The burp echoed through the quiet room like a declaration of defeat.
Rika—the Rika, frame-perfect combo-spammer Rika—cooed at me like I'd just achieved greatness.
"Such a good baby," she murmured.
I was going to make her pay for this. Eventually. When I could move my own limbs.
Status check:
• I'm a baby.
• I'm being held by the person who's killed me thirteen times.
• I just burped.
• She thinks that's adorable.
• I have no dignity left.
"We need to give you a name," she said, studying my face. Exhaustion. Sadness. Guilt?
Don't you dare—
"How about… Demon?"
I tried to scream. What came out was a strangled gurgle.
She smiled faintly. "You won't remember where it comes from. But it feels right somehow."
Remember? She thinks I forgot? Perfect. Let her think that.
If they don't know I remember, they'll lower their guard.
Rika pressed her forehead against mine. "I hope you'll forgive me someday. For all of this."
I'll decide that after I figure out what "all of this" is.
[DEMON'S POV – ONE WEEK LATER]
Day Seven of imprisonment in the meat prison.
Confirmed facts:
This is absolutely that Rika. Her precision carries over to diaper changes.
She's testing whether I remember. Her eyes give it away.
My body is useless. I once commanded armies. Now I drool.
The doctors ask strange questions: "Does he track objects unusually well?" "Any abnormal reactions?" They're testing awareness.
My powers still exist.
I found out three days ago—accidentally. A flicker of shadow on the wall, shaped like wings. Mine.
If they saw that, I'd be done.
So I practiced in secret—moving dust motes, tiny temperature shifts. Nothing visible. Nothing traceable.
Then today happened.
Rika took me for yet another "routine" check-up. A new nurse tapped my foot with a reflex hammer—
and I floated.
Five centimeters. Ten. Fifteen.
The nurse froze. "He's—he's floating!"
Rika turned, eyes wide.
Dr. Chen burst in with two others. Tablets came out. Fingers flew.
"Document everything," the doctor ordered.
I panicked. Which made me float higher.
Then Rika moved—frame-perfect as always—and caught me as gravity reclaimed me.
"I've got you," she breathed.
"Power manifestation at seven days post-extraction," Dr. Chen said. "This confirms ability transfer."
Not good. Not good at all.
Rika's voice cut in, hard. "He was startled. Look at him—he's terrified."
I made sure to look terrified. Which, fortunately, wasn't acting.
"Fear response," a doctor said. "That's plausible."
Rika seized the moment. "No more tests today. He's one week old."
They argued, but she won. When the room cleared, silence fell.
Rika looked down at me. "That wasn't just instinct, was it?"
Blank face. Baby mode.
"You remember," she whispered. "You have control."
Don't confirm. Don't confirm.
"If you do understand me," she said quietly, "be careful. They're watching. If they find out you're conscious…" She stopped. Didn't need to finish.
Then softer: "I won't tell them. But Demon—try not to float in front of witnesses again."
I wasn't trying, you maniac!
She sighed. "I can't believe I'm giving tactical advice to a baby."
At the window, she whispered, "I killed you thirteen times. Now I'm supposed to raise you. I don't know if you hate me. I don't know if you even can. But… I'm sorry. For whatever they'll make you become."
What are they planning for me?
Someone wanted this—me in flesh, under surveillance, growing.
Why?
Rika turned back. "Come on. Let's get you fed. And maybe practice not flying."
Oh, I understand perfectly.
And I'll follow that advice—because somehow, my killer just became my ally.
New plan:
Pretend to be normal.
Train in secret.
Let Rika suspect, never confirm.
Learn what they want.
Never, ever float in public again.
I once ruled kingdoms. I can pretend to be a baby.
How hard could it be?