When Darryl woke up that morning, he did so on the most comfortable bed he had ever had the fortune of sleeping in.
"I still can't believe this is real," he murmured, rubbing his eyes and letting out a long yawn. The soft white sheets rustled as he pushed them aside and sat up.
The bed was enormous, far too large for his small frame, and the room around him looked like something straight out of a noble's tale. White walls trimmed with gold, polished marble floors, and elegant furnishings that gleamed in the early morning light streaming through the tall windows. Even the air smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood.
His gaze drifted upward, admiring the high ceiling with its intricate golden patterns. Then he noticed a small dent near the center.
"Huh. That wasn't there last night," he said, tilting his head. Shrugging it off, he stood and stretched with a content sigh, his joints popping quietly. "Still can't believe this is real," he repeated, grinning to himself.
He wandered over to the mirror set against the wall and blinked at his reflection. His hair, once a dull, dirty brown, now shone with a warm golden hue under the morning light. His skin looked cleaner too, almost glowing.
"Man… that bath last night was amazing," he whispered, remembering the steam, the perfumed oils, and how the water had felt softer than anything.
And what a bath it had been. For someone who had grown up with cold river water and wooden tubs, the warm scented bath of the High Silver Mere felt almost like magic. He hadn't known something so simple could feel that wonderful.
After the intimidating meeting with the council the previous day, Darryl and Asta, or rather, Captain Asta, as he now preferred to call him, had been escorted to their assigned residence in the northern quarter of the city.
Darryl had spent the entire ride wide-eyed, drinking in every sight as they passed through what could only be described as the richest district in all of Demacia. The streets were broad and clean, the buildings gleamed with pale stone and golden trim, and banners bearing the Crownguard crest fluttered proudly in the morning wind. It was everything he had ever imagined the great city of Demacia to be, and more.
Apparently, as an emimimisary, or however that impossible word was supposed to be said, Captain Asta was considered an important guest of Demacia. That status came with a lavish residence in the noble district, complete with attendants, polished halls, and food that smelled too good to eat.
The highlight of the trip, however, had been the moment Darryl caught sight of the Galio Monument towering above the city. He had squealed, in a totally manly way, of course, at seeing one of Demacia's greatest protectors with his very own eyes.
Everything about this new life felt surreal, almost too good to be true. The only thing that dulled the excitement was the thought of his mother. How he wished she could see all this with him. Still, Captain Asta had promised that once he started "getting paid," he'd make sure Darryl's family lived comfortably.
Darryl didn't fully understand what getting paid meant in this strange, noble world, but he wasn't about to question it. Instead, he looked toward the window, smiling softly.
"Look at me, Mama," he whispered. "I'm in the great city of Demacia. Just you wait… things are finally getting better."
Darryl's stomach growled loudly, interrupting his quiet moment of pride.
He blinked, then chuckled to himself. "Guess I'm still me," he said, patting his belly. "All this fancy living, and I still wake up starving."
He shuffled across the cool marble floor toward the door, hesitating for a moment before turning the golden handle. The hallway outside was even grander than his room, white stone arches lined with tall, glass-paneled windows, sunlight streaming in to paint the walls in soft gold. A pair of servants walked by carrying fresh linens, giving polite bows as they passed. Darryl awkwardly waved back, unsure if that was what he was supposed to do.
"Morning!" he said, his voice cracking slightly.
They smiled faintly but didn't reply, disappearing down the corridor with practiced grace.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Right… nobles don't talk to servants. Or was it servants don't talk to nobles? Wait, am I a noble?" He frowned. "Man, this is confusing."
Still, the smell of freshly baked bread drifting from downstairs pulled him along. He followed his nose until he reached a spacious dining hall, where long tables were already set with food that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Platters of steaming rolls, fruits glistening like gems, and even silver pitchers that seemed to shimmer with cold mist.
Darryl's eyes widened. "Oh, sweet winged light…" he whispered.
At the head of the table sat Asta, or Captain Asta, as everyone in the manor had started calling him, wearing his usual black outfit, though now cleaned and patched up. He was halfway through a massive plate of food, chewing contentedly with zero noble manners whatsoever.
"Morning, Darryl," Asta said between bites, raising a hand in greeting. "You sleep well?"
Darryl grinned and slid into the seat across from him. "Beds are amazing! It's like I was sleeping on clouds."
Asta laughed. "Yeah, same here. Still not used to all this luxury stuff. Feels weird not having to fight something before breakfast. Man I miss the guys already."
Darryl chuckled, then hesitated, glancing around. "So… we're really staying here? In the noble district? Just like that?"
Asta swallowed and shrugged. "For now, yeah. They said they're 'reviewing' my position or whatever that means. As long as they don't try to lock me up, I'll take it."
Darryl tilted his head. "You think they trust you?"
That earned a short, dry laugh from Asta. "Not even a little."
The way he said it made Darryl blink. Asta wasn't angry, more amused than anything, but there was something in his tone, a quiet awareness of where they stood. He was the one thing Demacia hated most, sitting right in the middle of their shining city.
"Still," Asta added, taking another bite. "They haven't kicked me out yet. That's a start."
Darryl leaned on the table, his voice low. "You think they'll let you stay long?"
