Some time later…
The long dining table of the Häagenti mansion, which for years had served more as a decorative piece than for its original purpose, was finally being used again. The hall was vast, illuminated by crystal chandeliers that cast a soft golden light over the polished dark wood. Ancient tapestries adorned the high walls, depicting a family glory that had long since ceased to exist.
At the head of the table, Alear was eating…
To be more precise, he was devouring the food being served at an astonishing pace. Plate after plate was placed in front of him at a speed worthy of a million-dollar eating contest, and each one vanished with the same brutal efficiency. No one could really blame him. Ever since he woke up, his body had been practically begging for food; the hunger was so intense it was almost irritating. That was why the first thing he did upon leaving his room was order the maids to prepare as much food as possible.
The contrast was almost comical.
His posture remained elegant.
His expression, calm.
But the speed at which the food disappeared… was anything but aristocratic.
The maids positioned around the table exchanged increasingly tense glances, clearly trying not to stare directly at the scene. Some seemed torn between shock, relief… and mild fear.
Before each new dish could touch the table, however, Alear always repeated the same gesture.
A minimal movement of his fingers.
And the tray would stop.
The young maid assigned to the task—visibly the most nervous of the group—was already pale as paper. Under the young master's absolutely cold magenta-pink gaze, she swallowed hard and tasted each dish first, her hands trembling slightly as she brought small portions to her mouth.
Alear observed everything in silence for a few seconds each time.
Only then did he begin to eat.
"Basic precaution…" he thought, without the slightest trace of guilt. After what he had lived through in the Nasuverse, blindly trusting food prepared by others was practically assisted suicide. Especially considering his current position.
Finally, after a particularly aggressive sequence against a large cut of grilled meat, Alear let out a low sigh and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"…The food was excellent. Thank you very much for the meal."
His body was still far from ideal, but the ravenous hunger that had consumed him had finally vanished. The food was digested quickly thanks to a simple technique that accelerated his metabolism through magical energy—or, more precisely, through [Demonic Power]. For someone obsessed with training and who had been mentored by legendary figures, something like that was almost trivial. He didn't even need to do it consciously; the effect was immediate: his body, previously on the verge of collapse, was at least freed from its critical state of malnutrition and began a slow but real recovery…
His magenta-pink eyes slowly swept across the hall.
Now that he was sufficiently fed to think clearly, his perception—amplified by the [Mystic Eyes of Absolute Dominion Perception]—captured every micro-expression around the table.
The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly.
…Some maid had probably contacted his fiancée the moment he woke up. Well, not that he knew exactly who she was. His father had mentioned years ago that he had arranged a marriage with a highly influential noble family in the Underworld. From what he understood, it was an ancient promise between the two houses, an alliance that only came into effect after centuries…
The problem was that his father had never had time to explain the details.
The day after that conversation, he fell into a coma due to the so-called "Sleeping Sickness" and, shortly afterward, passed away. As a result, he never had the chance to meet his supposed fiancée in person, although he knew that, at the time, she had taken care of his situation from afar, sending servants to attend to his needs.
Unfortunately, it didn't take long before he himself contracted the same illness and fell into a deep coma that lasted years.
In truth…
His original body had died yesterday because of the disease.
And it was at that moment that he took possession of the body, reincarnating into this world in that way.
Pausing to think about the strange circumstances surrounding his current identity…
The Sleeping Sickness was an illness exclusive to Devils, capable of affecting both commoners and nobles. Once contracted, the victim fell into a deep sleep from which they could not awaken. From there, the body slowly wasted away until death. For that reason, patients diagnosed with the Sleeping Sickness were kept on life support in specialized hospitals in a desperate attempt to prolong their lives. Over the years, countless doctors had sought a cure and all had failed.
So…
Why wasn't he in a hospital when he woke up?
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Just as he had suspected from the beginning… there was something far too wrong with that story.
It was highly likely that his family had been targeted with a fabricated "Sleeping Sickness." The true culprits had probably covered everything up, attributing the condition to the legitimate illness, while in reality using some kind of poison or other obscure method to produce the symptoms.
He didn't consider himself an absolute expert on poisons, but he wasn't ignorant on the subject either. He had spent considerable time beside Semiramis, absorbing a substantial amount of knowledge, and had even received direct teachings from Shuten Dōji herself.
Based on what he knew…
There was a strong chance that it had been, from the very beginning, a carefully crafted poison—something that affected his family starting with the first victim. And somehow, it had manifested as if it were hereditary over the centuries, eventually driving his family to extinction… He had probably also not been taken to a hospital due to interference from the other party. Still, there was another possibility—perhaps even more plausible. Over the years, his family's resources had been constantly drained, and they currently lacked the means to afford such care.
And as for his fiancée… why hadn't she helped directly?
The simplest explanation was also the coldest: perhaps her family had more to gain than to lose by keeping the situation as it was. In Underworld political games, alliances were useful—but only with influential families. A declining family like his was far more convenient if the alliance simply disappeared…
Even so… there was an inconsistency.
If that were truly the case, then why would she bother sending servants to take care of him all those years?
His eyes narrowed slightly.
