I didn't sleep well.
Which, considering I'd technically died less than twenty-four hours ago, was probably to be expected. But it wasn't the existential crisis keeping me awake, it was the memory of my father's arms around me, the warmth of a hug I'd never known I needed.
You are my child. You will always be my child.
I stared at the ornate ceiling of my bedroom, watching the early morning light creep across the painted murals. In my old life, I would have given anything to hear those words. Would have traded every lonely night in that cramped orphanage for just one moment of unconditional love.
And now I had it.
The universe really did have a sick sense of humor.
* * *
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.
"Young Master?" A servant's voice, muffled through the wood. "The Duchess requests your presence for breakfast."
The Duchess.
My mother.
I sat up slowly, running a hand through hair that was somehow already artfully disheveled. One of the perks of being unfairly handsome, I supposed, even bedhead looked intentional.
"Tell her I'll be there shortly."
I heard the servant's footsteps retreat, and I let out a long breath.
Alright. Round two.
* * *
Duchess Esper Morningstar.
In the novel, she'd been a background character at best, mentioned occasionally as the Duke's wife, described as beautiful and intelligent, but never given much page time. The author had focused on warriors and battles, not the quiet power of a woman who'd built a business empire while raising two sons.
Lucifer's memories painted a different picture.
She was warmth and steel wrapped in silk. The kind of mother who would braid your hair while explaining market economics, who could make you feel safe with a single look while simultaneously terrifying anyone who threatened her children.
And unlike my father, whose love was loud and obvious, hers was... quieter. More observant.
The novel had mentioned her elemental trait only once, in passing.
Mind.
One of the rarest elements. The ability to sense emotions, intentions, maybe even thoughts if you were powerful enough. Most Mind users became interrogators or diplomats, people whose job required reading others like open books.
Esper had become a businesswoman instead. Which, when you thought about it, was probably more terrifying.
She's going to know something's different about me.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. My father had noticed my changed behavior, sure, but he'd attributed it to... what? A breakthrough? A decision to try harder?
Esper wouldn't be fooled so easily.
* * *
I found her in the smaller of the mansion's two dining rooms, the one reserved for family meals rather than political functions.
She was already seated, a cup of tea steaming gently before her. The morning light caught her silver hair, making it gleam like spun moonlight. Her eyes, the same shade of violet that had apparently skipped both her sons, lifted to meet mine as I entered.
And I felt it.
A gentle pressure against my mind. Not invasive, not probing, more like a soft brush of fingertips across my thoughts. Testing. Sensing.
So that's what it feels like.
"Good morning, Lucifer." Her voice was melodic, warm. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough," I lied, settling into the chair across from her. "Thank you for the invitation, Mother."
Something flickered in her expression. Surprise? No, recognition. Like she'd heard a wrong note in a familiar song.
She knows. She already knows something's different.
But she didn't say anything. Just smiled that enigmatic smile and gestured for the servants to bring my breakfast.
* * *
We ate in silence for several minutes.
Or rather, she ate with practiced elegance while I tried not to shovel food into my mouth like I hadn't had a proper meal in years. The orphanage had taught me to eat fast, you never knew when someone bigger would try to steal your portion.
Old habits died hard.
"You're eating differently."
I froze, a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth.
Esper's violet eyes watched me over the rim of her teacup. Not accusing. Just... observing.
"Am I?"
"Mm." She set down her cup with a soft clink. "You usually pick at your food. Push it around your plate. Today, you're eating like someone who's afraid it might disappear."
Damn.
I forced myself to slow down, setting my fork aside with what I hoped was casual grace.
"I suppose I'm just... hungry this morning."
"I see."
She didn't believe me. I could see it in the slight tilt of her head, the way her fingers traced the rim of her cup. But she didn't push.
Instead, she changed the subject entirely.
"Your father told me about your conversation yesterday."
My stomach clenched. "He did?"
"He seemed... hopeful." A pause. "I haven't seen him that way in a long time. Not regarding you."
The words should have stung. They were honest in a way that bordered on cruel, an acknowledgment that my father had given up hope for me long ago.
But the way she said it... there was no judgment. Just quiet observation.
"I want to change," I heard myself say. "I know I've been... difficult. I know I've disappointed everyone. But I want to try."
Where did that come from?
The words had spilled out before I could stop them, honest in a way I hadn't intended. Maybe it was her element, drawing truth from me without my consent. Or maybe I just needed to say it out loud.
Esper studied me for a long moment. That gentle pressure returned, not intrusive, but present. Like she was trying to read something written on my soul.
"You're different today," she said finally.
It wasn't a question.
* * *
I opened my mouth to deny it, to deflect, to make some sarcastic comment about morning moods-
But I couldn't.
She knew. Not the specifics, maybe. Not that her son had died and been replaced by a stranger from another world. But she knew something fundamental had shifted.
And lying to her felt... wrong.
