The Devil’s Bedside Manner

CHAPTER 1: The Devil’s Bedside Manner

​The void was not merely an absence of light; it was the absolute definition of nothingness. It was where concepts of origin and existence felt like discarded toys. Yet, even in this vacuum of the soul, a violent duality reigned supreme.

​Luke stood—or rather, his consciousness hovered between two massive pillars that pierced the infinite dark.

​To his left, a pillar of Dark Crimson throbbed with a rhythmic, heavy heat. It radiated a menacing aura that felt vast and ancient, like the heartbeat of a sleeping volcano.

Etched into its surface was the glowing violet mark of the Morningstar Arcane Imprint. It was beautiful, but it was the beauty of a predator’s eyes in the dark.

​To his right stood the antagonist. A radiant pillar of Golden-White light. It didn't burn with heat; it emitted a sensation like ice-cold fire. This was the All-Seeing Fragment, the divine legacy that had nearly torn him apart in the alley.

​Between them, Luke felt like a thin sheet of glass caught between two closing tectonic plates. This was the complete, chaotic mess of his soul. And then, the pillars began to vibrate, the colors bleeding together into a blinding flash that forced his eyes to snap open.

​

​Luke’s first sensation was luxury.

​He was lying on a bed that felt like it belonged in a palace. The silk sheets were cool and heavy, sliding against his skin with a frictionless grace that made his breath hitch. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling—a dark mahogany expanse carved with intricate, swirling patterns.

​This isn't the alley. I’m not at home.

​The air in the room was elegant, smelling of expensive incense and old books, but it was thick with a low-level menace. He recognized that pressure instantly. It was the presence of his savior, his Master.

​Then, he felt it. A soft, velvety weight against his left side.

​The heat of another person’s body radiated through the silk. Luke’s heart rate didn't just spike; it went into a full-scale tactical retreat. He whipped his head around, his eyes widening until they felt like they might fall out of his skull.

​Vera Morningstar.

​She was sound asleep beside him. Her radiant, dark hair was a chaotic silk spill across the pillows, some of it tangling with his own. But that wasn't the detail that caused Luke’s brain to stall like a broken engine.

​She wasn't dressed.

​Her body possessed a terrifying symmetry, the kind of ideal, regal beauty that felt like it had been sculpted by a master artist who wanted to define the word "alluring." In the dim light of the room, her skin looked like polished marble, curved into lines that were dangerously easy to stare at.

​‘WHAT THE HELL?! WHY IS SHE HERE?!’ Luke’s internal voice reached a pitch that would have shattered glass. Is this part of the contract? Was there a fine print about shared sleeping arrangements?!

​He tried to look away, but his eyes were traitorous. He was a seventeen-year-old boy who had spent half his life dodging the Vatican and training for missions; he was utterly unprepared for a barely clothed devil in his bed.

He looked down at his right hand, where the violet Covenant Ring gleamed—a silent reminder that he was no longer a free agent.

​"Well, looks like I'm her new chew toy. Great start, damn," he muttered, his voice a pathetic croak.

​He had to move. Now. Waking up a source of demonic power this vast while she was in this... state... felt like playing catch with a live grenade.

​Okay, Kazama. Operation: Stealth Getaway. Don’t breathe. Don't look. Do NOT wake the Master!

​He began the agonizingly slow process of sliding toward the edge of the bed. Every inch of movement felt like a mile. The silk sheets hissed against his skin, a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet room. He finally managed to swing his legs over the side, sitting on the edge with his heart thundering in his ears.

​He dared one final glance back. Big mistake. The curve of her hip, the rise and fall of her breathing—it was too much. His face flushed a red so deep it felt like a fever.

​"Seriously, why the sudden co-sleeping?!" he whispered to the shadows, gripping his knees. "Is this some kind of devil initiation ritual? Do I get a manual for this?"

​WHOOM.

​The air in the room suddenly turned into lead.

​A sharp, searing pain shot through Luke’s chest, as if a branding iron had been pressed into his sternum. The Morningstar Arcane Imprint burned through his white t-shirt, glowing with a fierce violet light.

