away for a while."
"Ah… I see." Satria's eyes softened for just a moment, before he glanced back toward Velzard—who sat frozen, shaken, but perhaps, for the first time in centuries, thinking not of her brother's shadow, but of herself.
•
The morning sun spilled gently across the garden, filtering through the glass walls of the Golden Emperor's home. The faint scent of tea drifted in, mingling with something warm cooking in the kitchen.
Velzard stirred from the guest bed, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling. The words from last night echoed still—words that had cut deeper than any blade, followed by a gentleness she had not expected.
A soft knock broke her thoughts. The door slid open, and Jeanne peeked in, serene as always.
"You're awake. Come—breakfast is ready. Master insists everyone eat together."
Velzard blinked. Eat… together? For her, meals had always been ritual, politics, silence. But when she entered the dining hall, she nearly froze again.
The long table was alive. Rimuru bickered with Valiana over the last dumpling. Fran sat cross-legged, guarding a potato snack like it was a treasure. Ophis and Great Red argued loudly, while Kiyohime poured tea with the precision of a shrine maiden. Even Raphael, who rarely spoke, was patiently fixing Fatalis' chopstick grip to scattered applause.
And at the center of it all, Satria stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, sliding steaming plates onto the table. "Morning, Velzard. Hope you like miso soup—I made extra."
She stared. "…You… cooked? For me?"
"Of course," he shrugged with a grin. "Family eats together. Guests too. Sit down before Jeanne drags you."
True to his word, Jeanne was already guiding her wrist. Velzard found herself wedged between Fran, who smiled warmly, and Koneko, who silently pushed half her grilled fish onto Velzard's plate.
Morgan sipped her tea with a smirk. "He's an idiot, but his cooking's absurdly good. Honestly, I wouldn't mind letting him be a house husband."
Great Red added with mock seriousness, "He keeps the home spotless. I could provide for him forever."
Fran clasped her hands. "Don't worry, My Lord. We'll make sure you're happy and cared for."
Satria clenched his fist with a triumphant "Yes!" pose.
And then Fatalis, in her best narrator voice, declared, "At last, our lord's dream revealed: a life of pure leisure. Morning walks and playing with his pets, afternoon fishing without care of the world, evenings spent waiting at the home for his wives while casually smoking a few cigarettes and gaming on his phone. Truly, a role model."
"What the hell are you saying?!" Satria snapped, face paling as several of his wives' eyes turned sharp. "That's a hoax!"
Rimuru slammed her chopsticks down. "Over my dead body! I'm not handling all Tempest's paperwork alone while you laze around!"
"Ah, classic opposition in democracy," Fatalis continued smoothly. "But our lord will not give up. His ultimate goal: true freedom."
Valiana bit into a dumpling. "Freedom? Please. He's just a spoiled puppy."
"Why are you all so mean to me?!" Satria wailed, throwing a tantrum that nobody took seriously.
Kiyohime cleared her throat. "Enough. We have a guest. Please, mind yourselves. Forgive them, Velzard-san."
Velzard nodded stiffly. Her pride screamed at her to resist this ridiculous warmth. But the smell of food, the easy laughter, the lack of hostility… it pressed against something buried deep within her.
She picked up her chopsticks with slow, stiff fingers. Took a sip.
The broth was warm. Comforting. Real.
"…It's… good," she whispered before she could stop herself.
Satria caught it instantly, his smile quick and easy—but he didn't gloat, simply continued serving rice.
Fran, however, was merciless. "Ohhh? Did Velzard-sama just praise something? Write this down—we're making history!"
Fatalis leaned forward, smirking. "Careful, Fran-chan. Next thing you know, she'll want to stay."
Velzard stiffened, cheeks heating. "I-I most certainly will not—!"
Koneko, deadpan as ever, slid more fish onto her plate. "Eat. Blushing burns calories."