That didn't fully align with the most cynical hypothesis.
Unless…
She felt guilty about the situation?
Or was playing a more subtle game?
In the end, speculating too much at this point would lead nowhere.
Before jumping to hasty conclusions… he needed to meet her in person.
His magenta-pink eyes lost some of their analytical depth and took on a drier gleam.
His current situation could be summed up in three very simple points.
First.
His family had been far too powerful in the past. Powerful enough to bother very important people.
Second.
Suddenly and conveniently, an "incurable disease" appeared that seemed to specifically screw over the Häagenti lineage generation after generation, always at the perfect timing to prevent any real recovery.
And third…
Not everything is as it appears on the surface. Someone almost certainly stood to gain a great deal from his family's fall.
But who had the most to gain from all of this?
In the end, only one name kept returning to his mind: Zekram Bael. From what his father had told him over the years, Zekram harbored a deep envy of the ancestor who founded his house and achieved an influence few in the Underworld had ever touched; if anyone had the patience, power, and motive to erode his family across generations, he fit perfectly. That would also explain the strange passivity surrounding his lineage's decline over the centuries—the lack of political support, the silent isolation, the opportunities that mysteriously always slipped through his family's fingers.
If Zekram's hand was truly behind it, then everything made a cold, unpleasant kind of sense—because he wasn't just influential; in practice, he was the king hiding behind the curtains. His authority and reach had already surpassed even that of the current Four Great Satans. And after the death of his grandfather along with the fall of the Original Satans, he had indeed consolidated himself as the true leader of the devils. On the surface, the current Satans were still treated as the rulers of the Underworld… but only on the surface. In the real corridors of power, it was very likely they didn't possess even a fraction of Zekram Bael's political influence.
Alear kept his gaze lowered for a few more seconds, his finger tapping lightly against the table as the name continued to echo in the back of his mind.
Zekram Bael.
An opponent… far too inconvenient to have as an enemy right at the beginning of his new life…
"…Haa…"
The air escaped slowly between his lips.
Then he simply… stopped.
Overthinking at that moment wouldn't change anything. Without proof, without strength, and without allies, theorizing about the top Devils of the Underworld was just a beautiful way to die early.
Enough for now.
It was at that exact moment that one of the maids stepped forward, visibly gathering her courage.
"Y-Young Master…" Her voice came out careful, overly respectful. "Your bath has already been prepared."
Alear slowly raised his eyes.
The maid—the same one who had been tasting the food—kept her head slightly lowered, hands clasped in front of her body. Still nervous… but trying to maintain composure. She hesitated only a second before adding, a little more quietly:
"If you wish… I can wash your back."
His eyes rested on her for a full instant.
His expression remained neutral.
Completely neutral.
"…No need," he replied at last, voice calm, without any embarrassment or malice—just genuine disinterest.
The girl's shoulders relaxed visibly for half a second before she recomposed herself.
Alear was already rising from his chair when he continued in the same tranquil tone:
"Just escort me to the bathroom."
He ran a hand through his still slightly disheveled hair, letting out a short sigh through his nose: "…I don't quite remember where it is."
At his words, some of the maids blinked, others exchanged quick glances. But none dared comment.
The young woman in front made a quick bow.
"Y-Yes, Young Master. Please, this way."
Alear gave only a slight nod and began walking calmly behind her. As he moved through the mansion's corridors, he couldn't help but think how impressive the luxury of the place was.
The young maid walked half a step ahead, her posture far too rigid for someone who should have been accustomed to the mansion's routine.
He noticed immediately.
…Nervous.
His eyes slid over her casually, but nothing in that gaze was truly distracted.
After a few seconds of comfortable silence—at least for him—Alear spoke, voice calm:
"What's your name?"
The question fell simply into the air.
But the effect was immediate.
The girl gave a small start before hastily recomposing herself, stopping and making a formal, almost automatic bow.
"M-My name is Lotte, Young Master."
Her formality was impeccable, every gesture executed with the precision expected of a well-trained maid, but the nervousness that leaked through in small details—the slight tremor in her hands, the excessive rigidity in her posture—betrayed that she had never served a fully conscious master before. Very likely, she was a newcomer assigned to him precisely to gain experience with basic household tasks; after all, caring for someone in a coma was infinitely simpler than dealing with a fully awake, lucid master who might be full of demands. That detail, incidentally, also explained the behavior of the other maids earlier. The collective nervousness, the excessive care in their words, and especially the fact that none of them had even dared mention his coma or his awakening… everything pointed to the same picture: they were not accustomed to dealing with someone awake and, worse still, were afraid of saying something they shouldn't.
In other words, they were complete novices…
While thinking this, Alear merely gave a slight nod upon hearing her words, as if filing the information away in a mental archive.
"I see… Lotte." He continued walking while asking casually: "Tell me something. Has any doctor been called to examine me? Also, I don't remember any of you being the maids in the mansion before I passed out. Do you work for someone?"
Now the tension in the air shifted.
Lotte straightened her posture a little more before answering carefully:
"I was assigned to care for the Young Master by your fiancée. She has also been properly informed of your awakening. However, she is currently in a high-priority meeting… but we were instructed that, as soon as it ends, she will come personally to see you. Accompanied by a specialized doctor."