​Then, the ring flared.

​The purple aura didn't just light up the room; it felt soul-crushingly vast. It was as if a cosmic cleaver was wedging itself into his core, trying to separate the Golden-White pillar from the Crimson one he had seen in his dream. His lungs seized. He couldn't draw air.

​This was her power. Even in her sleep, Vera Morningstar was a black hole of energy, pulling everything into her orbit.

​The chain I’m bound to, Luke thought, his panic beginning to fade into a strange, resigned awe. I hope I’m worth your trouble, Master. But seriously... why do you feel so close, yet so distant?

​In that moment of suffocating pressure, a strange impulse took hold of him. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and gently stroked a loose strand of her black hair. It was softer than the silk sheets.

​‘I won't disappoint you,’ he vowed.

​SNAP.

​The atmosphere changed instantly. The "sleeping" beauty vanished. Vera’s dark eyes flashed open—sharp, focused, and utterly predatory.

​Luke recoiled so hard he nearly fell off the bed, his hand flying back as if he’d touched a hot stove. His face was burning with a shame so intense he wished the floor would simply swallow him whole.

​Vera didn't move at first. She just watched him, a sly, curved smile forming on her lips—the smile of a cat that had just watched a mouse try to sneak away and fail miserably.

Then, she moved.

​With a grace that defied physics, she sat up and wrapped her slender arms around him from behind. Luke’s entire world narrowed down to the sensation of her exposed, soft skin pressing intimately against his back.

​He completely short-circuited. His brain sent an error message and shut down.

​“Well,” Vera’s voice was a low, teasing vibration against his ear. “It seems my Vassal has a knack for causing me trouble. Honestly, did you really have to move around that much when I was trying to stabilize your core?”

​“I... I am...” Luke stammered, his voice three octaves higher than usual. “It felt like my soul was being torn in two.”

​Vera noticed the glowing Imprint on his chest. She sighed, a sound of mock-exasperation, and rested her chin on his shoulder. She placed a hand over the mark, and a wave of warm, subtle energy flowed into him. It wasn't the crushing weight from before; it was a balm. The burning faded. The ring went silent.

​“There,” she whispered. Then, her arms tightened. Her voice dropped, turning dangerously seductive. “Now. What was my Vassal doing just now? I felt a very... interesting... touch on my hair.”

​Luke was frozen solid. She’s fighting dirty. This is a violation of the Geneva Convention. He cleared his throat, deciding that in the face of a Demon Princess, the only defense was total, embarrassing honesty.

​“I didn't want to wake you,” he confessed, his eyes fixed firmly on the far wall. “So I tried to move. But then I noticed you were... uh... well you know. And I froze. I might have stared. And... I couldn't help but touch your hair. You looked... peaceful.”

​Vera chuckled, a light, musical sound that made the Morningstar sigil on his chest throb in a way that wasn't painful.

​“Honesty. How refreshing,” she said, releasing him and standing up with zero modesty. “I’m glad you’re truthful, Luke. Though you were reckless. Your core is stable for now, but listen to me carefully.”

​Her tone shifted. The "teasing girl" was gone, replaced by the Master of the House.

​“Refrain from using the Apostle Eyes. Those fragments inside you are two opposite, equally uncontrollable demons. They will not coexist. If you try to force them before your demonic power is strong enough to act as a cage... you're going to explode.”

​Luke nodded sharply. No reckless power use. Got it. But internally, he was already thinking: Those eyes are my ace card. I need a way to use them without dying.

​Vera led Luke down the massive, dark mahogany staircase, her movements fluid and silent. The house was a temple to ancient history; severe portraits of Morningstar ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to track Luke with a cold, judgmental weight. Every brushstroke reinforced a hierarchy that had existed for centuries—one Luke had just crashed into like a stray bullet.

​But as they reached the landing, the Underworld aesthetic began to bleed into something jarringly modern.

