The blue screen appeared in front of Riser just as he stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel.
He stopped.
Water still ran in thin lines down his shoulders, dripping from blond strands of hair onto the marble floor. For one long second, he simply stared at the translucent panel floating in the air before him.
Then his left eye twitched.
"…You always pick the worst possible timing."
The system, as usual, felt no shame.
Two new windows unfolded beneath the first.
[Quest No. 1]Type: Basic Training QuestObjective: Complete 100 push-ups and 100 squats while maintaining Phenex hellfire around your body.Time Limit: 1 dayReward: Minor EXP, slight increase in STR and STM, improved control over heat tolerance.Failure: No reward. Host will be reminded of his weakness.
[Quest No. 2]Type: Basic Social QuestObjective: Raise Yubelluna's loyalty from 60 to 70.Time Limit: 7 daysReward: Minor social bonus, increased servant coordination efficiency.Failure: No reward. Yubelluna remains loyal primarily to House Phenex.
Riser stared at the words.
Then he looked from one quest to the other.
Then back again.
"One hundred push-ups in hellfire," he said flatly. "And somehow, in the middle of that, I'm also supposed to improve my maid's personal loyalty."
The bathwater steamed quietly behind him.
"This isn't a quest list," he muttered. "It's harassment."
No response.
Not even a smug system line.
That somehow made it worse.
Riser dried himself off in quick, sharp movements and pulled on a fresh training shirt and loose trousers. By the time he stepped back into his room, his expression had settled into something that was half resignation, half irritation.
He could already understand the point of the second quest.
Yubelluna was useful. More than useful, really. She was competent, observant, and already close enough to him that her support would matter once he started moving pieces on the board in earnest. But right now, her loyalty wasn't his. It belonged to the Phenex household first. To the family, the title, the structure around him.
That was normal.
It was also a problem.
House Phenex had her obedience.
He needed something more difficult than obedience.
Before he could follow that thought further, another panel flickered open.
He blinked.
"…Now what?"
It was his status screen.
He hadn't called for it.
The system had done it for him.
And the moment his eyes moved across the numbers, all of his thoughts about Yubelluna vanished under a different, much more immediate emotion.
Humiliation.
Name: Riser PhenexRace: DevilBloodline: PhenexLevel: 1
STR: D+DEF: D-AGI: C-STM: CMANA: C+INT: DCHR: B
Riser stared at the screen in silence.
Then he leaned a little closer, as if the numbers might improve if he looked offended enough.
They did not.
He read them a second time.
Then a third.
Still terrible.
No, terrible was too kind a word. These were the numbers of a spoiled young noble who had spent his entire life trusting that a powerful bloodline, natural regeneration, and inherited status would carry him through anything that mattered.
Which, to be fair, was exactly what canon Riser had done.
Riser shut his eyes and exhaled through his nose.
Future Issei Hyoudou.
Boosted Gear.
The ridiculous explosive growth curve of a protagonist blessed by fate, plot, and dragon nonsense.
And this—this embarrassing collection of letters and half-developed talent—was what he had to prepare with?
He opened his eyes again and glared at his own status screen.
"…I'm going to get beaten to death by a horny teenager with a dragon gauntlet unless I fix this."
The screen offered no sympathy.
Probably because, even in its own infuriating way, it agreed.
Riser dismissed the panel with a wave of his hand and began walking.
The training grounds were on the east side of the castle's lower terrace, beyond a long corridor lined with crimson banners and gold flame emblems. The Phenex estate never really cooled. Heat lived in the stone. In the walls. In the faint shimmer of the air itself. Even now, with the underworld sky dim and red-black overhead, warmth curled around him like a second skin.
Servants moved aside the moment they saw him coming, bowing smoothly. Riser barely noticed. His mind was already working through the first quest.
One hundred push-ups.
One hundred squats.
With active hellfire coating his body.
It sounded simple until you remembered what hellfire actually was.
For a Phenex, it would not consume him outright. It was his own clan's power. His bloodline. His inheritance. But there was a difference between possessing power and forcing your body to endure it continuously while under strain.
Which was exactly why the system had chosen it.
It wanted adaptation.
Heat resistance.
Discipline.
Pain tolerance.
And, very likely, the chance to laugh at him while he suffered.
When Riser stepped onto the training field, the stone under his feet still held yesterday's warmth. The open yard spread wide beneath the glow of distant flame-lamps, ringed by black iron fencing and scorched practice markers. There was nobody else there yet.
Good.
He rolled his shoulders, then stretched his arms overhead until his spine gave a quiet pop.
"All right," he muttered. "Let's see just how pathetic this body really is."
He lifted one hand.
Flame bloomed over his palm in an instant—gold-red at the edges, darker at the core, alive in a way ordinary fire never was.
Then, carefully, he spread it.
Hellfire wrapped around him in a thin wavering layer, not enough to erupt wildly, just enough to cling to his skin and clothes in a shimmering veil of heat. It pressed against him from every angle. Not unbearable. Not at first.
But oppressive.
Greedy.
Demanding.
Riser lowered himself to the ground.
"One."
He pushed back up.
"Two."
Again.
