The night was deep.
Hell walked down the familiar street, spotting the outline of his white villa in the distance.
The cherry blossom tree in the courtyard swayed gently in the night breeze, a few petals occasionally drifting down, spinning in the halo of the streetlights.
He stood at the garden gate, looked up at the second-floor window.
Seshi’s room. The light was off.
‘Good, she should be asleep by now.’
Hell carefully pushed open the small garden gate, walked along the stone path to the villa entrance.
He moved as quietly as possible, pulled out his keys, and carefully inserted them into the lock.
Click.
The sound of the lock turning was especially clear in the silent night.
Hell frowned slightly, paused his movements, and listened for any sound from upstairs.
Nothing.
He let out a sigh of relief and gently pushed the door open.
Then he froze.
The living room light was on.
Warm yellow light spilled through the crack in the door, pooling on the floor at his feet.
Hell blinked, pushed the door open, and walked in.
In the living room, the TV was on, playing a late-night variety show at low volume—only faint laughter came from the speakers.
And on the couch, someone was sitting.
A black-haired girl, wearing loose loungewear—a light gray long-sleeved T-shirt and dark cotton pants. She was hugging a throw pillow, legs curled up on the sofa, bare feet exposed, toes pale and delicate.
Her face was illuminated intermittently by the TV light, her obsidian-like eyes fixed on the screen, expression unreadable.
Seshi.
Hell stood in the entryway, staring at his sister on the couch, momentarily unable to process.
‘What time is it?’
‘Past one in the morning.’
‘Why isn’t she asleep yet?’
Seshi seemed to hear the door open. She turned her head slightly, looking toward the entrance.
Those obsidian eyes lingered on Hell for a second, then shifted back to the TV.
No change in expression.
No greeting.
As if he were just a stranger coming home late at night.
Hell blinked a few times, then took off his shoes and walked into the living room.
“Xi’er?”
He tested the waters, his voice laced with confusion.
“Why aren’t you asleep so late?”
Seshi didn’t look at him. She kept staring at the TV and replied in her usual indifferent tone.
“No class tomorrow.”
Five short words. No further explanation.
Hell looked at the girl, not sure what to say.
But Seshi was already moving. She set down the throw pillow and stood up from the couch. Her bare feet stepped onto the soft carpet without a sound. She walked to the TV, bent over, and pressed the power button.
The screen went black.
The living room was left with only the warm yellow glow of the ceiling light.
Seshi didn’t turn around. She headed straight for the stairs, her long black hair swaying gently behind her.
Hell stood there, watching her back.
But just as the black-haired girl was about to step onto the stairs—
She stopped.
Still without turning around, she stood there with her back to him.
Then Seshi’s voice came from ahead, still that cold, emotionless tone.
“Dinner’s in the dining room. Heat it up yourself.”
With that, the girl stepped up the stairs. Her footsteps faded away.
Then came the sound of the second-floor door closing.
Hell stood in the living room, staring at the empty staircase, stunned for several seconds. Then he lowered his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
‘This girl… she didn’t sleep because she was waiting for me?’
‘To see if I was safe?’
‘Worried about why I was so late?’
Hell raised a hand and gently rubbed his brow.
He thought about everything that had happened tonight—following Luna, destroying the factory, facing that monster, calming down that foolish girl who was about to self-destruct, holding her and walking her home…
And then, returning here, seeing the light on in the living room, and that figure curled up on the couch, obviously sleepy but forcing herself to stay awake watching TV.
A warmth he couldn’t describe welled up in his chest.
‘Seems like those earlier efforts—picking her up from school, taking her to that restaurant, fabricating that experience in Artemis’s name—did manage to change something in her mind.’
‘Her impression of me has also improved.’
‘She still acts cold on the surface, still expressionless, still looks at me with that “disgusting” expression.’
‘But she waited for me to come home. Left me dinner.’
‘She… cares about me.’
At that thought, Hell let out a quiet laugh.
‘Never had such a wonderful start.’
‘Cheer for me.’
‘Ap—applaud me.’
He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the entrance. Then he turned and walked to the dining room.
On the table, dinner was carefully covered with plastic wrap.
A plate of curry rice—golden curry sauce coating soft potatoes and carrots, alongside fluffy white rice. A small dish of what seemed to be pickled vegetables, cut into neat little pieces.
