The sun peeked out over the training grounds of Babyls. After the chaos of the Rookie Hunt, the Misfit Class stood assembled under the open sky, familiars at their sides.
A whimsical tune played from nowhere as a tall, energetic man with flowing blond hair and a flamboyant cape practically danced his way to the front.
"Good morniiing, precious students!" Bars Robin beamed, striking a pose. "Apologies for missing my first day. I was caught up planning the perfect opening ceremony! But I'm here now, and ready to meet your fabulous familiars!"
Alice stepped forward first, proudly revealing his Gorgon Snake, which hissed obediently at his side. "She is cold-blooded like her master, but loyal."
Sabro grinned and called forth his Kelpie, the water demon beast thrashing its tail and eyeing everything like prey.
Then Clara... summoned Falfal.
A strange, floating, chaotic creature zipped in circles before tossing Clara a glowing stick. Clara gleefully ran to catch it.
"Fetchy fetchy~!"
Robin blinked. "Wait, is... she playing fetch with her familiar or the other way around?"
Honestly... it suits her.
Iruma stood silently, tension building in his shoulders. He hadn't summoned Kalego since the initial accident.
Robin noticed.
"And you!Iruma! You haven't summoned yours yet, have you?"
"No." Iruma answered flatly.
"Why not?"
Because my familiar is a walking nightmare and I'd like to survive this semester.
"Fear is not becoming of a master!" Robin declared dramatically. "You must show your familiar who is boss! Let him taste the power of command!"
Iruma sighed. There's no getting out of this.
He raised his hand, summoned the circle, and whispered the incantation. The ground cracked with energy.
And out popped... a tiny, fluffy, very grumpy Naberius Kalego.
Students gasped. Robin's eyes sparkled.
"Oh. My. Netherworld. Is that a talking beast?!"
"I'm not a beast, I'm a professor, you walking hair dye!" Kalego snarled, his fur bristling.
Iruma stepped back . "I-I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to summon you for this kind of thing, it's just the lesson—" We can clearly see Iruma smirk.
Kalego turned on him, dark aura flickering. "Cancel the summon or I'll end you."
Robin squealed with delight. "HE TALKS! HE'S ANGRY! HE'S FLUFFY!"
Kalego leapt at Robin in rage—only to get stopped midair as Iruma instinctively touched the contract seal on his hand.
Kalego froze. Eyes wide.
"…You punished me?"
Iruma blinked. "It wasn't intentional."
Robin clapped joyfully. "You've got such control, Iruma-kun! Amazing! He's so obedient~"
"I am not obedient. I am contractually enslaved."
Kalego growled, trying again to flee, but Robin blocked him with a smug smile.
"Now, now! You yourself wrote the guidelines: 'A teacher must supervise and evaluate all familiars summoned by students.' You're stuck here, cutie."
Kalego snarled at Iruma. "I hope you're happy."
Iruma shrugged lightly. Not really.
Kalego sighed, defeated. "Fine. I will 'teach' you. Let's end this farce quickly."
---
"Familiars are bound by blood. They are not toys or pets," Kalego lectured the class. "Your call is absolute. If you lose control, the familiar can become feral."
Robin chimed in. "Now then! Let's play... frisbee!"
Kalego twitched. "No."
"But if Iruma-kun doesn't participate, he fails."
Iruma With bright cocky smile, glancing to Kalego.
He won't do it.
Kalego narrowed his eyes. Then turned.
"Fine. But know that I am filing an official complaint after this."
---
And so Kalego, the terrifying professor of Babyls, was seen—against his will—fetching glowing frisbees, hopping through obstacle courses, and, worst of all, performing a synchronized dance routine with Iruma for class participation points.
Iruma gave a faint, composed bow.
"My apologies. Again."
Kalego's eye twitched.
"If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't have summoned me like a golden retriever."
A beat of silence passed. Then Kalego asked, his tone unusually quiet:
"…Why didn't you summon me during the Guardian of Cutthroat Valley?"
Iruma's expression didn't change. He looked Kalego straight in the eyes.
"Because if I had, you would've tried to kill it… and it would've tried to kill you."
Kalego blinked. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He thought about both of us? Hmph. Either he's a fool... or smarter than he lets on.
Then, with exaggerated boredom, Alice and Sabro stood side by side.
"Let's test our familiars."
"Mine's stronger."
"We'll see."
Their familiars launched into a midair clash—energy and dust erupting like a small battlefield.
Robin flailed. "Wait, WAIT! This isn't regulation!!"
Kalego sighed, barely annoyed. He flicked his wrist, and both magical beasts were slammed to the ground with precise, terrifying force.
"Idiots."
The entire training field went silent.
Kalego's eyes narrowed coldly.
"Familiars are not toys. They are extensions of your soul. If your will falters, they'll devour you before your body hits the ground."
A tremor of unease passed through the class.
Then he turned to Iruma.
"You. Tell me you understand the weight of command."
Iruma didn't hesitate. He met Kalego's gaze, calm and sharp.
"More than you do."
The class stared. Even Kalego's brows rose a fraction.
A bold tongue... and no fear in his eyes.
For a fleeting second—respect.
Then—
"Wonderful job, everyone!" Robin squealed, throwing glitter into the air. "You're all so cute with your beasties!"
Kalego's aura spiked. He didn't even turn around.
"Robin… if you value your limbs, you'll stop speaking."
---
The day started simply enough.
Opera handed Iruma a pamphlet with a prim smile.
