"To finish today's formal introductions," he announced, voice echoing through the grand hall, "I'd like each of you to share your aspirations—your future goals."
The young devils stiffened under the attention of the assembled nobles and high-ranking officials. Pride, prestige, and bloodline expectations weighed heavily here—every word was a political declaration.
The first to step forward was Sairaorg Bael.
"My dream," he declared without the slightest pause or tremor, "is to become Maou."
Shock rippled across the hall. Some nobles loudly sucked in a breath; others exchanged skeptical stares.
For a devil from the prestigious Great King family—one bound by ancient tradition to uphold the current system—to proclaim such ambition was unheard of.
A noble scoffed aloud.
"It's unprecedented for a member of the Great King's lineage to forsake his role."
Sairaorg did not falter.
"When the Underworld is in such a state that it requires someone like me—someone judged by merit and strength rather than lineage—then I will rise. If the people demand a Maou, I shall become that Maou."
No arrogance. No hesitation. Just conviction—overwhelming, raw conviction that silenced even the most cynical gazes.
Next, Rias Gremory stepped forward, her crimson hair shimmering beneath the chandeliers.
"My immediate goal is to fulfill my role as the next head of the Gremory Family," she stated firmly. "And to achieve victory in every rating game my peerage participates in."
Her answer fit perfectly with Gremory pride—ambition rooted in both strength and duty.
One by one, the others shared their dreams—some predictable, some modest. Each was acknowledged with polite applause or shallow approval.
Until only one remained.
Sona Sitri.
Her glasses reflected the brilliant light of the hall as she faced the assembly. Calm. Collected. Utterly resolute.
"I intend," she began, voice crisp as ice, "to establish a school for rating games in the underworld."
A murmur rolled through the room—a spark of surprise rather than shock.
"A school?" someone whispered.
Sona continued unbothered.
"Currently, only high-class and nobility-born devils have educational access designed for competitive magic and Rating Game preparation. My goal is to create an academy that welcomes all devils—including reincarnated and low-class—based solely on talent and determination, not lineage."
It was a future built on equality. A massive step forward—or a threat, depending on where one stood.
The response was immediate.
Laughter—cold, belittling, unanimous.
"Noble ideals," one official chuckled. "But utterly unrealistic."
"How adorable! A little girl with a dream!" another mocked.
"To hear such a naïve notion from the heir of Sitri…" a third sneered. "At least you confessed it before your debut. Better here than in public."
Sona's expression remained perfectly neutral—though her narrowed gaze carried a silent warning. Their ridicule bounced off her like arrows against steel.
Yet the scorn continued.
"Discrimination exists for a reason," an elderly noble lectured. "Low-class devils serve their betters. That is the order of our society."
He waved a dismissive hand.
"To attempt to elevate them—to teach those beneath us what only nobles should know—would disgrace our long-standing traditions. A foolish proposal."
Tension erupted like crackling electricity. Saji, unable to endure any longer, stepped forward in fury.
"Why do you insist on belittling Kaich—no, Sona-sama's dream?" he shouted. "We believe in it! Why mock something that could change our world for the better!?"
"Watch your tongue, reincarnated servant," the noble snapped. "Sona-dono, your familiar lacks discipline."
Sona raised a hand lightly—not to defend herself, but to maintain control.
"I apologize," she said calmly. "His passion is misplaced for the setting, but his sentiment… is not mistaken."
Saji gritted his teeth, his frustration boiling—but he obeyed. His master had spoken.
She faced the nobles again, posture unwavering.
"You asked for our goals. I merely answered truthfully."
Silence struck again—sharper this time.
Then Serafall Leviathan stood abruptly, eyes flashing with watery outrage that was anything but weak.
"In that case!" she snapped, pointing a dangerously cheerful smile toward the nobles, "If my Sona-chan wins victory after victory in Rating Games and proves her competence—none of you will have any foundation to object, correct?"
Her voice rang like a hammer striking armor.
The nobles froze at the angry sparkle of a Maou. Sirzechs quietly observed—diplomatic but amused.
Serafall stomped her foot, frills bouncing furiously.
"You oji-samas think it's funny to gang up on my precious little sister!? If you bully Sona-chan any more, I'll force you all into frilly magical girl outfits and parade you through the Underworld!"
Nervous coughs spread among the officials. None dared provoke her further.
Meanwhile, Sona covered her face in mortification—cheeks slightly pink. Her sister's theatrics were legendary but embarrassing nonetheless.
Yet beneath that embarrassment, a quiet strength radiated from her.
No matter how loud the opposition —
No matter how heavy the weight of old pride —
They can't stop the young ones.
~~~
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