"If I’d known you’d bite the hand that feeds you like this, I should’ve just abandoned you and run—saved myself this slap…"

Rean muttered, slumping against the cold wall while clutching his stinging cheek.

Never mind that he’d softened his heart, set aside the Demon Realm and Celestial Realm feud, not only spared Olga but even extracted the shard of Fenrir’s Fang for her—a genuinely noble act. The moment she woke, before two words passed, a slap came whooshing toward him with a sharp *crack* like a firework. Rean seethed.

"I *said* I’m sorry! I was just impulsive, okay? And… thank you for pulling out the shard…" Olga, apologizing nonstop since earlier, turned to him again. "But if you hadn’t put your hand on my chest—ah, forget it! Just lie down already, so stop being mad!!"

Flushed crimson, Olga jabbed Rean’s waist. Caught off guard—despite the fiery ache on his cheek—he lost balance. In that split second, she guided his head gently onto her lap.

*Well… this is…*

Rean felt the soft, silken pressure against the back of his skull. His lips twitched upward uncontrollably.

Olga’s body still held the chill from the ice chair. As Rean caught the faint jasmine scent drifting from her, he sensed the cool comfort of her skin—especially where his cheek rested between her armored calf and thigh. The smooth white silk felt like a forbidden paradise. Surface coolness and underlying warmth swirled together… utterly addictive. Once sunk in, you’d never want to leave. *This… is the "absolute territory"!*

"How despicable… Who was it that so firmly rejected marriage *yesterday*?"

Olga looked away, avoiding Rean’s smug, blissful grin—but her cheeks burned hotter from the tickle of his hair brushing her thigh.

"I’m refusing *now* too. I’ve got desire *and* the guts to own it. A man achieves great things only by facing his desires honestly." Rean adjusted his head, gazing up at her. "But you—shouldn’t you give up? Even with noble reasons, two people who can’t stand each other are doomed. Your sacrifice might end up meaningless."

A political marriage needs at least one willing heart. With both unwilling? Even temporary peace between realms would shatter the moment tolerance ran out—war would blaze fiercer than before.

Even "holy" angels, waging war on the Demon Realm out of rage, are no different from ordinary beings. And Rean knew this deeply.

"Even so… I won’t give up this chance."

Olga’s fist tightened over Rean’s chest.

"Back in Archangel Gabriel’s guard unit, seniors would vanish after missions. I knew—they fell on Demon Realm battlefields. But what could I do? Fighting won’t bring the dead back."

*So that’s why she agreed to the alliance so fast… But sacrificing your future for peace? Still a losing deal.*

"You’re thinking too simply. The Demon Realm’s far more complex than you imagine. A Demon King like me? Might betray you the second I agree—knife in your chest. If we’re talking peace… need me to tuck you in too?"

"But you didn’t."

Her words stunned him silent.

"You could’ve abandoned me. Killed me. Instead, you pulled out the sealed shard and waited for me to wake. Doesn’t that prove you meant no harm?"

Her hand softened, fingers threading gently through his hair. Her quiet words and the delicate tingling sensation made Rean’s composure waver.

*To her, this might seem like kindness. But I’m no saint. I didn’t act because I care about her safety—I just won’t let Christine’s people burn for celestial politics.*

*Yes. Only that.*

*Zero concern for her. None.* He insisted inwardly.

"I simply don’t want war with the Celestial Realm over this. Your life holds no value to me." He hesitated, then spoke plainly. "That’s what a Demon King is. Cold. Ruthless. Including me."

"True. I’d never come to the Demon Realm before… so until yesterday, I believed exactly that."

Her palm hovered over his slapped cheek. Golden motes of light drifted down. In a blink, the swelling and sting vanished.

*Using healing magic… Seriously?* Rean frowned slightly.

"So… you’ve changed your mind?"

"Partly. After seeing what you did—and how the townsfolk treat you—I realized I was wrong." Olga smiled, stroking his cheek. "If Demon Kings are truly cold… why do your people adore you? Why were you so desperate to save those children?"

Her words left him speechless. His earlier rant? Mostly bluff—to make her quit the alliance. Crafty as he was, he *did* cherish his people like family. Still… her habit of seeing goodness everywhere worried him.

"You’ve misunderstood one thing."

Rean closed his eyes, sighing softly.

"What?"

"Protecting my people is my duty. They’re family. I won’t kill needlessly—but I *will* kill to shield them. I spared you earlier only because I’m not ready for war with the Celestial Realm." His voice turned icy. "But if you cling to this naivety… it will get you killed."

"What if… you *do* agree to marry me someday? Would you then see the Celestial Realm as allies? Treat its people as family?"

Olga ducked her head, face flushed, voice trembling with quiet challenge.

*If.*

Humans latch onto "if" for the slimmest hope—debating impossibilities, preparing for shadows. Reasonable? Yes. *Prevention is wisdom.*

But only if the possibility exists.

"You angels are amusing. Setting aside the future—I, Rean, would *never* marry you. Not if I die. Not if stripped of throne. Not if exiled from all of Christine."

His dream clashed utterly with hers. He’d avoid war; he cared nothing for Lucifer’s ancient grudge with the Almighty. But a promise to someone gone? Marriage to Olga was impossible.

"Fine!" Olga’s pride flared. She pinched his cheeks. "Then I’ll *make* you eat those words! For peace, I’ll make you fall for me—*willingly* marry me! You’re stuck with me now!"

"Interesting. Try following me then. But remember—physical reactions don’t equal real feelings… *cough—*"

Her fist slammed into his gut before he finished.