During our brief walk together, Stini never asked for my answer, silence draped between us like a silk veil.

Though she feared her beloved would be stolen, she respected choice like a steady moon, stayed out, stayed quiet, let minds ripple on their own.

She played the elegant, proud gentleman, stepping aside like a crane in mist, pretending not to care; yet worry flickered at her edges like dusk.

More of my Shadow seemed to settle on her shoulders, a raven shade widening, and that made me uneasy.

Faced with her careful respect and trust, my chest tightened like a locked box; I couldn’t answer in kind, and it felt unfair.

She likes me—but not Shadow Demon Andor. She likes Shadow Artisan Andor, the gentle, witty, kind, powerful Hero drawn in clean lines.

Or rather, a persona I fabricated, a paper hero bright as lacquer, admired like morning dew, yet not a real person.

So I never answered Stini’s confession head-on; even as a joke, I never agreed, letting a known misunderstanding hang like smoke.

In most eyes, not clarifying equals deception—a forgivable sin; but lifting someone’s hope, then grinding it underfoot, that’s betrayal.

Because I live among people, I keep to the lowest bar of human morals, choosing only evils that can be forgiven, like walking a blade without bleeding.

For that reason, I can stand allied with humans, a dark banner beside bright fire.

I drifted back to the commercial street; the parade was near its end, drumbeats rolling away like thunder.

Anna stared steady, eyes fixed on the path I’d left by, a compass needle waiting for me to return.

Are you waiting for me too, Anna? The thought rose like a warm ember.

Then I’ll answer that waiting, a parting gift wrapped in night.

I sat beside her; shoulders and legs touched, a rare closeness like rain kissing stone, and she squeaked softly.

What thrilled Anna more was my clothes: a gauze-woven black shoulder cape, gold ties and buttons, a pure-black, simple formal suit.

If there’s a true description, I looked like an anti-saint singing of Hell, a bard chanting grand evil, my aura like winter smoke.

I seemed to dissolve into darkness at every breath, leaving only a whisper of night, then fading like fog.

The old tailor picked this set for me, mirroring the image in Anna’s mind, though it wasn’t me beneath the fabric.

In the time Stini gave me to think, I asked what Anna wanted, what shape her longing took, like reading lines in wet ink.

The Deity of Justice, before dying, spoke of a “Demon King driven mad by confusion,” and I think that pointed at Anna, a flame in a maze.

From Anna’s words before, she sees me as an unpassable peak—she worships, chases my shadow, yet can’t read the weather in my head.

She set an ideal target, a statue she called “me,” and ran after it; when she felt close, the statue melted like moonlight—only imagination.

She’s been acting the role she wrote: wild and strong, hoping that mask brings her near me; sadly, her “Anna” and “Andor” are mirages.

“So that’s why you went mad?” I asked, the question falling like a pebble into deep water.

She took off the Demon King’s mask, dropped the posturing, and answered with a weary voice like wind after rain.

“Maybe. I chased Brother for a hundred years, and still didn’t understand. Strength didn’t help—strength is just a small piece of him.”

“Brother barely cares about strong or weak. I don’t want to chase anymore. I’m tired. He’s always ahead, and I keep thinking effort could catch up—but that’s fantasy.”

Normally, I’d soothe her with warm cotton words—“you tried your best,” “I should’ve been clearer”—soft, useless, yet easing the air like tea steam.

But for an Anna about to exit the stage, do these lines matter? The curtain’s already half-fallen.

She didn’t sound regretful, and I don’t think I did wrong; the river runs where it must.

What needed saying has been said; now we’re burning speech to ash, emptying the last confessions and replies like spent arrows.

“You never asked,” I said. “If words aren’t spoken, how could there be understanding?” My mood was a dull bell.

“No need to ask,” she said, laughter dry as sand. “I wanted to be the one Brother chose, to match his stride, to move with him.”

“But the key premise is simple: Brother never chose me. Haha. I’m the irrelevant piece, right?” The smile cracked like ice.

I’m not the protagonist, so I worked to become one fit to stand beside you—that truth I knew long ago, she said.

I’m not the protagonist, and no matter how hard I try, you won’t choose me—that truth I only learned recently, she said.

Choosing a protagonist is my freedom, I thought; the words tasted like iron, and I swallowed them back into the dark.

No need to echo, no need to start a fight; Anna understands anyway, even if I don’t say it—the sea knows the moon.

“Brother wants ‘the future,’” she said. “Too vast, like a night sky. When I realized I was only a chess piece, dancing on Brother’s board, I felt tired.”

“It’s troublesome. I miss the Demon Realm, where, aside from killing, there’s nothing to worry about. I want to go back.”

“You say piece… oh, that fits,” I said, a thin smile like a blade. “You beat up most of the Hero Squad—did that confirm it?”

Anna exhaled long, lifted her face to the sky; the sun sat at the zenith, heat pressing down like an anvil.

“Let’s call it proof of a hunch,” she said. “I learned human martial skills, rose to Demon King, and grew fast like wildfire.”

“But the Heroes grew faster. Last time at Hero Academy, they could only kill me a few times when they caught rare flaws.”

“Now I have to admit—they can challenge me head-on, like spears meeting straight on.”

“Even after you became a Demon King?” I asked, the words cool as shade.

“Yeah,” she said. “And what about the next fight? The one after? After rising, I can see more lines.”

“Even if I go all out—assassination, ambush, traps—the Hero Squad might bleed hard, swap members, but in the end they’ll find a way to kill me.”

“That’s destiny,” I said, the verdict dropping like a stone.

