“I’m bored, my lord…” Charmie’s groan echoed dramatically across Mira’s living room for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. She was sprawled on the floor like a fallen noble, one cheek pressed against the cheap carpet, eyes dull with despair.
“I’m sorry, Charmie…” I said sincerely, lowering my head. “And you too, Grando.”
Grando, who was sitting perfectly straight despite being handcuffed to a table leg, nodded with solemn dignity. “Your concern is noted, My Lord. This situation is… unfortunate. However, I will endure.”
I gnced down at my own wrists.
Red marks. Bruised. Slightly swollen.
Human handcuffs were no joke.
I had tried, multiple times, to pry them open with brute force. Nothing worked. No sparks. No announcements. No dramatic music. Just the humiliating clink of metal stubbornly remaining metal.
We were no different from humans here, except for the horns.
It had been five days...
Five long, painfully quiet days since we had been into the Human Realm with Mira and then promptly “secured.”
By secured, I meant:
Morning: rice.
Handcuffs attached to furniture.
Mira leaves.
Silence.
Evening: rice.
Mira returns.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Every. Single. Day.
Mira never said much during meals. She would wake up, hair messy, eyes hollow, toss three bowls of rice and water on us like offerings to prisoners of war, then disappear without a word.
Sometimes she didn’t even look at us.
Sometimes she didn’t even eat herself.
And when she came home te at night, exhausted beyond belief, she would repeat the process. Rice. Water. Minimal eye contact. Then straight to her room.
Once, she fell asleep still wearing her jacket.
Humans were… strange.
“I miss potatoes,” Charmie muttered.
[Announcement: The Demon Lord is Experiencing Prolonged Boredom.]
“Why are you still narrating my suffering?” I hissed quietly.
Grando tilted her head. “My Lord. The announcement system appears… persistent.”
The worst part?
Mira didn’t let us move at all.
Every morning before leaving, she would change where the cuffs were attached. Sometimes to the table. Sometimes to the couch leg. Once—once—she cuffed Charmie and Grando together.
Charmie called it “bonding time.” Grando called it “a logistical nightmare.” I called it “psychological warfare.”
“I feel like a decoration,” Charmie compined, tugging uselessly at her cuffs. “A very beautiful decoration.”
“You are,” I replied. “A limited-edition one.”
She perked up. “Really?”
“I changed my mind.”
She pouted.
By the fifth day, even I was starting to feel… strange.
Everything felt heavy.
Quiet.
Stagnant.
Humans had so many tools. Machines. Lights. Entertainment. Devices that blinked and hummed even when no one touched them.
And yet…
“Mira looks miserable than any demon I’ve seen,” I murmured.
I gazed as Mira staggered into the apartment, shoes half-off, shoulders slumped. She pced the rice down without a word, hands trembling slightly, then leaned against the counter like gravity had finally won.
“Welcome home,” Grando said immediately, voice crisp and respectful.
Mira blinked at her. For a moment, I thought she might say something.
But she didn’t.
She just raised a hand weakly in what might’ve been a greeting—or a surrender—then dragged herself toward her room.
“Mira,” I said softly. “If you didn’t tie me up like this, I could help cook.”
She waved a hand at me without looking back. A very clear shut up gesture.
“Noted,” I sighed.
She disappeared into her room and shut the door.
Silence returned.
The next morning, I made a decision.
Charmie and Grando were both out cold, Charmie snoring dramatically, Grando resting with unnerving poise, but I stayed awake, staring at the door.
When Mira emerged, already dressed for work, movements automatic, eyes dull, I spoke.
“Mira.”
She froze.
Slowly, she turned her head. “What?”
“Are you happy?” I asked.
The air changed.
She stopped completely.
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then she exhaled—a deep, tired sigh that sounded like it had been waiting years to escape.
She didn’t answer.
“You’re different,” I continued gently. “In the Demon Realm… you smiled. You argued. You yelled at me. You ughed.”
“I said before, that was acting,” she said ftly. “It wasn’t—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “But you look more alive there than here.”
She walked closer.
Then, without warning, she poked my cheek. Hard.
“Shut up,” she said quietly.
I blinked.
“I don’t understand it,” I said honestly. “You have machines that cook for you. Lights that banish darkness. Tools that build beautiful cities. And yet…”
I looked at her.
“You look miserable than any demon I've seen.”
Her gaze dropped.
Silence stretched.
“I wonder,” I added softly, “what’s wrong with this world. And how to make it better...”
She stared at me like she was seeing something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“…Why are you like this,” she whispered.
Before I could respond she leaned forward and hugged me.
I stiffened.
Her arms were warm. Not demon-warm. Not magical. Just… human.
Her forehead rested against my shoulder, breath uneven.
“You’re a demon,” she said quietly. “A Demon Lord. How can you sound so pure?”
I swallowed.
“Maybe,” I said after a moment, “it’s because I was barely two months old as a Demon Lord.”
She snorted.
Then ughed.
A real ugh.
It filled the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“Finally,” I murmured.
She pulled back quickly, cheeks red, clearing her throat. She shook her head, but she was smiling, just a little.
[Announcement: The Demon Lord Has Successfully Made a Human Laugh.]
“Why do you announce that?” I groaned.
Mira gnced at the invisible space above my head. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Forget it.”
She turned away, grabbing her bag. At the door, she paused.
“…I’ll take you out tomorrow,” she said quietly.
I froze.
Charmie gasped awake. “OUT?!”
Grando opened one eye. “My Lord?”
Mira didn’t turn around. “You’re driving me insane with your acts.”
Then she left.
The door shut.
[Announcement: The Demon Lord’s Hope Has Increased Slightly.]