“Mira…?” I asked carefully.

  The word slipped out softer than I intended, like it was afraid of breaking the fragile silence between us. The night air had settled into something calm again after my completely unapproved hand-holding incident.

  Mira’s face had mostly returned to its usual composed state—mostly. A faint red still lingered on her cheeks, like an afterimage refusing to disappear.

  “Hm...?” she replied shortly, eyes still facing forward.

  She didn’t pull her hand away.

  I took that as a good sign. Or at least, not an execution-level mistake.

  “I saw from your… telefusion,” I said.

  She turned her head just enough to gre at me. “Television.”

  I gasped. “Ah—right. Vision.”

  She let out a sound.

  It was small. Barely there. But it was unmistakably a snort.

  I froze.

  Her lips twitched.

  “So… I saw from your tele—fu—” I tried again and immediately cursed my own mouth. “Fu… fui… vi…”

  Why was this word harder than summoning Lazi?

  “Fu… fuh…” I struggled, my tongue betraying me like a traitor sworn to chaos.

  She ughed.

  Not the polite exhale humans did when they were being nice. Not the tired sigh she often used around us. This was real ughter—clear, sudden, unrestrained. She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking as the sound escaped anyway.

  I blinked.

  “Was... that really funny?” I asked honestly.

  She ughed harder.

  “Oh my god,” she managed between breaths. “What is wrong with you… why are you always like this…”

  “I apologize,” I said quickly, panic creeping in. “I was technically born into awareness very recently. I am still learning everything. Including… pronounciation.”

  “That’s not an excuse,” she said, but her voice cracked at the end as she ughed again. She wiped at the corner of her eye.

  “…Wait,” I said slowly, leaning closer. “Are you crying?”

  She ughed again, actually ughed louder while wiping her eyes. “No—! I mean—yes, but not like that!”

  I stared at her in genuine arm. “Did I hurt you emotionally? I swear that was not my intention this time.”

  “Stop!” she wheezed. “You’re—ah—oh my god, my stomach hurts…”

  I frowned deeply. This human body function made no sense.

  “Why is your stomach hurting now?” I asked, concerned. “Did you eat something poisonous?”

  She stood up suddenly, stretching her arms as if trying to reset herself, still smiling wide like something had finally loosened inside her.

  “No,” she said, taking a deep breath. “That’s… that’s just what happens when humans ugh too much.”

  I blinked again.

  “Laughing causes damage?”

  She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “No. Well. Kind of. It’s just… muscle pain.”

  I processed this carefully. “So humans invented ughter so powerful it causes pain and tears… but in a good way?”

  “Yes,” she replied ftly.

  “You people are terrifying.”

  She ughed again, softer this time. “Those are called happy tears, by the way.”

  “Happy… tears,” I repeated slowly. A concept so foreign it felt illegal.

  “For Demons,” I said quietly, “tears only come from grief, fear, or extreme physical trauma.”

  “Yeah,” she said, still smiling faintly. “Humans emotions are complicated...”

  [Announcement: The Demon Lord has just discovered that ughter can cause human pain, tears can be born from happiness, and human emotions are far more complicated than demons.]

  “That system is mocking me,” I muttered.

  ---

  We sat back down on the bench. The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t sharp or awkward. It felt… warm. I watched her profile under the soft park lights, the way her shoulders finally looked less tense than they had been since she came home after work.

  “By the way,” I said suddenly, remembering my original question.

  “What I wanted to ask... I saw on your… tele... glowing artifact,” I said carefully, avoiding the cursed word entirely, “that working humans have something called… week-end?”

  She gnced at me. “Weekend.”

  “Yes. That,” I nodded. “They stop working and rest. Eat snacks. Dates. Become zy. Worship beds.”

  She snorted. “That part’s accurate.”

  “But,” I continued, tilting my head, “you work every day.”

  She didn’t answer right away. The smile faded. Not completely—but enough.

  “Is that so?” she said eventually. “Who knows. Everyone’s life is different.”

  Another vague answer.

  I sighed quietly. “I see.”

  Then she spoke again, her voice firmer this time. “That’s my privacy. I can’t tell that to just anyone… demons especially.”

  The word stung a little more than I expected.

  “I understand,” I said quickly. “That is… reasonable.” It was true. I was seen as her enemy. I looked down at my hands, still faintly warm from hers.

  “I apologize,” I added. “I think I am pushing too much.”

  The wind picked up again, colder this time. Leaves skittered across the path like tiny fleeing creatures. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

  “Getgun.”

  I looked up immediately.

  She was staring ahead, not at me.

  “If only…” she started, then stopped. She exhaled slowly. “…If only you weren’t a demon.”

  “If I weren’t?” I asked quietly.

  She didn’t answer. Just shook her head, as if dismissing a thought she didn’t want to finish.

  The silence stretched.

  “Achooo!!”

  I sneezed. Loud. Undignified. Absolutely not Demon Lord like.

  “I’m sorry!” I said immediately, bowing my head on reflex.

  She gnced at me, then sighed. “If you were human, you’d be sick already.”

  She lightly smacked my arm.

  “Ouch,” I yelped dramatically, clutching the spot. “Assault! I demand justice!”

  She smiled again. Smaller. Softer.

  And somehow… that felt worse.