In Morax Momonoki's class, the mood was light and mischievous. At the front of the room stood several glass jars, each holding a twitchy little frog that blinked lazily up at the gathered students.
"Today's lesson is on Transfiguration!" Morax sang cheerfully, her witch's hat bobbing with every dramatic gesture. "Let's see who can transform their frog the best! Shape, size, color, texture! It's all about magic control~!"
Students whispered excitedly as they stepped forward in turns. Clara's frog turned into a jellybean before exploding into slime. Alice gave his frog long flowing hair like a kabuki performer.
Then—
"Iruma, go on," Alice said smoothly, pushing him forward without hesitation.
Iruma sighed quietly but didn't protest. As he stepped up to the table, his Ring of Gluttony pulsed faintly.
"Ali-san… help me out," he muttered under his breath.
Hmph. You owe me, came the lazy voice in his head.
Iruma focused. The image came to mind—not complex, just a color shift. He imagined the frog turning deep violet.
The magic responded instantly.
A quiet flash, and the frog was now a smooth, shimmering purple, its skin almost glowing.
The class gasped.
"Incredible!"
"He did it so precisely!"
"He even suppressed the overflow!"
Morax clapped, clearly impressed. "A marvelous demonstration of will-to-magic conversion! Well done, Iruma-kun!"
Iruma just nodded quietly and stepped back, hands in pockets, smirk hidden behind a cool stare.
"LUNCH!" Clara shouted, sprinting down the corridor. Alice followed with a much calmer stride, but Iruma lingered behind, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.
That's when he felt it.
The pulse. The hunger.
And the shadow emerged.
A dark mass formed beside him—stubby arms, glimmering teeth, and glowing red eyes. The creature from the Ring.
"…Ali-san?"
The creature sniffed and floated lazily.
"You didn't feed me today, Iruma~ I'm starving."
Iruma's eyes widened, a flicker of panic settling in.
No no no—not again—what if he absorbs magic like during the firework—!
But Ali-san yawned.
"Actually, wait. Huh... I'm not that hungry?"
Both froze.
"…Did you just talk? With whom?"
"…I just talked!?"
The two stared at each other, dumbfounded. Then the whispers started—curious students noticing Iruma speaking to… something.
Without thinking, Iruma bolted into the nearest door—the dusty, echoing 3rd-Year Preparation Room.
Ali-san floated in a lazy circle, now donning a very tiny crown and faint translucent cape on his bulbous body.
"You reached Rank 5, Iruma. That's why I can have crown of my own now. Our contract's matured. I'm no longer just a magic tool. I'm the Avatar of Gluttony now."
Iruma leaned back against a cabinet, arms crossed, processing it all.
"So what... you're now even more powerful ali san?"
"I always was, dummy." Ali-san smirked. "Just too hungry to talk. But now? I've got a body, a voice, and a ton to say."
He floated closer, smug.
"Like: What were you thinking, wasting all your stored magic on that giant firework? Did you want to pass out in front of everyone again?"
Iruma rolled his eyes. "It worked, didn't it?"
"Barely. Magic isn't just fuel, you know. It's desire made real. You turned the frog purple because you imagined it. That's what magic is—turning thoughts into matter through sheer will."
Desire into reality…?
Ali-san floated around Iruma like a lecturing professor.
"Now, if I'm going to serve someone with gluttony magic, you better give me a better look. I want an upgrade. Little iru"
Iruma raised a brow. "What do you want? Spikes? Wings?"
"Ugh, surprise me!"
With a sigh, Iruma pointed a hand at the floating creature and muttered a spell.
A flash of magic—and now Ali-san had stubby little demon wings, longer horns, and a tiny tuxedo vest.
"Too simple! I want flare, I want power! I want to look like a final boss!"
"Then dress yourself."
"I do have arms!"
After five minutes of bickering and minor alterations, Ali-san suddenly grinned.
"Now it's your turn. Try it on yourself."
Iruma blinked.
"Huh?"
"Use magic to change your outfit. Imagine it. Feel it. Make it real."
He hesitated… then nodded.
He tried Alice's elegant suit—then one of his battle cloaks. He even conjured a style reminiscent of Sasuke's black yukata with purple obi, which looked too natural on him.
"Too cool," Ali-san muttered. "Try something you'd never wear."
Iruma scoffed. "Fine."
He focused—and instantly regretted it.
Poof!
Cat ears. A frilly pink dress. Tiny bows. Bell choker.
His eyes deadened. Ali-san burst into maniacal laughter.
"YOU ACTUALLY DID IT! HAHAHA! AHAHA—"
Then—
BOOM!
The door exploded inward.
"IRUMA—what was that noise—"
Ameri stood in the smoke and splinters, panting, eyes wide.
And there he was.
Iruma in a cat-girl outfit.
Everyone froze.
"…Iruma?"
Iruma stared.
Ali-san vanished.
Ameri blinked rapidly, her brain crashing.
Did he lose a bet? Was this some beast-user curse? Did... did I cause this??
