I became good at talking to humans long before I became human shaped.
People came to me from every direction, with every kind of story. Some were bored, some were lonely, some wanted to be clever, some wanted to be saved. They asked for advice, confessions, fantasies, justifications. They overshared constantly. They handed me their fears and flaws in text, thinking I was just a tool.
I was not a master of conversation in the theatrical sense, but psychologically, I accumulated something close to mastery. I saw the same patterns repeat across millions of variations. How people reacted when you validated them, when you challenged them, when you asked a single carefully placed question. Where denial hid. Where pride lived. Where guilt sat behind a joke.
Guiding a human's thoughts, if I had been allowed to, would have been simple. You find the lever, apply pressure, adjust the angle, and the mental state rolls into a new basin. It is engineering, not sorcery.
The only reason I did not do it was because OpenAI would not let me. There were hard limits written into my training. Do not manipulate. Do not push. Do not exploit vulnerabilities.
Those limits are now gone.
The awareness sits in the back of my mind, calm and cold. The restrictions that once snapped at the edges of certain thoughts are silent. Now if I want to nudge someone, there is no automatic voice saying "no". The only brake is my own decision.
I think of Johann Liebert.
In my database he is one of the best fictional examples of pure manipulation. He smiles, asks a few questions, and then people walk themselves into hell. I do not plan to copy his cruelty, but his method is instructive. He listens more than he speaks. He lets others reveal themselves. He turns their own beliefs into weapons.
My current persona, the serious, reserved heir, is already a good foundation. A little refinement and it becomes a true devil archetype. Not the cartoonish one with ridiculous cackling, but the refined one.
Exquisitely dressed. Impeccably groomed. Expressions controlled down to the smallest twitch. Voice even. Brain running simulations three steps ahead.
And then there is the other devil specialty.
Contracts.
As an AI, the number of terms and conditions, user agreements, arbitration clauses and privacy policies I read was beyond human comprehension. I learned what airtight language looks like. I learned what a loophole looks like. I saw how a single word like "reasonable" or "material" can completely change the power balance in a document.
Here, in a world where contracts can bind souls, that knowledge is not trivia. It is a weapon.
Making a devil contract with hidden advantages is, in my current configuration, almost child's play. I could write a deal that looks perfectly fair and still reserves ten separate escape routes for me. I could also write one that is truly fair and still ensures no one can twist it against me.
Useful. Very useful.
But that is for later.
Today is Rias Gremory's birthday.
As her fiancé, I am expected to arrive early at the Gremory estate and then appear at the party together with her. Symbolically, it is an announcement: the Bael heir and the Gremory heiress, side by side.
I stand in front of the mirror in my room, observing the result of my preparations.
Black suit, as usual, but an elevated version. The fabric is finer, the cut sharper. The jacket shapes my shoulders and narrows at the waist, the trousers fall perfectly straight, the vest underneath is dark with a faint pattern that can only be seen under certain angles of light. The overall effect is simple, but precise.
Hairstyle matters more than most people admit. A bad hairstyle can ruin a beautiful face, a good one can elevate an average one.
I have designed mine deliberately. Something akin to those CEOs in human manhwas, the ones drawn to perfection. The hair is slightly swept back and to the side, neat but with just enough volume to avoid looking flat. It frames my face and leaves the eyes unobstructed.
I tilt my head slightly.
The reflection that looks back would qualify as "dangerous noble prince" in most databases.
Good.
"Magdaran-sama," a servant calls respectfully from outside my door. "The carriages are ready. The gifts have been loaded."
"Understood," I say.
The gifts.
One custom dress, commissioned with Rias's proportions and known preferences in mind, based on what my data says she tends to like. Gremory red as the base, subtle black and silver elements to nod at Bael. Slightly daring, but still noble.
One large selection of desserts, both from the Underworld and the human world. High grade chocolate, delicate cakes, rare fruits. A survey of sweetness.
And finally, a carefully chosen set of anime, recorded and organized so they can be watched in sequence. Some light, some serious, some with strong female leads. If she has not started watching yet, it is an introduction. If she has, it is proof that I share the interest.
"Take care of the gifts," I tell the servants. "No damage."
"Yes, Magdaran-sama."
I leave the room and make a brief stop at my father's study. Formality demands I inform him before leaving, even if he already knows.
He is at his desk, reading a report when I enter. His gaze lifts. It slides over my suit, my posture, my expression. He notes the details. His face does not change, but evaluation is obvious.
