Back home, Silas kicked off his shoes at the genkan and padded straight to the kitchen.
The apartment was quiet—too quiet after the chaos of the stray hunt—and his stomach growled loudly enough to echo off the empty counters. He yanked open the fridge door, hoping for a miracle.
Empty shelves stared back at him: a half-empty bottle of water, a forgotten yogurt with an expired date, and some mystery condiment packets from takeout he didn't remember ordering.
' Damn,' he thought, closing the door with a soft thud. ' I should've gone grocery shopping before I left with them. Rookie mistake.'
He rubbed the back of his neck, already feeling the post-fight hunger settle in deep. No point starving. Japan was famous for convenience stores on every corner—he wouldn't have to go far.
Silas grabbed his wallet, slipped on a pair of slides, and headed out into the cool night air. The neighborhood streets were peaceful at this hour: sodium streetlamps buzzing overhead, occasional bicycle lights flickering past, the faint smell of someone's late-night ramen wafting from an open window. He walked at a steady, unhurried pace, hands in his pockets, letting the post-adrenaline calm settle over him.
Right on cue—barely five minutes later—he spotted the familiar green-and-blue sign glowing like a beacon: a 7-Eleven, bright and open 24/7.
' Perfect.'
He pushed through the automatic doors with a cheerful chime. The air inside was cool and smelled like fresh onigiri, fried chicken, and instant coffee.
Silas grabbed a basket and started loading up: two salmon onigiri, a karaage chicken bento, a large bottle of iced green tea, a pack of chocolate Pocky for dessert, and—on impulse—a cup of instant miso soup he could heat in the microwave later.
He was reaching for a second onigiri when the door chimed again.
A familiar demonic aura, brushed against his senses.
Silas turned casually.
Sona Sitri stood frozen just inside the entrance, wearing pale blue pajama shorts and a loose gray tank top with thin straps, her dark hair down and slightly messy from sleep. No glasses unlike usual. Just bare-faced, sleepy-eyed Sona in the middle of a late-night convenience store run, clutching a small basket like she'd been caught committing a crime.
Her violet eyes widened in pure mortification the second she saw him.
In a blink, Silas had his phone out—camera already open—and snapped three quick photos: one wide shot of her full-body shock, one closer on her flushed face, one perfectly timed as she threw both hands up to cover it.
"Silas—!" she hissed, voice a mortified whisper-shout.
He laughed—low, genuine, delighted—and pocketed the phone before walking over, basket still in hand.
"Who knew I'd get my very own stalker," he teased, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her head back to glare at him.
Sona dropped her hands slowly, cheeks burning crimson under the fluorescent lights. She lifted her chin with forced dignity, though the effect was ruined by the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her tank top.
"I'm not stalking you," she said firmly, voice low to avoid drawing more attention. "This is a coincidence. I live two streets over. I come here almost every night."
Silas raised an eyebrow, leaning one hip against a display shelf of cup noodles.
"I don't know… it kinda feels like stalking, honestly. Showing up at a local konbini in pajamas? Bold move, Sona."
She narrowed her eyes, blush deepening.
"I shop here all the time. You can ask the store keeper if you don't believe me."
The middle-aged clerk behind the counter—already watching the exchange with the tired amusement of someone who'd seen every late-night drama—gave a small sigh and nodded once without looking up from his magazine.
Silas grinned wider.
"I still don't believe you. Why would the great Sona Si—"
He didn't get to finish the name.
Sona lunged forward and slapped her small hand over his mouth—firm, desperate, her body close enough that he could smell the faint lavender of her shampoo.
"Shh!" she whispered urgently, eyes darting toward the clerk. "Remember—I'm not using that name here. Just… Souna. Or nothing at all. Please."
Silas froze for half a second, then slowly looked down at her hand pressed against his lips. His purple eyes flicked back up to meet hers—amused, teasing, but softer now.
Sona realized what she was doing and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned, face turning an even deeper shade of red. She took a full step backward, clutching her basket to her chest like a shield.
The store clerk sighed again—louder this time—and muttered under his breath, "Kids these days…"
Silas chuckled quietly, still rubbing his lips where her hand had been, the faint warmth lingering like an afterthought.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Sona asked immediately, crossing her arms over her tank top as if trying to hide how underdressed she felt. "Don't you see how late it is?"
