Chapter Text
1996
Azra Arden’s story is far from joyful. It’s bleak, pitiful, and yet strangely remarkable.
Unlike what the uninformed might assume, children like her—the experiments, the clones, the Nephilim, whatever they called—weren’t kept in blissful ignorance about their circumstances. Oh, no. They wanted the children to know everything.
And what was “everything”?
It was the harsh truth that they were clones. Copies of actual demons, discarded, with no one searching for them nor to claim them as their own. It was the knowledge that they had been chosen for something greater—or so they were told. Their lives, their fragile human bodies, were being shaped and twisted to become perfect vessels for demon kings.
Azra herself was being prepared for one of the most powerful: Iblis, the Demon King of Flames.
They were taught to read and write, their minds filled with books and knowledge. But that was where the kindness ended.
Azra watched the other Nephilim—her “sisters,” other Iblis clones—fall apart one by one. The experiments fractured their minds, their bodies. Some screamed for hours, clawing at their own skin. Some simply stopped responding, their eyes dull and lifeless until they were discarded like broken dolls.
Azra watched. She watched and endured.
And deep down, she prayed.
She didn’t know who or what she was praying to—God? The universe? A passing stranger who might someday rescue her? She only prayed for one thing: rest.
Not freedom, not adventure, not love. Azra wasn’t greedy. All she wanted was to be still. To lie down on a warm bed, read a book, eat her fill, and sleep without worry.
Was that too much to ask?
She didn’t dream of seeing the world or discovering new things. That kind of hope didn’t belong to people like her. She just wanted one day. One day where she didn’t have to wonder if she would survive until morning.
One day without pain, without fear, without watching the others fall.
One day of rest.
A life.
Now, Azra had it—or at least, she thought she did.
She lay curled on a soft bed, her body wrapped in thick blankets. The room was wide, clean, and warm, a small heater humming quietly in the corner. Outside, winter winds rattled the windows, but inside, Azra was safe. She had eaten her fill earlier—something called ramen, a hot, salty dish that warmed her from the inside out.
For the first time in her life, no one was watching her. No one was telling her to sit still, to behave, to endure another round of tests. She was free.
And yet… she couldn’t sleep.
She tossed and turned, her silver hair a tangled mess against the pillow. She stared at the ceiling, then at the walls, then at the corners of the room where the shadows gathered. At some point, she gave in and turned on the lights, glaring at the faint glow as if daring it to betray her.
Her chest felt tight, her muscles coiled with tension.
She tried to convince herself it was real. The warmth, the silence, the safety—this wasn’t some cruel trick. But no matter how many times she whispered it to herself, she couldn’t shake the unease twisting in her gut.
What if this is all a joke?
Her mind spiraled. Any moment now, she would wake up in Section 13 again, strapped to a table with cold hands pressing her down. They would inject her, tell her she was failing, and toss her back into the pit of discarded children.
What if they came back? What if someone rebuilt Section 13 and dragged her back into that nightmare?
Azra shivered, clutching the blankets tighter. Her body ached—not from the experiments this time, but from the weight of anxiety pressing against her ribs.
She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, staring at the light, waiting for something to go wrong.
But nothing did.
Slowly, the darkness outside began to lighten. Soft rays of sunlight crept through the window, painting the walls in shades of pale gold. The sound of birds chirping drifted in, soft and fragile.
Azra slid out of bed, her feet bare against the cold floor as she approached the window. She hesitated for a moment before unlocking it and pushing it open.
The cool morning air rushed in, brushing against her face and ruffling her long silver hair. She leaned forward, gripping the cold metal of the windowsill.
The world outside was quiet. Peaceful. For the first time, she wasn’t looking at smoke or fire. She wasn’t hearing screams or alarms. She wasn’t waiting for the next test or punishment.
She was free.
The sunlight caught in her hair, making it shimmer as the wind toyed with the wild strands. Something inside her chest shifted, breaking apart like a dam giving way to a flood. Her lips stretched into a wide smile—a real smile, so big it made her cheeks hurt.
“It’s real,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the morning breeze. “It’s real.”
For the first time in her life, Azra felt alive.
And she liked the feeling.
Azra Arden loved her freedom. It was everything she had ever wanted.
She could wake up and sleep whenever she pleased. Eat whatever she wanted—her tragic early attempts at cooking had recently turned into something resembling success, thanks to the cookbook Mephisto had kindly (and suspiciously cheerfully) brought her.
