The private study of Sirzechs Lucifer breathed legacy. Warm light from crimson-tinted windows bathed shelves heavy with grimoires, ancient treaties, and trophies from the Great War. Family portraits glowed under preservation spells, their subjects eternally watchful. The air carried aged parchment, faint ozone from lingering destructive power, and the quiet weight of centuries.
It was a place of power, steeped in legacy.
Sirzechs stood at the arched window, back turned, arms folded. The Underworld's blood-red horizon reflected in his eyes, making him seem less the Crimson Satan and more a man carrying too many burdens.
Lucien waited in respectful silence, hands clasped. Grayfia stood beside him, immaculate maid uniform, silver hair flawless, expression a mask of composure. Today, though, a softer edge lingered beneath: maternal concern.
Sirzechs spoke without turning. "You're too young to be asking for political favors."
"I'm not asking for favors," Lucien replied evenly. "I'm asking for fairness."
Sirzechs turned then, his blue-green gaze steady, the unreadable mask of Lucifer firmly in place. "Be plain with me, son. Why Kuroka? Of all the strays in the Underworld, why do you want one of the most wanted?"
Lucien drew in a slow breath. "She can teach Koneko what no one else can. Senjutsu. Youjutsu. The Nekoshou arts she's suppressing out of fear. Koneko's strong, but she's caged herself. Kuroka could free her physically, spiritually."
He stepped closer, voice softening. "And beyond training… this could reunite two sisters. Koneko still believes her sister abandoned her. The truth is darker: Kuroka killed their master to stop him from turning Shirone into a Super Devil experiment. She sacrificed everything to protect her."
Sirzechs' expression flickered with a brief recognition of unspoken empathy.
Lucien caught it and pressed gently. "Imagine if Rias thought you had abandoned her. All to shield her from something worse. Would you let the world brand you a monster without ever hearing your side?"
The room stilled. Sirzechs' jaw tightened, memories of the Great War, of choices that cost lives, unspoken sacrifices.
Lucien offered a faint, wry smile. "Besides… maybe I've got a weakness for girls with tails. Similar to your weakness for overpowered maids."
That earned a sharp, surprised snort from Grayfia. The corners of her mouth twitched as though she wanted to scold him, but couldn't quite summon the disapproval.
Sirzechs arched a brow. "Guilt, logic, and jokes. You're pressing every angle."
"A little of both," Lucien admitted. "I use what works."
Sirzechs moved from the window, circling the desk to face him fully. Authority radiated like heat from coals. "Do you grasp the risks? Harbouring an SS-class Stray draws eyes. Enemies will claim weakness, seduction, and recklessness. Allies will question judgment."
Lucien nodded. "Father, I understand the cost."
Sirzechs studied him, searching for any crack in that resolve. He found none. His voice grew sterner. "If she turns, if she betrays us or lashes out, the fallout lands entirely on you. You would become another stain on House Lucifuge."
Lucien met his gaze unflinching. "I'm willing to take that risk."
He continued, his voice steady with a weight that didn't belong to his age. "I'm not asking for a pardon. Not yet. I'm only asking that when we find her, and I believe we will, you listen to her side. Look deeper than the official report. That's all."
That drew a flicker of surprise from Grayfia.
Sirzechs tilted his head. "You're asking me to break protocol."
"No," Lucien said softly. "I'm asking you to be a father first, and Lucifer second. Just for a moment. And to take a gamble on me like you took a chance on my mother during the Great War."
Thick, suffocating silence fell. The portraits seemed to lean in, generations pressing down.
Sirzechs exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You really are my son."
Lucien smirked. "Was that ever in doubt?"
Sirzechs turned to Grayfia. "What are your thoughts?"
She met his gaze calmly. "He has considered every angle. More thoroughly than most nobles twice his age." For once, her tone held no ice, only quiet, fierce pride.
Sirzechs let out a tired laugh. "Of course he has. He's a Gremory… and a Lucifuge." Then, with a half-smile: "One more maid joke, and I'm making you wear the uniform to the next family gathering."
