Kalego’s mood was unusually good today.

The misfit class was performing exceptionally well, his lesson plans were all prepared and neatly lined up in his folder, and even the staff weren’t grating on his nerves as much as they normally did. He was almost smiling, just a little bit, as he sat behind the desk in his regal office. Until he began sorting through his mail.

A letter bearing the Naberius family sigil made him stop. His eyes widened, his pulse quickened.

He didn’t speak to his family much. His father was a busy man, and their relationship wasn't particularly strong. His household had never been what one would call loving, but that was expected when belonging to one of the most powerful demon families in the Netherworld.

What could he possibly want?

With slightly trembling hands, Kalego used his sharp nails to slit the envelope open.

He hesitated, staring at the letter as if expecting it to react in some way, or perhaps simply stalling, unwilling to face whatever waited for him inside. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he finally unfolded the paper. His claws had already retracted, leaving only trembling fingers smoothing the creases as he prepared to read it.

Whatever faint trace of a smile he’d worn vanished instantly, replaced by a deepening frown. His hands tightened around the parchment, crumpling the very edges he just smoothed down. Each sentence cut into him like a knife between his ribs, twisting a little more with every paragraph.

When he finished reading, Kalego folded the letter with mechanical precision and locked it away. As if shutting it in a drawer could shut it out of his mind.

He… he can’t mean that.

The words clawed at him, the threat, the ultimatum, swirling violently in his mind, looping, tightening, refusing to let go. He pressed his fingertips to his temples, inhaling slowly, forcing his thoughts into order. Or at least trying to.

There was nothing he could do. Not now. Not yet.

Then his stomach growled; loud, intrusive, almost insulting in its timing. A mundane need cutting through the panic. Fine. Food. Something simple. Something normal. Something that didn’t demand he think about marriage contracts and family politics.

He stood abruptly, straightened his coat, and left his office. But the dread followed him like a clingy shadow. He was distant, lost in thought, failing to acknowledge the greetings and questions of passing colleagues. And by the time he sat down with his tray, his hunger was gone. All that remained was a deep, all‑encompassing dread.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there. His thoughts had tangled and stretched, time slipping past unnoticed.

Then suddenly he felt fingers threading through his hair.

His body tensed instinctively, ready to lash out, ready to attack. But then it hit him. In all of Babyls, hell, maybe even the entire Netherworld, there was only one person bold enough to touch him like this.

As their familiar scent reached him, he didn’t even have to turn around. His suspicions were confirmed, and his body relaxed again, if only a little.

“{{user}}…”