My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 175 - No. Who Wants To Eat Pancakes?

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

Silence settled around us, as the sleeping Grayfia finally opened her silver eyes.

Not groggy.

Not confused.

Just open.

Sharp.

Awake.

Grayfia Lucifuge did not wake like normal people.

She surfaced like a weapon being unsheathed.

Her gaze moved once—slowly—taking in the room.

Selene.

Me.

Eris latched to my ribs like a koala with abandonment issues.

Then her eyes settled on Selene.

"…Maintenance," Grayfia repeated softly.

Selene froze.

I felt it.

The temperature in the room dropped half a degree.

Not frost-on-the-walls cold.

Execution-chamber cold.

Grayfia slowly lifted her head from my shoulder.

Her hair slid like liquid silver over my chest as she rose, elegant even in sleep-tousled disarray. One hand remained on me. Possessive. Anchored.

"I was asleep," she said calmly. "But I was listening."

Selene swallowed.

"That feels invasive."

"You were in my Master's bedroom at dawn," Grayfia replied evenly. "Perspective."

Fair.

Selene raised both hands. "In my defence, ominous infrastructure magic poked the wards."

Grayfia's eyes flickered once.

That was the only sign she reacted.

"…Explain," she said.

Selene glanced at me.

I gave the smallest nod.

Careful. Neutral. Casual. Absolutely not spiralling internally about systemic metaphysical audits.

Selene cleared her throat.

"Something touched the lower ley convergence," she said. "Not a demon. Not angel. Not human. Structured. Clean. Polite."

Grayfia's fingers tightened on my shirt.

Polite might be the most alarming descriptor in existence.

"And?" Grayfia asked.

"I traced it," Selene continued. "It traced back."

A pause.

Grayfia did not like that.

Neither did I.

Eris made a tiny, disgruntled sound and burrowed further into my stomach.

"Papa… cold," she mumbled.

Grayfia immediately shifted, instinctively adjusting the blankets with one hand while still staring at Selene, as if she were evaluating whether to freeze her solid.

The multitasking of a top-tier demon.

"I will expand the perimeter," Grayfia said calmly. "Double-layer the ward lattice."

Selene winced.

"Uh. That might be counterproductive."

Grayfia's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"Explain."

Selene scratched her cheek.

"If it's infrastructure-tier," she said carefully, "hard barriers look like stress points."

Grayfia went very still.

"You are suggesting," she said slowly, "that reinforcing our defences may draw attention."

Selene nodded.

"Think of it like… building a giant glowing 'WE ARE HIDING SOMETHING' sign in the metaphysical skyline."

I coughed softly.

Grayfia's gaze shifted to me.

"…Master?"

Ah.

Right.

Leadership.

That thing.

"I agree with Selene," I said carefully.

Internally: I do not agree with anyone. I would like not to be audited by cosmic middle management.

Outwardly: composed.

"If it wasn't hostile," I continued, "escalation may create hostility."

Grayfia studied my face.

Searching.

Always searching.

For weakness. For doubt. For cracks.

"…You are certain?" she asked.

No.

Absolutely not.

I smiled faintly anyway.

"For the world outside, I'm still weak," I said lightly. "If something wanted to break in, it wouldn't knock."

That made her expression soften.

Just barely.

Selene's eyes flicked to me.

You're deflecting, they said.

Yes. Yes, I am.

Grayfia lowered her head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Very well," she said. "We observe. We do not provoke."

"Iconic restraint," Selene muttered.

Grayfia ignored her.

She shifted fully upright now, sitting beside me with inhuman poise despite having just woken up. Her hand never left my hand.

Subtle.

Not subtle.

Territorial.

"In the meantime, I will contact our spies in hell to assess the situation after my battle with the Seven—" Grayfia said.

"…Seven idiots," Selene supplied helpfully.

Grayfia's gaze slid to her.

"…Satans," Grayfia corrected.

"Same thing," Selene muttered under her breath.

Grayfia ignored that with the dignity of someone who has personally flash-frozen armies.

"In the meantime," she continued smoothly, "I will contact our spies in Hell to assess the situation following my confrontation with the Seven Satans."

My stomach tightened slightly.

Right.

That happened.

Grayfia versus seven Satans who run literal Hell.

And she came home a nail away from death.

I shook the memory away.

Eris lifted her head abruptly like a tiny golden-haired alarm system with pink tips.

"Papa, Ewis is hungry!"

The cosmic tension evaporated instantly.

Grayfia blinked once.

Selene visibly relaxed.

I stared at the ceiling.

Yes. This. This is my life.

"Good morning to you, too," I muttered.

Eris climbed fully on top of me now, sitting on my stomach like a triumphant goblin monarch.

"Hunger emergency," she declared seriously.

Selene gasped. "Oh no. Level S threat."

Grayfia was already moving.

She rose from the bed in one smooth motion, silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of aristocratic violence.

"I will prepare breakfast," she said.

"Wait," Selene said quickly. "Before you go—"

Grayfia paused mid-step.

Selene leaned forward slightly.

"That thing that touched the wards?" she said more quietly. "It wasn't looking for entry."

Grayfia's eyes sharpened.

"It was… checking continuity."

The room went quiet again.

Eris tugged on my collar.

"Papa. Pancakes." 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"…Yes," I whispered. "Pancakes are extremely important to continuity."

Grayfia studied Selene for another heartbeat.

"…You are certain?"

Selene hesitated.

Then nodded.

"It felt like a routine inspection."

Routine.

Inspection.

Love that.

Grayfia turned to me.