She even had a TV now, which she adored, flipping through channels endlessly, fascinated by the constant stream of stories, music, and news.
This was it. Her perfect life. Eat, sleep, watch TV, and repeat. She wanted this to last forever.
When she opened her door one lazy afternoon to see Mephisto Pheles grinning at her with his usual over-the-top flair, she could feel her perfect little bubble starting to crack.
“Azra-chan, my dear ward!” The purple haired man greeted, his voice as exaggerated as his outfit—a gaudy purple suit with pink accents that hurt her eyes just to look at. “What a charming mess you’ve made of yourself!”
Azra stared at him blankly. And stared. And stared.
Without waiting for an invitation, Mephisto swept into her apartment like he owned the place. Which, to be fair, he probably did.
She followed him, watching as he hummed to himself, his green eyes scanning the state of the apartment, poking at the clutter. He gestured dramatically at the state of her home
“Tsk, tsk,” he said, wagging a finger. “I gave you this apartment because I thought a fourteen-year-old was mature enough to handle herself. But this place?” He gestured grandly. “A catastrophe! Tell me, have you ever cleaned it? Or yourself, for that matter?”
She continued staring, her silence speaking volumes.
Mephisto didn’t seem fazed by her lack of response. In fact, he smiled wider “Right! Let’s fix this.”
With a snap of his fingers, there was a loud pop! followed by a puff of pink smoke. When the smoke cleared, a large bag had appeared on the floor.
Azra’s golden eyes widened as she pointed at the bag. “H-how did you—”
He smirked, winking at her. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” He nudged the bag toward her. “Go on. Take it.”
Still cautious, the Nephilim crouched down and opened the bag. Inside, she found… clothes. Lots of them. Shirts of all colors, skirts, pants, jackets, accessories, even shoes. She pulled out a few pieces, turning them over in her hands, marveling at the soft fabrics and vibrant designs.
Mephisto watched her with obvious amusement, as though he were observing a particularly entertaining play.
Finally, Azra looked up at him, her voice slow and uncertain. “What… what is all this?”
“Oh, come now,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “You didn’t think I’d let you rot in this apartment forever, did you?”
Her brows furrowed. Something about his tone made her uneasy. “What are you talking about?”
Mephisto’s grin stretched even wider, and Azra’s stomach dropped. She braced herself, instinctively clutching the hem of a shirt.
“You, my dear Azra-chan,” he said with a flourish, “are going to school!”
She froze. She blinked once. Twice. Then, slowly, she frowned.
“School?” She repeated flatly.
“School!” Mephisto confirmed, clapping his hands together. “You’ve heard of it, haven’t you? A magical place where young people learn, make friends, and experience all the joys and heartbreaks of adolescence. Oh, the things I’d give to be a teenage girl in Japanese middle school…”
She stared at him with the expression of someone who had just been told the world was ending. “I’m already educated,” she said. “I can read. And write. And—”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Not that kind of education. I’m talking about real experiences. Socializing! Forming bonds! Facing challenges! Becoming a normal, well-adjusted member of society.”
Her frown deepened. “I’m not sure I want that.”
“Oh, you will,” Mephisto said cheerfully. “It’ll be fun! Think of it as your first step toward freedom.”
The silver haired teenager wasn’t convinced. “I’m already free.”
Mephisto sighed dramatically, brushing invisible dust off the couch before sitting down in a perfectly refined pose. “Azra, Azra, Azra. It’s the end of the school year. Final exams are next month, so you’ll have two whole months to prepare for your grand debut as a middle schooler. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
Azra’s lips thinned into a straight line. “No.”
He laughed, clearly delighted by her irritation. “Come now,” he said, standing up and smoothing his coat. “One year of middle school. Just one normal year. You’ll make friends, have fun, and—”
“What do you mean by normal?” Azra interrupted, her voice sharp. Unease coiled in her chest, and she clutched the shirt tighter.
Mephisto’s grin widened, his green eyes gleaming with suspicious redness. “Oh, didn’t I mention? After middle school, you’ll be transferring to my academy, Exorcist Cram School, where you’ll be training to become a powerful exorcist!”