“I know it’s a destiny Brother wrote,” she said, shooting me a glare sweet as a peach and sharp as glass.

“If it were Brother, he’d rage and smash everything to powder,” she added, a memory flaring like lightning.

In my last life, Head set the snare; I became Endless Demon King Andreas, shot down the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, and ended the Silver Era—Anna wasn’t wrong.

That storm of rage was also in Head’s script, a wave counted and caught.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Rather than cling shamelessly, I want a proper slaughter, a proud death, then go back.”

“Have you made peace?” I asked, voice like a low drum.

“No. It’s just helplessness,” she said. “Even a Demon King has no other path. And I’m still lingering…”

Who she lingers for needs no lanterns.

I’m no low-EQ harem fool; I know it’s time to answer, to pour out hot feeling and cold plan like fire and frost.

“Children—I can’t give you one,” I said, truth sharp as salt.

“…I figured…” she murmured, eyes dimming like evening.

“For now. I’m swamped,” I said. “More importantly, you have to die—”

She didn’t hear the second half, the sharpest blade; needles pricked as she lunged and kissed, a sudden storm.

A Hero-template body loses to a Demon King who rewrites her physics at will; my wrists felt like reeds.

“My head—don’t squeeze! Hey, my skull—cracking! Easy, easy! I said easy!” The protest snapped like dry twigs.

Anna pushed in, tongue fierce as a wolf; she even snapped two of my teeth with a bright crack and tasted my blood.

She licked her lips, eyes glittering like wet obsidian; my blood beat street food, savory as forbidden sauce.

She chewed my teeth like jellybeans, then went back to biting, from lover’s nibble to blood-drunk gnaw, a gradient of red.

“This is ketchup, right? Yeah, definitely ketchup. Don’t worry. Anna, watch it—ketchup doesn’t leave tooth marks!” I babbled, humor thin as paper.

Under startled stares from passersby, Anna only calmed after a long while, breathing steady as tide.

“Brother’s blood is red,” she said, wonder soft as dusk.

I slumped on the bench, gasping, lungs like bellows.

“Red’s easy to blend in,” I said. “When I adventured with the Heroes, injuries were common; if they noticed, it’d be bad.”

“So it stirred my appetite,” she said, smile hungry as a cat.

“People say appetite and desire arrive together,” I said, voice half-laugh. “So…”

“Let’s find a hotel,” she said, words warm as wine.

“I already had Vega book the priciest room near Hero Academy,” I said. “But it’s only noon; not great.”

“True. Then, Brother, let’s talk terms, deals—the things you’re best at,” she said, bright as sunlight after rain.

She shook off the earlier gloom, smiling at me like a blooming lantern; easy to please, this one—how did I miss it?

Ah. Because I didn’t pay attention. That’s why Anna broke with me; neglect is a quiet knife.

I coughed, cleared my throat, and spoke straight, words steady as iron:

“Even if I accept your view, my plan doesn’t change. You eat people, you tortured Catherine, you slaughtered without cause. That history stands.”

“You must die. As an ally of humans, I’ll kill you myself.” The vow rang like steel on stone.

Even if we just acknowledged what we are, this battle must happen; a century’s knot doesn’t unravel with one kiss—blood decides.

After we settle it, the debt ends; then anything’s negotiable, rain after drought.

“Not certain,” she said. “Maybe Brother gets beaten back to the Demon Realm?”

Impossible.

Only Ferrel could die with me; killing me means both poles of the world snap at once, and the world shatters—no one wants that nightfall.

“Well,” I said, “it’s less you accepting my confession and more me accepting you… I also have other… uh…”

I almost said “bedmate,” a word that would shove Stini and the others down the ladder and trigger Anna’s neat decapitations.

“Lover,” I said instead. “Can you accept that?”

“So I’m a lover too?” she asked, eyes tilting like crescent moons.

“‘Give you a child’ can mean many things,” I said. “Either way, I can’t bear your need to own.”

“I’ll swear to love only you,” she said. “I’ll sleep only with you. I swear by the domain of Slaughter. Still not enough?”

“I like you, and only that,” I said. “I like your tiny freckles and flaxen hair, your unrivaled-beauty form, its allure and pride.”

“I like the girl who clings to me and calls me ‘Brother,’ silly and stubborn. It’s liking, not love that burns the soul.”

“…” Her silence fell like snow.

“If you accept, I won’t stop you from seeking other men,” I added, eyes steady as stone.

“…And if I refuse?” she asked, voice thin as thread.

“This black suit, this image you dreamed of, this grand duel and funeral—my last gift,” I said. “We’ll end all grudge and love in one stroke.”

“And then never meet again?” she asked, words hollow as a shell.

“Maybe,” I said. “Just a severed tie. Your pride won’t turn back once decided; my schedule is a tight net—I can only use this window.”

“So you’ll invite me only once?” she asked, brows like lines on water.

“First and final invitation,” I said, the sentence closing like a door.

Anna snorted a laugh, bright as a spark.

“Do I even have a choice?” she asked, mischief like a fox in her eyes.

“As you wish,” I said. “It’s a matter of respect.” The answer sat like a stone lantern.

“It’s unfair,” she said. “I can’t stomach any man but you.” Her grin twisted like a cherry stem.

“In a fair deal, if the reason’s in you, don’t hang it on me,” I said, tone flat as slate.

“So I can only agree, huh?” she said, resignation drifting like smoke.

Before nightfall, Anna dragged my hand and ran through the streets, giddy as a sparrow, pulling me from stall to stall.

Is shopping really that fun? The question fluttered like a moth.

Well, shopping with a boyfriend—it’s probably very fun, like lanterns lit one by one.