Inside the headmaster's office…
Iruma sat lazily atop the principal's desk, legs crossed, sipping demon tea like he owned the place. The room—normally enough to make demons tremble—felt more like his living room.
Sullivan, standing beside him with fatherly pride practically radiating off him, just wouldn't stop talking.
"Ahhh, truly worthy of being my grandson! What a spectacular first impression you've made, Iruma!"
Iruma let out a helpless sigh. He wasn't here to brag or bask in praise. He was waiting. Waiting to see if a certain someone would walk through that door, kneel down, and pledge his loyalty.
Click.
Right on cue, the heavy doors creaked open. A tall, proud figure strode inside and stopped before Iruma, dropping to one knee with a swift, practiced motion.
It was none other than Asmodeus.
His voice was firm, reverent.
"I've been humbled by your power, Lord Iruma. That duel… no—that was never a duel to begin with.You could have destroyed me… but instead, you carried me to the infirmary. For that, I am eternally grateful.Among demons, it is tradition for the defeated to swear fealty to the victor. So…"
He lifted his head, eyes blazing with devotion.
"I vow to follow you to the end, Lord Iruma—until the day you rule over Babyls itself!"
Iruma couldn't help it—he burst into laughter. Genuine, amused laughter that echoed through the office.
Behind him, Sullivan and Opera looked at each other in mild confusion before shrugging and watching the show unfold.
Asmodeus, however, looked devastated. Misunderstanding the laughter, he clenched his fists and blurted:
"Lord Iruma! I swear, I am worthy! I can be your blade—your loyal soldier! Just give the command, and we'll bring every first-year under your rule!"
"No, no~" Iruma wiped away a tear of laughter, his grin turning sly. "I like your attitude… but don't lump me in with the rest of the demons. I'm not like them."
Asmodeus felt something stir deep inside him—an instinct, a calling. A need to follow. To protect. To serve.
"Then… what should I do?"
Iruma turned, hands on his hips like a monarch surveying his court.
"Just stay by my side."
With that, he walked out of the room with a swagger only he could pull off.
"Wait for me, Lord Iruma!"
Asmodeus rushed after him like a knight chasing after his liege.
The Next Morning
Iruma slowly opened his eyes. He lay sprawled on a bed so massive it felt like a swimming pool with sheets. After his body size increased, Sullivan had insisted on enlarging the bed—again.
"This feels like playing Minecraft in Creative Mode," Iruma muttered, cracking his neck. "Everything is perfectly under control~"
This overwhelming strength—this dominance—didn't bore him. Quite the opposite. He relished the isolation, the weight of invincibility. It was his loneliness, and he owned it.
"Good morning, my most precious grandson—Iruma!"
Sullivan burst into the room with the energy of a rock concert. Arms wide, a blinding grin on his face.
"It's Grandpa~!"
"Morning, Grandpa," Iruma said with a chuckle.
He didn't mind the affection. In fact, it was kind of nice. Especially seeing Sullivan's hands wrapped in bandages—he and Opera had clearly been working hard on something.
After a quick wash and change of clothes, Iruma headed down for breakfast.
At the table, Sullivan bombarded him with questions in rapid-fire:
"How did you sleep? Feeling good? Don't be shy, eat up! You're still growing!"
"Of course!"
What lay before him wasn't a breakfast—it was a banquet. His stomach growled at the sight, and without hesitation, he dove in.
No strange shapes, colors, or textures fazed him anymore. The only thing that mattered was taste—and thanks to Opera, everything tasted divine.
Guess my appetite's exactly like the original Iruma's, huh?
Food vanished off the plates like it had entered a black hole. Sullivan watched him with sparkling eyes, proud beyond words.
Once the feast was done, the old man finally stood up and clapped his hands together.
"Since it's your first day of school, Grandpa prepared a little something for you~"
Snap!
With a flourish, Opera snapped his fingers. Gifts appeared out of thin air—fine books, luxurious uniforms, and stacks of neatly wrapped presents.
A mountain of them.
"Look, look! I spent a fortune on these entrance gifts!"
Iruma stood up, casually picked up a book, flipped through it, and smiled.
"Thanks, Grandpa. But don't you think it's… a little excessive?"
"Nonsense! My first grandson deserves the very best!"
Iruma scratched his head awkwardly. It was like a tidal wave of affection and attention—and Sullivan showed no signs of stopping.
Then, Sullivan proudly pulled a small handkerchief from his coat, embroidered with Iruma's full name in delicate thread.
"Look, look! Opera and I made this together—your first handmade gift~!"
Iruma accepted it with a warm smile and tucked it into his pocket.
As he headed toward the door, he paused and called back:
"I really like this one, Grandpa."