Chapter 289: Have a Glass of Milk to Calm Down
As a Hell Girl, Enma Ai's job was undoubtedly dull, lonely, and terrifying—an endless, silent duty that blurred the lines between night and eternity.
Every midnight without fail, she received the grudges of those consumed by hatred, listened to their pleas for vengeance, and carried the cursed souls of their enemies into hell's flames. Each act of retribution repeated endlessly, night after night, century after century.
For four hundred years, she had watched human hatred twist, evolve, and fester. She had seen betrayal in its most cruel form, greed that devoured families, jealousy that led to murder, and despair that made even angels weep. After seeing all that, she believed no sorrow or joy in this world could stir her again.
Even when Takanashi Rikka—a small, fragile girl with an eyepatch—once asked her if it was possible to meet her dead father instead of condemning someone to hell, Ai's heart had barely rippled. She had simply blinked in faint surprise before her expression returned to its calm, deathlike stillness.
But this time was different. It wasn't work hours now. She had only come because she had sensed a pull, a faint echo of a sacrificial offering. There was no hatred or resentment in it, only a clumsy purity. It was unusual, but not impossible.
"Sorry," Ai said softly, her tone clear and detached, "I don't have the ability to let you see your father… then, farewell."
She picked up a cookie from the floor—the offering—and prepared to turn away, the hem of her black sailor uniform brushing lightly against the air.
Yet just as she believed her brief, passing encounter with the eyepatch girl would end, the impossible happened. A man appeared in the room out of thin air.
"Hm?!"
"Did he also come through a summoning?"
"No… he didn't."
"He teleported here!"
The air trembled. Enma Ai's crimson pupils shrank sharply, and she turned on instinct, prepared to vanish.
But the moment she reached for the infernal power within her, something went wrong.
Normally, a mere thought was enough to return her to hell—the sea of red spider lilies would bloom beneath her feet, the gates would open, and she would vanish. But this time, nothing happened. No flowers, no burning sky, no hellish wind.
"What… is this?" she whispered. Confusion crept into her tone for the first time in centuries.
She tried again, summoning the infernal rules within her body, but they remained motionless, like thick syrup frozen in a jar. The law of hell itself had become sluggish.
Then she felt it—a faint sense of dread. Something was interfering with her power.
Her crimson eyes lifted slowly toward the man. "Is it… this man?"
Her calm, lifeless heart fluttered. The sensation was foreign—tension, unease, curiosity—emotions she had thought long dead. The man's existence resonated with something primal within her.
"You are…?" she asked softly, her voice airy and beautiful like the whisper of a spirit through a moonlit forest. It was ethereal, but it carried no warmth—only cold perfection.
"Eh? Me?"
Rikka blinked in confusion, pressing her fingers together nervously. "My name is Takanashi Rikka… um, can you really not let me see my father?"
Her small fists trembled as she forced herself to speak. "If I can see him again, I'll pay any price—any price at all." Her eyes glimmered like wet stars, both fragile and determined.
...
Kouya's gaze swept through the room slowly, analyzing everything with a detached calmness that came from experience beyond human comprehension.
The summoning circle was crudely drawn in bright watercolor, messy yet strangely earnest. It wasn't complete nonsense—there was structure—but it was filled with errors, copied from some cheap occult book. It was the kind of ritual that might summon a fly before it ever called forth a spirit.
At the center of the circle lay a plush toy, a cookie, and a bottle of yogurt—offerings that could hardly tempt a hungry ghost, much less a spirit of hell. Yet somehow, it had worked.
A faint, sweet scent lingered in the air. Cookies. Spiritual cookies.
So that was it. Rikka had used one of his spiritual cookies as an offering and accidentally attracted a supernatural being's attention. The ritual hadn't succeeded because of the circle—but because of the offering itself.
As for Rikka's reason… her eyes told the story. Escapism. Loss. Denial.
She had buried her grief under delusion, hiding behind fantasies because reality was too heavy to bear. A little girl trapped between childhood and pain.
At last, Rikka noticed something odd. The girl in the black sailor uniform wasn't speaking to her at all. She followed the other's gaze, turned around, and gasped aloud.
"Eh???"
Kouya turned slightly, ready to explain, but then noticed the faint flush spreading across Rikka's cheeks. Her heart was pounding fast, her breath quick and uneven.