The first ten were easy.
Annoyingly easy, actually. For a moment he almost felt insulted by the quest.
Then the heat began to build.
By twenty, his breathing had changed.
By thirty, sweat ran freely down the back of his neck.
By forty, the fire around him no longer felt like an extension of his body. It felt like a weight. Like invisible hands pressing down on his shoulders, his spine, the backs of his knees. Every push-up became fractionally harder, and because of that, every repetition stole a little more from him than it should have.
At fifty-one, his arms buckled.
Riser hit the training stone with a muted curse.
The hellfire flickered, nearly went out, then steadied again in a thinner layer.
He stayed there for a moment, chest heaving.
Fifty-one.
Not even enough to fail in a dignified way.
He turned his head, cheek against warm stone, and laughed once under his breath.
"So this is the mighty Riser Phenex."
The words sounded ugly.
Because they were true.
No matter how much future knowledge he had, no matter how many plans he drew up in his head at night, none of it changed what his body could do right now. None of it erased the years the original Riser had wasted.
And that was the part that mattered.
Not his ideas.
Not his fear.
Not his memories of canon.
This body. This weakness. This gap between where he stood and where he needed to be.
For a few seconds he remained there, forearm over his eyes, letting the shame settle properly instead of pushing it away.
It was useful shame.
Sharp. Clean. Honest.
When he sat up, his arms trembled.
Good.
That meant this was real.
He planted his feet beneath him, stood, and dusted off his hands.
Then he dropped back down into position.
"…Again."
The second set was worse.
There was no illusion now. No false confidence. He knew exactly how badly this hurt, and the knowledge made every repetition more irritating. His breaths came shorter. His muscles burned. The hellfire's heat climbed steadily until sweat evaporated almost as quickly as it formed.
At thirty, his triceps were screaming.
At forty-four, one spark of fire snapped wild across his shoulder and made him hiss through his teeth.
At fifty, he locked his elbows at the top and stayed there for one shaking second before forcing himself down again.
Fifty-two.
Fifty-three.
By the time he dragged himself upright, his whole upper body felt raw and heavy.
Still not enough.
He bent at the waist, palms on his knees, and glared at the ground.
"System," he said between breaths, "if you ever become corporeal, I'm killing you."
A beat passed.
Then:
[Host lacks the strength.]
Riser straightened so fast it made him lightheaded.
"…You know, I liked it better when you stayed quiet."
No reply.
He hated how effective that one line had been.
He took several slow breaths until the tremor in his arms lessened, then shifted his stance for squats.
The hellfire clung tighter now, responding to his fluctuating control. He could feel it curling around his calves and thighs like hot chains.
He lowered himself.
One.
Two.
Three.
Squats, at least, went better.
Not easy.
Never easy.
But better.
He could feel where his lower body had more natural stability, more inherited resilience. By twenty-five his legs were burning. By forty his shirt stuck to his skin. By sixty his control over the fire was slipping again, making the heat pulse unevenly against him.
At seventy-three, he almost stumbled.
At eighty, his vision blurred at the edges.
At ninety-two, the fire surged.
For one ugly instant, instinct screamed at him to drop it. To let the flame die, take the partial failure, and save what little dignity he had left.
Instead, he gritted his teeth hard enough to hurt and forced himself down again.
Ninety-three.
Ninety-four.
Ninety-five—
By the time he hit one hundred, his legs almost gave out entirely.
Riser staggered backward two steps before catching himself. The hellfire finally unraveled and vanished into sparks.
He stood there in the empty training yard, chest rising and falling hard, his whole body shaking.
Then the familiar chime rang out.
[Quest No. 1 Completed.]Rewards distributed: Minor EXP gained.STR slightly increased.STM slightly increased.Heat tolerance improved marginally.
Riser stared at the panel while trying not to collapse.
"Slightly," he repeated.
His voice came out hoarse.
Then, despite everything, he laughed.
It wasn't a proud laugh. Or a victorious one.
It was the kind of laugh that came from standing on the first stair of a mountain and realizing, with painful clarity, just how high the climb really was.
He dismissed the reward screen and pulled up his status again.
The changes were there.
Small.
Embarrassingly small.
Real enough to matter, but nowhere near enough to comfort him.
His eyes moved across the letters and numbers.
Across all the things he would need to improve.
Across the weak foundation underneath all his plans.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, the scale of it hit him without any padding.
He wasn't behind.
He was far behind.
The path between him and the future wasn't long.
It was monstrous.
Riser looked down at his own trembling hands, then slowly curled them into fists.
"…Good," he said quietly.
The word surprised even him.
Good.
Because now there was no room left for illusion.
No fantasy that a title would save him.
No comforting thought that a few clever choices would be enough.
He knew where he stood.
And because he knew, he could begin moving.
Somewhere behind him, soft footsteps approached at the edge of the yard.
A servant's tread.
Light. Controlled. Familiar.
Yubelluna.
Riser didn't turn yet.
The second quest was still waiting.
And judging by how exhausted he already was, social strategy might somehow end up being the more dangerous battle.
He let out a slow breath, steadied himself, and finally looked over his shoulder.
The next problem had arrived.