The table erupted in laughter. Even Jeanne giggled softly, while Rimuru g grinned. "Wow. The icy empress is melting. Who knew all it took was soup and a little love?"
Velzard's glare faltered as her hands betrayed her, reaching for another bite. The warmth in her chest grew with every swallow, betraying her pride further.
From the counter, Satria chuckled. "Don't tease her too much. She's still our guest." His gaze lingered on her with a playful glint. "Besides… if she keeps eating like that, she might not leave."
Velzard's chopsticks froze midair. Her heart lurched—and to her horror, the thought didn't sound as impossible as it should have.
•
The morning air was crisp as they stepped outside. Sunlight spilled across the garden, dew sparkling on the leaves.
Satria, however, had no emperor's dignity left. He pressed his face into Jeanne's chest like a child seeking refuge, arms locked tight around her. "I love this moment," he mumbled, muffled against her. "It makes me feel… peaceful."
Jeanne chuckled, stroking his back with one hand, the other cradling his head in a tender, almost motherly way. "What a spoiled boy you are, dear."
Rimuru wasn't impressed. She folded her arms, expression flat. "Enough cuddles. Can we talk about that event you invited? What was it again—Rating Games?"
Velzard tilted her head. "Rating… Games?"
Valiana leaned back with a smirk, instantly shifting into lecturer mode. "It's basically chess—but with real people as pieces. Devils from my world use Evil Pieces to turn people into their servants. Each peerage has a King, Queen, Knights, Bishops, Rooks, Pawns… and the goal is to wipe out the enemy King. A nice, 'civilized' way to rise in status in the Underworld." Her smirk turned sharp. "Of course, the devils are scheming to expand it. More factions, more races… more slave."
Fran's lips thinned. "…Slavery. That word alone I don't like. What if the King is cruel person? Can they not leave?"
Crom shook her head grimly. "Once you're reincarnated with an Evil Piece, it fuses with your soul. You belong to your King. Trying to break away can cause madness… or make you a hunted criminal." He hesitated. "Still, it does grant power, status, and longer life. For some, it's salvation. For others… hell."
Rimuru's gaze slid toward Koneko. "Then how about you, Koneko-chan? How did you walk away?"
Koneko's voice was quiet, but steady. "It was thanks to Senpai. He made the impossible possible. My old King was kind… but I prefer this freedom. With him, I'm not someone's pet. I'm just a girl who can live beside the man I love."
The simple honesty made Fran's eyes soften. Even Velzard, hardened as she was, felt a strange pang.
Valiana tapped her finger against the table. "Technically, Evil Pieces can be removed or transferred—but it requires both sides' consent and extremely skilled magic. So… rare."
Jeanne's hands clasped tightly. "Why they treat living beings like pets? Did the Church never oppose this? Surely—"
Valiana's smile went bitter. "My, my… don't look so shocked. The Church in my world is no better. Ever since God died, corruption spread like mold. They back these games in secret, drooling over what they can gain. If you saw what's in their closets…"
Jeanne froze. "G-God… is dead?!" Her voice trembled, her faith shaking.
Valiana leaned closer, ready to twist the knife. "It started when—Ow!" She yelped, rubbing her forehead where Satria flicked her.
"Oi. Don't break her faith yet," he scolded. "And don't take Valiana too seriously. Her world's lore is… weird. The Crusades? Instead of Christians versus Muslims, it got rewritten into Christians versus Devils, Fallen Angels, and Pagan Gods. No Islam, no Jews—just fanservice battles."
Fatalis burst into laughter. "Ha! The author dodged controversy."
"…Author?" Ophis blinked, tone unnervingly flat, as though she glimpsed something the others didn't.
Crom scratched his chin, ignoring the meta. "So… who did win the Crusades in your world? Christians? Muslims?"
Satria shrugged. "Short term, Christians scored some victories. But in the end? Muslims held Jerusalem. Strategically, they won."
