—Meanwhile, at the Hyoudou Residence – That Very Moment—
"And they lived happily ever after," said the mother of the two chestnut-haired girls as she gently closed a book of fairy tales.
"I'd like another one, please," Aki—the youngest brunette—pleaded sweetly, puffing out her cheeks in a pout.
"Next time, my dear. You have to sleep now. Remember, you've got school tomorrow," her mother replied, tucking them both into bed with a warm smile.
"See you tomorrow, Oka-san," said Yumma, the older of the two.
"Goodnight, Yumma. Goodnight, Aki," their mother said softly, closing the bedroom door behind her.
The girls cuddled up under the covers, and—like all overly energetic sisters—began chatting in whispers, trying to stall sleep just a bit longer.
"What do you want your prince charming to be like, onee-chan?" Aki asked innocently, her eyes sparkling in the dim moonlight.
"Uhhhhm…" Yumma put a finger to her chin, striking a thoughtful pose. "I think he should be kind… adorable… serious when needed… a little clumsy—that would make things fun—and he should love me and protect me."
She paused, blushing hard now, clearly drifting into fantasy. "And above all… he should be super sensual and dominant… someone who could make me feel all warm and fuzzy all night long…"
Yumma trailed off with a dazed giggle, visibly drooling as she hugged her pillow.
"Ne, onee-chan, what's 'yum-yum'?" Aki asked with wide, curious eyes.
"When you're older, I'll tell you, Aki-chan," Yumma said, yawning as she settled into bed.
"Mouu, I want to know now," Aki pouted, puffing her cheeks again.
"Goodnight, Aki-chan," Yumma whispered, leaning over to kiss her sister gently on the forehead.
"Goodnight, Yumma onee-chan…" Aki replied, already growing drowsy under the covers.
Silence settled in the room—soft, peaceful—until a faint, almost imperceptible sound escaped the older girl.
"Ufufufu… I hope I find him soon," Yumma whispered to herself, a sly smile on her lips as her fingers traced absentmindedly over her developing chest.
She had no idea that her wish would come true.
About ten years later…
She would meet her prince charming—though devil might be the more accurate word.
A man, around thirty-five, with hair as black as the void, eyes like polished obsidian, and a gaze sharp enough to pierce through souls. His presence exuded power, elegance, and an overwhelming masculinity. His body was sculpted like a god's—broad shoulders, taut muscles, and a smile so devastating it could melt the heart of even the most steadfast nun.
And Yumma? She had grown into a breathtaking woman of twenty. Her chestnut hair now cascaded down to her thighs, framing a face so flawlessly beautiful it could've been carved by Michelangelo himself. Her body was nothing short of a masterpiece: long, toned legs, a scandalous hourglass figure, perfectly rounded hips, and voluptuous breasts that defied logic. And despite it all, she still carried that soft, innocent aura that made her utterly irresistible to the devil who would become hers.
The same girl who once giggled with her little sister beneath warm blankets, who played with her shrine maiden friend without a care in the world…
…would spend the next fifteen years wrapped in endless nights of intense, unrestrained passion—her desires fulfilled again and again in every imaginable way.
And in a big way.
I was born on a May evening, in a small village west of London, England.
My father owned that village—after reclaiming an ancient, infernal deal made with the family who'd held the land for generations. That family? Two bitter old brothers, rotting away in a decaying estate they inherited by murdering their own father. A pair of incestuous parasites who had squandered their family fortune on vice and vanity.
Naturally, when my father arrived to claim what was his, they resisted.
"Such a deal never existed!" they said, even threatening to call the police.
Fools.
Did they expect anyone to believe them? That the literal Maou Satan had returned to collect on a 2000-year-old diabolical pact?
Of course not.
After my father showcased a little of his "special talent," the brothers promptly retired—peacefully. They maxed out every credit line they could, donated the funds to an anonymous NGO (aka my savings account), rented a car, and...
...proceeded to commit suicide by crashing headfirst into the village brothel. A fittingly ridiculous end to two equally ridiculous men.
With that, the last bad influence within our new 10,000-square-meter domain was gone.
When the authorities investigated, my father—ever the "King of Deception and Lies"—dazzled the judges in court. Picture this: he's wearing a sleek black Armani suit, a silk tie, a pair of custom Channel March pants, and designer shoes, all while sipping a glass of "Victory Day 1945" wine and carrying a suitcase conveniently full of cash.
The performance was... legendary.
The judges ate it up—everything. They even issued a public apology for "doubting the morals of such a fine, upstanding, and noble family of philanthropic gentlemen who've funded hospitals, orphanages, and upheld the proud traditions of England's oldest lineages."
Oh—and yes, we bought a noble title.
Did you think "prince" in the story title was just for flair?
Think again.
My childhood, all things considered, was relatively normal.
Well... my version of normal.
When I told Sirzechs onii-sama, Grayfia onee-sama, and the Gremory parents about my upbringing, they nearly had heart attacks.
I was six when we had our first visitors.
The servant opened the door.
(Quick aside: Servants? In the modern era?)
You'd think so. But when my mother was pregnant and dealing with severe mood swings, my father gathered every renegade demon in the region and offered them jobs. Shelter, protection, generous pay—they all accepted and pledged loyalty to him.
Now, why would the almighty Lord of All Demons—once attended by only high-class elite servants—agree to such an idea?
I asked him once.
He looked me dead in the eye, turned slightly blue in the face, and simply said:
"No comment."
I didn't press further. Honestly, I was scared to find out more.
During those years, my father also expanded his business empire.
He invested heavily in mining and retail, eventually owning a multinational mineral extraction company and a booming supermarket chain known as Demons Mall.
Their slogan?
"The prices are so low, they seem like a lie."
(Yes, that was my mother's idea.)
And then there was the house.
Ah yes... the house.
Seven floors. Polished marble staircases. Jade dragon railings.
Thirty-five rooms, each with a private bathroom and a jacuzzi. My bedroom was conveniently next to my parents'. The ceilings? Double height. The architecture? Bright, spacious, and flowing seamlessly from room to room.
The main entrance opens into an elegant office and a lavish living room that showcases the garden through towering glass windows. The dining area overlooks this same view and connects to the water area via sliding doors.
There's a private lounge, cozy but large, with another guest bathroom and a gaming area with card tables and billiards.
And then... there's the basement.
Three subterranean levels. At the top: a high-tech kitchen. Below that: my father's private art and wine cellar. And at the very bottom...
...a massive training hall the size of the entire mansion.
Protected by an SSS-class spell, this room can only be accessed by beings as powerful as God (the biblical one), a Maou of my father's level, or a dragon equivalent to the Celestial Dragons combined. And even then, only those authorized by my father—or me—could find it, let alone enter.
The spell? Co-developed by my father and Ophis herself.
Luxury beyond reason? Yes.
Overkill? Absolutely.
But that's demons for you. And my parents.
And somehow, despite all that chaos and excess...
...those were my earliest memories.
And now, back to the story.