Chapter 9 – The Masochist Instructor Part 3

Seraphina stepped out from behind the trees, cheeks still pink from her sudden retreat.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and tried to slow her racing heart.

The field lay quiet now, dotted with snoring goblins and broken weapons.

Alfred stood in the middle of the mess, wiping dust from his school blazer as if nothing unusual had happened.

He looked so calm.

So harmless.

So impossibly mysterious.

“He must be hiding his true power,”

Seraphina whispered to herself, pressing a hand to her chest.

The steady thump beneath her palm only proved how deeply the thought thrilled and scared her.

She recalled the way Alfred had tossed goblins aside like fallen leaves.

She remembered his blank face when victory came as easily as breathing.

No joy.

No anger.

Only that cool stare, sharper than any blade.

Surely every flick of his wrist carried a secret code.

Each gentle step spelled doom in an alphabet only monsters could read.

“What if… he was sending a message to all evil beings?”

Seraphina gasped at the idea, shivers dancing up her spine.

Perhaps every time he spared a goblin he was saying,

“I can crush you, but I choose mercy… for now.”

Maybe someday he would lift that mercy.

Maybe that day he would become the Demon King the legends feared.

She pictured dark banners flapping over Silvervale’s walls.

She imagined Alfred at the head of a shadow‑clad army.

A black crown sat on his unruly hair.

Ancient runes glowed on his uniform sleeves.

His once gentle hands now closed like iron around a scepter of night.

“No. I will not let that happen.”

Seraphina balled her fists, nails digging into her gloves.

She would be the one to guide him.

She would save him from the darkness that wanted to claim his soul.

“Alfred‑sama.”

Her voice squeaked when she spoke the honorific, and she hated how eager it sounded.

Yet the respect felt right.

He was powerful.

He was lonely.

He was dangerous.

But was she strong enough?

Doubts buzzed in her mind like pesky pixies.

What if his gaze turned on her one night?

What if he whispered in that calm tone,

“Join me, Seraphina. Embrace the darkness.”

Would she refuse?

Or would her traitorous heart melt under the weight of his imagined tyranny?

She replayed his fight in her head frame by frame.

Every dodge was smoother than silk.

Each counter seemed lazy, yet perfect.

He never finished a foe with lethal force.

Mercy again.

Mercy like a cat toy before the final pounce.

“He is testing me.”

Her breath came fast.

He wanted to see if she would celebrate his gentle nature or fear the storm below it.

He wanted to know if she could handle the truth of his lineage.

A lineage of tragedy.

A lineage of rage.

A lineage that ended with a massacre.

“Poor Alfred,”

Seraphina murmured, her eyes stinging with sudden tears.

He had lost everything.

Family.

Home.

Love.

No wonder he wore that blank mask.

No wonder he walked alone.

She lowered her head, guilt crawling over her skin.

During the test she had secretly enjoyed every spark of power he showed.

That twisted thrill made her stomach flutter now.

Could she really guide him if her own heart beat faster at the sight of his strength?

What if she enjoyed the darkness too much?

What if she begged for more each time he took a step toward shadow?

Her duty warred with her secret desire, turning her thoughts into knots.

“I must be a shining torch,”

she told herself, wiping her eyes.

“I must stand between him and the abyss.”

Yet another sly voice whispered in her ear.

It sounded like her own, only braver and more wicked.

It asked how it would feel to be the queen beside a Demon King.

It promised thrills.

It promised power.

It promised a love story written in lightning.

Seraphina slapped her cheeks to chase away the fantasy.

Pain cleared her foggy mind for a second.

For that second she saw Alfred bend to help a still‑groaning goblin tie its shoes.

She watched the goblin bow over and over, confused but grateful.

Alfred only nodded, face cool, steps light.

Such kindness.

Such threat.

The mix made her dizzy.

“He saves even those who fear him.”

Her voice quivered with respect.

“His rule would not be cruel… It would be absolute yet fair.”

She shook her head so hard red curls whipped across her face.

No.

No throne of bones for Alfred.

No empire of night.

Not on her watch.

“I will steer him toward the guild’s code,”

she vowed, pacing the trampled grass.

“I will show him light quests, kind quests, quests that teach the value of small deeds.”

Perhaps a cat‑rescue mission.

Maybe a flower‑delivery job.

Something gentle.

Something safe.

But a new fear bloomed in her chest.

What if gentle quests bored him?

What if he looked at her with those piercing eyes and said,

“Step aside. My true destiny calls.”

Would she stand firm?

Or tumble into those eyes and never climb out?

She clenched her fists again.

Training would continue tomorrow.

She would design drills that built character, not hate.

Meditation in a sunlit meadow.

Group chores at the orphanage.

Cake baking for charity.

“Yes, cake.”

She nodded fiercely.

Let him measure sugar instead of sorrow.

Let him whip cream instead of goblins.

Let him see joy.

Let him taste hope.

If only her mind would stop painting sweeter sins.

It drew his hands dusted with flour brushing a smear across her cheek.

It drew his stern face softening as she tasted the batter from his finger.

It drew her knees going weak at the simple touch.

She groaned into her palms.

“Keep it together, Seraphina. The world depends on you.”

Because if she failed, Alfred might crumble under grief and rage.

He might march on the capital.

He might reclaim the Nightshade name with fire and thunder.

“And I might follow him,”

she admitted in a shaky breath.

She was learning that her courage had cracks, thin cracks where forbidden dreams leaked through.

A breeze rustled the tall grass.

Scents of moss and metal drifted past.

Alfred finished stacking unconscious goblins in neat rows, like pillows awaiting bedtime stories.

He gave her a polite nod, nothing more.

Such courtesy.

Such chill.

Such peril.

Seraphina’s heart squeezed.

She wanted to bow.

She wanted to salute.

She wanted to scream.

No single response felt right.

“I will not fall,”

she whispered at last, steadying her breath.

“I will guide him. I will save him. And I will not lose myself.”

The vow rang in the crisp evening air.

It sounded brave.

It sounded doomed.

It was all she had.

Golden light faded beyond the trees.

The goblins snored louder.

Night bugs sang their sleepy songs.

Seraphina rubbed her arms as chill crept in.

She turned when she sensed a gentle flutter above her head.

Soft silver sparkles drifted down like moon dust.

Tiny footsteps tapped her shoulder.

“Hello,”

Luna said with a grin.