Azra’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No!” Azra stood abruptly, her voice rising. “I don’t want that! I don’t want anything to do with exorcists or demons—I just want to—
“Rot away here in this apartment?” Mephisto cut her off, his tone still light but with a sharper edge. “That’s not an option, my dear. You’re not exactly… ordinary. It’s unacceptable to let someone like you live as if you are.” He stood, walking outside.
Azra clenched her fists, frustration bubbling in her chest. “I just… I just want to live quietly. That’s all I want.” Followed him.
Mephisto paused, glancing over his shoulder. For a moment. “Sorry, kid. Quiet lives aren’t in the cards for people like you. You’re lucky to have one year of normalcy. The Exorcist Cram School isn’t yet, it’s being rebuilt in this year.”
He opened the door, waving a hand as if dismissing her complaints. “Clean this place up. Get some fresh air. Maybe try some Japanese street food. Oh, and don’t forget to try on those clothes!”
She trailed after him, her protests growing louder. “I’m not going outside! There are demons out there!”
Mephisto chuckled, stepping into the hallway. “Exactly! That’s why the world needs people like you. To exorcise them.”
“I’m not an exorcist!”
“Not yet,” Mephisto said, winking. “But soon.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Azra standing in the middle of the room, her fists trembling with frustration.
When Mephisto had insisted that Azra go outside and “experience Japanese culture,” she hadn’t wanted to.
For one, it was cold. The kind of cold that made your breath puff into clouds and your fingers feel like they might fall off if you weren’t careful. Still, she found herself standing at the entrance to her building, bundled up in a black shirt, jeans, a thick brown coat, a white scarf, and a matching hat. She even wore boots, though her toes were still freezing.
The snow had stopped falling, but the chill in the air lingered. As Azra stared out at the busy Tokyo streets, bustling with life and activity, she sighed, her breath forming a small puff of mist.
“What’s so great about this culture anyway?” she muttered under her breath as she stepped onto the sidewalk.
The streets were crowded with people moving in every direction. Neon signs buzzed overhead, and shopfronts displayed everything from gadgets to food. Floating in the air above the crowd, like small, annoying gnats, were tiny black impurities—harmless, really, but still unpleasant. Azra ignored them. They weren’t dangerous, just pests, visual reminders of the demonic energy saturating the city.
She walked aimlessly, her yellow eyes darting from one storefront to the next.
And then, something caught her attention.
A small street stall stood to the side, its red-and-white striped awning sheltering trays of candied apples. The vendor dipped a shiny red apple into melted sugar, coating it in a glistening layer of sweetness. The smell of caramelized sugar wafted toward Azra, and her stomach growled loudly.
Her mouth watered, and her eyes widened in awe.
What is that? she thought, her heart racing. It’s shiny. It’s beautiful. It looks… magical.
The vendor noticed her staring and smiled warmly. “Would you like one, miss?”
She nodded so fast it was almost comical.
“One hundred yen,” the vendor said, holding up the candied apple.
Azra immediately pulled out the small bag of money Mephisto had given her. She didn’t really understand how currency worked, so she’d brought everything—just in case. She handed the man a coin, took the apple, and bit into it cautiously.
The moment the sugar touched her tongue, her eyes widened even further. She froze in place, the taste overwhelming her senses.
Sweet… this is sweet? This is what I read about in the books? This is amazing!
Her mind practically exploded with joy. She devoured the apple in minutes, not even noticing the sticky syrup clinging to her fingers. Once finished, she threw the stick into a nearby trash bin and looked around eagerly for more.
Azra didn’t stop at the apple. Oh, no.
She found a nearby shop selling sweets, marched up to the cashier, and declared, “I’ll take everything that’s sweet.”
The cashier blinked at her, confused. “Uh… everything?”
She gave him her brightest, most innocent smile. “Yes. Everything.”
The cashier hesitated but, seeing the determination in her eyes, began gathering an assortment of traditional Japanese sweets: mochi, dango, dorayaki, daifuku, kakigori.
Azra’s eyes sparkled as she watched the pile grow.
She paid without hesitation, not even bothering to count the coins she handed over. Then, she found a bench outside and began eating her way through the pile with gusto.
After finishing that batch, she wandered to another shop. There, she tried coffee jelly, mochi ice cream, soufflé pancakes, and more. She bought and ate as much as she could, stuffing the rest into bags to bring home.
By the time she returned to her apartment, she was carrying three large bags of sweets. She dropped them on the floor and stared at them with pride.
