I stared at the door for a long moment after the servant's footsteps faded.
Your father has requested your presence.
In Lucifer's memories, that phrase usually preceded one of two things: a lecture about his latest failure, or an awkward attempt at connection that both parties knew was doomed to go nowhere.
The original Lucifer had hated those meetings. Hated seeing the disappointment his father tried so hard to hide. Hated knowing that no matter what he did, he'd never be the son Duke Varys deserved.
Well. That was then.
I pushed open the door.
* * *
The hallway beyond was exactly as opulent as I expected. High ceilings with painted murals depicting what I assumed were Morningstar ancestors doing heroic things. Crystal sconces that cast warm light across marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Tapestries that probably cost more than most people made in a lifetime.
I'd grown up in a cramped orphanage with peeling paint and leaky pipes. This felt like walking through a museum.
Don't gawk. You've lived here for sixteen years. Act like it.
I forced myself to move with purpose, drawing on Lucifer's muscle memory to guide my steps. Left at the bronze statue of some long-dead patriarch. Right at the painting of a woman wreathed in flames. Straight past the library doors that Lucifer had never bothered to open.
The mansion was a maze of wealth and history, and I was a fraud pretending to belong.
* * *
I passed my first servant about halfway to my father's study.
She was young, maybe a few years older than this body, dressed in the crisp black and silver uniform of the Morningstar household staff. The moment she saw me, her spine straightened and her eyes dropped.
"Young Master." She bowed, perfect and practiced. "Good morning."
Her voice was polite. Respectful. Not a single note out of place.
But I caught it anyway.
The slight tightening around her eyes. The way her bow was just a fraction too deep, overcorrecting, overcompensating. The almost imperceptible shift in her weight, like she wanted to step back but didn't dare.
She was afraid.
Not of me. Of what would happen if she showed what she really thought.
Ah. So that's how it is.
"Good morning," I replied, keeping my voice neutral.
She flinched. Actually flinched. Like she'd expected... what? A sneer? An insult? Some cruel remark about her station?
What the hell did the original Lucifer do to these people?
I kept walking, but the interaction lingered in my mind like a bad taste.
* * *
The next servant was an older man, gray at the temples, carrying a silver tray toward the kitchens. He saw me coming and immediately pressed himself against the wall, creating as much space as possible.
"Young Master."
Another bow. Another polite greeting. Another pair of eyes that wouldn't meet mine.
But this time, I was paying attention. And I saw what I'd missed before.
His jaw was clenched. His knuckles were white around the tray's handles. And just before his gaze dropped, I caught a flash of something in his eyes.
Contempt.
Pure, undisguised contempt, there and gone in a heartbeat.
There it is.
He didn't hate me because I was cruel. He hated me because I was trash, a stain on a family he'd served his entire life. A reminder that even the mighty Morningstars could produce failures.
And he couldn't say a word about it. Because my father was SS-rank, my mother was A+, and even my brother could crush him like an insect. So he smiled and bowed and kept his hatred locked behind his teeth.
They all did.
Polite on the outside. Poison on the inside.
I'd thought I understood what being the "trash" meant. I had Lucifer's memories, after all. I knew the servants looked down on him.
But knowing something and feeling it were two very different things.
* * *
I passed three more servants on my way to my father's study. Each one gave me the same performance, the bow, the greeting, the carefully blank expression.
And each one had that same thing lurking beneath the surface.
They didn't just think I was trash. They resented me. For being born into privilege I didn't deserve. For squandering opportunities they'd never have. For existing as living proof that blood meant nothing against talent.
The original Lucifer had felt this every day for years. No wonder he'd given up. No wonder he'd decided that if everyone was going to hate him anyway, he might as well give them a reason.
But I'm not him.
I didn't want their fear. I didn't want their resentful obedience.
I wanted their respect.
Earn it, I told myself. Don't demand it. Earn it.
Easier said than done when you're starting from F-rank and a reputation as the family embarrassment.
But I'd figure it out. I had to.
* * *
My father's study was at the end of a long corridor lined with portraits of previous Morningstar dukes. Each one stared down at me with painted eyes, their expressions ranging from stern to outright intimidating.
Lucifer's memories told me their names, their accomplishments, their legends. This one had slain a dragon. That one had held back an army single-handedly. Another had been instrumental in sealing the Demon King thousands of years ago.
And then there was me.
The trash.
No pressure.
I stopped before the heavy oak doors, their surface carved with intricate patterns of flames and stars. The Morningstar crest gleamed in polished brass at the center, a seven-pointed star wreathed in fire.
You can do this. He's just your father. Your incredibly powerful, politically influential, could-kill-you-with-a-thought father.
I knocked.
"Enter."
The voice that answered was deep, resonant, carrying an undercurrent of power that made the air itself seem to vibrate. Even through the thick wood, I could feel it.
Here goes nothing.
I pushed open the door.
* * *
Duke Varys Morningstar sat behind a desk that could have doubled as a small fortress.
He was... not what I expected.
The novel had described him in broad strokes, powerful, stern, commanding. I'd imagined someone cold and distant, all sharp edges and harder judgments.
Instead, I found a man who looked tired.
