[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]
[Ti: 23:59]
Sigh~
Sleep seems to be having a personal grudge against .
You’d think after getting body-jacked into a one-thousand-year-old coffin escapee, murdered by a satellite, and acquiring a literal Devil-tier cheat system, my body would just say, "Yes, boss, let’s pass out."
Nope. My eyelids felt like anvils, but my brain refused to power down.
I shifted under the silken sheets of the absurdly oversized bed Grayfia had prepared for . A king’s bed. Demon prince’s bed. Whatever. The whole room looked like a Gothic cathedral had one too many affairs with a New York skyscraper and decided, yes, black marble columns and LED chandeliers totally belong together.
And the kicker? The mansion humd. Not with electricity, but with mana. Subtle, constant. Like sleeping inside a beast’s ribcage.
"Sleep, he says. Just close your eyes, he says..." I muttered at myself.
That was when the System decided to chi in.
🔔 [Daily Quest Issued]Welco, Host: Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar.Your body has been idle for 1,022 years. That will not do.
"...Oh, you’ve got to be kidding ."
I sat up, rubbing my temples as a panel blood across my vision in pale silver fire.
[Daily Quest: The Path of Sovereignty]Objective: Strength must be maintained through action.Tasks:
• 100 Push-ups
• 100 Sit-ups
• 100 Squats
• 10 km Run (indoors or outdoors acceptable)
Reward: 3 Stat Points, 1 Random Box (Common)
Failure Penalty: [Forced Penalty Zone Transfer]
Ti Limit: 24 Hours
I sat up, glaring at the glowing panel. Of course it would choose now to spring this on . Right when I was trying to, you know, sleep like a normal transmigrator for once.
"Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and running... Really? What is this, ani boot camp?"
My voice was a hushed whisper, though there was no one to hear . Grayfia was long gone, patrolling the Manor like a silent guardian wraith, and the mansion’s silence was broken only by the distant hum of New York traffic beyond the enchantnt barrier.
Still, I found myself lowering my voice, like a guilty teenager sneaking midnight snacks.
Because no one could ever know about this.
Not Grayfia.Not the demon world.Not my seven obsessive wives.No one.
This System was mine alone—my cheat, my trump card, my damn lifeline.
I exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the last line.
Failure Penalty: [Forced Penalty Zone Transfer].
That sounded... ominous.
"...Alright," I muttered, swinging my legs over the bed. "Let’s see just how bullshit this really is."
...
The marble floor was ice against my bare feet as I stood up. My reflection in the tall, black-mirrored windows stared back at : pale skin, silver hair falling loosely over my face, eyes glowing faintly with that infernal aether I hadn’t yet learned to switch off. I looked less like a man and more like a gothic rockstar who wandered into the wrong afterparty.
And now I was supposed to do... squats?
"From coffin-prince to gym rat. Perfect."
The System’s quest panel hovered stubbornly in front of , no matter how much I waved my hand through it. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Squats. A damn marathon. A thousand years in stasis, and the first thing my cosmic cheat system wants is for to cosplay as Saitama.
Fine. Whatever. I dropped down on the carpet.
Push-ups.
"Alright, muscles... try not to snap."
The first ten went fine—shaky, but doable. By thirty, my arms trembled like cheap scaffolding in an earthquake. By fifty, my chest felt like soone had set an anvil on it.
Holy shit, I really am weak.
The System didn’t comnt, but the glowing progress bar ticked upward like it was smug. 51/100. 52/100.
By the ti I collapsed on the carpet at seventy-three, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead, I was wheezing like a broken bellows.
"...and they say hellfire torture is bad. Screw that. This is worse."
I rolled onto my back, staring at the chandelier overhead. Black crystal, glowing faintly with bottled starlight. Grayfia probably thought it would impress . Right now, all it did was mock .
You’re supposed to be the Demiurgic Archangel’s heir, the voice in my head whispered. The Morningstar’s bloodline. And here you are, nearly dying from push-ups.
My fists clenched. That humiliation burned hotter than the ache in my arms. I grit my teeth, rolled over, and kept going.
The notification dinged like a smug cashier ringing up.
[Task Complete: Push-ups ✔]
"One down," I panted. "Three more to go."
...
These should have been easier, right? Wrong. Sowhere around forty, my abs staged a rebellion. By sixty, it felt like soone had shoved molten lead under my ribs.
"Why... does... everything... hurt?!" I grunted between breaths.
My hair stuck to the sweat dripping down my face. My body wasn’t used to this. I hadn’t moved in over a thousand years. Every fiber scread at to stop, but the glowing word Failure Penalty hovered like a guillotine blade above my will.
What was a [Penalty Zone Transfer]? So hellish dungeon? A trial? Or just instant death? I wasn’t about to find out.
No. Not when I’d just gotten this second chance.
So I kept going.
By ninety-eight, the room spun. By one hundred, I slamd back onto the carpet, gasping like I’d just outrun a pack of hellhounds.
[Task Complete: Sit-ups ✔]
"...Grayfia can never know about this. Ever," I croaked, dragging myself upright.
...
Squats.
You’d think these would be simple. Just bend your knees and stand up again. Child’s play.
Except, apparently, when your legs feel like two overcooked noodles after centuries of lying in a coffin.
The first twenty were fine. By thirty, my thighs were on fire. At fifty, my knees sounded like an old haunted door hinge.
"Fifty more," I told myself, teeth gritted. "You can survive seven psychotic demon fiancées, you can survive squats."
I pictured their faces—obsessive, hungry, twisted with affection that could shatter mountains. The thought was enough to force through another ten.
Seventy. Eighty. Ninety.
By the last ten, I wasn’t squatting so much as collapsing and dragging myself back up through sheer hate.
