Inside a tavern thick with ale-fog, Ouyang the Demon King and Xi, heir to the Glachidor Clan, lugged trays like overworked pack mules in a storm.

Sigh. I’m a Demon King, yet I’ve sunk this low—thought I’d live large under a master’s wing, and here I am bussing tables like driftwood in a flood.

Ouyang threw the words at Xi with a pout, like pebbles skimming a still pond that begged for calm.

Xi already had a furnace in her chest, and his tone struck sparks like flint to tinder.

Blame me? If you hadn’t gone berserk that night and wrecked the whole place, would I be paying through the nose? My last few gold vanished like dew!

And why are you eating for five every day? Don’t tell me it’s on purpose! You planning to eat me into the poorhouse, like locusts stripping a field?

A week ago, a ‘meteor’ cracked down and hit Ouyang, and his soul snapped back to that other place like a kite yanked by a sudden gust.

When his soul returned to his body, he threw back his head and howled, like a wolf answering the moon.

Hahaha… That glory, that pride—I’ll inherit it! I, Ouyang, will make the world remember the fear we ruled, the era we owned! Hahaha… hahaha…

Then the stone buried in his ‘meteor’-struck forehead lit up like a cold star, his horrible wound sealed like ice over a river, and the whole building collapsed like wet sand.

Xi wanted to slip away in the chaos like a shadow at dusk, but Ouyang spread his arms and boomed to the crowd like thunder over hills: See? Tremble, mortals, before the Demon King’s power!

What’s he even saying? But he admitted it—the house collapsed because of him, right? The proprietress had shoulder-length blue hair, cool as a lake under night.

Someone said light flared from a room before the building fell. That room was the little sister’s, wasn’t it? The woman’s gaze stuck to Xi like a pin.

Only after Xi handed over her last three gold coins did they get to leave, and Ouyang kept crowing along the road like a rooster at dawn.

Petty mortals, it’s an honor that my power leveled your house! You dare ask for compensation?

The proprietress answered with instant high-grade spells, blades of light like hail, and beat him into silence like rain pounding ash.

You idiot Demon King. Your strength is paper-thin! Sure, she’s a peerless master. But you call that Demon King level? Xi washed dishes, words snapping like dry twigs.

That instant cast told Xi the woman was a Magister, a peak wind over a field of nobles.

In this world, even the weakest mages wear noble titles like crests, and kings treat Magisters like tigers in tall grass.

A random shop’s owner turned out to be a Magister. Xi’s tongue ran dry like sand; since meeting Ouyang, fortune had flown like migrating geese.

The only lucky break? A Demon King as a servant. But this Demon King barely musters a Dusting spell, like waving a broom at a landslide.

And he eats like five farmhands; she couldn’t afford him, like a boat taking water faster than she could bail.

Break one more plate and I’ll pawn you here. You’re dragging me down like an anchor. Xi watched him spin a tray like a street juggler’s plate in a wind gust.

Her heart clenched; dozens had shattered before under that same clownish flourish, like stars breaking against stone.

Xi laid down her ultimatum, and Ouyang pouted, voice lazy as a cat in sun. Yes, my dear Master. I won’t cause you trouble again.

Clatter—metal on tile, a winter bell dropped in a well.

O… yang…

Master, I swear it wasn’t on purpose! Don’t abandon me. I can cook, I can sweep, I can even warm the bed like a hot brick in winter!

Shut up!!

Not far away, a blue-haired woman sat on the eaves like a cat on a ridgepole, the breeze parting her hair to reveal pointed ears sharp as leaves.

What an interesting pair. She watched Xi produce a stick from nowhere and drum Ouyang’s head like a temple bell, while he scurried in the cramped room like a rat.

Three days later, Xi finally gave up, like a flag drooping in still air. She felt foolish, a little too young, a little too clean.

With Ouyang around, income bled like a cut you can’t bandage; the plate debts stacked like bricks to the sky.

Ouyang, can you stop clinging to me? Please? Xi stared at a newly shattered plate glittering like frost, her stomach sinking.

This one wasn’t his; it was hers—contagion of idiocy, she thought grimly, like catching a cold from a sneeze of fate.

If this keeps up, he’ll drag my IQ down like a millstone in a well.

