Caelen's head tilted slightly as he let out a long, amused sigh, the controller sliding from his fingers and landing on the carpet with a soft thump.
"Man, Lucy, you're good at this game." He leaned back, catching his breath as he looked at the flashing screen. "Is this your favorite or am I just that weak?"
Lucy didn't look away from the screen. "You're that weak," she said dryly, though the corner of her mouth tugged into a slight smirk.
Her usual cool edge was still there, but something was different. It wasn't sharp. It wasn't dismissive. Just playful — and that made Caelen grin even more.
"Well, I guess I'm glad you had this game. I needed something to practice on," he said with a soft chuckle, eyes still on the final match results. His character had finally come close to winning a second round before she crushed him again.
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Okay?" she responded, unsure where he was going with this.
"What?" Caelen leaned forward. "Do I sound too emotional about a game?"
Lucy looked like she wanted to say something but didn't. She stared at him for a second longer than she meant to. "It's not that. It's just… Nah. Forget it."
He shrugged lightly, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry," he said, voice softening, "It's just… when I saw that kid back then playing this game — you know, that church orphan who wouldn't stop grinning? — I realized I'd missed a lot in life."
Lucy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden honesty.
"I guess I just wanted to connect to something," he continued, gaze lowering slightly. "Something that didn't feel like a job, or duty, or survival. Something fun. Real."
He looked up at her, expression completely sincere. "And somehow… I was given a way to connect with people through this. And strangely, I'm okay with that."
Emma, sitting quietly in the corner of the room, smiled faintly to herself. She stood silently and slipped out of the room without a word, her presence fading without either of them noticing.
Lucy, however, was frozen. She wasn't sure why his words were making her chest feel warm — tight, even. She blinked again.
"Why are you talking about this?" she asked, her voice quieter than she expected.
Caelen turned toward her, his brow furrowed in concern. "Did I make you uncomfortable? Sorry, I wasn't—"
Before he could finish the sentence, he felt something soft press against his lips.
It was so sudden — so natural yet so out of place — that his brain needed a full second to understand what just happened.
Lucy was kissing him.
It was gentle. Hesitant. But unmistakably real.
His eyes widened. Her face was close. Her lips were warm. He could smell the faint trace of the herbal shampoo she used — mint and something floral. And just as suddenly as it had started, she pulled away.
They stared at each other.
Lucy's face was a mix of embarrassment and confusion, as if she couldn't believe what she just did. She looked like she wanted to say something, maybe apologize — maybe walk out — but before she could do either, Caelen leaned forward and returned the kiss.
His movement was slow, careful — but sure.
And this time, her reaction wasn't hesitant.
Her body relaxed. Her hands moved to his shoulders. Their lips parted slightly, breaths exchanged, and tongues intertwined in a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural, as if they'd done this a dozen times before. They melted into the moment, lost in a space that existed far from training or missions or bloodlines.
Minutes passed. Neither of them counted.
Eventually, their lips parted, and Lucy breathed out quietly, still close, still looking at him.
Caelen looked back, reading her face carefully. She wasn't pulling away.
Lucy moved in front of him, abandoning her chair entirely. As she settled into his lap, Caelen's hands instinctively found her waist. He didn't push. He didn't pull. Just rested them there, waiting.
He could feel the weight of the moment. This wasn't just passion. This was a wall cracking. A guard dropping.
Lucy tilted her head slightly, kissed him again — softer this time, but deeper. Her body leaned into his, and he let himself enjoy the closeness.
Then, as his hand drifted toward the hem of her shirt, she suddenly paused.
Her breath hitched. Her hands stopped moving. The energy shifted.
Caelen pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing with immediate concern. He didn't say anything, but his expression made it clear: Are you okay?
Lucy looked down, visibly conflicted. Her lips parted like she was about to speak — but then she didn't.
Caelen sat there, debating. Should he use the skill? [Pheromone Pulse] was a powerful tool, but it would override her hesitation. And that… that wasn't what he wanted.
He closed the system window in his mind and let his hands slowly slide away from her waist.
"It's fine," he said quietly, voice calm. "You don't have to."
Lucy stared at him for a few more seconds, then nodded, gently sliding off his lap and returning to her chair, hugging her knees. Her mind was racing. Was she being too easy? Too emotional? She didn't know anymore.
