Finding the seat was an adventure in itself.

Zeraphira treated every step down the dim aisle like a sacred procession, her crimson eyes darting around suspiciously as people shuffled past with popcorn buckets larger than newborn demons. The faint glow of the screen painted her pale skin in ghostly blues and silvers, and every time the surround sound rumbled, her fingers tightened slightly around my arm.

"This structure feels… like a cavern made by gods," she whispered as we moved between rows.

"It's just a cinema."

"Are the illusions summoned from within the wall?"

"From a projector."

She slowed.

"Project…or?"

"A machine."

Her lips parted.

"So humans craft devices that conjure visions large enough to dominate an entire wall."

"Yes."

"...Impressive. Disturbing. Slightly heretical."

"Zera."

We finally reached our row. I guided her to the middle seats, and she sat with slow dignity, as though taking her throne upon a battlefield carved from velvet and plastic cup holders.

Her eyes immediately dropped to the cup holder.

"...A small chalice," she murmured.

"It's for drinks."

"Do we offer a beverage tribute to the wall?"

"No."

"Strange people."

The lights dimmed.

A gasp escaped her throat.

Her entire body stilled as the screen flared to life, the opening logos rippling across the massive display. Sound flooded the hall like thunder given voice, and the crowd hushed into reverent silence.

Zeraphira leaned forward slightly, absolutely enraptured.

"...It has begun."

The opening credits of Life of Pi rolled, soft music flowing through the theatre like a melancholic lullaby. When the first real scene appeared — the ocean, the boy, the boundless horizon — Zeraphira's breath hitched audibly.

Her hand tightened around mine.

"Darling..."

"Yes?"

"The illusion moves."

"Yes."

"It speaks."

"Also, yes."

"It has a soul?"

"...No."

She frowned, suspicious again, watching the journey unfold with the intensity of a general studying enemy strategy. Every emotional swell was mirrored in her expression. When the tiger first appeared, her back straightened and her eyes sharpened like weapons unsheathed.

"...So it is real within the illusion."

"It's CGI."

"Is it hostile?"

"In the story, sometimes."

"I do not trust it."

"I figured."

When Pi struggled, when the waves rose, when the music swelled — Zeraphira reacted to every scene like a living storm of empathy. Her face softened during calm moments, darkened during danger, and at one point she clutched my sleeve and whispered:

"...Why does the small human endure such pain?"

"Because life is cruel sometimes."

She contemplated that.

Then, softly: "...He is brave."

The film carried on.

Time slipped.

And somewhere between sinking ships and quiet monologues, I realised something unsettling.

Zeraphira wasn't just watching.

She was feeling.

An ancient demoness of wrath, conquest and infernal bloodshed, sitting beside me, quietly absorbing the fragile emotions of mortal storytelling like a child discovering rain for the first time.

Every now and then, she leaned slightly closer, her head almost brushing my shoulder. Not possessively. Not dominantly.

Comfortably.

Trustingly.

And that… hit harder than any battlefield ever could.

The moment the tiger and boy shared silence on the boat, her voice came again, barely above a breath.

"Darling..."

"Mm?"

"Is this... how humans learn to feel less alone?"

I swallowed.

"Sometimes."

"...Then this ritual is beautiful."

I glanced at her.

Her eyes glistened faintly under the pale glow of the screen.

No rage.

No malice.

Just quiet awe.

And I knew then with bone-deep certainty—

No one would ever lay a finger on this girl.

Not while I still breathed.

By the time the credits rolled, the theatre erupted into murmurs, the spell breaking in fragments of conversation and rustling bags. Zeraphira remained seated, staring at the screen as the final notes faded into silence.

"...It ends?" she asked softly.

"Yes. That's the story."

Her brows knit.

"So there is no continuation of the striped one?"

"Not in this movie."

"...He survives?"

"Yes."

She nodded slowly.

"Good."

"You were worried?"

"It was stalking you," she said flatly.

A beat.

Then she added, "...But it was also lonely."

My lips twitched.

"You're very emotionally complex for someone who threatened to murder a printed feline earlier."

"I adjust my judgment when presented with a compelling narrative," she replied seriously.

We stood and exited with the other patrons, the cool air of the lobby greeting us again. Zeraphira blinked as the normal world returned — chatter, lights, advertisements, the faint smell of butter and sugar.

She looked... dazed.

"...Darling," she said quietly as we stepped outside, the evening sky now painted in hues of gold and dying violet, "Does every human experience this feeling... when they watch such illusions?"

"Not everyone," I said. "But some do."

"...It stirs something inside," she murmured. "A softness I did not know existed."

She paused, gazing up at the night sky.

In Hell, stars did not exist like this.

"Do you regret bringing me?"

Her eyes widened, immediately shaking her head.

"No." Her voice was earnest. "I cherish this."

Silence lingered — not awkward, but warm.

Then she looked at me.

Truly looked.