"So weird…" she murmured. "He looks the same as before, but somehow… he's really, really handsome…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Even more than any actor I've seen on TV…"
Kouya blinked. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, bemused.
"N-Nothing!" Rikka stammered, shaking her head so fast her eyepatch nearly slipped. But her gaze still drifted back toward him again and again, filled with dazed fascination.
...
Kouya sighed inwardly. Of course. After unsealing three layers of his power, his presence had grown overwhelming again.
Presence wasn't just charisma. It was an invisible pressure—the weight of existence itself. The difference between a candle and a star.
Some people naturally drew attention. Like Kasumigaoka, the senior at school with the black stockings and statuesque figure—wherever she went, heads turned. She was elegance and allure incarnate, voted number one among the campus's ten beauties. Kouya found the ranking pointless, but the fact remained: her existence couldn't be ignored.
Others, however, seemed to fade from reality itself. He recalled another girl who always followed Kasumigaoka—quiet, unassuming, so easily overlooked that Kouya had once forgotten she was even there. Her presence was like mist, barely real.
The stronger the existence, the greater its gravitational pull on others. If Kouya were ever to release his full presence without restraint, he could make nations kneel and hearts worship.
But that wasn't what he wanted.
His current life was perfect. A lazy angel who needed constant feeding. A kind demon with a heart too big for her horns. A cunning Raphael, a foolish Satanyan, and the always-dramatic Rikka. It was chaotic, warm, and human. And he wouldn't let anything disturb it.
He turned his calm gaze toward Enma Ai.
For her, it felt like staring into the abyss—and realizing the abyss was staring back.
Her heart skipped a beat. For the first time in centuries, genuine fear sparked inside her. She remembered the spider—the one who had once bound her, tormented her. The memory flashed like lightning through her mind. And in that instant, even the infernal laws within her trembled.
"This man… could he truly defy hell itself?" she thought.
Her body stiffened. She memorized his face, every contour, every detail, before vanishing into the air with a soft ripple.
...
When Kouya sealed his power again, the world grew still. The room felt smaller. The pressure lifted.
"Eh?" Rikka blinked rapidly, staring at him. "That's weird… you looked so different just now. Like, super handsome…"
"You're imagining things," Kouya replied, shaking his head.
He would never tamper with her memory. To rewrite her would be to strip her of her will—to reduce her to a doll. And he wasn't the kind of man who needed puppets.
Rikka, unaware of his thoughts, brightened again, her curiosity overtaking her fear. She inched closer, whispering with excitement:
"Hey, hey, guess what I just summoned?"
Her ahoge swayed proudly. "A Hell Girl! A real Hell Girl!"
Kouya sighed internally. That smug look, waiting for praise—what was he supposed to do with this girl?
If it weren't for the spiritual cookie he'd given her, that makeshift ritual wouldn't have summoned a fly. Unless, of course, it accidentally called the wrong kind of creature.
Like that dragon with the world-class bust.
Yes. The very same Lucoa from Kobayashi's household.
Just days ago, he had sensed a massive burst of magic nearby. When he investigated, he'd discovered Lucoa—the giant-breasted dragon—answering a little boy's summoning and declaring herself his familiar. The scene had been absurd beyond belief..
"Weren't you scared?" Kouya asked suddenly.
Only then did Rikka's excitement fade. She recalled the black-uniformed girl's empty crimson eyes and shuddered.
If that girl had meant harm… even her sister Touka couldn't have helped.
Her lips quivered slightly. "M-Maybe I should drink some yogurt to calm down…"
Her hands trembled as she reached for the bottle. Her legs were weak; the yogurt missed the trash can and rolled across the floor. She bent down to pick it up—but hit her head on the bedframe with a soft "Ah!" before collapsing onto the bed with a sigh.
Her loose star-patterned shirt slipped off one shoulder, her short skirt flipping slightly as she fell forward, revealing a flash of blue-and-white striped panties.
Kouya sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
What was with today? Panties seemed to be following him like a curse.
First, a black lace pair as a "gift" that morning. Then a shrine loli offering her own as payment. Then the fallen angel's glimpse during their game. And now Rikka's. Four in one day. The universe clearly had a strange sense of humor.
Before he could process the irony, a sharp knock echoed from the door, followed by a familiar voice tinged with irritation.
"Rikka! I've called you three times already! What are you doing in there?"
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