Chapter 2: A Fateful Encounter at the Club

Though she’d been inside for well over 30 minutes, she hadn’t budged an inch. Lara Schmord scanned the room enviously at the couples, looking like a club rookie stiffly surveying her new surroundings.

“Are you by yourself?”

Then it happened—a low, nasally voice rang out like fate, and Lara’s heart skipped a beat. It was the first time a stranger had spoken to her since reaching adulthood.

Lara drew in a deep breath. With her mother absent and no meddlesome brother around, she wondered what kind of man he might be. Pretending not to be flustered, she slowly turned, only to find a man clutching his nose and grinning foolishly.

“Didn’t I tell you to cook some spaghetti?”

For a brief moment, Lara was startled by his oddly modulated voice, yet his persistence was almost admirable. Chasing her in a suit while pleading for spaghetti—it was lunacy she couldn’t ignore.

“I’m hungry, bro. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“If you want to eat, cook it yourself! Get lost, please! Don’t interfere with my life!”

Lara firmly shook off the man’s grasp as he tried to seize her arm. Instead of feeling hurt, she left him—this insolent buffoon—behind and plunged into the crowd.

Yet, as a refined lady of a prestigious family, she couldn’t afford to act hastily. Hidden beneath the generous folds of her dress, her small foot traced a graceful arc as she moved silently.

Amid the bustling corridor, Lara strode at 2.5 times her normal pace, as if defying time itself. Curiously, she appeared perfectly composed, hands clasped behind her back in an immovable stance.

That was the Lady’s Teleportation Technique.

Inspired by Margaret Krischuger’s musings in “The Secret of Women—For Secrets Are More Beautiful,” which described a swan elegantly skimming a lake, the technique allowed one to move swiftly without sacrificing grace, even in urgent moments.

How long had she been using it? At the far end of the banquet hall, a pillar came into view. As Lara leaned against its cold surface to catch her breath, she sensed someone behind her.

“Excuse me, are you alone?”

“Cook it yourself!”

“Ah, I’m alone too.”

He was a stranger—an exceptionally handsome man. Lara bit her lower lip against her teeth, mortified. Yet in moments like these, the social skills she’d honed in elite circles shone through.

Lara neatly cupped her hands before her chest and turned gracefully. The brilliant light overwhelmed her vision for a moment, but she quickly adjusted. At the same time, eyes as red as rubies caught her attention.

“I’m sorry, ho ho. I misspoke to someone I don’t know… I must be too nervous,” he said in a politely lowered tone.

The courteous inflection of his slightly bowed voice flowed seamlessly.

“No, it’s fine,” she replied.

The handsome man, his long black hair cascading past his waist, wore a tidy smile. Yet to Lara, he seemed anything but proper. Perhaps it was his crimson eyes—just a slight curl of his brows exuding an unmistakable air of decadence.

After a moment, he extended a hand clad in velvet gloves. Momentarily entranced, Lara reached out to take it.

“I’m Lara Schmord, the Young Lady,” she introduced.

“I should introduce myself. I am Ferreus Shuran Exaios,” he replied.

“Are you a foreigner?”

“Yes, as you can see, I come from the Demon Realm.”

Lara forced an elegant smile, though her lips betrayed a hint of awkwardness.

“Until recently, I was the Demon King. Now I’m just on a journey,” he explained.

“Ho ho… I see,” he murmured.

Lara laughed softly and diverted her gaze. It was obvious she didn’t wish to engage further, yet the man—suffering from a lifetime of seclusion as a self-proclaimed Demon King—persisted relentlessly.

“Being new to the human world, I feel awkward and tense. The chill here makes my skin dry, I suppose. Would you happen to have some hand cream?”

‘Why won’t he just leave? Does he think I’m easy prey?’

Lara knew she had to be assertive—a lesson learned after a week of dealing with insufferable humans.

“Hey.”

“Please, just call me Ferreus,” he insisted.

“I don’t trust anything you say. Jacob only knows about vegetable tripe,” she snapped.

“What…?”

“I’m not interested in black magic or any cult nonsense,” she declared.

“Ah, I think you’ve misunderstood. I’m not the kind of demon who peddles that sort of thing. Ha ha, I’m neither a cultist nor anything of the sort,” he clarified.