And a bowl of miso soup, with a few pieces of seaweed and tiny green onions floating on top.
Every dish was tightly sealed with plastic wrap, clearly prepared and left waiting.
Hell stood there, looking at the food, silent for a few seconds. Then he picked up the curry rice, tore off the plastic wrap, and put it in the microwave.
Ding—
The faint hum of the microwave in the quiet kitchen was especially clear.
A few minutes later, he took out the heated meal and sat down at the table.
The aroma of curry hit his nose, mixed with the scent of rice and the umami of miso soup, making him hungry.
Hell picked up a spoon and took a bite.
The curry was rich and mellow, the potatoes soft and flavorful, the carrots with a hint of sweetness. The rice grains were separate, mixing perfectly with the curry, the texture just right.
Delicious.
Hell took a sip of the miso soup.
The temperature was perfect, saltiness balanced, the umami of seaweed and the richness of miso blending together.
His lips curled upward again.
‘This girl… she can really cook.’
Then he started wolfing it down.
Bite after bite, plate after plate, soon everything was cleaned up.
After eating, Hell stood up, collected the dishes into the sink, turned on the faucet, squeezed out some dish soap, and started washing.
The sound of running water echoed in the kitchen.
After cleaning up the kitchen, he turned off the light, walked out of the dining room, and went up to the second floor. Returning to his own room, he took off his clothes and stepped into the bathroom.
Hot water poured down from the showerhead, washing over Hell’s tired body. Steam filled the small space, gradually relaxing his tense nerves from the entire day.
After showering, he changed into clean pajamas, walked out of the bathroom, and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was soft, the pillow comfortable, the blanket smelling of laundry detergent.
Hell leaned against the headboard, picked up his phone, and opened a browser. The latest news push popped up.
“Breaking! Suburban factory attacked mysteriously late at night, Crystal Husk rampage suspected?”
“Goddess Angels join forces, successfully defeat powerful Crystal Husk monster!”
“Exclusive on-site video: Arc Light Angel, Silver Angel, and Gale Angel team up against giant Tentacle Crystal Husk!”
Hell clicked on the video.
On the screen, three streams of light streaked through the night sky—golden light was Hestia, silver-white was Saya, and aqua was Sylph.
They were fiercely fighting that monster he called “Z,” energy beams and tentacles intertwining in the air, explosions sounding one after another.
Finally, under their combined attack, the monster collapsed and turned to ash.
The video ended.
Below was a lengthy report. The journalist described the heroic deeds of the Goddess Angels with passionate words, expressing gratitude and admiration.
Hell scrolled down to read the comments.
“Great! With Goddess Angels around, we can live in peace!”
“Lord Hestia is so cool! Lady Sylph is so beautiful! Lady Saya is so fierce!”
“Thank the Goddess Angels! Thank them for protecting our city!”
“With them around, nothing to fear!”
“Long live the Goddess Angels!”
Nothing but praise, nothing but thanks, nothing but worship.
Hell read these comments and couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. There was a hint of sarcasm in it, and an indescribable complexity.
Because he remembered some scenes from the Original Work.
These ordinary people now praising the Goddess Angels would, in the near future, change their attitude over certain events.
They would start to question, accuse, and morally blackmail.
They would say “Aren’t you Goddess Angels supposed to protect us?” and “Why couldn’t you prevent that disaster?” and “Your power comes from the Goddess, why shouldn’t you use it for us?”
They would use every means to shift the blame onto the girls who risked their lives to protect them.
In the end, this pressure would crush someone.
It would make a Goddess Angel walk down the path of darkness.
Hell shook his head.
‘But this is exactly what I can use as part of my plan.’
‘Public sentiment, public opinion, moral blackmail—these are all great tools.’
He turned off his phone and put it on the nightstand. Then he lay down, pulled the blanket over himself, and covered up.
The ceiling was blurry in the dim light.
Hell closed his eyes, the scenes from tonight flashing through his mind—Luna’s tears, her resolve, her shame and anger, her reluctant “Master” at the end.
And Seshi—the light in the living room, the curled-up figure on the couch, that cold “Heat it up yourself.”
The corners of his mouth involuntarily lifted.
‘Let’s sleep well tonight.’
‘Tomorrow…’
‘That’s the main event.’
A night breeze slipped through the window gap, brushing Hell’s cheek.
His breathing gradually steadied.
Consciousness sank into darkness.