Chapter 2: Selfish, right?
886 Words
I slowly lift my head, muttering a puzzled "What the heck?" while I rub my temples and squint at Yuna, the girl next to me. Yuna quickly jumps in, "Hold up, it wasn't me! The history teacher went all quarterback and threw that thing." And man, the history teacher's face turns redder than a tomato, matching her vibrant purple hair like a weird color combo.
The history teacher starts yelling, "Dude, seriously? Are you even here? Can't you focus on anything?" She goes on with her usual rant, and I decide to play the silent card this time. Arguing with her is like a never-ending loop of frustration. I can't help but chuckle inside, thinking, "How can someone so good-looking be a one-person talk show?" But hey, I keep my trap shut, not wanting to stand out like a sore thumb and blow my cover as an otherworldly being.
"Enough's enough," I mutter to myself, making up my mind. Ms. Katriné, our history guru, heaves a deep sigh and gives me the boot from the classroom with a polite gesture. I drag my sleepy feet to the exit, trying to keep my cool. The girl with zebra stripes for hair lets out a giggle as I pass by. "Ah, my old buddy, this bench," I whisper, catching the glimmer of hope in a guy's eyes as he lights up like a light bulb in a dark room.
I snag a comfy spot on a bench close to the classroom and crash there, ready to catch some Z's.
A few minutes later, a bunch of students stroll by, their eyes glued to the classroom entrance. One dude grumbles, "Yo, isn't this unfair? Why do they get to shack up in a castle?" Another dude playfully smacks him and spills the beans, "Nah, man, these are the hero descendants; their mana's off the charts!" His buddy nods along, saying, "This is like the magic academy jackpot in the realm of fires and mystics."
I c***k my eyes open a tad, tickled by their on-the-fly explanation. So, this is what they mean by "exposition character." Pretty spot-on, if you ask me. The school sorts folks by their mana levels:
- Class C: The low-mana folks, who can only use it for basic stuff and can't control elements.
- Class B: Average Joes of mana, they can go pro as scouts or public do-gooders. Many get into magic crafting like blacksmithing and hunting ores.
- Class A: These peeps have a ton of mana; they usually sign up as soldiers to fend off demons for the kingdom.
And then we've got the Hero Descendant class, reserved for the elite with the blood of the top heroes flowing through their veins. Nobles qualify if they're in "Class A." And where do I fit in? Nowhere in those categories. I'm Bel, the Great Demon of Sloth.
"Oops, correction—Belphégor, the Great Demon of Sloth," I mentally fix my slip. And here I am, chillin' with the hero descendants. After that epic showdown between the Holy Empire and us demons, I got banged up real bad. To bounce, I whipped up a clone during a sealing ritual. Breaking free from that heavenly lock-down cost me 75% of my demonic juice. To stay off the radar, I went undercover as a street cat, posted up near a dumpster, and waited for the sweet embrace of my death.
Then, a raven-haired punk with fiery cherry eyes scooped me up and provided me shelter within his cardboard domain. Even though my fate seemed sealed, I ended up living with the boy. This boy, with his ebony hair and crimson eyes, wore ragged clothes, battled malnutrition, and exuded sadness. He harbored grand dreams of becoming a great demon, dreams I initially brushed off as futile. Over time, I witnessed his daily struggles, his unwavering determination even when his body faltered, and his genuine and kind nature, which contrasted sharply with my own wrathful tendencies. He even managed to quell my anger when I scratched him. Despite being bullied, he never bullied the weak. He shared his meager rations with a street cat he found. What sort of human was he? Was this thing called "affection" truly necessary for these desire-driven beings?
"Well, what else could I do?" I find myself pondering, hovering at the precipice of death. "Would a grand demon like me ever consider this kind of life?" I allow myself a wry smile.
As I close my eyes, memories of fleeing the war resurface, along with a sudden sensation on my cat form's belly. Silence falls. Utter stillness. Yet, from within, a searing heat surges, intensifying with each passing minute. A sensation akin to hellfire engulfs me—was this divine retribution for my actions? Amidst the torment, a trace of consciousness takes root. Familiar surroundings come into view. "What's happening?" I wonder, the heat reaching a fever pitch. I retch, expelling a chaotic torrent of black, oozing mana. Gasping for breath, an unfamiliar emotion courses through me—bubbling, overwhelming. It feels as though I might burst.
I glance at my human arms, then rush outside to catch a glimpse of my reflection. Upon seeing the boy's face staring back at me, I'm overcome with a sense of humility, my pride utterly shattered.
- Writer
