It is a week later and we are walking back to her apartment from Shopkeep’s place. Today, we eat steamed buns. She calls them ‘pau.’ Mine has red beans in it. Maybe I really do like red beans.

“Are you sure the investor isn’t angry?” I ask, making smalltalk.

“If that’s your attempt at smalltalk again, it’s failing miserably.” She takes a bite out of her bun.

“Oh…” I clear my throat. “That being said, are they angry?”

“Not really.” She shrugs. “I have a feeling they weren’t excited to see my work anyway. It’s like they didn’t believe in the practice - they didn’t believe in me. And their belief in me would have been what secured me money, right? So without that, no money. What’s done is done.”

“What’s done is done…” The phrase tastes bitter in my mouth. But she nudges me, breaking me away from some negative thoughts.

“Hey.” She stops me and we are there, standing on the sidewalk. Children run by and a man is selling skewers of grilled meat from the back of a motorcycle on the next corner. “What you did is protect me. Which is what you were supposed to do.” She resumes walking and I stumble to catch up with her. “The world isn’t quite ready for technology-based homunculi. Who knew.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“What’s important is that you’re okay, though. Creating life is no joke - I’m surprised you had come so far in such a short amount of time.”

“But it wasn’t enough. What to do?” She sighs. “It’s my own fault for taking on such an ambitious project. But I was so desperate for the funding…”

“And desperation makes us do crazy things.” I pat her shoulder. “Trust me, I would know.”

“Is desperation what drove you to commit treason against hell?”

“I have nothing against hell. I’d never do that.” I chuckle softly. “But Demonrealm… well…”

Her eyes widen. “No way! Is that why?”

“Well…”

“You gotta tell me! You gotta!”

“Do I really ‘gotta’? Is that it?”

“Yeah, man!”

“Well…” I begin, and her eyes visibly sparkle. “I don’t gotta. In fact, all documentation states that I am to protect you, not disclose my tragic backstory.”

“What…?! That’s so… You’re so…”

“Cruel? I am a demon, after all.”

“... Is this the part where I say that I’m ‘your girl?’”

“It does sound better than ‘your savior.’”

“... It does.”