A tense hush fell over the grand hall as every demon's gaze fixated on the looming doorway.
Whispers of anticipation rippled through the air. "He's here… He's finally arriving," murmured a voice trembling with reverence and awe.
The doors swung open with a whisper of ancient magic, and Masakiro stepped inside, his presence both serene and commanding.
His slender figure moved with effortless grace, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his simple white cloth robes that seemed to glow faintly under the flickering glow of the enchanted lanterns overhead.
The fluorescent light flickered erratically, casting shifting shadows that danced across his silver-streaked hair, making it shimmer like moonlight on polished steel.
A figure with majestic goat horns, eyes gleaming with curiosity, leaned forward slightly.
"There— that's the White One I was telling you about," he whispered, voice hushed with reverence.
A girl beside him, her hair a mesmerizing cascade of black and white, her eyes matching her hair's contrasting shades, nodded with admiration.
"He's truly breathtaking—like an angel fallen into our world."
Masakiro's footsteps were silent as a whisper on the marble floor.
He approached the grand door with calm purpose, then paused, taking a breath that seemed to hold the weight of worlds.
With a gentle sigh, he pushed the door open, revealing the next arrival: Tsuramo Malakar.
Tsuramo stepped into the hall like a shadow made flesh, clad in robes of deep crimson and midnight black that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.
His crimson eyes gleamed with quiet intensity, darting from one figure to another as he moved forward.
His crimson hair, falling in soft, windswept waves, framed a face both handsome and unreadable—like a mystery carved in stone.
He maintained perfect posture, every step deliberate and measured. Approaching Mrs. Kurohana with a regal grace, he stopped beside her.
Her voice was soft but carried the weight of centuries. "Esteemed guests, I present to you the heirs of the Empress—Masakiro and Tsuramo Malakar. Sons of power, born from influence that echoes through the ages. I trust you will extend them the respect they are due."
Tsuramo's piercing gaze swept over the assembled demons, silent but commanding, as if he drew the very breath from the room.
The air itself seemed to tighten with reverence and curiosity, waiting to see what legends would unfold from these heirs of ancient might.
"Hello, everyone," Tsuramo's voice rang clear and confident, carrying a gentle warmth. "I am Tsuramo, and I hope we will get along. It's an honor to be in C Mistlings Class." His words were calm, but there was an underlying strength that commanded attention.
The students nodded in acknowledgment, their eyes filled with curiosity and respect.
Masakiro, standing slightly behind him, smirked softly and crossed his arms. "I am Masakiro," he said with a dry tone,
"whatever he said—that's what I wanted to say too." His expression was inscrutable, but his stance exuded quiet confidence. He nodded slightly, a subtle gesture of agreement.
Mrs. Kurohana, their home-room teacher, stepped forward with a gentle smile. "It's nice to have you both with us. It's a pleasure," she said softly.
"I am Mrs. Kurohana, your home-room teacher. I'll be here if you need any help." Her voice carried a soothing warmth, like a guiding light in the gathering shadows.
The two brothers nodded in unison, then moved further inside, walking gracefully through the rows of seats—each step echoing softly against the polished stone floor.
As they settled into their places, a whisper floated through the air, filled with curiosity.
"I want to be friends with them," someone murmured shyly, eyes wide with admiration.
"They're so very pleasant to look at in real life," another voice mused softly.
"Are they cruel?" a hesitant question drifted among the students.
"Let's finish the class first," someone suggested quietly, tension and anticipation mingling in the room.
Mrs. Kurohana smiled gently as the students settled into their seats, her graceful wings folding neatly behind her.
She moved smoothly to her desk, reaching for a file with a quiet confidence. Her voice, calm yet commanding, filled the room.
"Class, today's topic is..." She picked up a pen and began to write on the board, her elegant handwriting forming the words: "Second Level, CM Rank: POWER DISCOVERY.".
Her tone grew more serious, infused with authority. "Today, we will focus on discovering your true power." She continued, her voice steady and inspiring.
"Understanding your potential is the first step toward mastering it. This year isn't just about strength or skill—it's about self-discovery. You are neither weak nor overly powerful; you possess great skills—some are clever, some are sneaky. Some can manipulate fire, others read minds, and some carry unique gifts inherited from your genes and family powers."
She began carefully handing out papers, each one neatly prepared. "Here are some files to fill out. Please write your name, your rank, and your age. Photos are on the side—please attach one. Be thorough and honest. This isn't just about labels; it's about understanding who you truly are."
Her eyes softened slightly as she continued, "Remember, this year, we're not just building demons. We're helping you discover yourselves. Your powers, your strengths, your potential—these are the keys to your future."
Reaching the front of the classroom, she spread her wings wide, a majestic display that commanded silence and awe.
"Class," she announced, her voice echoing with authority and warmth, "you are dismissed. Discuss amongst yourselves, get to know each other better. This is your first step in the journey of self-discovery."
With a gentle flap of her wings, she soared upward and out of sight, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation in the air.