The Royal Magica Academy smelled like old books, expensive perfume, and the faint, permanent scent of crushed dreams.
Leo Ainsworth knew all three intimately.
At seventeen (barely scraping by on the age requirement), he held the official record for lowest mana capacity in academy history: **-0.3 units**. The negative wasn't a typo. The measuring crystal had cracked trying to read him.
Today's punishment was standard: clean the Forbidden Vault after "accidentally" brushing dust onto Cynthia Flameheart's spotless uniform during corridor duty. The headmaster had sighed, "Again, Ainsworth?" and Cynthia had sneered, "Commoner filth," before storming off in a swirl of crimson silk and righteous fury.
Leo didn't argue. Arguing required energy he didn't have.
He dragged the mop across the vault's stone floor, past shelves of glowing artifacts nobody was allowed to touch, until he reached the far corner. There, half-buried under cobwebs and a forgotten stack of expired mana crystals, sat something that looked like a vending machine from another world.
Rusted chrome frame. Cracked glass front. Faded label in glowing purple script:
**Galactic Gacha: Demon Summoning System**
**One Pull Per Lifetime – Junk Tier Guaranteed**
Leo stared.
He had exactly one copper coin left in his pocket—the one he'd been saving for a single cream puff at the academy bakery. The thought of that golden, flaky pastry with its perfect dollop of vanilla cream was the only thing that kept him going some days.
He looked at the machine.
He looked at the coin.
He sighed.
"…What's the worst that can happen?"
He inserted the coin.
The machine rattled like it was dying, lights flickered erratically, then—**ding.**
A small, cracked capsule rolled out into the dispenser slot. It looked like something a child would throw away after a bad party favor. Etched on the side in tiny, almost mocking font:
**RANK: JUNK**
Leo picked it up. It was warm. Too warm.
He pressed the release tab.
The world ended for half a second.
A heart-shaped magic circle twenty meters wide erupted from the capsule, pink and violet light swallowing the vault. Stone cracked. Shelves toppled. Artifacts screamed as mana surged like a tidal wave. The ceiling vanished in a swirl of starlight.
When the light finally faded, the vault was half-destroyed and Leo was sitting in a pile of rubble, covered head-to-toe in soot, still clutching the empty capsule.
In front of him knelt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
No—beautiful wasn't the word.
She was **impossible**.
Long silver-white hair flowed like liquid moonlight, individual strands sparkling with tiny dying stars and faint pink heart motes. Small, elegant obsidian horns curved upward, glowing with soft violet energy. Her eyes were swirling pools of amethyst galaxies, heart-shaped pupils locked on him with infinite, terrifying devotion. Flawless pale skin shimmered with cosmic light. Her figure was an elegant hourglass wrapped in sheer cosmic silk that clung like it was painted on—deep V-neckline, side slits, glowing star patterns that barely censored anything.
She knelt gracefully, palms pressed together, forehead almost touching the cracked stone.
Her voice was velvet thunder wrapped in honey.
"Ten thousand years… trapped in digital limbo as the lowest possible prize. And the one who finally claimed me…" She lifted her head, eyes widening in awe as she scanned Leo's tattered uniform, sooty face, and the cracked stat window floating above his head.
"…has **negative infinity** luck? That's not possible. That's… **beautiful**."
Leo blinked through the soot.
"Uh."
"Your failure is so absolute it circled back into cosmic victory," she continued, voice trembling with reverence. "You are the ultimate anomaly. The one being in all existence who could pull **me** from the junk tier. I am Astaroth—Goddess of Victory and Desire. From this moment forward, I am yours, Master."
She smiled.
Reality rippled.
Leo's brain short-circuited.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"…Can I get a cream puff? I'm really hungry."
Astaroth—Asta—paused mid-reverent bow.
Her galaxy eyes blinked once.
Then she beamed, the motion sending gentle shockwaves through local space-time.
"Your wish," she whispered, "is my absolute command."
She raised one delicate hand.
The air shimmered.
A perfect golden cream puff materialized directly into Leo's palm—flaky choux pastry, flawless vanilla cream, still warm, dusted with powdered starlight sugar.
The mana fluctuation was so violent that every detection array in the kingdom screamed at once:
**CLASS-S DEMONIC EMERGENCE DETECTED**
**EVACUATE CAPITAL IMMEDIATELY**
Leo stared at the pastry.
Then at the goddess kneeling before him, watching with rapt adoration as he took his first bite.
Cream exploded across his tongue—perfect, impossible sweetness.
He chewed slowly.
"…This is the best thing I've ever tasted."
Asta's eyes glowed brighter than the exploding vault ceiling.
"Then I shall prepare seconds. And thirds. And an eternal supply, Master."
Somewhere far above, alarms wailed.
Footsteps thundered down the corridor—Cynthia Flameheart, rapier drawn, sensing the "foul demonic energy" and ready to prove her superiority.
Leo took another bite, blissfully unaware.
Asta tilted her head, smile turning just a fraction sharper.
"Someone approaches with hostility toward you, Master."
Leo froze mid-chew.
"…Please don't kill anyone."
Asta pouted—adorably, terrifyingly.
"As you wish."
But her fingers twitched.
And outside the vault door, a certain noble prodigy was about to learn what happened when you pointed a toothpick at the most fortunate loser in the universe.