As if re-seeing me in a new light.

"You have shown me a world untouched by blood and law of dominance," she said quietly. "You guide me with patience, humour, and gentleness."

My throat tightened.

"You don't have to make it sound like a poetic confession."

"It is true," she replied. "And I do not offer such lightly."

Another step closer.

Her crimson eyes softened.

"Darling... I find myself wishing to experience more of this world beside you."

A pause.

A hesitant swallow.

"...May I continue to walk with you? To learn?"

I smiled.

"That's the whole point of today, Zera."

Her lips curved into that shy smile again — the rare one.

And just as I thought the intensity had lowered—

She hugged me.

Not the crushing, territorial embrace of earlier.

Not a display of ownership.

Just...

A gentle, lingering hug.

Her cheek against my chest.

Arms around my waist.

A soft sigh escaped her lips.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For not treating me as a weapon."

My hand hovered a moment… then softly rested against her back.

"...You're more than that."

She stiffened faintly, then relaxed into the touch.

And somewhere in the distance, a familiar overly-excited voice echoed down the street.

"DOMIIIIIIIII~!"

I groaned instantly.

Zeraphira lifted her head.

A figure came running toward us, pink-striped stockings flashing, oversized witch hat bobbing, and a shopping bag of suspicious anime merchandise swinging wildly.

Selene.

Of course.

"ZERA-CHAN!" she chirped loudly, practically skidding to a halt, eyes sparkling with mischief. "DID YOU ENJOY THE DATE?"

ChatGPT said:

Selene skidded to a stop, nearly faceplanting, then popped up like a hyperactive sprite.

Her oversized witch hat tilted precariously. A plush keychain of some chibi demon dangled from it, jingling with every aggressive nod she made.

"ZERA-CHAN! DID YOU ENJOY THE DATE?!" she repeated, practically vibrating with unholy glee.

Zeraphira blinked once.

Then twice.

"…It was enlightening," she replied with solemn dignity.

"ENLIGHTENING?!" Selene clapped her hands. "KYAAAA~ THAT MEANS SUCCESS! OPERATION NORMAL HUMAN ROMANCE LEVEL UP!"

"What operation?" I muttered.

Selene leaned in conspiratorially. "You wouldn't understand, Dominic-sama. It's top-tier waifu development strategy."

"I am not a waifu."

"Yes, you are," Selene said without shame. "A dense male protagonist waifu."

Zeraphira tilted her head slightly. "I was not harmed during the ritual."

Selene held double thumbs up. "Perfect! No casualties! Five stars!"

People walking past glanced at us like we were a cosplay convention that escaped containment.

Zeraphira looked down at Selene's bags.

"…What are those?"

"Limited-edition acrylic stands," Selene chirped. "Special summer demon girls collection!"

"…Are they weapons?"

"No, they're love," Selene replied, eyes sparkling. "Pure degenerate love."

Zeraphira processed that with a completely straight face.

"Then they are blessed."

I exhaled slowly.

This world had failed its sanity checks.

Selene swayed over dramatically. "So-so-so? Did he hold your hand? Did he feed you popcorn? Did he protect you from the scary tiger illusion?"

Zeraphira nodded once. "He did all three."

Selene gasped.

"THE SACRED TROIKA!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why are you here, Selene?"

She beamed. "I sensed romantic progress. My Witch Familiar Instincts activated!"

"You were shopping two blocks away."

"Yes, and my radar went PING."

Zeraphira looked mildly impressed. "You sense romantic energy?"

"I live for it," Selene declared.

A pause.

Then she leaned toward Zeraphira and whispered loudly enough for half the street to hear:

"Did you mark him yet?"

"…Mark?"

"Like— you know— soul claim— possessive bond— eternal yandere sigil—"

"SELENE," I snapped.

Zeraphira's gaze flicked to me.

Then back to her hand.

"…I kissed him."

Selene froze.

Then—

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!"

She grabbed Zeraphira's shoulders dramatically. "DETAILS! FORMATION! ANGLE! TONGUE INVOLVEMENT?!"

"THERE WAS A LOT OF TONGUE," I barked. "TOO MUCH TONGUE."

Zeraphira nodded seriously. "I expressed appreciation with intensity."

Selene's eyes sparkled like someone witnessing divine art.

"I raised her well…"

"You raised nothing."

"Yes, I did. I emotionally unlocked her romance pathway. You're welcome."

Zeraphira patted Selene's head gently. "You teach me strange but useful knowledge."

Selene melted. "Mother recognition…"

I stared at the night sky, reconsidering existence.

That's when a gentle voice floated in like a feather upon still water.

"Ah… Grandnephew?"

My spine stiffened.

A figure approached hesitantly, white robes catching the soft streetlight, golden hair gleaming like sun-kissed silk.

Gabriel.

She walked like someone afraid to disturb the air itself.

I glared at Selene. "You brought her, too? And from the look of it, you even took her to your anime pilgrimage."