Master, don’t throw me away! I’m an orphan; without you, I can’t live, he wailed, clinging to her legs like seaweed in a rip tide.

Master, without you I can’t go on. Are you discarding me for that pretty boy? After all the years I served you since childhood?

Fine, Master, I get it… All the money I earned for you, you spent on that pretty boy, like feeding a pet peacock. My life still belongs to you!

If that pretty boy can’t stand me, I’ll give you my blessing like a candle in wind—Master, in the next life, I’ll serve you again!

He somehow produced a kitchen knife from nowhere, the blade flashing like a fish in a stream.

Guests and servers froze, eyes wide like lanterns in fog, while Xi steamed in silence, fury choking her like smoke.

Pretty boy? When did I ever keep a pretty boy? Earn me money? You’ve only helped me spend it, like holes in a purse. She stared at his shamelessness as if it were a bottomless well.

Didn’t think it’d be like this… The murmurs rolled like dry leaves. That young man worked years for her, and now she’s throwing him out?

Right, and she spent his earnings to keep a pretty boy. Nobles do that, sure—but he’s loyal, and she dumps him because the boy toy hates him?

She’s gorgeous, but who knew her heart was that filthy, like a swamp under a mirror-smooth surface?

Xi wore a frilly white dress like fresh snow, while Ouyang wore patched rags stitched and re-stitched like a scarecrow’s skin. The optics cut like wind.

Kid, don’t do anything stupid. A master like that isn’t worth it. Live free on your own, like a hawk off the leash.

A burly man with a greatsword slapped Ouyang’s shoulder like a drumbeat. Kid, it isn’t much, but take this. Carve your own path. Stay strong.

He gave a big thumbs-up, then strode off like a mountain walking.

Mm… sir… mm… Ouyang scooped up ten silver coins, clutching them to his chest like a squirrel with a hoard. His eyes reddened like dusk.

Master, I’m leaving on a long road. One last time, I’ll call you Master. Remember to pull up the covers at night, eat breakfast, and don’t be picky.

Xi stood in a whirl of chaos, her mind windblown and scattered like seeds. Those were her lines to him, flipped like a mirror.

He’s the one who sleeps uncovered, skips breakfast, and picks at food like a spoiled cat. How did I end up the culprit?

The scene tugged hearts like a soft rain. Guests and staff went red-eyed, especially noble girls; the generous ones tossed a fan of gold like sunlight.

Take this and live well. That kind of master isn’t worth your loyalty, like chasing smoke.

A noble girl lifted her purple gown like a lilac wave. Gold gleamed along her pale hand like a river. I’m Kanofia Reyes. Live well, okay?

More ‘support’ flowed in like a tide. Ouyang bowed deep, tears like pearls, bundled the coins in cloth, and shuffled out slow, as if leaving his heart behind like a tethered kite.

Gone? The Demon King who’d clung to her for days just… left? Xi watched his back fade like a boat into mist, a faint ache stirring like a hollow drum.

Then she caught the crowd’s disgusted looks, and that ache vanished like foam under sun.

Outside the town, Ouyang and the burly greatsword man counted coins beneath a tree like crows over spoils. A total of one hundred thirty-two gold, seventy-six silver, thirty-three copper.

Gold to silver to copper is one to a hundred, like steps on a ladder; one gold equals a hundred silver, and so on down.

Per our deal, I get eight and you two, so— Ouyang started, but the big man cut in like a blade.

No way. Most donors were nobles. I took a lot of heat. Sixty-forty, or the wind carries news to the wrong ears.

Hell no. You just showed your face. I did all the acting, like a one-man play. You want forty percent?

Without me, would it have worked?

Turns out that first donor was a plant Ouyang hired, a seed that sprouted a forest of sympathy.

No. Forty’s too much. I’m getting fleeced like a sheep in spring.

Then seventy-thirty?

Eighty-twenty. Final. Ouyang’s tone was iron, like a latch on a gate.

The big man bristled like a boar. Seventy-thirty, or word reaches those nobles.

Damn it. Threaten me… Fine. Deal.

He walked off with thirty-nine gold, leaving the odd bits like crumbs, and vanished like a boulder rolling over the hill.

Ouyang’s ‘battle’ haul remained: ninety-three gold, seventy-six silver, thirty-three copper, heavy as a secret under his arm like a sleeping cat.