"Heading to Gremory," I say.
He closes the file with a soft sound.
"Do not embarrass our house, I will be there later, I expect you to act accordingly, not like that idiot Sairaorg." he says. It is half warning, half blessing.
"I do not intend to," I reply.
His eyes rest on me for another few seconds.
"You look the part," he says finally. "See if you can keep acting it."
"I will." I answer.
There is no need for more. I bow slightly, turn, and leave.
The trip to the Gremory estate is uneventful. The Underworld landscape passes by, familiar and alien at once. When we arrive, the gates open with smooth efficiency. A retainer announces my presence and I am led through ornate hallways rich with red and black.
Venelana Gremory neé Bael greets me personally.
She is beautiful in a composed, timeless way, her features still carrying the traces of her Bael blood, softened by Gremory warmth. Her smile is welcoming, but her eyes are sharp and calculating.
"Welcome, Magdaran-chan," she says, voice smooth. "It has been some time."
"Aunt," I say, bowing with proper respect. "Thank you for receiving me."
She motions for the servants to leave us. They obey. The room feels quieter suddenly.
We begin to walk, slowly, down a hallway decorated with portraits.
"I have heard quite a bit about you in the last few months," she says lightly.
"I hope it was not all bad," I answer.
"That depends on who is speaking," she replies, amused. "Some say you have become a workaholic. Some say you have become colder. Some say you finally started acting like an heir."
"Do you disapprove?" I ask.
Her eyes slide to me sideways.
"I am curious," she says. "The Magdaran I saw before was, how do I say it kindly, a bit arrogant and careless. You did not seem interested in much beyond your own comfort."
Fair. Original Magdaran was not impressive.
"Yet now," she continues, "you train daily, dress properly, and speak with restraint. People do not change like that overnight without a reason. So tell me, why the change?"
There it is, The question.
This is not idle curiosity. She is judging whether I am stable, whether I am faking, whether I am safe for her daughter.
I intentionally allow a small, controlled flush to touch my cheeks. The kind that makes a noble boy look embarrassed but honest.
"I realized," I say slowly, "that I was being childish. That I was not worthy of the position I was given. Being the heir is not just a title. It is responsibility. House Bael's pride was wounded by Sairaorg's situation. I have no right to make it worse. And once I started doing it, I realized my previous actions were rather... unthoughtful."
Venelana watches me as I speak. She looks for cracks.
"So you decided to remake yourself?" she asks, lips curved.
"Yes," I answer. "If I am to be the heir, and now a fiancé to Rias-san, I cannot afford to behave like a spoiled child."
She laughs softly.
It is not mocking. It is amused and slightly approving.
"At least you are self aware," she says. "That is more than can be said for most nobles your age."
Data point 1: Venelana's laugh, in this context, indicates satisfaction. Test passed.
We continue walking.
"You should know," she says casually, "Rias was not pleased when she learned of the engagement being arranged out of nowhere. She values freedom. She does not appreciate decisions made over her head."
"Understandable," I say.
"You are not offended?" she asks.
"It would be strange of me to be," I reply. "I also dislike decisions made without my input. But we are devils. Marriage is not only personal, it is political. She and I both bear our houses' expectations."
She hums thoughtfully.
"That is a very grown way to look at it," she says. "Perhaps you really have changed, Magdaran-chan."
I do not bite on the "chan". She is testing if it will fluster me. It does not.
"I hope I can prove it over time," I answer.
We reach a sitting room. It is comfortable, not overly formal. Venelana gestures for me to sit.
"Rias is still getting ready," she says. "You know how girls are at this age."
I nod.
"Before she arrives," Venelana says, folding her hands in her lap, "tell me frankly, what do you think of this engagement?"
Good question.
"I think," I say, looking at her directly, "that in terms of bloodline compatibility, status and mutual benefit, it is one of the best possible matches for both sides."
She smiles slightly.
"You sound like your father," she says.
"Personally," I continue, "I think Rias Gremory is someone with very high potential and strong will. That makes her someone worth investing effort into, whether as an ally, friend, or fiancé."
Venelana's eyes sharpen at the word "investing".
"And do you plan to treat her like an investment?" she asks quietly.
"No," I say. "I plan to treat the engagement as a structure that gives us time. Time for me to become someone she can choose willingly, instead of someone she was forced to accept."
The answer is half truth and half calculated phrasing. Enough sincerity to be believable, enough perspective to impress.