Fatalis swirled her tea with a smirk. "And yet, centuries later… Jews pulled the greatest comeback. No armies, no conquests. Just finance and politics. Brains over brawn. That's a victory no one can deny." She leaned back, amused. "All that blood spilled over a strip of land. Humans truly love complicated roads to peace."
Satria groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "What's complicated? It's just greed and racism. Do people really need aliens to invade before they realize they're the same species and finally united as one?" His tone soured.
"…So," Jeanne whispered faintly, "we… lost?"
Satria shook his head. "Not really. Christianity still has the largest following worldwide. Islam close behind—barely a difference. But honestly?" He exhaled. "The internet turned faith into memes. It's not a holy war anymore—it's clickbait."
A silence fell. All eyes shifted to Satria.
Velzard found herself staring harder than anyone.
This was the same man who had crushed her world, who had broken her pride with a whisper. And now here he sat—sometimes a fool, sometimes a teacher, sometimes something beyond comprehension—sliding between emperor, commoner, and… something else entirely.
"By the way, where's Veldora? Did he tag along with you yesterday?" Rimuru tilted her head.
Fran blinked. "Ahhh… I almost forgot. Velzard-san, did you not unfreeze him yet?"
Velzard's lips tightened. She turned away. "…It's his fault for being annoying. I'll… undo it later."
The room went silent for a beat. Rimuru sighed, slumping. "Poor guy."
Satria smirked, breaking the heavy mood. "Anyway—who wants to tag along with me to the Underworld?"
Ophis yawned, completely unmoved. "Boring."
Crom's grin, however, spread wide. "Boring? There's Ddraig do down there—the Red Emperor, Dragon of Domination. His host might be green, but he still carries that legacy. I'd enjoy testing his fire."
Kiyohime's voice slid in, calm and sharp. "Danna-sama, what factions will attend? Surely this 'game' isn't just about young devils fighting."
Satria pointed at her with a playful finger-gun. "Bingo. As expected of my hime. Representatives from the Biblical factions, Norse, and Shinto will all be there."
"Shinto?" Kiyohime blinked. "Does that mean Yasaka-chan will attend?"
"Maybe," Satria said with a shrug. "But according to Azazel, the Sun Goddess herself will show up."
The table froze.
"…Sun Goddess?" Rimuru's eyes went wide. "You mean Amaterasu? Japan's top deity?!"
Kiyohime's eyes narrowed, surprise flickering across her usually composed face. "That's… rare. Amaterasu-sama almost never appears in public. What could compel her to step into the open now?"
Satria scratched his cheek sheepishly. "…Rumor says she's interested in me. But hey—can you blame her? Look at me. I'm irresistible." The sudden drop in aura from all sides made him freeze on the spot. "N-no, no! I'm joking! Totally joking!" He waved his hands desperately. "The real reason might be because I… may or may not be using her source of power."
The silence that followed was explosive.
Rimuru lunged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him like a ragdoll. "W-WAIT—don't just say that so casually! You can use the power of sun too?! What kind of cheat character ARE you?!"
"C-calm down! I'm just a rookie, okay?! You're overreacting!" Satria flailed helplessly, legs kicking like a child in Rimuru's grip.
Across the room, Jeanne pressed a hand to her chest, her calm voice carrying resolve. "If Master insists on going, then I shall accompany him. I am most curious about these biblical factions of this world."
Kiyohime stepped forward smoothly. "I'll join as well. Someone needs to keep Danna-sama from causing disasters… or from flirting with goddesses."
Fatalis leaned back with a laugh, sharp and amused. "Oh, this is going to be delicious. The Underworld has no idea what's about to hit them."
Velzard, arms folded, let out a soft scoff, looking away. Yet her eyes betrayed her—they lingered on Satria, weighing him, measuring him.
For reasons she couldn't explain, the thought of watching his annoying yet charming personality stirred something dangerous in her chest.
To be continued...