The maid squad is too strong, what use is there for me, the Demon King?

When Gray met Philippa, she was just a caged bird, not some hero with a great mission.

He felt the body leaning against him stiffen almost imperceptibly.

"Do you really think I possess some extraordinary ability to foresee the birth of the future 'Hero' back then, and know with certainty that it would be you—Philippa Ravenhill?" Gray asked with a hint of rationality. "Even if I truly possessed such an incredible ability, why didn't I eliminate you from the very beginning, before you had grown up and when you were most vulnerable? Instead, I spent years approaching you as 'Gray Brandt,' attending those boring banquets with you, listening to your complaints, and telling you those... stories from the outside world that you found interesting?"

He paused, letting these questions settle in her mind.

"You yourself clearly remember who saved you when you were surrounded by the Demonic Order and your lives were hanging by a thread during the Holy Light Pilgrimage? If it was all to destroy your deception, then what I should have done at that time was to stand by and watch, or even... fuel the fire?"

Gray's voice carried a deep, complex emotion, as if he too felt the same way.

"Our meeting is not what you imagine, a premeditated scam targeting the 'hero'. It may have been a trick of fate, but it was by no means a conspiracy."

Finally, his voice lowered, carrying a heavy tone as if recalling the past:

"And... Philippa, do you remember? What truly made me feel helpless and... pained wasn't that I concealed my identity as the Demon King. It was that day, when you ran out of the capital and we met in the town, you told me yourself that you had been chosen as this generation's 'Hero'..."

His words at that moment were filled with genuine bitterness.

"The shock and hardship I felt at that moment... was probably not much worse than what you are experiencing now."

That last sentence was like a key, trying to unlock the other side of her tightly closed heart.

He was not only clarifying the "hoax," but also telling her that he was also standing at a crossroads in his life, and had experienced the same struggles and pain.

This was no longer a one-sided defense, but an attempt to show her that she was not the only one suffering the cruel twists of fate in this complex vortex.

Gray's words, like a warm spring, slowly seeped into Philippa's nearly frozen heart.

Those rational analyses, tinged with bitter memories, gradually eroded the icy barrier of "betrayal" in her heart.

Yes, if it was all a deception, why did he save her? And why did he show such genuine heaviness when he learned that she had become a hero?

She nestled in his arms, her body no longer trembling with despair, but shuddering slightly with another surging emotion. After a long silence, she asked timidly, as if afraid to hear the answer, in a heavily nasal, barely audible voice:

"So...our meeting...wasn't...a hoax?"

Hearing that she had finally begun to think rationally, Gray felt a weight lifted from his heart. He chuckled softly, the sound of his laughter reaching her through the vibrations of his chest, carrying a gentle sense of relief.

“Of course not.” He answered firmly, then, with a hint of cautious probing and an undeniable deep affection, he softly asked in return, “Even with the involuntary conflict between the hero and the demon king, you, Philippa Ravenhill, are still an important and dear friend whom I, Grey Brant, acknowledge. That has never changed. Don’t you… think so?”

He held his breath, waiting for her reply, hoping that their friendship, which had weathered many storms, could overcome the divide in their positions.

Philippa's reaction did surprise him, but more than that, he felt relieved and a strange, indescribable thrill.

She did not answer immediately.

Instead, it's about taking action.

The delicate body leaning against him seemed to draw some kind of strength; her arms, which had been hanging limply at her sides, suddenly rose up and tightly wrapped around his waist, burying her face even deeper into his black robe.

This embrace carried the reliance of someone who has survived a disaster, the grievance of misunderstandings being cleared up, and even more so, the intense emotional release of something lost and then regained.

Gray was taken aback at first, then a warm feeling of pity and emotion welled up inside him. 'Even a hero who can fight to the death, as resilient as Philippa, has such a vulnerable side, needing someone to rely on, after letting down all her defenses...'

The girl he remembered, always lively, cheerful, and with a sunny smile, had never shown this side of herself. Now, the girl in his arms, crying her eyes out and clinging tightly to him, actually made him feel… a little cute?

No, to be precise, it was her crying that was so genuine and undisguised that it evoked boundless pity and a desire to protect her.

(I've always liked the Japanese word "aishii" (love), it's so endearing.)

He subconsciously pulled his arms closer, wanting to give her a more secure place to lean on.

However, in this tender moment, Gray noticed that Philippa in his arms seemed a little restless.

She snuggled gently against him, subtly shifting her head as if searching for a more comfortable position. Gray initially paid no attention, assuming it was just an unconscious movement born of her emotional state.

until--

Philippa's face, which had been buried in his chest, suddenly lifted up!

Those amber eyes, still misty with tears, were so close to his, gleaming with a complex light he had never seen before, a mixture of lingering tears, a kind of resolute determination, and indescribable emotions.

Then, in that instant when his mind went blank before he could react at all—

She tiptoed (or rather, used the strength of her embrace to rise), her soft, moist lips, salty from tears and burning with her body heat, pressed precisely and with an unwavering force against his cool, thin lips!

"—!"

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

Gray's eyes widened suddenly, filled with utter astonishment and bewilderment. All his thoughts, all his calculations, all his demonic majesty were completely rendered useless by this sudden "attack" that was completely beyond any tactical rehearsal!

That soft, warm touch, that familiar face so close, stained with tears, and the slight yet distinct trembling on his lips… it was like the most violent forbidden spell, instantly shattering all his psychological defenses.

He froze.

To my shame, Gray was already quite familiar with this tactile sensation.

Even so, the impact on Gray was considerable.

Gray: "..."

Gray: "???"