Chapter 534 – The Perfect Boy
Lux didn’t dream often.
Not because he didn’t want to...honestly, he’d kill for a full night of peaceful, drool-on-the-pillow, limb-tangled-with-lover kind of rest, but because he usually passed out.
That was the difference. Passing out wasn’t sleep. It was a body shutdown. A blackout. His system simply said "fuck it" after three days of juggling contracts, seducing potential enemies, surviving assassination attempts, running mathematical projections on interrealm trade collapses, and then having sex so intense it should be taxed as luxury property.
So no, Lux didn’t dream.
But tonight?
He did.
And of course, it had to be that dream.
The one he hated.
It started the way it always did. A long hallway. Polished obsidian tiles beneath polished boots that were slightly too big for his younger self. A uniform so stiff it chafed his collar. His little fingers tugged at the neck, and the sll... old brimstone, ink, dust, and sulfur-polished leather... hit his nose like a wave of mory soaked in sha.
And then, the classroom.
Rows of desks, perfectly aligned like coffins. Gothic architecture above, stone-etched insignias of each Sin House staring down like judges. Blackboards rimd with cursed gold. And students...little monsters, so with horns, others with wings or flickering hellfire eyes...already snickering.
He knew what was coming.
His little legs walked him to the desk, sat him down, his chin barely above the slate. Then...
"Lux Vaelthorn."
The teacher’s voice. Cold. Sharp. Female. Eyes like obsidian voids. Probably a wrath-blooded instructor.
"I expect more from you," she said, floating a sheet of paper toward him like a guillotine.
He caught it. Read it.
B .
Seriously?
That wasn’t even bad.
The numbers were neat. Columns balanced. He only missed one conversion rate in the upper infernal trade math segnt.
But the silence in the room?
It broke like cracking glass.
Laughter.
Snorts.
Muttered words.
"Prince of Greed got a B?"
"Maybe Lust blood makes you stupid."
"Should be good at seduction, not subtraction."
He felt heat crawl up his neck. Not rage. Not sha. Sothing worse. That helpless, hollow burn when you knew the ga was rigged and still expected to win it.
He stared down at the score again.
B .
For anyone else, it’d be fine. Applauded, even. But he wasn’t anyone else. He was Lux Vaelthorn. Son of Greed and Lust. The dual-blooded anomaly with a birthright made of contracts, expectations, and too many sealed doors.
The teacher kept going. "You are the only royal born of two sins. We expect greatness. Not diocrity."
His throat tightened. He wanted to say sothing, "What about the others with C’s?" but the words didn’t co. He knew the answer already.
They weren’t him.
He forced a nod. Quiet. Controlled. Always controlled.
"I’ll do better next ti," he said.
The teacher nodded like that was bare minimum acceptable and turned away.
Then... Like soone flipped a page in his mory.
Now he was older. Taller. Broader shoulders. High school. The combat hall. Red-lit arena filled with roaring students and enchanted observers overhead, their pens scratching every movent for grading.
And blood.
There was a lot of blood.
His.
He staggered back, panting, vision swimming with sweat and crimson.
Across from him, a wrath-blooded opponent. Big. Brutal. The son of a warlord general who probably murdered his own siblings to win the family heirloom blade.
The guy smirked.
"Don’t worry," he said, circling. "I get it. You’re a desk boy. A bed boy. Greed-Lust hybrid? That’s pillow talk blood. Not warrior."
Lux didn’t respond.
But sothing snapped.
He rembered that part. The heat behind his eyes. The pulse of magic in his fingertips. He lunged. Not because he thought he could win. He knew he wouldn’t win clean...but because he was done hearing it.
His blades moved.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t calculate.
Just fought.
He took the hit. Three ribs cracked. His rune almost flared. But his dagger landed too... straight across the other guy’s collar. A red line blood across skin.
Points. Pride. Pain.
The crowd stopped laughing.
The guy stopped smiling.
And for a brief, burning mont?
Lux felt like a demon prince.
-Flick!
Now it was his dual academy years.
Split days between Military Academy and Hell’s Financial Institute. Mornings with swords and fla formations. Evenings with contracts and market fluctuation projections. Weekends? Nonexistent.
He rembered the constant weight. Not just on his shoulders, but inside his chest. A pressure that never went away.
He was walking down a long hallway now. Marble tiles. A few students walking past, chatting. Most demons. So mortals, elites who made deals with Hell’s educational sectors.
Beside him, soone spoke.
"Congratulations," said a voice. Familiar. Cool. Slightly amused.
He turned his dream-body and there she was.
Sira.
Younger. Still powerful, still absurdly beautiful, but with a rebellious glint instead of the full tactical stare she’d later master.
She walked beside him, hands tucked behind her back.
"You got the highest score again," she said.
"Yeah," Lux murmured. The dream made his voice younger, softer. Less confident.
"You’re going to make the rest of us look bad," she teased, lips tugging into a grin.
He smiled faintly. It wasn’t a good smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
Sira noticed.
"You should co celebrate," she said. "Everyone’s heading to the rooftop. There are drinks. Music. We even got so high-level succubi-incubi to give us a good show."
He wanted to say yes.
He really did.
But...
"I can’t," he said.
Sira raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"I have my finance major assignnts. Forecasting models due. Budget simulation with GreedCorp simulations. I can’t fall behind."
She made a face. "You never fall behind. You practically own the curve. Just co for one drink."
He opened his mouth. Almost said it.
Because I have to.
Because if I stop, even once, I might fall apart.
Because nobody’s allowed to see what happens when I let go.
But instead, he said, "I don’t have ti. Sorry. Have fun."
Sira rolled her eyes but didn’t push.
"Suit yourself, Vaelthorn," she muttered.
And then she was gone.
The hallway stretched endlessly.
And his feet kept walking.
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