“So, you’re really the Demon King?”

“Yes. If you don’t believe me, shall I show you my portfolio? After a thousand years as Demon King, everything I’ve accomplished speaks for itself…”

“Ho ho! No thanks, I’m not interested.”

“Ah… sorry for bothering you,” he murmured.

Rubbing his neck, Ferreus left with a sullen expression.

Lara crossed her arms elegantly at the pillar, determined that if he returned, she’d give him the coldest of shoulders.

Not long after, neat footsteps echoed from a nearby corridor. The man stopped right beside her.

“I said I’m not interested!”

“You’ll only know if you’re interested by talking,” he retorted.

His husky yet mellifluous voice called out as Lara shyly turned. She saw another handsome man, standing three paces away and watching her.

“I’m looking for the restroom. Do you know where it is?”

“…Ho ho, pardon my shout. I mistook you for someone else. Um, by the way, who are you?”

“Do you really not know, or are you just pretending?”

With a well-balanced build and chiseled, striking features, his aura exuded refined elegance. Lara had never before seen such captivating grace.

His meticulously styled auburn hair and elaborately adorned costume with golden trims revealed his noble status. After a long pause, he smirked, clearly amused.

“I was only recently crowned, so as a lady of a lesser family, you might not recognize my face. I am Emperor Karlahee Kingzer Ionne Fertirio of this nation,” he proclaimed.

“Ho ho… I see,” she murmured.

Lara’s weary eyes lifted ever so slightly, managing a graceful smirk.

‘This isn’t some romance—meeting a Demon King and an Emperor like next-door neighbors is utterly absurd!’

If only he had come with a trash bag, he might have left her alone.

Determined to leave, she stepped onto the smooth, golden floor. The moment her shoe softly touched the surface, a sudden throb echoed in her head, and the surroundings began spinning.

Her little feet faltered, unable to move forward. Soon, her body wavered, and with nothing to support her, she collapsed. Her dress, designed to hold its shape, prevented her from sitting, leaving her kneeling helplessly amidst the crowd.

In a flash, Lara lifted her head. At that moment, an almost blinding radiance flooded her vision.

It wasn’t the chandelier’s light. The piercing, sacred glow seemed meant solely for her eyes. It was as if a heavenly hymn were about to sound and angelic feathers drift around her.

Then it happened.

“Lara… Schmord…”

A mystical voice flowed like drifting mist, its clarity dispelling any notion of mere tinnitus.

“Girl who hears the voice of God… You are the chosen one…”

All thoughts vanished as the voice filled her mind entirely, drawing a low groan from her lips.

“I bestow upon you a great mission… that is…”

“Ahh, my voice…!”

“Ah, ah, beep-boop—mic test. One, two.”

“It’s… so loud…”

It felt as if an in-ear device cranked to maximum volume had been plugged directly into her brain.

The pain was reminiscent of accidentally blasting loud music—an agony modern 21st-century life warns can damage your hearing.

“Ah…”

But the ordeal was too much for one woman to bear alone. Like wilted petals scattered on the floor, Lara’s body crumbled.

“Hey! Young Lady, get it together!”

She felt someone’s arms embrace her, but she could barely keep her eyes open. Her mind roared with noise until, amid the clamor, a faint voice broke through, calling her desperately.

“Lara! You’re not dead, are you? Who do you expect to cook for from now on?”

‘Oh dear God. If you’re out there, use spaghetti noodles to strangle that guy,’ she thought.

Astonishingly, Lara’s silent prayer was answered.

* * *

She dreamt—a distant, cherished dream that slowly revealed itself as a memory of childhood with her brother.

“Lara, are you hurt?”

“Aaah!”

“I’m sorry. I should have run to catch you…”

She recalled the day she tripped on the last step and broke down in tears.

Blood seeped from her scraped knee. Her brother, kneeling before her with tearful eyes as if he felt the pain more deeply, gently blew on the wound as if to soothe it.

“But it’s okay. I fixed it,” he said.

Embracing him, his short coral-tinted hair quivered slightly. Lara loved how his arms always felt warm, tender, and gentle.

“Hey, go cook some spaghetti.”