As the Demon Blade, Yukshir possessed immense magic and vitality—enough to endure endless years without sleep.
But that was only true when she wasn’t *working*!
Seriously, who the hell invented work anyway?!
Why must even His Majesty the Demon King act like some overworked intern?!
Yukshir already regretted flashing that overconfident grin at the Demon King earlier.
*"Pfft, is this all? I could handle a whole year without sleep—no problem for a lady like me!"*
—*"Then I’m counting on you, Yukshir."*
Back then, His Majesty had smiled warmly despite his exhaustion.
He’d even rewarded her with a "horn-petting session"—gently stroking the top of her head while tracing her delicate demon horns.
The sensation had been utterly blissful.
And so, Yukshir—the little loli in a black-red gradient twin-tail wig, flames dancing in her hair—had fallen for the Demon King’s sugary trap.
Becoming Roy’s scapegoat.
At first, she’d clung to the memory of his warm touch to push through the paperwork.
But as duties piled up and days blurred together…
Yukshir finally hit her mental breaking point.
In the tower-top office, she sat in Roy’s borrowed form, her voice trembling as she mimicked his tone:
"I-I can’t do this anymore, Isabella…"
The Elven Maid paused.
She swept a stray silver strand behind her ear, her glossy hair arcing gracefully.
Her slender, pale ears twitched faintly.
Then, with a frosty huff:
"Hmph. So His Majesty finally deigns to call me by name."
Her golden eyes, usually bright as sunlight, now held a petulant pout—far more obvious than her usual restraint.
*"???"*
Yukshir, just a sword at heart, couldn’t decode this mood shift.
She’d avoided saying "Isabella" only to hide her disguise—not out of coldness!
*Wait… is the Demon King’s maid scolding him?! What do I even DO?!*
The little blade froze, panic flooding her core.
She absolutely couldn’t handle more paperwork—but confessing Roy’s disappearance felt like betrayal.
*Maybe… she’d understand?*
Her resolve wavered.
Then her mental avatar shook its head violently, crimson twin-tails whipping wildly.
*NO! Betraying His Majesty is unthinkable!*
*Uuugh… guess I’ll just become a work-zombie sword…*
Yukshir surrendered.
She bent over the documents again, mimicking Roy’s decision-making style.
Tongue hanging out like a meme.
Unseen by her, Isabella’s gaze sharpened—studying "Roy’s" every twitch, every sigh.
Suspicion had gnawed at her for days.
But after their recent quarrel, she’d assumed his distance was just… stubborn pride.
*Typical childhood friends.*
Roy played tsundere.
Isabella played tsundere back.
Silence thickened between them.
Hence her transformation into a ruthless "Work Reminder Machine."
And "Roy" had only just called her "Isabella" for the first time in weeks—
—in a tone utterly unlike his usual self.
That old suspicion surged back, icy and urgent.
*Could it be…?*
Isabella’s fists clenched. Her chest rose and fell sharply.
But her smile stayed perfectly serene:
"I know it’s hard, Master. But this is for Demonfolk’s future."
"Let me brew your favorite—Demonfire Bee honey tea."
Yukshir didn’t look up, nailing 90% of Roy’s cadence:
"Thank you, Isabella."
"My pleasure."
"*We* thank you too… Yu-k-shi-r."
*Gotcha.*
Roy *hated* anything bee-related after childhood stings.
The only shapeshifter close enough to impersonate him?
That "Little Burnblade."
*No wonder she hasn’t been clinging to Master lately!*
"Eeep?!" Yukshir squeaked, instantly exposed.
"Don’t you *dare* make that weird noise in Master’s form!"
Isabella expected rage over Roy’s disappearance.
Instead, she felt… protective of his dignity.
*(She’d never tell Roy that part.)*
Smoke erupted as Yukshir reverted—a petite girl in a black Lolita dress, tiny curved horns peeking through her fiery twin-tails.
Her porcelain face flushed pink, crimson eyes darting for escape routes.
Too slow.
Isabella’s elven reflexes snagged both twin-tails.
"GYAAA! OW-OW-OW!" Yukshir yelped like a stepped-on piglet.
"Let go, dummy Isabella! That’s— that’s the steering wheel only Master Roy gets to hold!!"
*"!?"*