Lucien raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I didn't inherit the legs for that."
The levity faded as Sirzechs' tone sobered. "The nobility murmurs louder every gathering. Sairaorg already fields warriors. Sona builds with precision. Rias has Akeno and Koneko. Thanks in no small part to your quiet nudges. You? Still nothing. As my heir and the future head of House Lucifuge, they expect strength. Alliances. A peerage that commands respect."
Grayfia added, voice firm yet warm, "This is not preference, Lucien. It is a legacy. House Lucifuge nearly vanished once. You must restore it with wit and strength."
Lucien nodded. "I will. But I won't rush, and not by taking anyone to fill slots. When I choose, it's for loyalty, potential, and rightness. Kuroka fits that role perfectly."
Sirzechs studied him longer, searching for hesitation, finding none.
His fingers tapped once against the desk. A rare tell… and then stilled.
He sighed, tired and fond.
"Very well. I won't block the search. If she's located, we'll hear her. But you lead the approach. And you bear the consequences."
Lucien met their piercing gazes without flinching.
"I understand."
Sirzechs gave a slow nod.
"Good. Then tell me, besides Kuroka… do you have anyone else in mind?"
The question hung there, heavy as any spell.
Lucien took a measured breath.
"Not at the moment. I've thought about it. But no one else feels right yet. I won't rush it to silence the nobility. When I choose, it'll be for the right reasons."
Sirzechs studied him for a long moment, then finally sighed.
"Fair answer."
Grayfia's expression softened by the barest degree. "Make us proud, Lucien."
"I will," Lucien promised, voice steady. "I intend to make both our houses proud and restore House Lucifuge to its former glory."
Sirzechs placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "Then begin soon. The Underworld watches its heirs closely."
Lucien's grin returned fierce, defiant. "Then let them watch. I'll give them a show they'll never forget."
He bowed slightly to both parents and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence returned.
Sirzechs waited until Lucien's footsteps faded, then turned to Grayfia. "You should check on the eastern wards. There are reports of stray activity."
Grayfia inclined her head, eyes narrowing fractionally. She recognized a dismissal when she heard one. "As you wish."
She glided out with her usual graceful precision.
Alone, Sirzechs exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping for the first time. He crossed to the decanter and poured amber whiskey into a crystal glass. The liquid caught the crimson light like fresh blood.
He took a slow sip, staring into the glass.
That boy is growing into something formidable… but far too soon. Too idealistic for a world that devours idealists… and calls it order.
Sirzechs set the glass down with a soft clink.
"Come," he said quietly.
Shadows near the far wall stirred. A faceless figure in dark robes emerged, kneeling instantly, one of his elite death soldiers, silent and utterly loyal.
"My Lord."
Sirzechs did not turn. A faint ripple of demonic power stirred through the room. "Find her. Kuroka Toujou, the SS-class stray. Locate her before the Church, the Fallen, or anyone else does. Quietly."
"Yes, Lucifer."
"And…" Sirzechs' gaze darkened slightly.
"No harm is to come to her."
The figure nodded in understanding before fading back into the shadows.
Sirzechs reached for his drink again, swirling the glass.
So this is your first real move, son.
A faint smile touched his lips, proud, worried, and something more complicated.
Then his expression shifted. Colder. Calculating.
The nobles are already circling like vultures. Too much freedom draws too much attention.
Sirzechs leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "…Perhaps it's time."
An engagement would bring stability. Political alliances. A measure of control. A way to shield Lucien… or bind him, if needed.
"Someone strong. Influential. Loyal…"
Names flickered through his mind like pieces on a chessboard: House Bael, House Sitri, other pillars.
"…Before someone else forces the issue."
He took another slow sip.
"Forgive me, Lucien," he murmured into the empty room. The words carried reluctant affection and the heavy weight of necessity.
"But this world does not allow heirs the luxury of growing at their own pace."