Alear pondered for a moment before saying: "Understood…"
Then he decided to change the subject.
"So tell me something, Lotte." His tone remained casual: "Who… exactly… is my fiancée?"
The question made the girl falter slightly in her steps, surprised by the question.
Lotte blinked twice, clearly confused for a brief instant before respectfully lowering her head.
"I-I beg your pardon, Young Master. I assumed you had already been informed before… before you became unconscious."
Alear let out a small huff through his nose.
"My father mentioned the engagement…" he replied calmly. "But he never got around to telling me who it was with. The next day he fell into a coma… and after that, well…"
He gave a minimal shrug.
"…you already know the rest."
Understanding crossed Lotte's face.
She immediately straightened her posture, returning to her impeccable formal tone.
"I understand. I apologize for the assumption, Young Master." A respectful pause. Then she answered clearly: "Your fiancée is Her Majesty, Serafall Leviathan… one of the Four Maou currently reigning over the Underworld."
Alear stopped for an instant in the corridor.
His magenta-pink eyes blinked once, slowly, as if his brain were processing the information in slow motion.
"…Serafall Leviathan."
The voice came out low, almost a murmur to himself.
It wasn't exactly shock—he had already grown accustomed to far too absurd twists in the last stretches of his previous life to react in such a simple way. Even so, he couldn't avoid a faint trace of surprise. After all, his fiancée occupied the position of "Satan." Why would someone of that level agree to marry the heir of a clearly declining family? The question spun in his mind for a few seconds before a possibility began to take shape. Perhaps his father had directly approached the Leviathan family to enforce the ancient promise between the houses. And considering the suffocating politics of the Underworld, it wasn't impossible that Serafall—who originally belonged to the Sitri family before ascending as Leviathan—had been pressured into accepting the arrangement to preserve her position and political stability. It was a hypothesis… but it made far too much sense to be ignored.
He took a single deep breath through his nose, then simply nodded as if accepting some trivial piece of weather information.
"…Understood. Thank you for telling me, Lotte."
His tone was calm, polite, without any trace of astonishment or panic.
Lotte, who had tensed up expecting some explosive reaction, blinked in surprise. Her cheeks gained an almost immediate rosy tint, and she lowered her head even further, clearly relieved and a little embarrassed.
"I-It's no trouble at all, Young Master… That information is actually public. Any devil of a certain position knows about it. I just… assumed you already knew."
Alear gave a light nod, dismissing any guilt.
"You did nothing wrong. I'm the one who stayed unconscious for too long."
He gestured with his chin forward, signaling to continue.
Lotte quickly recomposed herself and resumed walking, now with slightly lighter steps.
A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a pair of dark wooden double doors carved with motifs of serpents and stars. Lotte opened both leaves carefully, revealing the interior.
Alear almost raised an eyebrow.
The "bathroom" was, for all practical purposes, larger than many luxury apartments in Tokyo. The floor was polished black marble with golden veins, the vaulted ceiling supported by slender columns of translucent onyx that let the chandelier light dance in soft reflections. In the center, a circular sunken bathtub large enough to comfortably fit six or seven adults was already filled with steaming water, black flower petals floating on the surface. At the back, built-in wall showers, a separate dry sauna area behind frosted glass, and even a small ornamental fountain murmuring thermal water…
It was ridiculously over-the-top.
And somehow, it reminded him of those giant, impeccably clean public bathhouses he had seen in Japan… only elevated to a level of demonic ostentation.
Alear observed everything in silence for a few seconds.
Lotte made a short bow.
"If you need anything, just call, Young Master. There are bells in several points of the room."
He nodded.
"Thank you, Lotte. You may go." A pause: "In about twenty or thirty minutes… bring formal clothes. Something simple, but suitable for receiving visitors. Nothing too flashy."
Lotte raised her eyes for a brief instant, surprised by the specificity, but quickly lowered them again.
"Yes, Young Master. I will prepare it immediately."
She made another deep bow, retreated three steps, and only then turned to leave, closing the double doors with almost reverent care.
The soft click of the lock echoed in the spacious room.
Alear was alone.
He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his magenta-pink hair.
"…A Maou as fiancée." He murmured to the empty air, his tone mixing dry irony and genuine resignation: "My father really didn't mess around when he talked about a 'great influential alliance.'"
Shaking his head, he walked to the edge of the bathtub, slowly unbuttoning the loose shirt he was wearing—a simple garment the maids had put on him while he was still unconscious. The fabric fell to the floor with a light sound.
He looked at his own reflection in the dark, rippling water.
His body was still far too thin, marked by years of inactivity, but the outlines of muscle were already beginning to reappear beneath the pale skin.
He entered the water slowly.
The heat enveloped him like an embrace that was almost painfully welcome.
Alear closed his eyes for a moment, letting the residual tension in his muscles dissolve.
A minimal, almost cruel smile curved his lips.
"Interesting." He sank a little deeper until the water reached his chin: "Looks like my new life is going to be… eventful."
Steam rose in lazy spirals around him.
___________________
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