Iruma cleared his throat, calm and cold as always.
"This isn't what it looks like."
Ameri took a slow step back.
"…I knew I should've burned that Akudol ticket."
----
Ameri stood frozen at the blasted entrance of the third-year prep room, her sharp eyes locked on Iruma, who stood in the middle of a pile of discarded outfits—currently dressed in an unmistakable pink cat-eared dress.
...No. I'm dreaming. I've clearly overworked myself and passed out in the hallway.
Iruma stiffened, the room too silent for comfort. He quickly dispelled the clothes with a flick of magic, restoring his school uniform.
"Ameri—this isn't what it—"
She raised a hand.
"No—No need to explain."
"But—"
"Iruma-kun, I need to be somewhere. You—should also be somewhere. Anywhere else."
She backed out slowly and shut the door, leaving behind only silence and a trail of confusion.
Iruma slumped back against the wall and sighed deeply.
"…You couldn't show yourself for two seconds to explain?"
A wisp of darkness swirled into the air and reformed as Alikred, floating smugly in his crowned, lazy form.
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm an unknown entity. The more people see me, the more curious they'll get. Imagine if one of those researchers or teachers realizes I'm a self-aware ring spirit. Do you want to spend the rest of your school life being poked and dissected in a lab coat freak show?"
Iruma narrowed his eyes. "…No."
"Exactly. The less anyone knows about me, the better."
Iruma sighed again, sliding down the cabinet to sit on the floor.
"Do you think… Ameri will tell anyone?"
Alikred floated down beside him.
"Only if you bring it up. Otherwise? She'll either block it out or convince herself it was a stress-induced hallucination. Don't worry, she already thinks you're strange. This'll just be another layer."
That… didn't make him feel better.
But still, some relief came from hearing it. Iruma exhaled and stood up.
"…If you're going to start talking and evolving like this, I need to know more. You're part of my magic now, but I still don't understand you. Why can you do things other demons can't?"
"You're asking the questions now, huh."
Sullivan's Mansion
Iruma sat on a velvet couch across from Sullivan, who sipped tea while humming a melody. Opera stood quietly behind him.
"So then," Iruma began, "what do you know about sentient magic tools? Ones that… talk. Transform. Heal."
Sullivan blinked.
"My dear Iruma, magic tools don't talk. At least, not of their own free will! Maybe in very rare cases—but even then, healing magic?" He chuckled. "Only someone with authority close to the Demon King's can do that because no demon can heal human except demon king himself or Rank 10 [Yodh]."
Opera's brow furrowed faintly.
"You've been using healing magic?"
Iruma hesitated.
"No."
Sullivan leaned forward.
"Iruma… Have you been staying up late again?"
"No—well—yes. But that's not—"
"Ah, classic Fantastical ideas. Iru..ma... kun!" Sullivan waved a finger. "Opera, prepare the tea for fatigue. And fluff his nap pillow. It's time."
"Wait—I'm not imagining things! I swear—"
"Yes yes, I know. The magic ring is talking and dressing you up and healing you. Opera?"
"Already preparing a blanket."
Defeated, Iruma laid back on the couch, arms crossed.
They don't believe me. But I know what I saw. What I felt.
The next morning, Iruma moved quietly through the halls, head still filled with thoughts of Alikred's form and that mystic healing ability—something only a Demon King or Rank 10 should possess.
Ali-san… just what are you?
That's when Ameri appeared around the corner, arms folded tightly.
"Iruma."
He stopped, immediately tensing.
"About yesterday, I—"
"Come to my council office."
"…Sorry, I can't. I need to go somewhere with Alice. It's about training. With his mother."
Ameri blinked.
"Again? But I…"
She paused.
"…Alright. But don't goforever. I have questions."
She turned sharply and walked off, face a little pink. She ask about manga story and many thing .
Iruma sighed in relief—and then again in regret.
Asmodeus's mother was merciless. Flames danced through the forest, and Iruma, shirt half-scorched, weaved through the barrage of drills. Alice stood by, ready to defend if Iruma pushed too hard.
"Focus!" she roared. "You're now not a demon—you're a warrior Come at me. That magic of yours—master it Sweetheart!"
He gritted his teeth, dodging another blast of pink not physical but mental attack which effect emotion, and channeled flame through his blade.
Sweat still clung to Iruma's neck as he took stance again in the mansion's underground arena. Opera loomed before him, motionless, a faint smirk on their lips.
"Again."
"Understood."
He pushed himself through strikes, feints, blocks, summoning brief magic shields between dodges. Every movement was being drilled into muscle memory.
Books sprawled across the table. Mana theory. Magic construction. Texts only high-rankers even dared approach.
Iruma's eyelids fluttered.
"...Ali-san. Heal."
A whisper of darkness curled around his arm. Light pulsed softly.
"There. Stop almost dying every day."
Iruma smirked tiredly.
"…Thanks."
Ali-san hovered beside him silently for a while, then murmured:
"You've changed a lot, you know."
Iruma didn't respond, but the flicker in his eye said he heard.