Oh, the power was there. Even sitting down, he radiated an aura of barely contained force, like a volcano pretending to be a mountain. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, his jaw strong, his crimson eyes, identical to the ones I now wore, sharp and assessing.
But there were lines around those eyes. Worry lines. And when he looked at me, I didn't see disappointment or disdain.
I saw something that looked almost like... relief?
"Lucifer." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I sat.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. He studied me with those ancient eyes, and I tried very hard not to fidget like a child called to the principal's office.
Say something. Anything.
"You wanted to see me, Father?"
The word felt strange on my tongue. I'd never called anyone that before. Never had the chance.
Something flickered across his face, too fast to identify, and then he nodded.
"I did." He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "How are you feeling?"
* * *
The question threw me.
How am I feeling?
In Lucifer's memories, their conversations had never started like this. It was always about his training, his behavior, his latest embarrassment. Never something as simple as "how are you feeling."
"I'm..." I paused, genuinely unsure how to answer. "Fine, I suppose. A bit disoriented."
Understatement of the century.
My father, and wasn't that still bizarre to think, watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"The servants said you were unconscious for several hours," he said quietly. "Your mother was worried."
Mother.
Another word I'd never used. Another relationship I'd never had.
"I didn't mean to worry anyone."
"I know."
Silence stretched between us. I had Lucifer's memories to draw from, but the original had never been good at these conversations. He'd usually just sat there, waiting for the lecture to start so he could tune it out.
But the lecture wasn't coming.
Instead, my father did something unexpected.
He sighed.
* * *
"Lucifer."
His voice was softer now. Less Duke Varys Morningstar and more... just Varys. A father talking to his son.
"I know things have been difficult for you. I know you feel like you've disappointed us." He held up a hand before I could respond. "I'm not blind. I see how you've been struggling. How you've pulled away from the family."
My throat tightened. This wasn't a lecture. This was -
"But I need you to understand something." He leaned forward, and for just a moment, the Duke disappeared entirely. In his place was just a man. A tired, worried man who loved his son. "You are my child. You will always be my child. No rank, no core size, no amount of trouble will ever change that."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I'd read novels where characters said things like this. Written off those scenes as sentimental nonsense, wish fulfillment for readers who wanted something they'd never have.
But sitting here, hearing it directed at me...
You are my child. You will always be my child.
Twenty-three years as an orphan. Twenty-three years of wondering what it would feel like to have someone say those words and mean them.
And now I knew.
* * *
"Father, I..."
My voice cracked. Actually cracked, like a teenager going through puberty, which I suppose this body technically was.
Get it together. You're not going to cry in front of Duke freaking Varys Morningstar.
But my eyes were burning, and my chest felt like someone had reached inside and squeezed.
"I know," he said quietly. "You don't need to say anything."
He rose from his chair, walked around the desk, and did something that short-circuited my brain entirely.
He hugged me.
Duke Varys Morningstar, SS-rank powerhouse, terror of nobility, the man who made kings nervous, wrapped his arms around me and held on like I might disappear.
And I just... stood there.
Because I had no idea what to do. I'd never been hugged by a parent before. The orphanage staff had been kind enough, but this was different. This was a father holding his son, pouring years of worry and love into a single gesture.
So this is what it feels like.
My hands moved on their own, reaching up to grip the back of his coat. I buried my face in his shoulder like a child half my age and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. The words came from somewhere deeper than thought. "I'm so sorry for everything."
He just held me tighter.
* * *
We stayed like that for longer than I could track. Eventually, he pulled back, and I saw that his eyes were slightly red.
Was the Duke... crying?
If he was, he hid it well. By the time he returned to his seat, the composed mask was back in place. But something had shifted between us. Something important.
"Now then." He cleared his throat, all business again. "Your mother and I have been discussing your future."
I tensed. Here it came. The part where they decided what to do with their disappointment of a son.
"The academy entrance exams are in six months."
I nodded. Arcania Academy. The neutral ground where all the major characters of the novel would eventually gather. Where Aeron would begin his journey from slum orphan to legendary hero.
"We think..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We think you should take them."
Wait. What?
"You don't have to," he added quickly. "No one will force you. But if you want to go, if you want to try, we'll support you. Whatever resources you need, whatever help we can provide."
He wasn't ordering me. He was offering.
"Think about it," he said. "That's all I ask."
* * *
I walked out of that study in a daze.
My father loved me. Not the abstract, obligatory love of family duty, but the real thing, messy and worried and willing to hug me in his private office where no one could see the terrifying Duke Varys being soft.
And my family wanted to give me a chance. Not because they thought I'd succeed, but because they wanted me to know they believed in me anyway.
This is what you were missing, isn't it? I thought, looking down at hands that weren't mine. This is what made the original Lucifer give up.
Not the small mana core. Not the servant's contempt. Not even being called trash by the entire world.
It was never believing that anyone truly cared.
But they did.
And I was not going to waste that.
Academy entrance exams in six months. Top rank gets best resources.
The goal crystallized in my mind, sharp and clear.
I wasn't just going to pass those exams. I was going to crush them. I was going to take first place and wipe away every ounce of shame the original Lucifer had brought to this family.
Watch me, Father.
I might be trash now.
But I wouldn't be for long.