​A discarded volume of a popular battle manga lay face-down on a centuries-old side table, next to a pair of high-end noise-canceling headphones. The scent of dark-red lilies was suddenly interrupted by a faint, off-key singing coming from the direction of the kitchen. It sounded like someone trying to hum a pop song while focused on something else entirely.

​This house is a tomb of ancient power... but people actually live here? Luke felt a strange, uncomfortable wave of relief wash over him.

​They entered the kitchen wing, and Luke’s eyes widened. It was a chef’s dream: pristine white and beige tiles, a massive granite island, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a sprawling, mist-covered backyard.

​"Sit," Vera commanded, gesturing to a sleek barstool at the counter.

​As Luke sat, the tension in his chest returned. "So, what’s the 'important discussion'?"

​Vera crossed her legs, the slit in her black-and-rose kimono revealing a glimpse of pale skin. "Simple. You are enrolling at Seishu Academy. I need to keep you within my reach. Your current thirty-minute commute to Tokyo High is ludicrous, especially since you live right here in Seishu City."

​“I see. But transferring mid-term is a massive hassle. The paperwork alone—”

​“I handle the paperwork,” Vera interrupted, her smile sharpening. “I just need your parents to sign off. The rest is already decided.”

​“Are you certain?” Luke leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the granite. “Seishu is highly prestigious—it’s where the elite and the exceptionally gifted go. I’m a second-year transfer with a... let’s call it a 'complicated' record. What makes you think I meet their impossible standards?”

​Vera leaned in, her dark eyes sparkling with a secret amusement. “Seishu Academy takes anyone I recommend. Or,” she paused, her gaze dropping to the ring on his finger, “anyone exceptionally talented. I doubt you'll be an 'average student' for long, Luke.”

​“Fair enough,” Luke muttered, sensing the trap. “What’s the catch? There’s always a catch with Devils.”

​“You catch on fast! I like that.” Vera’s smile widened. “The catch is that you must join my club. It’s the perfect cover for your training, and besides... I want to keep my adorable Vassal close to me.”

​CRACK!

​The air in the kitchen was violently shredded by a ripple of foreign Demonic Energy. It was followed by the unmistakable smash of expensive ceramic and a surprised, high-pitched shout.

​Luke’s fragmented senses flared. His vision momentarily split: he saw a flash of magenta eyes, the smell of burnt sugar filled his nostrils, and a wave of heat rolled through the hallway. His Morningstar sigil throbbed in sympathetic resonance.

​Vera didn't even flinch. She simply waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry," she sighed. "That is just Vianne Irazu, the Vice of my Household. She is... generally clumsy."

​“She's the one singing off-key?” Luke asked, rubbing his chest.

​Vera chuckled. “Loud, chaotic, and prone to disaster. Do try to be polite, Luke. She has a bit of a temper.”

​The kitchen door burst open, slamming against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Vianne Irazu stood in the doorway, her breath coming in short huffs.

​She was striking. Medium-long black hair with a small, delicate braid tucked behind her ear, and eyes that were a glittering, irritated magenta. She wore a casual oversized hoodie and shorts that showed off a well-developed, athletic figure, but the effect was slightly ruined by a streak of chocolate-brown batter smeared across her cheek.

​Her magenta eyes locked onto Luke. They didn't just look at him; they scanned him like a biological threat.

​“Vera,” Vianne demanded, her voice possessing an aristocratic sharpness that felt like a blade. “Who is this human, and why does he reek of your personal power and the Divine at the same time? Did you do something reckless again?”

​Luke flinched. She smelled the Divine through the ring? The realization of her power hit him. He noticed the violet ring on her middle finger—it bore an intricate Morningstar crest, marking her as a Vice, a rank far above his own blank Vassal ring.

​Vera sighed dramatically. “Easy, Vianne. He's my chosen Vassal. Meet Luke Kazama. I reincarnated him.” She turned to Luke. “Luke, this is Vianne Irazu. A pure-blood devil and my right hand.”

​Luke steeled his nerves. He stood up and, driven by an instinct he didn't know he had, executed a perfect, crisp bow.