"Yes," I admitted quietly. "I am."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken questions. I waited for the interrogation, the demand to know what had happened, what had changed, why I suddenly seemed like a different person.
It never came.
Instead, Esper reached across the table and covered my hand with hers.
Her touch was warm. Gentle. The kind of touch I'd dreamed about as a child, lying awake in a cold dormitory, wondering what it would feel like to have a mother who cared.
"Whatever happened to you," she said softly, "whatever changed... I don't need to know. Not unless you want to tell me."
My throat tightened. "You're not going to ask?"
"Would you tell me the truth if I did?"
No. No, I couldn't.
She must have read the answer on my face, because she smiled, sad and knowing and unbearably kind.
"Then I won't ask." She squeezed my hand once before releasing it. "But Lucifer... whatever you're carrying, you don't have to carry it alone. When you're ready to share, if you're ever ready, I'll be here."
* * *
I didn't cry.
I was very proud of that fact, because for a moment, I came dangerously close.
Twenty-three years as an orphan. Twenty-three years of carrying everything alone because there was no one else. No one to confide in, no one to lean on, no one who would have cared even if I'd tried.
And here was this woman, this stranger who was somehow also my mother, offering exactly what I'd always wanted.
No conditions. No demands. Just... acceptance.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice rougher than I'd intended. "I... thank you."
Esper picked up her teacup again, and just like that, the moment passed. But something had shifted between us, some invisible wall had cracked, letting in light that hadn't been there before.
"Now then." Her tone was brisk, businesslike, as if we hadn't just had a conversation that rewrote everything I thought I knew about mother-son relationships. "Tell me about your plans."
"My plans?"
"For the academy. Your father mentioned you might be interested in taking the entrance exams."
Right. The academy. My goal. First place.
"I want to try," I said carefully. "I know my core is... limited. But I think there might be ways to work around it."
Her eyes sharpened with interest. "Oh?"
"My elemental trait. Space." I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "It's rare. I want to explore what it can do."
"Space." Esper nodded slowly. "Your father was disappointed when you didn't inherit Fire like him, or Mind like me. But I always thought Space suited you better."
"You did?"
"Mm." A small smile played at the corners of her lips. "Space is about creating room where none exists. Finding paths that others can't see. It seemed fitting for a boy who never quite fit into the spaces the world made for him."
I stared at her.
Did she just... understand me better in thirty seconds than anyone in my previous life managed in twenty-three years?
"I never thought of it that way."
"Most people don't." She rose from her chair, smoothing down her dress with practiced grace. "The Morningstar library has an extensive collection on elemental theory. Some of it is even accurate. I'll have Aldric give you access to the restricted sections."
Aldric.
The name surfaced from Lucifer's memories, our head butler, the one servant who never looked at me with hidden contempt. The one who'd bring extra dessert after Michael's coldest dismissals, who'd quietly cover for my worst delinquent moments without ever being asked.
"He's always believed in you," Esper added, something soft entering her expression. "Even when you gave him no reason to."
She noticed too.
It was one thing to have memories of Aldric's quiet kindness. It was another to hear my mother acknowledge it, to know that someone else had seen what I was only now understanding through borrowed recollections.
* * *
She stopped at the door, turning back to look at me one last time.
The morning light framed her like a painting, silver hair, violet eyes, an expression that held centuries of wisdom despite her youthful appearance.
"Lucifer."
"Yes, Mother?"
"Whatever path you choose, wherever it leads... know that I will support you." Her voice was steady, certain. "Not because of your rank or your potential or what you might achieve. But because you're my son. That's enough. It will always be enough."
She left before I could respond.
Which was probably for the best, because I had absolutely no idea what to say.
* * *
I sat alone in the dining room for a long time after she was gone.
My breakfast had gone cold. I didn't care.
So this is what it feels like.
A mother who saw through your walls and chose to stand beside you anyway. A mother who didn't need explanations or excuses, who offered support without conditions.
In my old life, I'd read about moments like this in novels. I'd always thought they were exaggerated, idealized, the kind of emotional wish fulfillment that only existed in fiction.
I was wrong.
She knows I'm different. She knows something fundamental has changed. And she's giving me space to figure it out on my own.
Space.
How fitting.
I pushed back from the table, mind already racing. The library. Elemental theory. The restricted sections. If I was going to turn my trash-tier mana core into something usable, I needed information.
But first...
I glanced toward the door where Esper had disappeared.
I'm going to make her proud. Both of them. All of them.
I wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. I wasn't just trying to prevent the Demon King's victory or change the novel's tragic ending.
I was fighting for them.
For the family I'd never had and somehow now did.
For the father who hugged me like I might disappear.
For the mother who saw the truth and loved me anyway.
Watch me, Mom.
The word felt strange on my tongue, a word I'd never had reason to use in twenty-three years of living.
But somehow, it felt right.