As Mrs. Kurohana exited the classroom, a brief hush followed—then a cheerful voice shattered it.
"Yes! And she's gone!" the voice chirped.
It belonged to a girl with indigo hair streaked with silver, her feline ears twitching with barely contained excitement. A faint tail flicked behind her chair as she grinned widely.
"I'm so happy I got promoted into this class," she added proudly, practically glowing.
A soft wave of agreement rippled through the room.
"Yeah… I'm just glad we're filling out forms this time," someone whispered."Not like the first year, when they made us write the names of every Empress and Lord from the beginning of recorded history."
A few students shuddered in shared trauma.
Meanwhile, Masakiro leaned back in his chair, balancing it lazily on two legs as he glanced sideways at Tsuramo—who was still scribbling intensely on his form.
Masakiro squinted."…Hey. Are you done yet? Why are you taking so long?"
Tsuramo didn't answer.
He leaned back instead, arms crossing slowly as his crimson eyes lifted from the paper and began drifting across the classroom.
Masakiro clicked his tongue. "You're zoning out again."
Tsuramo ignored him.
This class…His gaze sharpened.
Students from divine families. Renowned bloodlines. Ancient clans.
His eyes settled on a girl with blue-and-black hair, sharp fangs barely visible when she spoke, and red-black eyes that gleamed with restraint.
Nocturnis Bloodline. Vampire nobility.Commanding aura. Controlled hunger.
Then—a boy with a shaved head, posture straight, presence heavy despite his stillness.
The Monk family.Blessed with divine reinforcement. Capable of striking the unseen. Rare.
Tsuramo's attention moved again.
Moon witches—quiet, observant, their magic dormant but coiled. Illusions, lunar enhancement, ancestral rituals that strengthened with every passing night.
A boy with glowing green eyes and a swaying tail caught his focus next.
Vargan Clan.Wolf demons. Trackers. Speed incarnate. Nature-bound warriors.
Then—
Dark scales. Talons resting casually on a desk. Heat in the air.
Drakari.Dragon-blooded. Fire affinity. Extreme durability.
"…All powerful," Tsuramo thought, eyes narrowing slightly."And yet… still low level."
Which meant only one thing.
SS ranks must be monsters.
The bell rang.
Students rose, conversation flooding the room as they filtered toward the Demonic Commons.
Tsuramo remained seated, hands folded atop his desk, expression unreadable.
Masakiro returned moments later, grin sharp as ever.
He slid a glass across the desk.
"Here."
The liquid inside swirled unnaturally—dark, glowing faintly like embers trapped in oil.
"Inferno Elixir," Masakiro whispered. "Boosts energy. Sharpens the mind."
Tsuramo raised a brow but accepted it.
"My mind is already racing," he replied calmly, taking a sip anyway.
The effect was instant—a subtle spark behind his eyes.
Masakiro watched closely.That look again.
"…You're thinking something dangerous," he muttered.
"Am I?" Tsuramo replied flatly.
Masakiro leaned closer. "Aren't you even a little curious about the SS ranks?"
Tsuramo leaned back, sipping again.
"No," he said, then paused."…But since I'm here, I intend to learn everything about this school."
Masakiro smiled. "Figures."
A presence approached.
"Oii—hi!"
A girl stopped at their table, golden hair shimmering like molten sunlight, sharp teeth flashing when she smiled.
"I'm Virelia Draklyn," she said brightly. "Nice to meet you. I've been dying to meet the Demon Lord's sons."
Masakiro nearly choked.
Tsuramo studied her silently.
"Mrs. Kurohana sent me to collect your forms," Virelia continued cheerfully. "I'm the class captain. And a guider."
She sat casually beside them.
Draklyn Lineage.Fire-blooded. Dragon ancestry. Rare.
Tsuramo's eyes narrowed slightly.
They were thought extinct.Like a missing sock.And just as dangerous when they reappear.
…She's even more striking in person.
Masakiro handed over their forms, grin sly but polite."Everything's accurate. No lies."
Virelia nodded. "Perfect."
She stood and vanished into the crowd.
Masakiro leaned closer. "Who is she really?"
