When I opened my eyes, I was still in the Demon King's room.
The floor, firmer than the bed, hadn't changed from the night before. Even the sound of the demon king's steady breathing remained undisturbed.
Hernán sat up, relieved that his head wasn't aching. That, at least, was something.
But knowing her, if he waited for her to wake, she'd find a way to embarrass him again.
The lights had gone out. He fumbled in the dark, found the door, and stepped quietly into the living room.
The lighting there, enchanted to respond to the hour, was still dim.
He must have woken up earlier than usual.
He settled into the same seat Karine had used before turning in.
Her expression from the night before still haunted him—that subtle recoil, the quiet disgust as she whispered that her body reeked of the Demon King.
It wasn't a dramatic expression, not outwardly. But it was unmistakable.
The same look she always had when speaking of the man she hated most in the world—her father.
"Hernán?"
A soft voice called out from behind. He turned and saw Saintess Marina rising from where her head had been resting on the desk.
"How is your body now?" she asked.
She'd emerged so quietly he hadn't sensed her at all. Sloppy of him.
"I'm fine," he replied. "No fever. No pain."
Marina seemed on the verge of asking more, but instead, gave a small, tired smile and sat beside him.
"When will you let yourself breathe again?" she asked gently. "If you'd just open up, I might be able to as well."
Though she was a famous saint, she'd confessed that she avoided using informal speech. And yet the polite formality of her words didn't mask the discomfort in her voice.
"I'm all right as I am," he said. "You don't need to worry."
She didn't reply—just smiled faintly and began to braid her tousled blond hair with her fingers.
Hernán glanced sideways at her as silence settled between them.
She wore the comfortable clothing she sometimes changed into. Loose-fitting, unlike her usual snug clerical uniform.
Even in the dimness, the soft rise and fall of her chest caught his eye. The shape of her body was difficult to ignore.
Startled by his own wandering gaze, Hernán blurted out, "You're not wearing the clothes provided here?"
"I don't plan to stay here forever," she replied softly. "So I'd rather not get used to them. Maybe we'll find a way out."
Hope lingered faintly in her voice, but her eyes carried unease.
The idea of escape was too vague. And beyond these walls, time surely continued to flow.
Everyone in their little prison was growing just a little more anxious.
"Saintess."
"Yes?"
"Have you thought about what that guidebook said—the way out?"
Marina finished braiding her hair and folded her hands neatly on her lap. The posture, prim and elegant, did nothing to conceal her figure.
"You mean… gathering twenty-five people?" she asked. "I've thought about it."
A strange, tense silence stretched between them.
Hernán would've overlooked it, had the suppression magic still been active. But now, he could feel the weight of it clearly.
Marina understood exactly what that method implied.
"…Actually, I'd rather ask you something else," she said at last. "Can you tell me what happened yesterday?"
"Yesterday?"
"Yes. You collapsed. Karine called for the Demon King. The two of you went in, and… only she came out."
Perhaps she was deflecting from the earlier topic. But from Hernán's perspective—someone who knew exactly what had happened—it was a landmine.
"…It was treatment," he muttered. "That's all."
"The Demon King treated you?"
"Yes. You didn't hear anything?"
The saintess shook her head, looking genuinely in the dark.
"The hero made everyone go to bed right away. And… the rooms here are well-insulated. You can't really hear what happens inside."
So Karine hadn't heard either.
That was something, at least.
"I had a magic affliction in my head," he continued carefully. "The spell was misaligned. She—Shafikara—was the only one who could extract it."
"I see. Then it was a good thing we let her live."
Marina smiled, her gaze drifting toward the Demon King's door.
"We may have been enemies, but if we're going to survive here together, there's no sense in staying hostile."
"Is that so?" Hernán murmured, remembering the night before.
He wasn't sure if the warrior and the demon could truly coexist in this space. Not after everything.
But Marina, ever the idealist, offered another thought.
"If bonds are formed here… maybe they'll last once we return to the outside."
"That's nonsense."
A sharp voice cut through the air as a door opened.
It was the elf.
Silnia stepped out, ears twitching.
"Living in harmony with demons? That's absurd."
"Nothing is impossible," Marina replied gently, pulling out a chair for her.
But Silnia shook her head and approached.
"I'll wash up first. You okay, though?"
"I'm fine," Hernán said, relaxing into the back of his chair.
She turned, sniffed the air—and frowned.
"What's that smell?"
"Smell?"
"Coming from you."
Elves had sharper senses than humans, including their sense of smell.
For a moment, Hernán wondered if he simply hadn't washed thoroughly—but then Silnia narrowed her eyes.
"…Ugh. That spell on your brain. It's lifted, isn't it?"
"What?"
"It's gone?"
Her ears twitched forward, alert. She leaned in.
"…Somewhat. That's why I collapsed yesterday."
For a brief moment, her face flushed. But she quickly composed herself.
"Well. Take care of yourself, then."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Forget it."
With a wave, the saintess sent her off toward the bathroom.
Silnia grinned as she disappeared.
As time passed, the others began to stir.
