The first full night Noir Sullivan spent in the sky castle was restless. Maintaining the Duality's Balance—the spiritual separation of the crushing Demonic gravity and the icy Seraphim Order—was a constant, exhausting internal effort. Even in the velvet silence of his suite, his mind was a battlefield.
He woke with a groan, his muscles aching as if he'd spent the night sparring. The obsidian horn felt heavy and hot, a physical manifestation of the immense mana pressure constantly threatening to breach his internal seal.
"Young Master, it is time to wake," a low, precise voice announced.
Noir blinked open his eyes to find Opera standing by his bedside, immaculate as always. The demon butler's eyes, usually neutral, held a flicker of sharp assessment.
"Morning, Opera," Noir muttered, dragging himself upright.
"Your bath is drawn, and your academy uniform has been pressed for the second day," Opera said. "Lord Sullivan is preparing a celebratory breakfast. Today is the official start of your classes."
Noir stared at the butler, the panic that had been simmering since the duel finally boiling over. He had won the first battle through sheer, desperate fluke. Now he had the entire school convinced he was a powerful, promising demon, and he had a fanatical subordinate convinced he was invincible.
"Opera," Noir began, forcing his voice to sound steady despite the anxiety. "I… I can't go back to Babyls."
Opera paused mid-step, his feline ears twitching almost imperceptibly. He turned fully to face Noir, his composure absolute.
"Might I ask the reason for this sudden change of heart, Young Master?"
Noir threw off the velvet blankets, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, not bothering to hide the profound exhaustion in his crimson eyes.
"It's the persona," he confessed, the fear raw and genuine. "Yesterday was an accident. I didn't nullify Asmodeus's spell—I just let the two forces inside me tear it apart. I don't know any spells, Opera. I don't know how to fight. I don't know how to answer questions about my 'bloodline ability' without setting off a magical meltdown."
He gestured to his horn. "Everyone sees a powerful, highly promising new student. They see authority. But it's just me, terrified that the spiritual seals will break. If I go back, I have to keep the act up, and if I fail—if my lack of control is revealed—they won't be afraid. They will be disappointed."
"A very understandable fear," Opera commented neutrally. "The fear of disappointing high expectations is often a greater burden than the fear of death. However, Young Master, is running away the optimal path to longevity?"
Before Noir could reply, the door burst open and Sullivan entered, beaming, juggling three plates piled high with monstrously large, delicious-looking pancakes.
"Good morning, my precious grandson! Opera, did he sleep well? I made his favorite! Fluffy, three-tier, fire-breathing pancakes!"
Sullivan paused, sensing the heavy atmosphere between the boy and the butler.
"What's wrong?" Sullivan asked, his smile faltering slightly as he set the plates down.
"The Young Master is expressing a desire to withdraw from Babyls due to the strain of maintaining his overwhelming reputation," Opera informed Sullivan succinctly.
Sullivan's face crumpled instantly. "W-withdraw?! But… but I just got you enrolled! I told everyone you were the most magnificent, powerful demon! If you leave now, the humiliation will be too much! All my friends will laugh at me!"
Noir looked at the two most powerful demons he had ever met. "Grandpa, I'm a complete fraud! If I go back, I have to keep the act up, and I can't guarantee I won't accidentally incinerate a classmate when I run out of focus!"
Sullivan immediately rushed to Noir's side, sinking down to hug him tightly. "Oh, my dear, delicate grandson! But that's the beautiful part! The performance is your greatest defense!"
Sullivan pulled back, his eyes shining with manic encouragement. "They already believe you are overwhelmingly powerful, potentially destined for greatness. Your lack of control translates to boundless, untested might! Your silence translates to calculating menace! This is the Demon World, Noir! A solid reputation is the greatest defense! You don't need to know spells if your presence makes your opponents respect you!"
Noir hesitated. Sullivan had a point. His fear had been misinterpreted as supreme confidence.
Opera stepped in, offering the strategic counterpoint. "Lord Sullivan is correct on the nature of deterrence. More critically, Young Master, you have a condition. A devastating one. If you are to gain control, you require two things: knowledge and constant practice."
Opera moved to the desk and picked up one of the arcana textbooks Noir had yet to open. "Babyls Academy holds millennia of arcane knowledge. You must learn the principles of mana manipulation—not to cast the Seraphim or Primordial spells, but to create safer, more durable channels for the energies within you. You must turn your fluke defense into a calculated skill."
He held the book out to Noir. "The goal is no longer simply to survive, Young Master. The goal is to master your own body. And the best place to practice maintaining that overwhelming persona—and thus, your internal seals—is in an environment where your failure to control your power is mistaken for supreme, ruthless power. Your life depends on learning to apply the knowledge contained in these halls."
Noir looked from the pleading, proud face of Sullivan to the stern, logical face of Opera. They weren't asking him to be invincible; they were telling him that going to school was the only way to manage the ticking time bomb inside his soul. His current problem wasn't the external threat; it was the internal flaw.
He sighed, the fight draining out of him. The terror of facing the students was replaced by the cold, hard logic of survival.
"And what about Asmodeus Alice?" Noir asked, accepting the cold hard truth. "I can't have him glued to my side all day. I need space to breathe and focus."
Sullivan beamed. "Oh, that's easy! You simply command him! That is what powerful demons do! Tell him to stay close, but not too close. Give him a royal decree! That will make him even happier! Devoted servants love specific orders!"
Noir slowly stood, accepting the absurd, terrifying reality. He was going to demon school, not to learn, but to hide his own lack of knowledge while maintaining a persona of overwhelming authority.
He took the textbook from Opera. "Fine. I'll go. But if I accidentally incinerate the cafeteria, I'm blaming both of you."
Opera gave a curt nod of approval. "We accept the risk. Now, let us review the basic magical principles of the Demon World during the carriage ride. Pay close attention, Young Master."
"Yes, Grandpa!" Sullivan cheered, pumping his fist. "Now eat your pancakes! We don't want my magnificent grandson to be late!"
Noir ate the fire-breathing pancake—a potent and slightly dangerous meal—and allowed Opera to lead him to the carriage, steeling himself for the terrifying performance that was his second day at Babyls Academy.