Sister Elsa had silently appeared behind Roy without him noticing.

Golden-haired and gazing at the boy before her, a faint tenderness flickered in her eyes.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

Roy first felt slender arms encircling his shoulders, gently holding his upper body.

Then came the soft, supple pressure against his neck.

“…”

The night air was crisp. The room’s dim lighting cast just the right mood—intimate, warm.

When the boy turned his head slightly, he met the nun’s eyes, shimmering like liquid gold under moonlight.

Or like a deep sea reflecting a sky full of stars.

“Sister Elsa…”

At the sound of his voice, her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly.

“…Do you dislike this?”

Roy shook his head.

“No. Not at all.”

“In fact… being held by you feels different from anyone else.”

“Your embrace only brings warmth.”

“No fear. No bad memories.”

“Roy…”

Her voice trembled as emotion washed over her face.

“I know you’ve been exhausted lately, Sister Elsa.”

“If holding me helps ease that tiredness even a little…”

“Then come to me anytime. Just like you welcomed the sleepless me.”

“I’ll welcome you too. All of you.”

Elsa answered not with words, but by pulling him closer.

No lust. No breathless tension.

Just two weary hearts leaning on each other.

*Weary.*

Roy wore youthful ease like a mask.

Beneath it lay memories only he carried—memories heavy enough to crush any ordinary soul.

He alone bore the weight of a reborn life.

A second chance at a past already lived.

Stubbornly stepping forward, again.

This time with no allies who shared his cause.

No comforting Elven Maid by his side.

No mother’s quiet support.

No mighty Demonfolk Empire at his command.

He walked alone.

Toward a world that might stand against him.

Was he arrogant?

Or simply unwilling to lose anyone?

…

Or perhaps the Demon King Roy was just bored of demon territory.

Ready to try the human world for a change.

No one could truly guess his thoughts.

He was a far more unpredictable ruler than his mother, Serasia.

The seven Autocratic Demon Generals guarding the Demonfolk strongholds knew this all too well.

…

After a long, quiet embrace, both avoided each other’s gaze.

Yet the night outside seemed suddenly more beautiful.

Too beautiful to leave, too beautiful to sleep through.

But Elsa knew—if she let her restless heart keep stirring…

Tonight would change everything between them.

For better or worse, she couldn’t tell.

She wasn’t afraid of change.

But losing what she had?

That fear ran deep. Bone-deep.

So she chose the careful path. The slow path. The path fitting for a boy like him.

“Ah… Roy, it’s late.”

“Shall we… I mean—let’s sleep? Together?”

“You’re safe with me.”

“I’m no ‘roast chicken’ from Dreamland Village!”

“I’d never lay a hand on you like *they* would!”

The moment the words left her mouth, Elsa wanted to slap herself.

*Of course* she wouldn’t do anything *that* improper.

But she should’ve added: *“Hugs and cuddles are perfectly normal!”*

Surprisingly, Roy seemed to read her mind. His reply was gentle, understanding:

“I trust you, Sister Elsa.”

“But like I said before…”

“If it’s just holding me… that’s okay.”

“Because it’s you, Sister Elsa~”

His voice was sweet, almost playful—a hint of a pout.

But Elsa knew better. Roy was stronger than his pretty face suggested.

Strangers might think him a delicate flower, surviving on charm and older women’s kindness.

Only those who truly knew him saw his rare, steadfast heart.

His beauty was the least remarkable thing about him.

Unable to resist, Elsa pulled him into another tight hug.

Roy respected her. He was shy.

After a deep breath to steady his nerves,

he slipped under her covers fully clothed.

Only his clear violet eyes peeked out, wide and watchful.

Then even those disappeared beneath the blanket,

his face hidden in sudden, flustered modesty.

He hadn’t dared undress.

But Sister Elsa had no such hesitation.

It was simply her habit.

After days in stiff, modest nun’s robes,

she craved the freedom of night.

Usually, she slept in simple undergarments.

Sometimes, on restless nights, she slept with nothing at all—

savoring the unbound ease, the sheer *freedom* of it.

(Though she’d never dare show *that* to Roy.)

Tonight, her limit was this:

Blushing fiercely in the moonlight filtering through thin curtains,

she slowly unbuttoned her dress.

One button. Then another.

Letting the fabric pool around her slender ankles.

Roy’s gaze—though hidden—traveled upward:

past smooth, pale calves,

past the tantalizing strip of skin above her stockings,

lingering on the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist,

rising to the soft swell of her chest…

Elsa stood proudly, displaying her form.

Until she turned—and saw Roy completely buried under the covers,

as if too shy to look at her any longer.

A soft laugh escaped her.

Then she lifted the blanket’s edge.

And slid in beside him, serpentine and warm.