"Well, I was hungry," Silas replied with a casual shrug, turning back to the shelf to grab a couple more onigiri. "So I came to buy some food. Nothing wrong with that. I'm still wondering why *you're* here, though. I would've thought you had maids and butlers ready to come to your aid any moment—poof, midnight snacks delivered on silver trays."
Sona huffed softly, adjusting her grip on her small basket.
"Well, I *do*… back home. Not here. I live in a normal apartment. With my peerage. I could have built a nice huge mansion, gated community, the works—but I don't want to blow my cover. Blending in is part of the point."
Silas paused mid-reach for a bottle of iced tea, glancing over his shoulder at her.
"Oh wow. A multi-billionaire cosplaying as a normal high school student. I guess I've seen it all now."
Sona's lips twitched—just the tiniest hint of a smirk.
"Billion? My family surpassed that when humans were still cave men."
' Damn, that's kinda cool,' Silas thought, a flicker of genuine admiration cutting through his teasing.
He resumed shopping, tossing a few more items into his basket—karaage, Pocky, green tea—while Sona trailed a step behind, her eyes scanning the shelves with the same quiet precision she used for everything else.
"What were you gonna buy anyway?" he asked, nodding toward her basket.
"Well, I was looking for a night snack," she replied evenly.
Silas turned fully toward her, basket balanced on one arm, and flashed a slow, cocky smirk.
"A snack, huh? Well, you're looking at one."
Sona stared at him—completely deadpan. Just flat, unamused violet eyes locked on his. The silence stretched for a solid three seconds.
Silas's smirk faltered.
"Damn… not even a snicker," he muttered, turning back to the aisle with exaggerated defeat.
Behind the counter, the tired-looking middle-aged man , let out a short, involuntary bark of laughter before quickly covering it with a cough.
Silas raised his head, grinning wide.
"This guy gets it."
Sona rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward despite herself.
They finished shopping in relative quiet—Silas piling his basket high with late-night comfort food, Sona sticking to her usual: a pack of instant miso ramen, a small carton of milk, and a single banana.
At the register, Silas reached for his phone to scan the QR code, but before he could even unlock it, Sona stepped forward and pulled a surprisingly thick wad of crisp yen notes from the pocket of her pajama shorts.
"Keep the change," she said calmly to the cashier, sliding the bills across the counter without counting them.
The man's eyes widened as he stared at the money—far more than the total cost of both their purchases combined. He opened his mouth, closed it, then just nodded mutely and began bagging everything.
Silas glanced sideways at her as she gathered her items.
' Man, I might have to marry her now,' he thought, half-joking, half-serious.
They stepped outside together. The night air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of distant rain and street food from somewhere down the block. A small cluster of outdoor tables and plastic chairs sat under the awning—empty at this hour.
Silas spotted them immediately, walked over without hesitation, and dropped into one of the chairs with a contented sigh. He set his bag on the table and patted the seat next to him.
"Come on," he said, looking up at her. "I know you don't have anything to do."
Sona stood there for a moment—plastic bag in hand, staring at him like she was weighing the pros and cons of walking away.
Then she shrugged internally.
' He isn't wrong,' she admitted to herself.
With a small, resigned sigh, she crossed the short distance and sat down across from him, setting her bag carefully on the table.
The fluorescent glow from the 7-Eleven sign washed over them in soft blue-green light. On the road , a lone bicycle passed with a quiet whir of tires on asphalt.
Silas pulled out the Pocky pack first, tore it open, and offered her the open end.
"You want?"
Sona eyed the chocolate sticks for a second, then reached over and took one—careful not to let their fingers brush.
"…Fine," she said, biting into it with precise dignity. "But only because I'm hungry."
Silas grinned, leaning back in his chair.
"That's the spirit."
They sat there in easy silence for a while—snacking, watching the occasional car pass, the night stretching out calm and unhurried around them.
" You better delete those pictures" She quickly said remembering that he took them.
Silas stopped for a second. Then in one word" No"
TO BE CONTINUED