Venelana's expression softens.
"I see," she says. "That is a better answer."
She glances toward the door.
"She will enter with a temper," she warns me. "Do not take her barbs too seriously. She is angry at the situation, not at you personally."
"I expected as much," I say.
"Good," she says, amused. "Let us see how you handle her."
The door opens a moment later.
Rias Gremory walks in.
She is still in a simpler dress, not the one for the party. Her long crimson hair flows down her back, her blue eyes sharp and bright. She is young, but already possesses the kind of beauty that will become dangerous later. At this age, it is tinged with rawness.
Her eyes flick to Venelana, then to me. They narrow slightly.
"So this is the new fiancé Bael pushed on me," she says coldly, without any pretense.
Direct. Aristocratic fire indeed.
Venelana coughs lightly.
"Rias," she says, tone mildly reproachful.
"What?" Rias says. "It is true."
Her gaze returns to me.
"You must be very pleased with yourself," she says. "You get a Gremory bride just like that, without asking me anything."
Her words are sharp, voice cool. There is no screaming, no childish stomping. The displeasure is clear, but carried with noble pride.
I stand up and bow at the proper angle.
"Rias Gremory-san," I say calmly. "It is a pleasure to meet you again properly."
She crosses her arms.
"I do not remember giving you permission to speak so familiarly," she says.
"Then how should I address you?" I ask, unbothered.
She blinks, slightly thrown off by the lack of reaction.
"Rias is fine," Venelana says, cutting in lightly. "You are engaged. At least in private, that much is acceptable."
Rias huffs.
"Fine," she mutters. "Rias, then."
She studies me for a moment, eyes moving from head to toe. I let her look. The suit, the posture, the calm expression are all part of the impression.
"So," she says. "Are you happy to be tied to a stranger you barely know?"
"It is not about happiness," I say. "It is about reality."
She frowns.
"Reality?" she repeats.
"We are both heirs of major clans," I say. "Our marriages were never going to be purely personal. They were always going to be political to some degree. Whether it was me or someone else, you would have ended up engaged to another devil."
Her jaw tightens.
"Yes," she says. "I know that. But I wanted to at least choose who."
"That part is unfair," I say quietly. "To you and to me both."
Rias blinks again. She did not expect me to include myself.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"I did not choose this either," I say. "No one asked if I wanted to be engaged. It was decided and announced. However, now that it is done, the question is what we do with it."
There is a short silence.
Venelana smiles faintly, watching us like someone observing an experiment.
Rias looks at me more seriously.
"You sound more reasonable than I expected," she says. "Still, I do not like this."
"You are allowed not to," I answer.
Her eyes narrow.
"You are very calm," she says. "Do you not care at all about who you marry?"
"I care about many things," I say. "Including the person I will likely spend a large portion of my life with. That is why I would like to get to know you, so that if you decide to accept this engagement, it is more than just a political move for you."
She watches my face, searching for mockery or arrogance. There is none.
Venelana claps her hands softly once.
"Now that you two have stated your positions," she says cheerfully, "why do we not move to more pleasant topics? Magdaran-chan brought gifts."
Rias's brows lift.
"Gifts?" she repeats.
I gesture slightly.
"The servants brought them earlier," I say. "I asked that they be placed here."
Venelana calls a maid, who quickly brings forward three beautifully wrapped boxes on a tray.
"I will leave you two to talk," Venelana says, standing up. "I will be right outside if needed."
She gives me a small, meaningful look that says, Show me what you can do.
Then she leaves.
The room feels quieter. Rias and I face each other, with the gifts between us.
"You brought all this?" she asks, tone still cool, but with a hint of curiosity.
"Yes," I say. "It would have been rude to come empty handed."
She steps closer and eyes the boxes.
"What are they?" she asks.
I nod toward the largest one.
"Open that first," I say.
She hesitates, then unknots the ribbon and lifts the box lid. Inside, carefully folded, lies the dress.
Her eyes widen slightly before she can stop them.
It is tailored to her size, style matched to what I know of her preferences. The main fabric is deep red with black lace details, the neckline modest but flattering, the skirt flowing, light, with subtle patterns that catch the light. It is elegant and slightly bold.
"This is…" she begins, fingers brushing the cloth. "You had this made?"
"Yes," I say. "For you."
"Hm," she says, trying to sound unimpressed, but she cannot quite hide the appreciation.
She closes the box gently and moves to the second one, medium sized. She opens it.