Potty, the magician, checked on Hernán's health before heading off to the bathroom.
The Demon King entered next, looking more radiant than she had the day before, and promptly took a seat beside Hernán.
"Move," he said flatly.
"Why? Are we not closer now?" she teased.
"I don't know what exactly that 'treatment' was… but I'm guessing it was quite intimate."
Saintess Marina glanced toward the hero's room. She clearly wanted the Demon King away before Karine came out.
"Back to your seat," Hernán ordered, pointing to the far end of the table.
The Demon King sighed dramatically. "I gave my body to save someone, and this is my reward?"
Still, she obeyed, slinking away like a scolded cat who'd caught sight of the warrior's shadow.
"Hernán… that treatment…" Marina began, lowering her voice.
But Hernán didn't respond. He was waiting.
Karine, the hero, usually rose early—but today she was still behind her door.
"Hasn't the hero come out yet?" Potty asked, returning with a furrowed brow.
She glanced at Hernán as if silently asking why he hadn't emerged from Karine's room like usual.
Just then, the wall opened, and food was delivered.
Hernán had no chance to explain. The slot closed immediately once he placed yesterday's trash inside.
Convenient, certainly. But the contents of the new meal caught everyone's attention.
"…The meals changed," Potty murmured.
There were four regular meals, as expected—but now, two were obviously different. Richer. More refined.
"That smell is familiar," the Demon King said softly from the other end.
Hernán's unease deepened. He inspected the extravagant plates. Delicate stews, sliced meats, refined confections. And… other dishes—thick red broths, pungent spices, long, rolled flatbreads.
And something like a black drink paired with stick-shaped desserts he didn't recognize.
"What are you all staring at?"
Karine had finally come out.
Hernán quickly pointed toward the new food and pulled out a chair for her.
She ignored him and sat without a word.
Her silence stung more than any outburst.
Hernán shifted his gaze as Silnia asked, "Where's the paper? The one that says whose food is whose."
"Here."
Karine reached beneath the bread basket and pulled out a small parchment. Her face was expressionless as she read aloud:
"Meals designated for Hernán Terotas and Shafikara Pagan."
A sharp silence fell over the group.
Across the table, the Demon King—Sharpie—licked her lips and leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Ah, now this… this is what I used to eat in my hometown."
She was so enamored with the food she didn't notice the stiff, uncomfortable air surrounding the table.
"Why is the demon's favorite food being served now?" Potty muttered. "I wanted sweets…"
The hero said nothing. She simply reached for the regular plate and began eating without comment.
Marina followed suit, helping herself to the same.
Silnia, meanwhile, was sniffing the spicy dishes with a scowl. "Is this all meat? Or…?"
"It's mostly vegetarian," Sharpie said, suddenly closer. "Except the meat floating on top."
She had somehow moved from the far end and was now beside Hernán again.
"Take this and go," he said, handing her the coarse black bread while eyeing Karine's blank expression.
Sharpie pouted. "Isn't this meal for us to share? No one else wants it. Let's enjoy it together! I'll teach you how to eat it properly."
Without waiting for a response, she tore off a piece of flatbread and dipped it in the broth with practiced ease.
Someone had to eat this, after all. And if no one else would, that meant it fell to Hernán and the Demon King.
Suddenly—
"Pffth! Gah!"
Silnia, having taken a spoonful of the red broth, coughed violently.
"Damn… it's too spicy! And salty!"
Face flushed, she stood and raised her bowl like she was ready to throw it away.
"Don't!" Sharpie nearly lunged across the table. "You can't throw that out! It was made for me!"
"It's food like this that makes demons so disgusting."
Silnia stalked off toward the bathroom, bowl in hand. Sharpie clung to her waist, practically begging her to just dump it in her mouth instead.
"It's still food," Marina said kindly. "Let her be."
But the elf clearly intended to toss it down the drain.
"Silnia. Put it down," Karine said at last.
The command was calm. But firm.
And Silnia obeyed.
Once again, it was clear—only Karine had the authority to control the volatile elf.
"Let Hernán and the Demon King eat it," Karine added.
"…Hernán?" Silnia turned, eyebrows raised.
He met Karine's gaze for a moment. Her eyes were unreadable.
"…Fine," he said, exhaling.
Silnia passed the bowl to Sharpie, who promptly sat beside Hernán again.
"If you just eat the soup, it'll be too intense," she said, tearing bread. "Watch—wrap it like this. Then bite."
As she demonstrated, Hernán noticed the others all watching them—eyes flicking between him and the Demon King.
"Here. Ah~"
"Don't do that."
He snatched the bread from her hands and took a bite.
"…Not bad," he said.
The flavor was potent. The spices hit hard, and it probably overwhelmed someone like Silnia. But Hernán had a human palate—and wasn't picky to begin with.
It was spicy. But it was… good.
Strangely good.
"…You like it? Is it tasty?" Sharpie leaned in, eyes bright.
He didn't answer.
He just kept eating.
That seemed to be enough for her. She smiled, content to enjoy her meal beside him.
Across the table, Karine quietly drank her water, her appetite seemingly gone.