The ocean roared, a chaotic beast of black waves and freezing rain. On the deck of a tossing fishing vessel, a fourteen-year-old boy named Iruma Suzuki hauled a frozen tuna heavier than himself.
"Heave... ho!"
Iruma wiped saltwater from his face, shivering. He was working this deadly job for one reason: money. Not for himself, but for them.
'Mom and Dad sent another letter,' Iruma thought, his grip tightening on the slippery fish. 'They're touring the ruins of South America right now. They asked, "What money do we use to travel? Why, we use yours, of course! Work hard for us, Iruma!"'
He sighed, a sound lost to the howling wind. He was a pushover, unable to say no, but even he had his limits. Or rather, he had secrets.
Suddenly, the boat lurched violently. The crane above snapped.
"Look out!" someone screamed.
Iruma looked up. Dozens of frozen tuna, hard as steel, were plummeting straight toward him. His body reacted on instinct—a reflex honed by fourteen years of dodging "unfortunate accidents." He twisted, sidestepping the first falling fish.
'Too many!'
He saw a wall of tuna falling. There was nowhere to run. Iruma squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the crushing impact.
'I guess this is it. Sorry, Grandma... I couldn't keep the secret.'
But the pain never came.
One second. Two seconds.
Iruma slowly cracked one eye open. His jaw dropped. The rain had stopped mid-air. The massive tuna were floating inches from his nose, suspended in a violet anti-gravity field.
"My, my. That was a close call."
Iruma spun around. Floating in the air was an old man in a pristine suit. He had a monocle, a mustache, and...
Iruma's eyes widened, focusing on the top of the man's head.
'Horns,' Iruma thought, his heart skipping a beat. 'He has horns. I thought... I thought I was the only one.'
For his entire life, Iruma had hidden the white protrusions on his head, the purple tint of his hair, and his slit eyes using a disguise spell he had known instinctively since he was a baby. He had never seen another being with horns.
Before he could speak, the world dissolved into darkness.
The Netherworld: Sullivan's ObservationIruma woke up tied to a chair in a dark, strange void. The old man was there, humming happily.
"£% &*(@ #$!" the old man said cheerfully.
Iruma blinked. "Um... excuse me?"
[Sullivan's POV]
Sullivan looked at the terrified human boy. 'Ah, right. The language barrier.'
He raised a finger. "Diagnosis: Language Translation." A small snap of magic washed over the boy.
But as the magic connected, Sullivan froze. His smile didn't drop, but his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. As one of the Three Greats, his sensory perception was absolute. When his magic touched the boy, it brushed against something else.
'This Mana...' Sullivan thought, stunned.
It wasn't just human frailty. Beneath the boy's skin, hidden under a disguise spell so complex and perfect that no low-ranking demon could ever detect it, was a well of power. It was vast, deep, and terrifyingly dark, yet strangely divine. It felt like... him. It felt like Derkila.
Sullivan looked closer. He saw past the disguise: the shadow of white horns pointing upward, the phantom of purple hair.
'A human? No...' Sullivan realized, a thrill of excitement rushing through him. 'Half-human. Half-demon. And he has been hiding it perfectly on his own? Instinctively?'
This was no ordinary purchase. This was fate.
The Deal[Iruma's POV]
"Can you understand me now?" the old man asked.
"Yes! Who are you? Where am I?" Iruma cried, struggling against the ropes.
"I am Sullivan. A demon," the old man stated. "And you are in the Netherworld. As for why you are here..." He held up a contract. "Your parents have sold your soul to me."
Iruma froze. The words hung in the air. Sold. My. Soul.
For a moment, pure terror gripped him. He was going to be eaten. He was going to die. But then, a memory of his parents laughing as they pushed him into a ravine to test a camera angle flashed through his mind.
Iruma's face went completely deadpan. The fear vanished, replaced by a hollow acceptance.
"Yeah," Iruma said flatly. "That sounds exactly like something they would do. They'd sell me for a plane ticket."
Sullivan blinked, surprised by the sudden lack of screaming. "O-Oh? You're taking this well."
"I'm used to it," Iruma sighed.
"Well then!" Sullivan clapped his hands, the terrifying atmosphere vanishing instantly. "Since I bought you, I have a request! I am single, unattached, and frankly, I'm jealous of my friend Levi and his grandson. So..."
Sullivan leaned in, his face desperate.
"Will you become my grandson?"
"H-Huh?" Iruma stammered. "Grandson?"
"Please!" Sullivan grabbed Iruma's hands. "I beg you! Help me fulfill my dream of doting on a grandchild!"
Critical Hit.
Iruma stiffened. The three forbidden words that controlled his life: Please. Beg. Help.
Iruma's head lowered. His soul surrendered. "Okay. I'll do it."
"YAY!"
Sullivan instantly transformed into a small, egg-shaped chibi version of himself, bouncing around the void. "I have a grandson! A grandson! He said yes!"
He poofed back to his tall, imposing form. "Now, we must get you ready! Tomorrow is your first day at Babyls Demon School! I've handled the paperwork!"
He snapped his fingers.
The SlipThe void vanished. Iruma found himself standing in a lavish, plush bedroom that was bigger than his entire house in the human world.
"Here is your room! And your uniform!" Sullivan placed a blue outfit on the bed. "Get some rest, my adorable grandson!"
Sullivan floated out, closing the door gently.
Iruma stood in silence for a moment. He looked at the soft bed. He looked at the demon uniform.
"A demon school..." Iruma whispered. "If I go there... maybe I can finally stop hiding."
He shook his head. No, he had to be careful. He didn't know the rules here yet.
Exhaustion finally overtook him. The tuna fishing, the kidnapping, the shock—it was too much. Iruma collapsed onto the bed face-first.
"It's so... soft..." he mumbled.
As consciousness faded, his iron-clad grip on his mana slipped.
Poof.
The disguise spell dissolved.
His messy blue hair lengthened and turned a deep, royal purple. Two sharp, white horns grew from his forehead, curving elegantly upward. His nails sharpened into claws, and his aura leaked out—a heavy, majestic purple fog that smelled of divinity and darkness.
Sleeping there, he looked exactly like a miniature, youthful version of the missing Demon King, Derkila. But he snored softly, unaware of his true form.
The HallwayOutside the door, Sullivan was humming, doing a little dance. He was approached by a tall figure with cat ears and a red tail coat.
"Lord Sullivan," Opera said, their voice monotone but their tail twitching with irritation.
"Opera! Isn't he cute? Isn't he precious?" Sullivan gushed.
"You went to the human world to buy a human," Opera said, crossing their arms. "Why? Taking in a human is dangerous. If the other demons find out, they will eat him. Why did you not simply adopt a demon child?"
Sullivan stopped dancing. He looked back at Iruma's door. His goofy expression sharpened into something ancient and knowing.
"Opera," Sullivan said, his voice dropping an octave. "That boy isn't just a human."
Opera tilted their head, ears twitching. "Sir?"
"He has a disguise I barely noticed. He has mana that rivals the highest ranks," Sullivan whispered, a grin spreading across his face. "He is half-human, yes. But the other half... Well, let's just say school is going to be very interesting."
Sullivan walked away, laughing softly.
Opera stared at the door, their vertical pupils narrowing in confusion.
"Not... full human?" Opera muttered.
They reached for the door handle to check on the boy, but stopped. If Sullivan said to leave it, they would leave it. For now.
Opera turned and walked away, unaware that behind the door, the Prince of the Netherworld was sleeping soundly.