"This is for the Battler Party. It's a school-wide event where first-years present the Battlers they've joined. Parents are invited, so it's basically... Parents' Day."
Iruma blinked.
"Parents' Day…?"
He stared at the pamphlet, heart sinking slightly.
Opera tilted their head. "Something wrong?"
"No. Just… forgot what that felt like." Iruma answered softly, voice too calm for the weight behind it.
Opera, perceptive as ever, said nothing. Instead, they turned with a graceful flick of their coat.
"I'll get everything ready for Lord Sullivan's return. He'll want to hear all about it after his meeting."
Far above, in the Babel Tower, on the ominously high 665th floor, the Thirteen Crowns had gathered under the gilded seal of the Demon World.
Belzebuth, twitchy and exact as ever, banged the meeting gavel. "Let the Thirteen's Dinner commence!"
"Tch. We're still missing two," grumbled Astaroh, his wings fluttering with agitation.
"A quorum without unity is a cracked spell circle."
Belzebuth ignored him.
"Let's begin anyway. There are pressing matters to discuss."
Behemolt raised a hand. "Our food sources are dwindling. There's been overhunting of key herds in the West—"
"Maybe stop eating entire buffalofrogs in one sitting," Amaymon muttered with a sharp grin, ignoring Behemolt's glare.
"Illegal border crossings continue," said Henri, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "Magic trafficking is on the rise."
Belzebuth sighed, rubbing his temples.
"We need stability. A ruler. It's time we select a new Demon King."
A heavy silence fell.
"We choose from the Three Greats," Belzebuth continued.
"Lady Levi, Lord Belial, and Lord Sullivan."
Amaymon thumped the table.
"Belial has my vote. No one crafts like him."
Astaroh countered coolly. "Levi is wiser and more diplomatic. She's the ideal candidate."
Paimon fluttered a hand. "Sullivan is the obvious choice. Though… he's still not reached Yodh."
"Then he's unfit," Baal scoffed from across the table.
"Let's stop playing favoritism and acknowledge reality."
"And let's stop acting like your temper doesn't make you unfit either," Amaymon snapped, launching a chair-leg-first into Baal's face.
Magic burst like fireworks.
"One-hour recess!" Belzebuth shouted as everyone scattered, leaving the two to wrestle in their usual chaos.
Meanwhile, one floor higher, on the legendary 666th—
The true clash began.
The Three Greats sat around a velvet-draped table, sipping demonic tea.
"My grandson has the cutest claws," Belial said smugly.
"Mine just got top marks in Spell Structure Theory," Levi smiled.
Sullivan blinked slowly. Then with a chuckle:
"I have a grandson now too."
Silence.
"You don't have children."
"Did you kidnap him?"
"That's not how families work, Sullivan."
"Trade secret," Sullivan said, waving it off. "But he's adorable."
"…He is, isn't he," Belial muttered.
"I want to braid his hair," Levi whispered.
"Anyway," Sullivan began cheerfully, "if there's no judge for the cutest grandchild, I say we pick one another!"
"You know we don't want the Demon King title," Belial huffed. "It's too political."
Levi nodded. "We'd rather you take it."
"But I have Iruma now," Sullivan said gently. "Spoiling him is far more important than ruling the world."
And just like that, they all agreed to put the Demon King decision on hold—again.
As Lord Sullivan turned to leave the chamber, a low voice echoed from the shadows of the 666th floor.
"You really think… Demon Ruler (Aarimon) will attack our Netherworld?"
Sullivan paused, his smile fading. He didn't turn around.
"I don't know. But if he does... our race could be doomed."
Henri stepped forward from the dark. "If that day comes… what can we do? Against him?"
Sullivan's voice was calm, but beneath it, steel.
"We do what we must. We do not back down while our world is under attack."
The atmosphere shifted. Even the shadows seemed to still.
Sullivan turned slowly now, facing Henri.
"You want to know what makes us different from them? From Demon Ruler?"
"He and his kind—the True Satans—are chaos incarnate. They are not like us. They don't feel kinship, don't build civilizations. They are the full embodiment of the Seven Deadly Sins—each one, in its purest, most corrupt form.
Greed. Wrath. Envy. Lust. Pride. Sloth. Gluttony.
All of them. 100%."
Henri narrowed his eyes.
"And us…?"
"We demons... we are born with it only one of those sins. Maybe two. Our Demon King may hold three at most. But we have order, bonds, society. Most importantly we have good moral which is gift from God."
Sullivan looked past Henri, eyes distant.
"That is our difference. And that is why we must fight."
There was a long pause. Henri then asked quietly,
"If he does return… how?"
Sullivan closed his eyes.
"Wormhole magic. Forbidden. It can only be cast once every 500 years. It rips through dimensions and time."
He opened his eyes again, sharp and calculating now.
"Last time Demon Ruler came to the Netherworld... was 499 years ago."
Henri's heart skipped a beat.
"Then that means—"
"Yes," Sullivan nodded. "Next year."
The weight of those words filled the room like gravity itself.
Henri spoke solemnly.
"Then we must choose a new Demon King. Someone to rally the realm."
Sullivan gave a faint, knowing smile.
"I'm aware. That's why… inform all factions. Every House. Every Crown.
It's time to submit candidates."
Henri nodded. "And yours?"
Sullivan turned, eyes glowing faintly with ancient power and unshakable resolve.
"My candidate… is my grandson."
"Iruma Suzuki."