Meanwhile, Masakiro was assigned to room BA-24—yes, Black and White-24.
Because what could be more demon-appropriate than a room with a name that sounds like a movie of late twenties combo?
He ran a hand through his ridiculously fluffy white hair, sighing as if the weight of the universe was on his shoulders.
Clutching his bag tighter—because, hey, it's the only dark thing in this pastel nightmare—he looked at the two beds, each a monument to his aesthetic: one all black like a raven's wing, the other pristine white like a snowstorm in heaven.
He squinted at the beds, then declared dramatically.
"I guess the white one is mine. How obvious they made it." With the flair of someone in a soap opera, he plopped himself onto the white bed, fluffing the pillow like he was auditioning for a horror movie.
Suddenly, the door swung open with the kind of theatrical creak that belonged in a gothic horror flick.
In strode a figure so dark and brooding, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a midnight shadow—like the night itself had a rebellious teenage son.
His jet-black hair was so good looking on him and wild that some strands covered his icy, piercing eyes, giving him the look of a villain from a manga.
His entire outfit was blacker than the void, and his aura practically shimmered with shadowy menace.
He was from the Kurokage Clan—the masters of stealth, shadows, and making everything look ten times cooler than it really was.
"Oh… hi, new roommate," Masakiro said cheerfully, trying to sound friendly but maybe overdoing it just a tiny bit. "My name is Masakiro. I really hope we'll get along."
Nairo Kurokage tilted his head so that a curtain of hair slid further over his eyes, and his voice was colder than an arctic wind. "I Hope you're not Lazy. Otherwise I don't think we'll get along."
Masakiro blinked, his cheerful facade flickering.
"I'm not lazy! I just… recharge myself every single time," he said, wiggling his fingers like he was some kind of demon smartphone with a low battery warning.
Nairo rolled his eyes so hard it's a miracle they didn't fall out.
"Lazy demons tend to be a huge bother, and you will have to cope with me because I like seeing things in order." he muttered, settling onto his bed with the kind of slow, deliberate grace that made it clear he was the king of darkness and boredom.
Masakiro, undeterred, carefully placed his egg on the white bed, as if it were a fragile treasure.
"I may be lazy, but I'm dangerous when I wanna be," he said with a grin so wide it could cut glass. "Don't underestimate me."
Nairo, with a sigh so heavy it could be heard through the shadows, pulled out a pair of headphones—probably enchanted with some deep, moody demon music—and pressed play, completely ignoring him.
His shadow flickered like a ghost, a silent warning ''Do not disturb me anyways, then we will be good.''
"So… uh… which class are you in?, am really curious" Masakiro asked, trying to break the awkward silence.
His voice echoed slightly in the room, bouncing off the walls like an awkward echo in a haunted mansion.
Nairo, lost in his music, merely tapped his headphones. His eyes, barely visible beneath his curtain of hair, looked like frozen daggers.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he muttered, in a tone that made it clear: 'Stay in your lane, lazy boy.'
Masakiro sighed, clutching his egg tighter—probably to remind himself that at least one thing in this room was worth caring about.
"Great. Just what I needed—a shadow king with a permanent scowl. This is gonna be fun… or maybe a total disaster. Either way, I'm ready."
-----
Tsuramo stood silently by the school track, eyes fixed on the strange, glowing egg he was clutching tightly.
The demon race, as he'd recently learned, had a strange obsession with doing sports—probably because even demons liked to show off their agility or something.
But honestly, he couldn't understand it. Why would demons, fierce as they were, need to run laps and do push-ups? It felt more like a bizarre ritual.
When he'd asked about it, the others just shrugged casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"It's for blending in," they said. "If we're sent on a mission—say, hunting humans—we need to look like humans. So, we do sports. Makes sense, right?" To him, it sounded like a strange excuse for a demon gym class.
He pulled his vivid red hair back into a neat ponytail, the strands shining like flames under the sun.
His hand gripped the egg, which pulsated faintly with an eerie light. It was delicate, yet he was nervous about moving it around too much.
"Now… what am I supposed to do with this thing?" he mumbled, glancing around at the chaos of the other students.
Kenji was busy in class, probably arguing with the teacher about some homework, and his roommates were hiding with ninja-like precision.
He looked over and saw how others managed their precious eggs. Virelia, for example, had cast a shadow spell over hers, making it shimmer with dark, swirling mists—like a mini universe trapped inside.
No one dared to get close.
Meanwhile, Masakiro had given his egg tiny, feathered wings that fluttered softly, as if it was a baby bird about to take its first flight.
Tsuramo blinked, observing the scene, feeling a little out of place. Suddenly, a whisper drifted through the crowd—light and sneaky, like a breeze slipping past the trees.
"He's the demon lord's son and doesn't even know how to handle an egg," sneered a student with a cocky grin, eyes sharp and mocking.
Tsuramo's eyes narrowed slightly. He rolled his eyes and looked at the egg, which now twitched as if it had a life of its own.
"I don't not know what I'm doing," he muttered quietly. "I just… don't want to accidentally blow this thing up. Because if my powers go out of control, this egg might turn into a mini volcano."
A boy with a crooked witch hat chuckled quietly, leaning in closer. "Still wondering what he's going to do with it, huh?"
Tsuramo clenched his fist but kept his expression calm. "I know what to do," he said softly, though inside he was thinking, Please don't hatch into something dangerous…
He took a deep breath, eyes focused. "I'll keep it safe. Or hide it somewhere no one can find it—because I definitely don't want my powers to turn this innocent egg into chaos."
He tried summoning a shadow shield it flickered, almost like it was trying to wink at him. Tsuramo looked down, sighing softly.
"Yeah… I'll handle it." He gave a faint, determined nod. "I just hope I don't end up turning the school into a crater first."