But as she admired her haul, a strange pain began to grow in her stomach. It was small at first, just a twinge, but it quickly became a sharp, twisting ache.
Azra groaned, clutching her stomach. “Ow… why does this hurt? Is something wrong with the sweets?”
She ignored the pain and went to bed, convinced it would pass.
It didn’t pass.
Azra spent the entire next day curled up on the bathroom floor, her stomach churning as she vomited everything she’d eaten. Her silver hair clung to her damp forehead, and she groaned miserably as she clutched her stomach.
“Why didn’t the books say too much sweet stuff is bad?” she muttered, glaring at the floor.
Eventually, she dragged herself to the kitchen, flipping through the cookbook Mephisto had given her. She found a recipe for soup that promised to soothe stomach pain and set about making it.
Her hands shook as she chopped vegetables, but the warm smell of broth filled the air, comforting her. By the time she finished eating, she felt a little better.
“Okay,” she said aloud, staring at the bags of sweets still sitting on the floor. “Next time, just a little. No more overdoing it.”
By the end of the week, she’d finished the sweets—carefully, this time.
But then she realized something.
She was out of food. And money.
She frowned at her empty cabinets, her frustration building. Mephisto had said she needed to manage her money carefully, but how was she supposed to know candy was so expensive?
“Well, I’ll just have to ask him for more,” she muttered, pulling on her boots.
She paused at the door, biting her lip. How do I even contact him? she thought. she didn’t have a cell phone, and he always just appeared when he felt like it.
Sighing, she decided to head to his workplace: True Cross Academy.
As she stepped out into the cold air, she muttered to herself, “He’d better give me more money. And food. And maybe another candied apple.”
She adjusted her scarf and set off, determined to find the elusive man who had turned her life upside down.
Azra had no idea where True Cross Academy was.
She also didn’t know much of anything about Tokyo, despite living here. Sure, she’d been born in Tokyo—or at least that’s what her documents said—but her time had been spent locked inside a laboratory. She had no clue where that laboratory had been located, let alone where anything else was in this sprawling city.
Most people gave her strange looks, but a few were kind enough to point her the right way. Slowly, piece by piece, she pieced together a mental map from their vague descriptions.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she arrived.
She stood in front of True Cross Academy, her mouth falling open in awe.
“This… this is an academy?” she muttered to herself, wide-eyed. “He didn’t tell me it was a city!”
The sprawling campus stretched across platforms and bridges, its architecture a breathtaking blend of European-style buildings, advanced technology, and old-world magic. Towers and spires rose high into the sky, connected by intricate walkways and glowing with faint magical energy.
Azra snapped her mouth shut, realizing she was gawking, and approached the massive, gated entrance. The gates were locked, and the tall iron bars seemed impossible to climb—not that she wanted to try.
Spotting a small window near the gate, Azra tiptoed and craned her neck to peek inside. Her boots scraped against the concrete as she balanced precariously on her toes.
Inside, a uniformed guard sat at a desk, scribbling something in a notebook. He noticed her after a moment and stood, frowning slightly as he approached the window. Sliding it open, he looked her over with suspicion.
“Are you a student?” he asked, his tone skeptical.
Azra blinked at him. “A student?”
The guard nodded, “You can’t be here. It’s the middle of the week, and students aren’t allowed to leave their dorms except on weekends.”
“I’m not a student,” Azra responded flatly.
The guard raised an eyebrow. “Family, then? Visiting someone?”
Azra hesitated, opening her mouth to say no, but then stopped. Technically… wasn’t Mephisto her legal guardian? That was kind of like family, wasn’t it?
The thought of calling Mephisto “family” made her nose wrinkle in disgust.
The guard noticed her grimace and tensed. “What’s the problem?”
She quickly shook her head. “Nothing. I’m family. I’m here to visit someone.”
The guard relaxed slightly, though he still looked suspicious. He handed her a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached. “Fill this out. Your information, and the family member you’re visiting.”
Azra accepted the clipboard, holding it like it was some kind of foreign artifact. She stared at the form for a moment before carefully writing her name, age, and address in neat, deliberate handwriting.
When she got to the “Family Member” section, she paused, biting her lip.
After a moment, she wrote:
Name: Mephisto Pheles— she crossed it out immediately, remembering what he said about his public name. Johann Faust V.
Relationship: …
She winced as she checked the box for “parent,” her pen hovering uncertainly over the paper.