​“ Luke Kazama, at your service,” he said. His voice came out with a subtle, cold precision that surprised even him. “I hope I will be able to work alongside you, Irazu-san.”

​Vianne froze. She looked at his bow, then at his serious expression, and suddenly, she burst into a genuine, delighted giggle. The "High-Class Devil" aura vanished, replaced by a cheerful, bubbling energy.

​“Oh! You’re actually quite cute!” she laughed, wiping the chocolate from her cheek. “Don't worry, you really didn't have to do all that, adorable.”

​Whoa. Bullet dodged, Luke thought, his heart finally slowing down. I thought she was going to execute me for being in the room.

​But the peace didn't last. The air in the kitchen wing suddenly turned brittle. The temperature plummeted, and the scent of burnt sugar was replaced by the sharp, metallic stench of sulfur and old steel.

​The patio door was pushed open slowly, deliberately.

​A new figure stepped inside. He had silver-blond hair that looked like spun moonlight and eyes the color of molten gold—intense, unforgiving, and currently locked onto Luke with murderous intent. He wore an immaculate, ancient-style suit that made him look like an eighteenth-century duelist.

​“Vera-sama,” he stated. His voice was a low, demanding instrument of war.

​Luke’s pillars—the Crimson and the Gold—snarled in his chest. His body went into a high-alert "Ghost" stance before his brain could even think. This wasn't a clumsy Vice. This was an outright threat.

​The young man walked straight past the girls, stopping inches from Luke. His golden eyes seared the Vassal ring on Luke's finger, then drifted to the pulsing Morningstar sigil on Luke's chest.

​“Ignazio,” Vera sighed wearily. “Must you always make an entrance? Even for a Sinistri, you're being dramatic. Calm down.”

​Ignazio ignored his Master. His voice was a dangerous whisper intended for her, but his eyes never left Luke. “I demand an explanation. Who is this... creature? His ring is nameless, yet your personal Arcane Imprint—the specialized seal of your lineage burns upon his chest! You risk the integrity of the Covenant for a disposable human pawn?”

​Vianne stepped forward, her magenta eyes narrowing. “Ignazio, stand down. He’s Vera’s choice.”

​“Choice?” Ignazio sneered, finally turning his golden glare toward Vera. “Look at him! He’s barely holding together! I feel the Divine warring against your power. It’s a conceptual riot. If he loses control for a single second, he could level the entire district. This is not a Vassal, Vera-sama... this is a walking catastrophe.”

​The words hit Luke with the force of a physical punch. ‘A walking catastrophe.’ He clutched his chest, feeling the truth of it. The pillars were fighting right now.

​Vera stepped between them. She wasn't smiling anymore. Her dark eyes met Ignazio’s gold ones with a power that forced the air out of the room. “My authority over my Peerage is absolute, Ignazio. Luke Kazama is an asset. His unique condition required the full measure of my Imprint to stabilize him. You may question my judgment, but you will never question my authority.”

​The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, Ignazio bowed his head, though his jaw remained tight.

​“Very well, Vera-sama,” he conceded. He turned back to Luke, his hostility cooling into a professional, icy distance. “I don't know why she chose you. But since she did, try your best to serve her well, Vassal. Do not make her regret her 'mercy'.”

​Luke felt a strange respect for the man. He was terrifying, but his loyalty was a tangible thing. Luke extended his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Ignazio-sama.”

​Ignazio stared at the hand, sighed as if he were dealing with a troublesome child, and shook it once. “Likewise, Luke Kazama.”

​He then leaned in to whisper something to Vera. Luke noticed a subtle ripple in the air—a perception block. He couldn't hear a word. Vera’s expression turned intensely serious, her eyes darkening. Whatever news Ignazio brought, it wasn't good.

​She turned back to Luke, her signature smile returning like a mask. She cupped his face with both hands, her skin feeling like cool velvet. “It seems we must cut our conversation short. Vianne will keep you company. I have more... pressing matters.”

​Before Luke could respond, she was gone, Ignazio following her like a silver shadow.

​Vianne clapped her hands, the sound snapping Luke out of his daze.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***