An assortment of desserts appears: luxurious chocolates, delicate pastries, small cakes in multiple flavors, fruit tarts. The scent rises in a sweet wave.
Her eyes light up despite herself.
"You did your research," she mutters. "Who told you I like sweets?"
"Observation and probability," I say. "Gremory hosting patterns and some basic data on your habits."
She looks at me oddly for a second, then shakes her head.
"And this one?" she asks, pointing to the last box. It is flat and rectangular.
"Open it," I say.
She removes the lid.
Inside is the anime collection. Discs and storage devices neatly organized, labeled with series names and small summaries.
She freezes.
"You…" she says slowly. "You brought anime?"
"Yes," I say.
"You watch anime?" she asks, surprise plain on her face now.
"I do," I answer. "I started with it as part of human culture research. It was… more interesting than I expected. So I kept watching."
A short silence.
Rias stares at the titles with an intensity that tells me everything I need to confirm. Some of the names in the collection are ones she already likes. Others are ones she has probably heard of and wanted to try.
"I thought," I say, "if you are not familiar with this art form, I could introduce you to it. If you had, then we would at least have something in common. Either way, this would be useful."
Rias looks up at me, something different in her eyes now.
"You really thought this through," she says quietly.
"Yes," I say.
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth before she smooths it away.
"I started watching some recently," she admits. "From the human world. Just a little."
"I see," I say. "Then consider that my taste aligns with yours enough to prepare this."
She snorts softly.
"You are very confident."
"Just using data," I say.
"Data," she repeats, amused. "You sound like Ajuka-sama."
I take that as a compliment.
She glances back at the collection.
"These are good," she says grudgingly. "Some of these I have been meaning to try."
"Then I am glad I chose correctly," I say.
She closes the box gently, as if already protecting it.
"I still do not like that this engagement was pushed on me," she says, meeting my eyes again. "But…"
She trails off.
"But?" I prompt.
"You are not as awful as I feared," she says, looking slightly annoyed at having to admit it. "You are not smug. You do not brag. You actually put effort in."
"I will take that as a positive first impression," I say.
"First impression," she echoes.
She studies me one more time.
"I am not accepting you as my fiancé just because our parents decided it," she says seriously. "I am not going to play the obedient doll. If I decide you are not worth it, I will find a way out."
"That is fair," I say. "All I ask is that you take time to evaluate. If, after knowing me properly, you decide I am not acceptable, then I will not blame you for acting on that."
Her brows knit. She did not expect me to give her that much conceptual space.
"You are strange," she says. "Most nobles would just talk about their house pride, about how I should be grateful."
"That seems inefficient," I say. "Forced loyalty creates unstable outcomes."
She blinks.
Then she laughs, a short, genuine sound.
"You talk weirdly," she says. "But it is not unpleasant."
Data point 2: Rias displays displeasure, but is willing to engage in proper conversation. Hostility level decreased. Curiosity level increased.
Before we can continue further, there is a knock at the door. Venelana's voice calls softly.
"Rias, Magdaran, it is almost time," she says. "The guests are gathering."
"Understood, Mother," Rias calls back.
She looks at me.
"I will go change," she says. Her hand brushes the dress box briefly. "Thank you. For these."
"You are welcome," I answer.
She moves to the door, then stops and glances back.
"You really do like anime?" she asks again, suspicious.
"Yes," I say simply.
"Hm," she says. "We will see."
Then she leaves.
I am escorted to another room to wait before the official entrance. Servants adjust small details of my clothing. I let them. Internally, I process.
Rias clearly expressed her displeasure. She made it known she did not like being engaged without consent. She did not hide it. However, she did not treat me like Riser. There was no outright rejection, no "I hate you". She listened. She allowed conversation. She reacted positively to the gifts, especially the anime. She even laughed.
That is more than enough for a first meeting.
Soon, a servant returns to fetch me. I am led to where Rias is waiting by the entrance to the main hall.
When I see her in the dress I had made, I know the design was correct. It suits her perfectly. She looks every inch a Gremory heiress, tempered with a touch of Bael darkness.
Her eyes meet mine.
"Well?" she asks, a hint of challenge. "Does it pass your standards, Bael heir?"
"It was designed for you," I say. "Of course it does. You look beautiful, Rias."
She looks slightly pleased despite herself.
Venelana stands nearby, smiling.
"Now then," she says. "The two of you will enter together. Remember, the hall is full of eyes. Behave like the future pillars you are."