Under “Occupation,” there was a space for the family member’s role. Azra frowned, then crossed out the options for “student” and wrote in bold letters: Headmaster.
Satisfied with her work, she handed the clipboard back to the guard.
The man glanced at the paper casually—then stopped. His eyes bulged as he stared at the form, then at Azra, then back at the form.
“You’re… you’re his daughter?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief.
She shifted uncomfortably. “He’s my legal guardian. Not my father.”
The clarification didn’t seem to help. The guard continued to gape at her as if she’d just announced she was Satan’s heir—though, to be fair, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
“I… I didn’t know he had a—” The guard stopped himself, shook his head, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean, I didn’t hear anything about this.”
She tilted her head, her expression neutral. “I don’t think he’s the type to announce it to the world.”
The guard swallowed nervously, lowering the clipboard. “Right. Um. Okay. I’ll need to confirm this.”
He closed the window and walked briskly to a nearby phone, glancing back at her nervously as he dialed.
Azra watched him with mild curiosity, her arms crossed. She could see his lips moving as he spoke into the phone, nodding furiously every few seconds. Occasionally, he cast anxious glances her way, his forehead damp with sweat.
After a few minutes, the guard hung up the phone and hurried back to the window. He opened it with a loud clatter, smiling nervously.
“Y-you can go in now,” he stammered, waving her toward the gate. “Please, right this way!”
Azra followed the guard as he led her deeper into True Cross Academy, still overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the place.
The academy wasn’t just a school. It was a city.
She tilted her head back, her sharp yellow eyes scanning the vast architecture—the grand bridges, the towering buildings, the sprawling streets. Everything was massive, stretching high into the sky like something out of a fantasy novel.
The guard, who had introduced himself as Kaoru, glanced at her curiously. “First time here?”
The Nephilim simply nodded.
Kaoru looked even more surprised. “That’s weird. Your dad is the headmaster. You’ve never visited at least once?”
Azra blinked, then frowned. “He’s isn’t my dad.”
Kaoru shrugged. “Legal guardian, parent—it’s the same thing.”
Her frown deepened. It’s really not.
As they walked, Kaoru rambled about the academy, unintentionally answering some of her unspoken questions.
“True Cross Academy is a massive, prestigious institution, located in True Cross Town,” he explained. “It’s one of the best high schools in Japan. Super expensive, really high-quality education—basically, a school for rich kids.” He chuckled. “And, of course, Johann Faust V-san is the big boss here.”
She kept walking in silence, making mental notes as Kaoru led her across bridges and through busy walkways. A few students and citizens of the town passed them, their gazes lingering on Azra, making her shift uncomfortably. She ignored them.
After several winding corridors, Kaoru finally stopped in front of an elegant, very over-the-top office door. He pointed at it, looking slightly nervous.
“This is the headmaster’s office.”
Azra nodded in acknowledgment. Kaoru hesitated, shifting awkwardly. Then, as if deciding he didn’t want to stick around any longer, he muttered something about needing to get back to work and bolted.
Azra watched him disappear down the hallway, blinking.
“… Weirdo.”
She turned back to the door. Without hesitation, she grabbed the handle and threw it open without knocking.
…
Yep. This was definitely Mephisto’s office.
The entire room screamed extravagance. The walls were lined with luxurious furniture, unnecessary decorations, and a mix of antique and futuristic items that made absolutely no sense together. Everything was bright, colorful, and loud.
And sitting behind the enormous desk, grinning like a child about to cause trouble, was Mephisto Pheles.
“Azra-chan, my dear!” he greeted with excessive enthusiasm, stretching out his arms. “What a delightful surprise! What brings you to my humble—”
Azra ignored him.
Instead, her gaze drifted to the other person in the room.
A woman sat on the couch beside Mephisto’s desk, her arms crossed and an irritated look on her face. She had dark red hair, tied back in a low ponytail, with dark brown roots peeking through. Her sharp brown eyes were lined with makeup, and her expression screamed no-nonsense.
She was wearing the standard Exorcist uniform.
Shrugging off the tension, Azra marched straight up to Mephisto’s desk and slammed her hand down with a loud thud.
“I need money,” she announced.
A moment of silence stretched between them.
The woman on the couch exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable. No manners, no greetings, and now she just demands money? How rude.”
Azra turned her head toward her, deadpan. “Who are you?” she asked, completely blunt.