"…Master. Do you require additional protection?"

Ah.

The question behind the question.

Do you feel threatened?

Are you afraid?

Are you hiding something?

No.

Yes.

Absolutely.

"I require pancakes," I said solemnly.

Selene snorted.

Grayfia's lips twitched faintly despite herself.

"…Understood."

She disappeared.

Not teleported.

Just moved fast enough that she might as well have.

Selene flopped backwards dramatically onto the bed beside me.

"Okay," she muttered. "So that was chill."

"That was not chill," I said.

"That was like… mild audit energy."

"That is worse."

Eris crawled toward Selene now, staring at her intensely.

"Witch?"

Selene blinked. "Yes?"

"Make food faster."

Selene gasped. "I am not a microwave."

Eris squinted suspiciously.

"You look like a microwave."

"Rude."

I rubbed my face.

"Selene."

"Yes, tragic protagonist?"

"I am a tragic protagonist?" I muttered. "More like you're the protagonist with your life story, just now that's—"

"—emotionally layered and thematically relevant?" Selene supplied helpfully.

"—deeply concerning," I finished.

She placed a hand over her heart. "Wow. Vulnerability is dead. I killed it."

Eris crawled fully into Selene's lap without permission.

Selene stiffened. "Oh. Oh, this is happening."

Eris leaned in close, inspecting her face with grave seriousness.

"Witch," Eris declared.

"Yes," Selene said cautiously.

"You smell like cinnamon and danger."

Selene beamed. "Branding."

I exhaled slowly.

Okay.

Grayfia was making pancakes.

Eris was interrogating a metaphysical maintenance witch.

Infrastructure-level magic might be auditing the property.

And I, Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar—transmigrator, accidental vampire husband, demonic political liability—was trying very hard not to think about the word continuity.

Because the last time something described itself in structural terms, it came with a blue interface and passive-aggressive quest notifications.

Silence.

Stay silent.

Good.

Selene shifted Eris slightly so she could look at me properly.

"Okay," she said. "Let's unpack."

"No," I said immediately.

"Yes," she countered immediately.

"You don't even know what you're unpacking."

"Correct. But I sense narrative tension."

I narrowed my eyes.

She narrowed hers right back.

"You," Selene said, pointing at me, "didn't react enough."

"To what?"

"To the word continuity."

"I reacted internally."

"That does not count."

"It counts to me."

Eris raised her hand like she was in class.

"Yes, small cosmic being?" Selene asked.

"Papa thinking loud," Eris said.

I froze.

Selene slowly turned toward me.

"…Explain."

"She means," I said carefully, "that I think too much."

Eris nodded enthusiastically. "Papa's brain is noisy."

Selene leaned in.

"Oh my god. Is this telepathy? Are we doing telepathy now?"

"No," I said flatly.

Eris tilted her head at me.

"Papa scared?"

Selene's joking expression softened.

There it was.

That shift.

From chaos gremlin to observant witch.

"…Are you?" she asked quietly.

I stared at the ceiling.

The chandelier rotated upside down for a second before correcting itself.

I was not scared.

I was aware.

There's a difference.

"Something checked the wards," I said evenly. "It didn't attack. It didn't probe. It verified."

Selene nodded slowly.

"And that bothers you."

"Yes."

"Because?"

Because I don't know what metric it used.

Because I don't know what it considers acceptable deviation.

Because I am a deviation.

Instead, I shrugged.

"Because audits are never good news."

Selene squinted.

"You say that like you've experienced one."

I smiled faintly.

"I read books."

She didn't buy that.

Not fully.

But she let it go.

For now.

Eris crawled back onto my stomach, flopping face down dramatically.

"Papa is heavy."

"I am not heavy."

"Papa is thinking heavily."

Ah.

Emotional damage.

Selene gently patted Eris's head.

"You know," she said casually, "if something was checking continuity, that means something in the area changed recently."

"Yes," I said.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Like what?"

I held her gaze calmly.

"There was a battle in Hell," I said. "Grayfia clashed with the Seven Satans. That kind of power spike might ripple."

Selene hummed.

"That's plausible."

It was plausible.

It was also a convenient shield.

Because when I used the [Job Advancement Card], which turned my previous [Job: Demiurgic Archon]—into something the System had very deliberately refused to describe out loud.

I blinked once.

Outwardly calm.

Inwardly:

Do not think about the notification.

Do not think about the title change.

Do not think about the way the manor lights flickered for half a second when it happened.

Selene was still watching me.

Too perceptive for her own good.

"…You trailed off," she said slowly.

"I was considering pancakes," I replied.

She narrowed her eyes.

"That was not a pancake face."

"What does a pancake face look like?"

"Soft. Round. Slightly hopeful."

"I resent that."

Eris lifted her head again.

"Papa pancake face cute."

"Thank you," I said with dignity.

Selene leaned closer.

"That," she said, pointing at me again, "was a deflection."

"You deflect constantly," I countered.

"Yes, but I do it with flair."

"Debatable."

She gasped.

"Blasphemy."

From downstairs, there was a soft metallic sound—Grayfia's version of gentle cooking. Which likely involved perfectly aligned utensils and batter mixed with terrifying precision.

Selene's gaze drifted toward the floorboards, then back to me.

"Okay," she said. "Let's try this differently."

"That sentence has never led to peace," I muttered.

"You're weak."

"Debatable."

"Publicly weak."

"Correct."

"Strategically underestimated."

I smiled faintly. "Now you're flattering me."

***

A/N: YO! I'm BACK!!!

Stone me, I can take it!

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