Goddess of Light’s favor? Roy didn’t know.

Nor did he care to find out.

But he understood why Sister Elsa had been unable to tear her eyes away the moment she first saw him.

It was his racial gift.

His innate authority.

—*Enthrallment*.

Sounded similar to those Succubi ladies, didn’t it?

In truth, they were worlds apart.

Ordinary Succubi had to rely on coquettish gestures and suggestive acts to seduce through appearance and voice.

Roy needed only to stand there. Effortlessly, his very presence drew souls like moths to flame.

After all—he was a legendary Demonfolk: a *Succubus*.

The word "Succubus" conjured images in most minds: lust, rampant desire, moral decay, debauchery… unsavory notions all.

They were often depicted as weak, lowly creatures—the perfect cannon fodder for risqué scenes in fantasy tales.

Roy had believed the same at first.

When he’d been reborn into this world in his previous life, he’d felt bitter disappointment at becoming a Succubus.

*A Succubus. And a boy, no less. Hah…*

But later, through books, he learned this world—the Divine Blessing Continent—saw things differently.

Here, Succubi weren’t weaklings. They were among the mightiest of Demonfolk.

Legends even claimed they were the *first* demons.

From them sprang the myriad demon races—much like the nine sons of the dragon.

Roy’s mother in this world—more accurately, his *mother the Demon King*—was Serasia, a pureblood Greater Demon.

"Greater" in every sense.

Her bloodline: one in a million.

Her power: commander of a thousand demon armies.

Her stature: nearly three meters tall, with a figure both towering and voluptuous… ahem.

Now, when Roy recalled her, the first image was her regal grace upon the Demon King’s throne.

Her beauty needed no elaboration.

Serasia was the fairest of all Demonfolk—silver hair like frost, skin like snow.

Above her brow rose obsidian horns reminiscent of the Black Goat Mother, crowned by the abyssal circlet of royal authority.

Then came her eyes: overflowing with tender devotion, as if she’d give her life for him.

She was so immense that young Roy could perch on her shoulder, tiny hand clutching a strand of her silver hair like a delicate doll’s accessory.

Serasia never expected her child to be a legendary Succubus.

The royal healers called it an extreme case of *atavism*—a throwback to ancient blood.

It didn’t lessen her doting love.

Not even during an unusually extended nursing period.

She gave Roy everything she could.

Even the abyssal crown symbolizing the Demon King’s authority.

Once, before the shifting throne, Roy had gripped her finger and sworn to make the Demonfolk flourish for her sake.

Serasia had only shaken her head slightly.

—*"I only wish for your safety, my child."*

………………

*But Mother…*

*I seem to have disappointed you.*

………………

Perhaps the quiet night lulled him.

Roy drifted into memories before realizing he’d already walked into Jasmine District.

Streetlamps lined the road, their moonlight-reactive magic stones flickering weakly as their power drained.

Moths danced in the stuttering glow.

Roy flicked his fingers like a conductor’s baton. Light flared beneath the nearest lamp.

The moths dropped like stones.

His sharp eyes spotted Sister Elsa waiting on a second-floor balcony.

She wore only a thin nightgown, hugging her ample chest against the night chill.

A faint smile touched Roy’s lips.

He gave no sign of noticing her.

Instead, he walked calmly toward his rented building, jogged up the stairs, and unlocked the wooden door beside the sisters’ apartment.

*Click.*

The sound reached Sister Elsa, pressed against the other side of the door, ear to the wood.

Her boy was home. Safe.

Yet a quiet disappointment settled in her chest.

Had her waiting, her worry—all that care—gone unseen?

*He shouldn’t owe me anything for it,* she reminded herself.

…………

A soft sigh escaped her. She turned toward her sister’s room.

At least the heavy stone in her heart had finally fallen.

Roy seemed untouched by those roast-chicken Succubi.

And he’d returned right on time, as always.

She knocked gently on Airi’s door.

Silence answered.

"Airi? It’s me."

At her sister’s voice, the golden-haired girl slowly opened cerulean eyes on her snow-white bed.

Airi’s face was porcelain-perfect—pale as moonlight.

Similar to Elsa’s, yet utterly distinct.

But her gaze, fixed on the blank ceiling, held shadows no smile could lift.

"…Come in, Sister."

Her voice was gravelly from disuse, like melting ice.

Relief washed over Elsa as she entered.

She sat beside the bed.

Sleep-softened Airi was adorably rumpled—a golden strand stuck to her smooth forehead, radiating innocent drowsiness.

Only one flaw marred the sight:

Those eyes, once clear as mountain springs, now clouded with accumulated gloom. Heartbreaking.

Elsa leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to Airi’s forehead—a sister’s privilege, her small offering of warmth.

Airi managed a fragile smile.

"You worked hard today, Sister."

Her tone carried a trace of appeasement.

She knew her place: a burden. A dead weight.

Without Elsa’s income as a nun, she’d have starved long ago…

*Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad,* Airi thought.

Her will to live had always been thin.

This wasn’t the first time the idea surfaced.

Lately, though, it had grown quiet.

Elsa becoming a nun had eased their struggles, yes.

But the deeper reason…

*Perhaps… it’s because of him?*