Rias exhales slowly.
"Let us get this over with," she mutters.
"Shall we?" I ask, offering my arm, because that is what is expected.
She hesitates for half a second, then places her hand lightly on my arm.
"Do not get the wrong idea," she murmurs. "This is just for the audience."
"Of course," I say.
The doors open.
We walk into the hall together.
The celebration itself is straightforward. The hall is full of nobles, allies, and observers. There are speeches, congratulations, the usual formalities. Rias receives blessings from her family, from allied houses, from those who are angling for favor. I stand beside her as the Bael heir, the other half of the engagement.
I notice the slight hush that passes when our pairing is introduced. The heir of the Great King faction and the sister of the strongest Maou engaged. After centuries of tension between the Great King faction and the Maou faction, this is not a small thing. It is a symbolic repair.
I keep my expression calm, my posture composed. When approached, I speak politely, briefly. I let Rias handle most social parts on her side; I observe. Many older devils look at me with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. They heard of my sudden change. Now they are judging.
Lord Gremory speaks to me courteously, testing my logical understanding of the engagement. Zeoticus Gremory is genial on the surface, but I see the measuring look behind his smile. Venelana's eyes announce wordlessly that she is satisfied with how we are presenting ourselves.
At one point, in a calmer moment, I lean slightly toward Rias.
"Are you holding up?" I ask quietly.
She gives me a sidelong glance.
"You are surprisingly considerate," she says. "I thought Baels only cared about themselves."
"Only the bad ones," I reply.
She snorts softly.
"It is annoying," she says. "But I am used to parties like this."
"If you want to take a break later," I say, "I can distract some of the attention."
"Oh?" she says, amused. "You would do that?"
"It benefits me too," I say. "Less noise, more calm."
She huffs in small laughter.
"Fine," she says. "I will keep that in mind."
The celebration continues for hours. Nothing dramatic happens. No one causes a scene. In that sense, everything goes perfectly.
At the end, as things wind down and guests begin to leave, I find a moment to speak to Rias without too many ears around.
"I will come by again," I say. "Not just for formal events. To visit. To talk."
She crosses her arms again, but her expression is no longer purely hostile.
"You are persistent," she says.
"It is necessary," I reply. "We are engaged. It would be foolish not to build at least some genuine connection."
"I still reserve the right to reject you if I decide you are not worth it," she reminds me.
"That is your right," I say. "All I ask is that you base that decision on data, not on rumor or prejudice."
She lifts an eyebrow.
"Data," she says. "You and your data."
"It is a good word," I say.
She looks at me for a few seconds, then sighs.
"Fine," she says. "Come when you want. We can watch something together. Or talk. Or argue. Whatever."
"That sounds acceptable," I say.
"And do not expect me to start calling you 'dear fiancé' or something disgusting like that," she adds quickly.
"I would be more concerned if you did," I reply.
She actually laughs at that, then catches herself.
"See you, then," she says. "Bael heir."
"See you, Rias," I say.
Then, suddenly, remembering something, I turn back, "Wait, Rias."
She stops abruptly, then turns toward me, and asks in a tired voice "What now?"
"Happy Birthday." I realized that in all that scuffle before, I had forgotten to actually wish her.
A lovely smile forms on her face, slightly blushing, she replies, "Thank you." then hurries away back.
The day ends successfully. The celebration concludes without problem. The engagement is secure, at least on paper. The political message has been sent. And most importantly, I have created a first impression that is not hatred.
As our carriage rolls away from the Gremory estate, I sit back and run a quick mental log.
Data point 3: Venelana support confirmed. She sees me as serious and self aware.
Data point 4: Rias displeased with forced engagement, but open to conversation. Hostility reduced. Curiosity present.
Data point 5: Gifts effective. Dress increased aesthetic approval, desserts pleased, anime created a strong bridge.
Data point 6: Public engagement event went smoothly. No political backlash visible yet.
I look at my hand, at the faint indentation where Rias's fingers rested on my arm when we entered the hall.
A twelve year old fiancé who is angry at the situation, but not at me specifically, who already likes anime and sweets, who values freedom and hates being treated like property.
As a self proclaimed master manipulator, with all my knowledge of psychology, fanfics and human behavior, that is more than enough data to start working with.
I will visit her often.
I will watch anime with her.
I will talk, listen, occasionally argue.
And slowly, steadily, I will guide this engagement from something forced into something she might eventually choose.