The week after the vending machine incident brought a strange, new stability to Noir Sullivan's chaotic existence. He was still battling the spiritual civil war inside him, but now he had two dedicated buffers: the absolute devotion of Asmodeus Alice and the pure, gravitational force of chaos that was Valac Clara.
Noir woke up that Monday morning with the usual spike of anxiety—Will I accidentally summon a tidal wave today?—but it was tempered by the odd anticipation of seeing his new companions. He meticulously put on his uniform, mentally rehearsing the three basic defensive spells Opera had forced him to memorize.
He descended the grand, winding staircase of Sullivan's palace, where Opera was waiting with his breakfast.
"Good morning, Young Master," Opera greeted him smoothly. "A minor note: we have two early visitors waiting in the receiving hall. They indicated they wish to walk with you to the academy."
Noir paused mid-step, nearly dropping his textbook. "Wait, Alice and Clara? They came here? That's… unnecessary."
"They arrived precisely on the designated hour, Young Master. Punctuality, even among the eccentric, is appreciated," Opera confirmed, a faint amusement in his eyes.
Noir hurried toward the receiving hall, a mix of sheer terror and weird excitement churning in his stomach. They're going to see the whole ridiculous spectacle. The gold statues, the cloud room, the ridiculousness!
The receiving hall was a baroque nightmare of demonic wealth. Amidst towering statues and shimmering crystal chandeliers, stood the duo.
Asmodeus Alice was frozen, his expression a tight mask of reverence and internal critique. His emerald eyes meticulously scanned the room, absorbing the opulence.
"Noir-sama, the sheer volume of preserved relics in this hall is staggering," Asmodeus whispered, slightly breathless. "The structural mana density is astounding. It truly befits the power of your lineage."
Valac Clara, meanwhile, had discovered a massive, ten-foot-tall suit of ancient, dark armor and was attempting to pull its gauntlet off, giggling uncontrollably.
"Noir! Noir! This metal guy is huge! Does he come alive at night? Can I pull a giant sword out of my pocket and fight him?" she called out, bounding toward him.
"Clara, leave the historical artifact alone," Noir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose—a gesture he'd picked up from Opera. "It's just my grandpa's house."
Before they could settle down, Grandpa Sullivan himself descended the stairs in a flurry of pink robes and cheerful energy, beaming like a lottery winner.
"Ah! My precious grandson's dear friends!" Sullivan cried, bustling over, his eyes twinkling. "Welcome! Welcome! I made sure the cloud cover was perfectly picturesque for your walk today!"
Clara instantly offered Sullivan a cookie she conjured from her pocket. "Hello, Grandpa! Your statues are very shiny! Can we play hide-and-seek later?"
Sullivan accepted the cookie with genuine delight. "Of course, my dear! We have a dozen wings for hiding!"
He then turned to Noir, his huge, bright eyes shining with sentimental joy. He leaned in conspiratorially.
"Noir-chan," Sullivan whispered, dabbing a happy tear from his eye. "It warms my heart! You've only been at Babyls a week, and you've already made two genuine friends! You are truly a popular boy!"
Noir felt the familiar spike of panic, immediately putting up his defensive wall.
"They're not 'friends,' Grandpa," Noir corrected, his voice slightly clipped. "We just… we run into each other, we talk a lot, and Alice is my retainer."
Asmodeus, hearing this official classification, puffed out his chest with loyalty. "Indeed! I am His Lordship's devoted spear! Though I do confess a certain… affinity is developing with the Young Master, despite the constant threat of slime."
Sullivan tilted his head, his expression softening into one of profound, innocent confusion.
"But… you spend your free time together, you share meals and toys, you solve each other's problems, and you talk a lot," Sullivan said simply, ticking the points off on his fingers. "My boy, isn't that exactly what friends do?"
Sullivan's question—so simple, so undeniably true in a normal, non-demonic context—hit Noir with astonishing force. It was a question he had never allowed himself to ask.
Inner Dialogue (Noir):
Is that what friends do? I don't know the rules. Friendship, to me, means someone wants something from you, or someone is using you, or someone will leave the moment they realize you're a burden. Alice needs my power. Clara needs someone who won't exploit her. That's a transaction, not friendship.
But... when Clara laughed yesterday, it wasn't because I conjured something for her; it was because I stood up for her. When Alice returned all bloody, he wasn't asking for a reward; he was ensuring my peace of mind. They came here to walk with me.
Noir felt a dizzying, terrifying wave of realization. He was so focused on maintaining the facade of the powerful demon that he hadn't noticed the genuine, unconditional connections forming around him. The possibility of having real, honest companionship was the most profound threat to his carefully constructed fear-based survival mechanism.
What if I let my guard down? What if I accept their affection and then they see the terrified me underneath the armor? Would their disappointment lead to my exposure?
He quickly suppressed the emotional confusion, forcing a dismissive tone. "It's simply convenient, Grandpa. Now, we must leave. We have classes."
"Of course, my popular boy!" Sullivan cheered, waving them off with two flags he conjured from his sleeve.
As the trio stepped out of the magnificent palace, the scale of the structure slowly faded behind them, but the impression lingered on his companions.
"Noir-sama, the sheer amount of forbidden literature I could house in the east wing alone—it is truly the lair of a magnificent leader," Asmodeus observed, still slightly reeling from the sheer wealth.
Clara, however, was still focused on the simple things. "Did you see the tiny demon chef in the kitchen? He made a cookie shaped like a cloud! Can your house turn into a robot, Noir?"
Noir couldn't help the slight, genuine chuckle that escaped him. The contrast between Alice's hyper-serious awe and Clara's whimsical disregard for status was the perfect anchor in his chaotic life.
Maybe grandpa's is right, Noir thought, watching Clara skip ahead and Asmodeus stride dutifully beside him. Maybe this terrifying normalcy is exactly what I need. Maybe I can be Noir, the friend, while simultaneously being Noir, the cosmic fraud.
"Come on, slowpokes," Noir called out, picking up his pace, ready to face the day, the persona, and the overwhelming reality of his terrifyingly normal friendships.