[Task Complete: Squats ✔]
I fell backward, sprawled across the carpet like a corpse. Again.
"Three down," I gasped. "Now the fun part..."
...
The Run.
The quest didn’t specify how I was supposed to run 10 kiloters. Indoors or outdoors, it said.
I eyed the long, cathedral-like hallways of Morningstar Manor. Endless corridors, arched ceilings, paintings of dead relatives glaring down at . Perfect track.
"Guess it’s ti for the midnight marathon."
I set off at a jog.
At first, it felt almost freeing. The air was cool, carrying faint hints of incense and ozone from the enchantnts laced into the walls. The floors were polished black marble, slick underfoot but strangely springy with mana reinforcent. My footsteps echoed like gunshots in the silence.
But after two kiloters, my lungs burned. My legs scread. Sweat poured down my back. Every hallway looked the sa, and my mind mocked with the thought that I might die of exhaustion before I even found the kitchen.
"Of all the cheats in the multiverse," I groaned between ragged breaths, "I had to get... the fitness app... from Hell."
Kiloter four. Five. Six.
I stumbled, catching myself on a column. The world tilted. I wanted to quit so badly. Just collapse, let the penalty co, deal with it tomorrow.
But the thought of that line—[Forced Penalty Zone Transfer]—stabbed awake. I couldn’t afford to gamble with sothing I didn’t understand. Not when the System was the only card I had in this insane ga.
Move, Dominic.
I pushed off the column and kept going.
Kiloter seven. My legs were trembling sticks. Kiloter eight. My throat was raw, every breath like glass.
Kiloter nine. I could barely think, every part of on autopilot.
Kiloter ten. I crossed it staggering, collapsing against a wall. My chest heaved, sweat dripping down my chin, hair plastered to my face.
Then—
[Task Complete: Run ✔]
[Daily Quest Complete]
[Reward Acquired: 3 Stat Points, 1 Random Box (Common)]
[Warning: Failure to complete daily quest will result in automatic Penalty Zone Transfer. Completion confird.]
I laughed. A ragged, wheezing, half-delirious laugh.
"I did it," I whispered. "Holy shit... I actually did it."
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, too drained to even crawl back to bed. My body scread, but my heart beat with a strange rhythm—sothing like pride.
It wasn’t much. But it was mine.
Ahem! Ahem!
I froze.
Every fiber of my body went rigid, the way a kid does when caught sneaking cookies at three in the morning. My head turned slowly, like I was cranking a rusted lever, and sure enough—there she was.
Grayfia.
Standing in the hall, arms folded neatly across her chest, silver hair cascading like frozen starlight, and her eyes... oh, her eyes. Those cold, judgntal, laser-surgery eyes that could slice through excuses before they even left your tongue.
I scrambled for words. For breath. For dignity.
"Uh... hi?" I croaked, sounding less like a demonic prince and more like a dying duck.
Her gaze swept over —soaked in sweat, hair plastered to my face, chest heaving like I’d just finished running from the cops after robbing a bakery. Her brow arched the slightest fraction.
"You... appear unwell."
"Unwell? ? Nah. This is just—" I coughed, wheezed, then forced my lips into sothing resembling a grin. "—my new... uh... fitness routine. Midnight cardio, you know? Great for the soul. I read it in... a magazine."
If sarcasm could sweat, I’d have drowned in it.
Grayfia tilted her head. The faintest glint of curiosity—or was it suspicion?—flickered in those silver eyes. "A magazine."
"Yeah. Demon n’s Health. Very underground. Limited release."
A silence thick enough to choke settled between us. The hum of the Manor’s enchantnts filled the gap, like the walls themselves were holding their breath to see how badly I’d screw this up.
Her gaze lingered on for another beat, then—without a word—she stepped forward. Too close. Kneeling, gracefully, like a blade sliding into its sheath.
I stiffened as she reached out. Her cool hand pressed against my forehead. Her expression didn’t change, but sothing about the way her touch lingered felt... intimate. Searching.
"You are fevered," she said softly. "You should be resting."
I swallowed hard. My brain scread at to play this off, but my mouth had apparently gone rogue. "Resting is... overrated."
Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. "Exertion without cause is reckless."
"I had a cause," I said quickly, too quickly. "You know, self-improvent, conditioning, trying not to keel over in front of you tomorrow when you make do... whatever hellspawn training you’ve got planned."
That, at least, wasn’t entirely a lie.
Grayfia studied in silence. Her thumb brushed lightly against my temple before she withdrew her hand. "You should not push yourself beyond your limits so soon after awakening. Your body is fragile."
Ouch. Fragile. Nothing like getting verbally castrated by your own maid.
"Fragile’s a strong word," I muttered. "I prefer... selectively durable."
One silver brow arched. "That is not a word."
"It is now."
For a second—just a second—I thought I saw sothing flicker at the corner of her lips. Not a smile, not even a smirk, but the faint twitch of soone trying very hard not to acknowledge the existence of humor.
Then it was gone, replaced by her usual cold mask.
"Co," she said, standing smoothly. "If you insist on such reckless behavior, at least allow to oversee it."
My heart nearly stopped.
Oversee it? As in... she’d be watching flail through push-ups and collapse during sit-ups? No way. Nope. Not happening.
I forced a weak laugh. "Oh, no need for that. I’ve got it handled. Just... , myself, and my—uh—magazine routine. You know how it is."
Her gaze sharpened. For a heartbeat, I swore she could see the glowing System window hovering just out of her perception. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from glancing at it, which would’ve been a dead giveaway.
Grayfia’s voice dropped, soft but cutting: "Dominic."
The way she said my na—it wasn’t anger. It was command. Absolute. The kind of tone that left no room for lies.
I swallowed. Hard. "...Yes?"
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