Tsuramo shrugged. "Virelia Draklyn. Fifth child. Second daughter. Fire manipulation—advanced. Converts flame into solid constructs. Extremely fast."
Masakiro blinked. "She can't transform yet?"
"Not yet," Tsuramo said. "But she will."
Masakiro stared. "How do you know all this?"
Tsuramo smirked. "I read."
Masakiro groaned. "Of course you do."
They clinked glasses.
Tsuramo sighed softly, a rare hint of amusement in his voice. "If you turn into ash, I'll write about you too."
Masakiro laughed.
--
Virelia moved briskly down the corridor, the stack of papers clutched tightly in her hand.
Her jaw was set.
She hated paperwork.
More than that—she hated responsibility being dumped on her just because she was "capable."
"Class captain, guider, errand runner…" she muttered under her breath, golden eyes flashing. "Do they think I breathe fire just to deliver forms?"
The papers trembled slightly.
A faint crackle sounded.
She froze.
"…Ah."
The edges of the top page singed, curling with a soft hiss as a thin lick of flame escaped her fingers.
Virelia yelped quietly and slapped the stack against her chest, forcing the fire back.
"Focus, Virelia. Don't burn school documents. Again."
She exhaled slowly, flames retreating, the scorch marks stopping just short of disaster.
Shaking her head, she turned into the long eastern hall—
And stopped.
Her golden eyes narrowed.
Up ahead, near the shadowed archway that divided territories, stood three figures.
Too tall.Too heavy with aura.
SS-rank—or at least high A-rank.
They didn't belong here.
This side of the academy was CM territory. Lower ranks. New blood. The rules were clear.
And yet—
A much smaller demon was pressed against the wall, trembling. His horns were short, uneven. His uniform was worn. A Mistling.
One of the higher-rankers loomed over him, broad-shouldered, bull-horned, snorting softly as dark energy rolled off his body.
"Well?" the bully sneered. "You bumped into me. Apologize properly."
The smaller demon's voice shook. "I—I already said sorry…"
A heavy hand slammed into the wall beside the Mistling's head.
"Say it like you mean it."
The air shifted.
Heat surged down the hall.
The bull demon blinked.
"…Huh?"
A sharp click echoed as boots struck the stone floor.
"Step away."
The voice was calm.
Clear.
Dangerously bright.
The higher-rankers turned.
Virelia stood there, papers tucked under one arm, the other hand relaxed at her side.
Golden hair shimmered—no, glowed—as faint embers drifted around her like fireflies.
Her eyes burned.
"You're in CM territory," she continued, tone polite but razor-edged. "SS and upper A-ranks aren't allowed here without escort."
The bull demon laughed. "And who's gonna stop us? You?"
She smiled.
Not kindly.
"I'm Virelia Draklyn," she said lightly. "Class captain. Guider."
The name hit the hall like a spark in dry grass.
The other two bullies stiffened.
"…Draklyn?" one muttered.
Virelia took a single step forward.
The temperature spiked.
The stone beneath her boots darkened, faint lines of molten heat tracing outward like veins.
"I'm having a very bad day," she said cheerfully. "And I'm seconds away from forgetting I'm in a school hallway."
Flames coiled briefly around her wrist—tight, controlled, precise.
Not wild.
Not reckless.
A warning.
The bull demon swallowed.
"Tch… whatever," he growled, stepping back. "Not worth it."
They retreated, their auras pulling away as quickly as they'd intruded.
Silence returned.
Virelia turned to the small demon.
"You okay?"
He nodded rapidly. "Y-Yes! Thank you!"
She softened instantly, crouching slightly to meet his eye level.
"Stick to populated halls," she said gently. "And if anyone like that bothers you again—tell a captain."
He bowed deeply before scurrying off.
Virelia straightened, rolling her shoulders.
"…Unbelievable," she muttered, glancing at the faint scorch marks along the wall. "SS ranks breaking rules already."
She looked down at the papers.
Still intact.
Barely.
"Good," she sighed. "Tsuramo would never let me hear the end of it."
With one last glance down the hall, Virelia resumed walking—golden eyes sharp, fire held perfectly in check.
But her anger?
That was still burning.