Asta looked out the window toward the distant spires of the capital, where white banners adorned with gold crests fluttered proudly under the morning sun. His reflection in the glass caught the faintest glint of amusement.
"That depends," he said with a shrug. "I've already chased off three assassins in the few hours we've been here. They really don't like me."
The words hung in the air like a stray arrow that had missed its mark, quiet, but sharp enough to sting. Darryl froze, his half-eaten roll forgotten in his hand.
Then Asta laughed, easy and light, as if he'd just made a casual remark about the weather. "Their loss," he said, flashing a grin. "I'm an amazing person, after all. And a future Wizard King."
Darryl blinked slowly. "Wait… assassins?" he asked, his voice pitching slightly higher. "There were assassins?"
His mind raced back to the small dent he'd seen on the ceiling earlier that morning. His stomach dropped. 'That really wasn't there last night,' he thought grimly.
Asta only laughed harder. "Don't worry about it, kid. It's not like they could do anything to me. Honestly, it was kind of fun, chasing them around and scaring the life out of them."
He said it so casually that it made Darryl's skin crawl.
Darryl glanced around the table, half expecting a shadow to drop from the ceiling or a blade to flash out from under the furniture.
Asta noticed the boy's wary glances and shook his head with a laugh. "Really, there's no need to worry. You'll get used to it soon enough. After all," he said, reaching over to ruffle Darryl's hair, "you're a member of the Black Bulls now."
Darryl blinked, still processing the words. "...Right. Black Bulls," he muttered, gripping his roll a little tighter. "No fear. Totally fine."
Asta leaned back with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. "That's the spirit."
---
The courtyard behind their residence was as pristine as the rest of the manor, trimmed hedges, marble fountains, and polished stone paths that gleamed in the sunlight. A place meant for tea parties and polite sword duels… not for what Asta had in mind.
"Alright, Darryl!" Asta called, his voice echoing across the yard as he stood in the middle of the open space, stretching his arms. "We're starting your training today."
Darryl blinked, halfway through a piece of bread he'd snuck from the dining hall. "Training? Like, actual magic training?"
Asta grinned. "Of course! You're a black bull now, right? Can't have you falling behind. I need to make sure you can survive Magna's initiation attack."
"But…" Darryl's gaze flicked around nervously. "We're in Demacia, Captain. They... uh... they don't like magic here."
"Yeah, I noticed," Asta said, cracking his knuckles.
Before Darryl could protest, Asta drew his grimoire, the familiar pages fluttering to life as wind whipped through the yard.
Darryl's eyes widened. "C-Captain! Someone's going to see!"
"Let them," Asta said simply. His smile was calm, but there was a defiant spark in his eyes. "I'm not hiding what I am. And neither should you."
He raised his sword, the black edge gleaming. "Now, show me what you can do."
Darryl hesitated. "But I don't, I can't use magic like you..."
"Even if that's true," Asta cut in, resting his sword against his shoulder, "I still know enough about magic from my friends... and my enemies."
He stepped forward, planting his boots firmly on the courtyard stone and gesturing for Darryl to mirror him. "We'll start with getting your body up to par first. Just because you have magic doesn't mean you should neglect your physical strength." A grin tugged at his lips. "When we're done, you'll have so many rippling muscles you won't even need magic to win fights."
Darryl couldn't help but laugh as Asta started striking exaggerated poses, flexing his arms and biceps like a traveling circus performer. "You look so weird, Captain!"
Asta laughed with him, unabashed. "Weird? Nah, this is what greatness looks like! Anyway, after that, we'll work on magic reinforcement. It's one of the basics back home. Everyone can do it once they get the hang of it. Then comes mana skin, though that one's a little advanced. Oh! And I should totally teach you ki too. Man, by the time we're done, you'll be awesome!"
Darryl tried to laugh along, but his grin faltered when he realized how serious Asta actually was. "All… all that?" he asked weakly.
"Of course!" Asta said brightly. "And as for earth spells, well, that one's a mystery. Back home, your spells just came to you naturally. So, we'll have to wait and see what kind you awaken."
Darryl swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay, Captain. I'm ready."
Asta's grin widened. "That's the spirit!" he said, slamming a fist into his open palm. "Now drop and give me a hundred of everything."
Darryl blinked. "…What?"
Before he could react, Asta grabbed him by the head with one hand and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. "Did I stutter?" he said, grinning ear to ear. "Come on, Darryl! You wanna get stronger, right? Then be ready to break past your limits!"
Darryl flailed his legs helplessly. "Wait, one hundred of what exactly?!"
"All of it!" Asta said cheerfully. "Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and laps! Oh, and no magic to help either!"
Somewhere above the manor walls, a few Demacian guards paused at the sound of shouting and looked over the edge, blinking in disbelief at the sight of the foreign "emissary" holding a boy upside down by the head in the middle of a noble courtyard.
"...Should we intervene?" one of them asked quietly.
The senior guard beside him sighed. "He's the foreign envoy, remember? Orders were clear. We can't interfere."
Below, Asta dropped Darryl to the ground and clapped his hands once. "Alright! Time to get started!"
Darryl groaned. "Why does getting stronger already sound like torture…?"
Asta just laughed, his voice echoing across the marble courtyard. "Because that's how you know it's working!"