Selene puffed her cheeks. "Hey! Gabriel-sama said she wanted to learn about human culture, so I introduced her to Episode One of Magical Blood Idol☆Celestia."

Gabriel blinked, hands folded politely before her chest. "It was very… educational. The singing swords were beautiful."

"It was NOT educational," I muttered.

"And you know if she fell, Azrael will skin you alive while sprinkling celestial glitter on your corpse."

Selene waved dismissively. "Pffft, details. She's fine! Look at her! Peak purity! Peak moe!"

Gabriel tilted her head, confused but smiling gently. "Is… 'moe' a celestial rank? I was told it signifies endearment."

"It means you're cute as hell," I muttered.

"Oh. Thank you, Grandnephew. That is very kind." Gabriel flushed faintly. "C-Can I get that mouth thingy... Kiss, I presume? After seeing you kiss Zera and Grayfia, I wonder if..."

Gabriel's sentence died halfway out of her mouth.

Zeraphira and Selene froze like someone had cast a world-ending time-stop spell.

Silence.

Wind.

A stray plastic bag rolled across the pavement like a tragic tumbleweed.

Then—

"…what?" I croaked.

Gabriel blinked innocently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

"A… kiss?" she repeated softly. "Selene said it is a common human greeting of fondness, warmth, or familial affection. And that as your grandauntie, such bonds are very important and should be—"

"SELEEEEEEENE!!!"

The witch instantly attempted to flee.

She didn't get far.

Zeraphira seized the back of her hood like a mother dragging home a misbehaving toddler.

Selene dangled in the air, kicking weakly."NONONONO WAIT WAIT WAIT— LISTEN— LISTEN— I CAN EXPLAIN—"

"You are corrupting an Archangel," Zeraphira said calmly.

"I WAS TEACHING HER CULTURE—!!"

"By telling her kissing me is a greeting?!" I yelled.

Selene puffed her cheeks. "OKAY, BUT IN SOME COUNTRIES—"

"NO COUNTRIES DO THAT."

Gabriel, meanwhile, stood there glowing with pure, confused innocence.

"I really want to~"

Gabriel's pout was so heartbreakingly sincere that at least three passersby visibly short-circuited, and one elderly man whispered, "Bless her soul," before being dragged away by his wife.

Zeraphira stared at her.

Selene dangled.

I felt my will to live evaporate.

"Gabriel," I said slowly, choosing every word like it was stepping over landmines, "kissing is not a greeting. It is. Not. A greeting."

Her golden eyes widened. "It is not…?"

"No."

"But Selene said—"

"I exaggerated for cultural immersion," Selene squeaked, trying to sound scholarly while still being held aloft like an offending kitten.

Zeraphira's glare intensified. "You told her to exchange saliva as a social courtesy."

"In my defence," Selene coughed, "the anime protagonist did it first."

"That was not a documentary," I groaned.

Gabriel's shoulders drooped slightly, confusion clouding her delicate features. "O-Oh… I see. I apologise, Grandnephew. I did not intend to offend or… initiate mating behaviour."

"Mating—?!"

Zeraphira's aura spiked.

Selene made a wheezing sound as invisible pressure crushed her a little lower.

"It is not mating," Gabriel hastily clarified. "I meant— emotional bonding— or courtship— or— oh dear, am I still saying it wrong?"

"Yes," I said immediately. "Stop talking. Just— stop."

She closed her mouth obediently, nodding like a scolded choir cherub.

Zeraphira loosened her grip on Selene but did not release her entirely.

"You will unteach this falsity," she told the witch quietly.

"Yes, ma'am," Selene squeaked. "I will amend my lore. No more kiss-greeting academia. I'll stick to handshakes and emotionally distant nods."

"Good."

Gabriel tilted her head, hopeful again. "So… is hugging allowed?"

Zeraphira paused.

I paused.

Selene stopped struggling.

"…Hugging?" Gabriel repeated shyly. "Selene showed me earlier. She said it was a method of conveying safety. I found it… pleasant."

I glanced at Zeraphira.

Her expression had softened.

"...Hugging may occur," she allowed after a moment. "Under supervision."

Selene pumped a tiny fist. "Progress!"

Gabriel smiled gently and stepped forward, arms opening with careful uncertainty.

For a heartbeat, I considered my options.

Then sighed.

"…Fine."

She embraced me with timid warmth, completely platonic, achingly sincere. It was like hugging morning sunlight wrapped in silk. No pressure. No seduction. Just affection and fragile trust.

Zeraphira watched closely, eyes narrowed… but not hostile.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Soooo, any plans to disengage?"

"No, it feels wonderful~ So...kiss?"

"SELEEEEEEENE!!!"

***

Stone me, I can take it!

Please leave a review, seriously, it helps.

Comments are almost nonexistent. Which, in turn, demotivates the authors. Please have some compassion.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.