The Gremory mansion was the kind of place that seemed to breathe history.Black marble, columns carved with ancient demonic sigils, and an air of refined power only a noble family of the Underworld could command.
Lysander walked calmly down the carpeted hall. His adult form gave him a different presence: long, silken white hair, and emerald eyes gleaming with a dangerous serenity. He wore a dark, finely tailored jacket open at the collar, contrasting with the restrained aura of energy around him.
A demon maid led him into a room draped in crimson tapestries. The scent of wine lingered in the air. There, waiting for him, was Venelana Gremory.
Her presence filled the room effortlessly. Her light brown hair framed her face in smooth, outward-curving strands—an elegant style that made her look uncannily like her daughter, Rias. In fact, they resembled each other so much that more than one person—Issei Hyoudou included—had mistaken them before.Her deep violet eyes radiated warmth and wisdom. Every movement she made embodied grace: the ease of one who mastered etiquette long ago, and the quiet authority of someone who could command a room with a glance.
"So you're the mysterious 'coffee boy' my daughter can't stop talking about," she said softly, her tone more curious than teasing.
Lysander inclined his head politely."Depends on your definition of 'mysterious.' If it means someone who prefers reading quietly while demons wreck half a street, then yes, that would be me."
Venelana laughed lightly."Rias tends to exaggerate—though I admit, it's not every day a stranger neutralizes a stray devil with a single gesture."
"Magic, when properly understood, is like wine," he replied. "Its strength doesn't come from quantity, but from balance."
"And are you a good taster?" she asked, her gaze sharp but her tone still that of a gracious hostess.
Lysander lifted his glass."That depends on who prepared the bottle."
For a moment, the air between them grew dense with refined tension—not hostile, but magnetic. Venelana studied him with genuine curiosity, her eyes analytical, dissecting him piece by piece.
"It's been a long time since anyone's answered me so calmly," she said with mild amusement. "Most people tremble before my surname."
"Names lose their weight over the centuries," Lysander replied, taking a sip. "What matters is what you do between the silences."
Venelana smiled, elegant as ever."You speak like someone who's lived far too long.""And you like someone who still enjoys learning," he said, smiling faintly.
The air warmed—a quiet duel between sharp minds, neither willing to show their full hand.
Then, a crash shattered the calm.A servant burst into the room, pale."Lady Venelana! The mansion's protection seals have been breached!"
Venelana tensed, though her composure never faltered. Lysander merely sighed, setting his glass down."And the wine had just reached its perfect note…"
The shadows at the corners warped. From them emerged three hooded figures, daggers glowing crimson—assassins of the underworld, likely sent by a rival faction.
Venelana raised her hand, summoning a magic circle, her voice firm and commanding. But Lysander stopped her with a gentle gesture."Allow me. I promised not to use much magic today… but I'll make an exception."
The assassins lunged. Lysander exhaled. The air trembled, and time itself slowed. The daggers froze midair. A faint motion of his hand, and their energy dissolved into nothingness.
"Lesson one," he murmured. "Never attack someone who commands reality with a sigh."
A snap of his fingers.A golden circle flared beneath the assassins—and they vanished, teleported far from the mansion.
Silence returned, broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace.
Venelana regarded him with a mix of admiration and awe."That magic… it doesn't belong to any demonic lineage.""Nor celestial, nor fallen," Lysander said, adjusting his sleeve. "It predates such divisions."
Venelana nodded slowly, understanding more than he said."You've set half the Underworld talking with that little display. And here I thought you were retired.""I am retired. Peace just seems to have a strange fixation on me."
She laughed, the sound warmer now."If you plan to stay in Kuoh, you should know—peace rarely lasts here.""I had a feeling."
Venelana stepped closer. Lysander caught the subtle scent of her perfume: red wine, fire, and something softly sweet."Still… I'm glad you came," she said kindly. "My family values those with both talent and patience.""That depends," he replied, a glint in his eye, "on whether the wine remains as good as the conversation."
She raised her glass with a graceful smile."Then, to dangerous conversations."
Their glasses chimed softly.
At that moment, Lysander sensed a shift in the flow of mana—not from the assassins, but something far subtler."…Venelana?" he murmured."Yes. I'm afraid the Noble Council is tracing unregistered energy signatures," she said calmly. "They're trying to see what happened here."
Lysander sighed, standing."I knew accepting dinner came with consequences.""And yet you came," she replied, smiling."The wine was worth the risk."
With a light touch in the air, Lysander redirected the tracking magic. The mansion lights flickered, then steadied."That should blind them for a few hours," he said evenly.
Venelana looked at him with genuine gratitude."Then stay. At least for tonight," she offered politely—but there was confidence beneath her tone. "It would be terribly rude to let my savior sleep under political rain."He raised a brow, amused."Protection or company?"Her smile deepened—equal parts warmth and authority."Why choose?"
He didn't answer right away, only lifted his glass once more."I suppose my retirement just got… more interesting.""Welcome to the chaos of the Underworld, Lysander," Venelana said softly.
The glass chimed one last time.And deep within the Underworld, the Council's shadows whispered—wondering who this stranger was, the man who had unsettled the balance with nothing but a smile, a glass of wine… and power older than history itself.