A vein visibly pulsed in the woman’s forehead.
Mephisto burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the situation. “You’ll have to get used to that,” he said to the woman, grinning.
Then, looking back at the teenager, he gestured toward her. “Allow me to introduce Sato Yukari, your future mentor in the Aria class—combat based on scripture.”
Azra’s face immediately dropped.
Right. Exorcist training. She had one year before she had to join. The reminder made her stomach churn with irritation.
Sato Yukari didn’t seem thrilled about it either.
Before things could spiral further, Mephisto clapped his hands together, his grin widening. “Now, now. Before we discuss your glorious future as an exorcist, let’s address your request.”
Azra’s expression instantly brightened. Finally, money.
“Hold out your hands,” he instructed.
Her yellow eyes sparkled. Yes. Yes. Here it comes. She eagerly stretched her hands forward, palms open, waiting for the glorious cash.
A puff of pink smoke erupted above her hands.
When it cleared—
Azra stared.
Her fingers twitched as she stared at the handful of candy that had appeared in her hands.
Her expression twisted into something between betrayal and childlike wonder.
On one hand, this wasn’t money. On the other hand, it was candy.
Her priorities struggled against each other.
“… This isn’t money,” she finally muttered.
Mephisto smirked. “No, but isn’t it wonderful?”
Azra slowly picked up one of the sweets and inspected it. A quiet spark of joy flickered in her chest. Candy.
Mephisto leaned back, clearly entertained. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and go wait outside until I’m finished speaking with your future teacher?”
Azra, surprisingly, didn’t argue.
Without a word, she unwrapped a piece of candy, popped it into her mouth, and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind her.
She plopped herself down in the hallway, chewing contentedly.
Money could wait. For now, she had sweets.
After what felt like forever, Sato Yukari finally stepped out of Mephisto’s office.
Azra sat on the floor of the hallway, lazily chewing on a piece of candy. The moment their eyes met, the tension in the air became unbearable.
Sato stood before her, arms crossed, her sharp brown eyes filled with irritation. She tilted her chin up slightly, radiating an air of authority.
“You have one year,” Sato said, her voice firm and cold. “One year to fix your attitude and learn some respect before I start as your teacher.”
Azra stared at her, unbothered. She sucked on her candy, then deadpanned, “I’ll act however I want and speak however I want. If you don’t like it, you can tell Mephisto I’m not suitable to be an exorcist.”
Sato’s eye twitched.
For a brief moment, it looked like she was about to snap, but instead, she inhaled sharply, composing herself.
“I’ll ignore your rudeness for now,” she said coolly. “I know your kind—uneducated, undisciplined, lacking proper upbringing.”
Azra’s yellow eyes narrowed.“My kind?” she repeated slowly.
Sato’s expression remained impassive. “You know exactly what I mean.”
And with that, she turned her back and walked away.
Azra’s stare hardened as she watched her go.
She knew exactly what Sato meant. She was talking about Azra being a Nephilim of a demon king.
For a brief moment, something ugly stirred in Azra’s chest. But then she shoved it away. It didn’t matter.
Exhaling, she pushed herself off the ground and entered Mephisto’s office.
Mephisto sat at his desk, flipping through documents, humming cheerfully under his breath. The entire office was as obnoxiously extravagant as ever.
The moment Azra stepped inside, he grinned mischievously and rested his chin in his palm.
“Well? How do you like True Cross Town?” he asked, his voice teasing.
She plopped down onto the couch, arms crossed. “Weird.”
Mephisto’s green eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh? And why’s that?”
She frowned. “I thought it was just an academy, but it’s a whole city.”
He nodded. “It is both.” He leaned back, explaining in a singsong voice, “True Cross Town is a massive, self-sustaining city. Exorcists and their families live here for safety, while the academy itself is open to civilians—rich civilians, of course. Most students have no idea demons even exist..”
Azra raised an eyebrow. “So why don’t I live here instead of in the city?”
Mephisto hummed, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Well, the Blue Night was only a month ago, after all. Emotions are still raw. Humans have an unfortunate habit of blaming everything except themselves.” He waved a hand dramatically. “You, my dear, are an easy scapegoat.”
Azra scowled. “But I didn’t do anything. I survived, just like them.”
Mephisto nodded. “That’s true. But humans can’t always control their emotions, now can they?”