"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered, her eyes lowering, avoiding his gaze. "I… I can't do this. This isn't me."
Her voice trembled just enough for Caelen to pause. Her words hit him harder than he expected — not out of rejection, but confusion. Moments ago, their hearts were racing together. Now, she was pulling away.
He blinked. "Isn't you?" he asked, sitting upright. "What do you mean by that?"
There was a flicker of frustration in his voice — not loud, not angry, but raw. But as soon as it rose, he caught himself. His eyes softened. "Sorry. That wasn't fair. I'm just… trying to understand."
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, but the words never came. Just then, a loud ringtone echoed through the room — a dramatic tune, almost like the prelude to a samurai duel. The sharp melody cut through the silence like a blade.
The weight of her body lifted off him immediately.
Without a word, Lucy crossed the room with practiced speed, heading for the corner of her bed. She reached into a pile of clothes — her training pants — and pulled out a slim black phone. A single glance at the screen made her entire demeanor change.
"Hello, Father," she said flatly as she walked toward the door, voice suddenly detached and cold.
Caelen remained on the couch, watching her go. He didn't know what just happened — emotionally or physically — but the room felt colder now. Emptier. He let out a slow breath and turned back toward the game console.
Maybe a few matches would help clear his head.
Meanwhile — deep in the forest beyond the house
Leaves rustled as Lucy moved at high speed, not even panting. Her body blurred with each step until she stopped under the boughs of an ancient tree.
"Father," she snapped, holding the phone to her ear, "Why are you calling me now? I already finished your so-called training months ago, and you said — you said — you'd leave me alone."
Her voice was sharper than Caelen had ever heard. No hesitation, no softness. It was as if she were an entirely different person — or perhaps, more herself than she ever let on.
The voice on the other end was calm but firm. "Lucille, I told you: if the time ever came for our family to fulfill its duty again, you would be expected to abandon your personal distractions — and that time has come."
"Distractions?" she echoed, scornfully. "You mean having a life? Making friends? Breathing like a normal person? Spare me."
She didn't let him answer.
"Our family hasn't even seen a real demon since before phones were invented," she continued. "You hide behind talk of tradition and duty, but it's just an excuse to control everything."
There was a heavy pause.
Then: "Lucille," her father said, his tone hardened, "You are not just my daughter — you are a Desmire. Do not forget what that means."
Lucy didn't respond. She let the silence hang, heavy and oppressive.
Her father finally broke it. "The church we're affiliated with recently made contact. They claim a demon manifested near your current location — silver-haired, possibly tied to the clergy, though they're being tight-lipped. We need someone we can trust. I need you to come home. This cannot be ignored."
Lucy's heart slowed. Her eyes narrowed.
"Are you certain about this?" she asked, her voice low and even.
"We have evidence," he replied. "And something far more useful — an artifact recovered from the site. It's tied to older rituals. Come home, Lucille. The hunt begins again."
She closed the call.
Back in the house
The door creaked open.
Caelen didn't look up immediately. He was midway through a tense combo chain in the game, trying to lose himself in something simple — something predictable.
But the sound of a bag dropping to the floor made him pause. Lucy stood there, dressed simply, her face unreadable.
She crossed the room without a word and picked up a bag, tossing in a few essentials — mostly clothes and her phone. No hesitation. No drama.
"Lucy?" Caelen asked, standing. "What's going on? Did I… say something wrong?"
She paused at the door, one hand on the frame. Her back was to him. Her voice was quiet — almost too soft to hear.
"I kinda wish we did it now," she said. "But it's too late. Still… I had fun."
Caelen stared at her. "Wait—what? Where are you going?"
"Don't worry about it," she replied. "It's not your fault."
Her voice was vague, distant — like she was already a hundred miles away.
"Did I do something?" he asked again, a little more desperately this time.
She glanced back, meeting his eyes for just a second. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said with a faint smile. "But I have to go. Bye, Caelen."
And then she stepped out.
He stood there, stunned, staring at the door.
He almost chased after her, but something in his gut told him not to. Instinct. Something unspoken in her expression. Instead, he slumped back onto the couch, staring at the faint indent her body had left on the cushion beside him.
She was gone.
"Damn."