Chapter 2
646words
"Well, well... if it isn't our dear Sakurai, Number Seven. Honestly thought you might chicken out today."
That sickeningly smooth voice needed no introduction.
Fujiwara Shizuka, first in the succession ranking. A sadist who elevated torment to an art form.
I ignored his taunt, taking in the familiar yet alien classroom from the corner of my eye.
This "Domination Art" practical wasn't really a classroom but a miniature colosseum. Cold stone tiers surrounded a central pit where I sat with twenty other candidates like Roman patricians awaiting gladiatorial combat. Our unwilling performers—humans, elves, and orcs bound in magical chains—trembled in the arena below, their fear palpable.
"Silence!"
The instructor—a gaunt demon with hollow eye sockets—rapped sharply on his desk. His vulture-like gaze swept over us all.
"Remember this, future Demon Kings! Power is domination! Kindness, compassion, mercy—these are weaknesses to be purged on your path to greatness! Today, you will demonstrate your awakening!"
Before the echo faded, Fujiwara Shizuka stood, his face alight with sick anticipation.
"Professor, may I demonstrate for my peers?"
"By all means, Fujiwara."
With elegant steps, he descended to the arena and lazily pointed at a human girl nearly catatonic with terror. Without incantation, dark energy coalesced around his finger, transforming into a serpent that plunged into her body.
"AHHH!"
Her screams pierced the chamber as her body convulsed violently. Her eyes rolled back, foam spilling from her lips—a soul being shredded alive.
Applause and cheers erupted from the audience.
"Damn, that's precision control right there!"
"Look at her face—pure despair! Brilliant!"
Acid surged up my throat. I bit my tongue hard, using the sharp pain to fight back nausea.
"Excellent." The instructor nodded approvingly. "Next, Sakurai Hayato!"
Here we go.
My heart felt crushed in an iron vise, each beat a stab of pain. Under their hungry stares, I descended the endless stone steps.
My target was a young elven girl with flaxen hair, her pointed ears drooping in terror, body quivering like autumn leaves. When our eyes met, I saw in those emerald depths the same raw fear I'd once seen in my sister's eyes.
For a heartbeat, I couldn't breathe.
"Focus," I told myself. "It's just theater—deadly theater. If they sense weakness, it won't be her on that floor. It'll be me. Game over."
I approached the girl and raised my hand.
"Still playing it soft, Hayato?" Fujiwara mocked from beside me. "Always so hesitant."
I kept my eyes on the elf, ignoring him.
"Why waste power on a mere toy?" My voice sounded alien even to me—cold enough to freeze blood.
I began my incantation. To observers, it appeared I was crafting a standard pain-inducing domination spell.
In reality, I was channeling ninety percent of my energy into something entirely different.
I substituted the core effect from "pain induction" to "mental sedation," wrapping it in a thin illusion to simulate suffering.
"God—no—please!"
The girl writhed and screamed convincingly. My classmates nodded in approval.
Her mind was already drifting in peaceful oblivion, cradled in dreamless sleep. Every scream, every twitch—a puppet show I orchestrated through magical muscle control.
She would wake with nothing worse than vague nightmare fragments.
"Somewhat lacking in raw power, but effective enough. You pass." The instructor made a note in his ledger.
I withdrew my magic without sparing the "unconscious" elf a glance and returned to my seat.
Behind me came scattered applause and Fujiwara's contemptuous snicker.
I sat expressionless, hands in pockets. No one noticed my nails digging into my palms, blood seeping between my fingers to stain the stone steps crimson.
Revulsion crawled up my throat like a venomous serpent, each swallow tasting of rust and bile.
Welcome to the life of a Demon King candidate.
Welcome to my daily hell.
---
