“...So I missed something this big because of a hangover?”
Cang Lin’s eye twitched slightly. Rean and Olga’s eccentricity had surpassed her expectations. Both wielded cataclysmic power, yet in some ways acted like children who never grew up—was it free-spiritedness, or sheer naivety?
“Whether she or I go makes no difference. Only the method changes,” Rean said calmly. “If anything, I never wanted her to go this time.”
“You actually like Olga, don’t you?”
“My apologies for the misunderstanding. I’m not concerned about her.”
He hadn’t kept Olga from battle out of pity for her hangover. The Demon Realm’s conflicts were his duty as Demon King. He simply didn’t want her involved.
(Though he had used the people of Yethania.)
So “concern” was utterly nonexistent. If he could ditch this burden without harming himself or Christine? He’d leap up and sing for joy.
“Hehe~ The more you rush to deny it, the more obvious it becomes,” Cang Lin teased gently, smiling like an older sister. Perhaps because Rean looked so youthful to her, her tone stayed warm.
“Think what you like… Heading back to the inn again?” Rean gave up arguing with a sigh. They’d reached yesterday’s crossroads. He frowned. “You look tired.”
“Mm… Woke up early, and now I’m drained again,” Cang Lin smiled apologetically. “But I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”
*Next time…*
“Then I’ll look forward to it. See you tonight.”
“Mm. See you tonight.”
They waved. Rean didn’t leave immediately—he watched her figure vanish around the corner, shook his head, and turned away.
*Still so many mysteries… If that guy were here, he’d be obsessing nonstop.*
*And this won’t be our last meeting.*
“I’m back.”
“Welcome back—wait, why am I greeting you like your wife?!”
Back home, Olga—reading on the sofa—automatically replied to Rean’s habit. Before he could tease her “newlywed-wife” tone, she backtracked herself.
*Idiot…*
“Don’t ask me. Weren’t *you* the one who wanted to be my wife? Fawning is only natural.” Rean chuckled, stepping closer. Crimson magic arrays flickered from his fingertips, swapping battle gear for casual wear. He lazily sank onto the sofa and rested his head on Olga’s lap.
“W-Who wants to be your wife?! I’m marrying you for duty, not affection! And don’t just flop onto my lap uninvited!” Olga stiffened, trembling. Her hands hovered midair—push or not?
“I fought alone out there… Why blush? Your face is burning.” Rean lifted a hand, stroking her flushed cheek with a soft laugh. “If you truly hated it… why not push me away?”
“I-I’m just trying to make you like me… And *you* were the one who wouldn’t let me go…” Her voice faded to a whisper. Under his smiling gaze, she turned her burning profile away—flushed from lingering drunkenness and shame.
*Yes!*
Beneath Rean’s dominant smirk, his competitive spirit cackled inwardly. *Her resistance is crumbling. Weakness exposed. Time to seize control and tease her back!* (scoundrel remark)
*But teasing alone won’t repay the stolen first kiss.* (second scoundrel remark)
“Keep trying. Maybe one day… I’ll actually be moved.” He released her cheek, closed his eyes, and settled peacefully against her soft lap.
Last night’s incident left him sleepless. Strangely, this felt more draining than obliterating thirty thousand with one spell. And oddly… comforting. Even though she was stiff as wood from embarrassment.
He felt the skin of her absolute territory warming. Silence was far more flustering than bickering—words distract, but silence traps all attention on each other. Rean, cunningly, had closed his eyes first. Olga could only stare helplessly at him sleeping on her lap.
“Just… surrender already. Spare us daily arguments…” she muttered, face crimson. (He couldn’t see it, pretending to sleep.)
Her fingers gently smoothed his wind-tousled hair. *Calm now… teasing earlier… Why does this shame me so?*
*Why am I so flustered by this foul-mouthed, unserious scoundrel of a Demon King?!*
*…Yet seeing him return safe, annoying me as usual… feels oddly reassuring.*
*Did I… fall first?*
*NO. IMPOSSIBLE!*
She shook her head violently, risking jostling him off.
*We’ve known each other days! He has merits, yes—but I’m not some easy woman! If I fall before he’s devoted? My reputation as captain of the Heavenly Guardians and Archangel Gabriel’s personal guard is ruined!*
*Must prove I haven’t fallen!*
Think…
Olga’s “clever” (9) brain scrambled through book-learned logic—and landed on a plan.
*(Kissing someone you like feels happy. If not… no feeling. So test it!)*
She leaned down. *Eyes closed—he won’t notice.*
Then froze. *I’ve never kissed anyone!*
*CAN’T GIVE MY FIRST KISS TO THIS GUY!*
(Unbeknownst to her, *that* first kiss was already gone—stolen by her drunken self last night.)
*(Reputation > first kiss. Marriage was the plan anyway… Do it now!)*
Teeth clenched, eyes shut, heart steeled—she dipped toward his parted lips.
“What do you think you’re doing to me?”
Ice-cold warning.
Olga jerked back. Rean’s narrowed eyes silently screamed: *Come closer and we both fall.* Her “kiss test” shattered instantly.
“WHY OPEN YOUR EYES SUDDENLY?!” She punched his side, face steaming. She spun away, hiding her blush.
“Must’ve been groggy from you jostling me awake,” Rean said, rising with a smirk. “Actually… someone’s here.”
“Who?”
“Going to check.”
Rubbing his throbbing temples, he stepped out. Once clear of her sight, he pressed a hand to his cheek—unusually warm.
*She didn’t notice… right?* He sighed inwardly.
Outside stood a silver-haired elder, a decade older than Tyler, in crisp black butler attire and gold-rimmed glasses, posture perfectly straight.
“My apologies—we lack a gatekeeper. Thank you for waiting.” Rean opened the gate.
“No need for formality. Are you Mr. Rien Schumel? I serve Lord Adams. This is your invitation to tonight’s victory banquet.” The butler offered a gold-embossed envelope.
*Fast old man… Both of them.*
“I’ll attend. Thank you.”
“Lord Adams insists you bring your companion.”
*…Unnecessary detail, old man.*
Rean saw him off with a forced smile, fingers itching to tear the envelope apart.