He gave her a knowing smile. “Not alot knows about you. After all, section 13 is ver secretive. Only Sato-sensei knows, and she’s is held back by the the contract. Eventually, she’ll come down and realize you and the other survivors were just children. She’s just confused because she lost her husband that day.”
Azra’s frown deepened. “… And ‘eventually’ means a year, doesn’t it?”
Mephisto’s grin widened. “Correct~! By the time you start high school, you’ll be living here permanently.”
She groaned, rubbing her face in frustration. “I don’t want to be an exorcist.”
He laughed. “Oh, Azra, my dear,” he said, shaking his head. “Forget about what you want. I had to work very hard to convince the Vatican to let me keep you instead of taking you away with the other one.”
Azra’s breath hitched slightly. “… The other?” she repeated cautiously. “You mean… the other survivors?”
Mephisto simply nodded. “One, actually. You’re one of the very last two Nephilim survivors.”
This information shocked her. Azra hesitated before asking, “… Why did you insist on taking me?”
Mephisto’s smile grew even more amused. “Oh, I could tell you it’s because I’m a kind-hearted man who wanted to care for a poor orphan.”
She stared at him blankly. “I wouldn’t believe you.”
He clapped his hands together. “Good! Because that would be a lie.”
Azra narrowed her eyes. “Then why?”
Mephisto leaned forward, grinning like a child about to reveal a fun secret. “Because I like humans.”
She blinked in confusion. “What?”
The adult continued, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “Humans are fascinating! So fragile, so emotional, so utterly unpredictable.”
He wagged a finger at her. “I wanted to see one struggle, fall, rise, make mistakes, grow, evolve—oh, but taking in a baby would be too much work. Crying, feeding, diapers, ugh.” He shuddered theatrically. “But you, Azra—you’re just like a newborn. A fully-grown part human who has never actually lived before.”
The girl’s jaw dropped. “… You are so weird,” she finally said.
Mephisto burst out laughing.
She scowled, then muttered, “And selfish. You’re just keeping me around for your own entertainment.”
He wiped a fake tear from his eye. “You wound me, Azra-chan~!”
She huffed, then gave him a pointed look. “You’re human too. Why are you acting like you’re not?”
Mephisto’s grin widened. He blinked innocently. “Oh? You didn’t know?”
Azra’s stomach twisted. “… Know what?”
Mephisto suddenly stood, spreading his arms dramatically. “Azra-chan, my dear! I am Mephisto Pheles, publicly known as Johann Faust V and the esteemed headmaster of True Cross Academy and Preceptor of the Japan Branch of the True Cross Order! But my true identity is—”
The air crackled with magic. A flicker of blue and purple light shimmered around him as he smiled wickedly. “I am Samael, the Demon King of Time, and the second strongest of the Eight Demon Kings!”
Azra froze.
Mephisto twirled his cane, conjuring a small illusion—a glowing, mystical clock hovering beside him before it vanished in a puff of pink smoke.
Her mind short-circuited, her heart pounded violently.
She jumped to her feet, yellow eyes glowing with sudden caution. “You’re a demon?!”
Mephisto smirked. “I am.”
Azra took a step back. “What the hell?!”
The demon laughed, completely unbothered by her reaction. “Oh, dear, were you under the impression that I was human?”
Azra stammered, struggling to process this information. “But—you—you run an Exorcist Academy!”
“I do~.”
“You’re thd Preceptor of the Japan Branch of True Cross Order!!”
“Correct again~.”
Azra’s brain felt like it was melting.
Mephisto leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “Now, about that money you wanted, I’ll give you none, sweetheart—”
She slammed her hands on the desk, forgetting all about the demon thing, “Give me money, or I’ll expose your true identity as a demon king to the Order!”
Mephisto threw his head back, laughing hysterically.
Azra’s face turned red. “What’s so funny?!”
He wiped another fake tear from his eye. “Oh, Azra-chan, you truly are a delight! You can’t blackmail me with information everyone already knows.”
Azra froze. “… What?”
Mephisto smirked. “It’s common knowledge, just as common as knowing that my brother, Azazel, is a founding member of the True Cross Order. After all, my brother and I, and some of the important demons, were the ones who taught human how to fight the demons back.”
Azra let out a long, exhausted groan.
She dropped her forehead onto his desk and mumbled, “I’m broke, hungry, you’re a demon and I can’t blackmail anyone… This is the worst day ever.”
Mephisto just laughed harder.