The auditorium remained locked in a state of suspended animation, the silent echo of Asmodeus's vanquished spell hanging heavy in the air. The combined student body and faculty stared at **Noir Sullivan**, their collective thought focused entirely on the profound, unanswerable question: *How is he so powerful?*
Noir had not displayed skill, control, or specialized magic; he had simply stood there, and the magic of a top-tier demon had imploded. To the demon world, this wasn't magic; it was an existential statement.
The faculty, consisting of some of the most powerful and seasoned demons in the netherworld, struggled to categorize what they had witnessed. They knew all the ranks, the bloodlines, and the forbidden techniques, yet Noir's power defied easy labeling.
**Sullivan**, seated at the governing table, was past tears and into a fever pitch of doting joy. He whispered to Opera, shielding his mouth with his fan. "They can't analyze it! He's too much of *everything*! Oh, my magnificent, subtle grandson!"
Opera, standing silently behind Sullivan, maintained his flawless composure, but his mind raced with cold calculation. He knew the truth was not power, but **spiritual instability**. *His core generates such contradictory forces that it creates a localized nullification field.* Opera understood that Noir's victory was a terrifying fluke, one that absolutely could not be repeated intentionally. He recognized the desperate necessity of maintaining the illusion of controlled, devastating strength.
Ameri Azazel, the Student Council President, scrutinized the corrupted Oath Stone and then focused entirely on Noir. Her ambition was tied to the structure of the Demon World, and Noir's power represented an unquantifiable new variable. She saw no weakness, only immense, raw might, and she was forced to respect it instantly. *His mana density is unprecedented. Is this the power of a true, Demon King Candidate lineage?*
The thousands of students present did not fear or hate; they simply offered **undivided, spiritual awe**. The overwhelming feeling rippling through the auditorium was not jealousy, but primal acceptance of a higher authority.
Students cleared a wide, respectful path for Noir as he walked off the stage, clutching his books. Their expressions were not malicious or terrified, but simply bewildered by the magnitude of his strength. They were witnessing a phenomenon.
- **The prevailing thought:** *He is fundamentally stronger than us. He is simply on a different level.*
Noir, though internally consumed by panic over the exposed Seraphim energy, found this reverence a lifeline. He was able to walk unimpeded, the mass of students instinctively giving way to the presence they now recognized as superior.
The only student who moved with definite purpose was **Asmodeus Alice**. His defeat had completely shattered his worldview of superiority, replacing it instantly with unshakeable devotion to the greater power he had just experienced. For Asmodeus, the question of *how* was answered by the simple fact of *who*.
As soon as Noir reached the floor, Asmodeus was there, positioned a respectful half-step behind and to the right. His intense emerald eyes were no longer hostile, but alight with fierce, unwavering fealty.
"My Lord," Asmodeus murmured, his voice a low, musical purr of devotion. "Your display was absolute. You possess the majesty worthy of the throne. I, Asmodeus Alice, swear my immediate and eternal service to you. Allow me to carry your educational provisions."
Noir's façade nearly cracked from the shock, both at the sudden, absolute loyalty and the immediate need to maintain the "Lord of the Abyss" persona. He forced a deep, resonant tone into his voice.
"...Asmodeus," Noir drawled, maintaining the regal posture. "You don't need to do that."
"Nonsense, My Lord!" Asmodeus insisted, taking the bag of books with precise reverence. "A being of such unquantifiable power must not be burdened with trivialities! My ability will ensure no lesser being dares challenge your passage. It is my honor to serve the one who shattered my own arrogance."
Asmodeus subtly flared his fire aura, an immediate, potent warning to the awestruck crowd.
Noir realized this was not a servant; this was his magical life support. A devoted, powerful bodyguard who believed he was utterly invincible.
"Very well, Asmodeus," Noir conceded, allowing a slight smirk that he hoped looked authoritative. "Lead the way. And try not to scorch anything."