Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation-Chapter 50: Can We Count This As a Date?

Chapter 50 – Can We Count This As a Date?

"Can we count this as a date?" he joked as they entered the mansion.

"No. You didn’t bring me flowers, diamonds and a branded bag," she replied, guiding him through curved halls of marble, coral accents, and crystal light orbs.

When they reached one of the guest rooms—one lined with silk sheets and subtle enchantments to ease stress and restore mana—Rava eased him down onto the bed.

Lux let out a breath like he’d been holding it since the fight.

The room smelled like the sea and eucalyptus. The pillows were the soft kind that made your regrets melt a little.

"Stay here," Rava said gently. "I’ll get something."

He nodded without opening his eyes.

Just him now.

His shirt—what remained—was half melted. His chest was bruised dark. Blood still oozed from a gash near his ribs. His legs were scratched up, and the tips of his fingers still trembled with mana backlash.

But he’d won.

He’d fought three high-level Seraphim who have the same level as demon lords. One even more than his.

He killed them.

Even Hell would pause at that headline.

[System Notification: You are still bleeding internally.]

[Shall I increase your passive regeneration enhancement?]

"Yeah," he whispered.

A faint glow started in his chest, like warm honey filling broken cracks. It would take hours to fully fix him—but it’d keep him stable.

Lux stared at the ceiling.

Laughed once.

The world blurred again.

But it was softer now.

He’d survived.

And for the first time in a long time, someone was helping him without expecting anything back.

He didn’t know if that scared him or healed him.

Maybe both.

The battle had eaten him from the inside out.

The residual pressure of Limbo still clung to his nerves.

His mana core? Dry.

His body? Still leaking pain from a dozen places.

And yet—

His mind wandered.

The weapon.

The drop.

That cursed, sealed blade floating in his inventory like an unopened letter from someone dangerous.

He blinked slowly. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Then whispered, "Inventory."

A flicker of light shimmered before him.

[System Notification: Inventory Accessed.]

[Item Highlighted: ??? – Seraphic Weapon – Unbound.]

[Would you like to CONSUME this item for possible skill gain?]

[Warning: Item has divine signature. Corruption risk: Low. Unknown effect: High.]

Lux stared at it.

A weapon left behind by an angel.

And here he was, broken on a bed, hoping it wasn’t just a shiny holy blade or a judgment stick.

He whispered, "Consume."

[System Notification: Consuming Item...]

The weapon unraveled. Not with light. But shadowlight—a pale silver glow turned inside out, like something divine dying beautifully.

It vanished into his chest.

He gasped.

Not in pain.

In heat.

Like being set on fire from the inside, but in reverse. The burn was soft. Corrective. Searing something clean.

And then—

[Skill Unlocked: Dark Healing.]

[Effect: Channel corrupted divine essence to heal yourself or allies. Converts pain into energy. Scales with Magic Affinity.]

[Cooldown: 1 min]

Lux blinked.

Then actually laughed. "Finally."

His hand rose—slow, shaky. He activated the new skill.

’Heal...’

His chest lit up like someone had poured warmth straight into his bones. A violet glow spread through his veins—cool, then hot, then calm. The fractures along his ribs snapped into place. Torn muscle stitched. His mana core thrummed once, stabilized.

[HP: 1,140,000 / 1,200,000]

Not full.

But stable.

And the ache?

The choking, exhausted weight?

Faded. Just a little.

Still—

Lux didn’t get up.

He could now.

But the idea of it made his eyelids heavier.

Sleep clawed at his thoughts.

"I’m keeping this bed," he muttered, already half-asleep. "Claiming it. Demon rights."

His hand dropped back to the mattress. His breathing slowed.

Lux passed out in peace.

No traps.

No alarms.

Just the weight of exhaustion and the faint scent of salt air and silk.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened with a soft click.

Rava stepped in, her heels muffled on the carpet, a tall woman beside her—early thirties, short brown hair, glasses. A doctor. Not a hospital drone. A private one.

She carried a satchel slung over one shoulder, and the aura of someone who charged thousands just to check blood pressure in private villas with a scenic view.

They approached quietly.

"He’s asleep," Rava whispered as they entered the guest suite.

The doctor—Dr. Liora Han, according to the gold name tag pinned to her coat—nodded once. "You said he’s injured?"

"Yes. Badly. I saw him limp, barely breathing. He was bleeding through his shirt."

Han stepped closer to the bed.

Then stopped.

Stared.

"...Is he a model?" she asked, blinking.

Rava tilted her head. "Not that I know of."

Han’s brows furrowed. "Because, respectfully, he looks like a forbidden fragrance commercial." She tilted her head slightly. "One of those black-and-white ads where the guy walks out of the ocean in slow motion and just... stares at the camera with sinful cheekbones."

Rava actually snorted. "He does have cheekbones that make you feel morally conflicted."

Lux lay motionless on the bed, his dark shirt clinging to his torso—ripped, burned, blood-stained, but still managing to look fashionably tragic. His jaw was relaxed, mouth slightly parted. His hair was damp at the edges, messy.

Han hesitated, then carefully set her bag down.

"I’m going to need to examine him. Check for internal damage. You said he was in a fight?"

"I don’t know what kind," Rava said. "But he collapsed the moment I got him here. He didn’t want a hospital. Just said he needed rest."

Han pulled on gloves. Then froze halfway through snapping the second one on.

"...We need to get his shirt off," she said quietly.

Rava blinked. "Right."

They both looked at him.

Sleeping.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Hot.

There was a beat of silence.

And then—

"Why do I feel this is illegal?" Han asked.

"No," Rava murmured. "He’s unconscious. But not in a coma. And he did collapse."

"And this is medical," Han added, like she needed to justify it to herself. "Professional. Ethical. Yes. I’ve done this before. Hundreds of times."

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