My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 176 - No. Blushing Mess Zera

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

After somehow detaching Eris from me, I got up, freshened up and stared at myself in the mirror like a man awaiting a performance review from God's HR department.

Which, coincidentally, might not be a joke anymore.

I splashed water on my face.

"Okay," I muttered to my reflection. "You are calm. You are stable. You are not destabilising cosmic infrastructure. You are a completely normal demon prince in New York."

The mirror did not look convinced.

Neither was I.

The System did not speak.

It never did unless it wanted to.

Which made it worse.

The title screen in my peripheral vision flickered faintly for half a second.

No notification.

No explanation.

Just the lingering awareness that something had changed when I used that advancement card.

And somewhere, something had noticed.

I exhaled.

Right.

Pancakes first. Existential audits later.

...

When I stepped into the kitchen, chaos had already established itself.

Valeria—pink hair immaculate, smile dangerous—was flipping pancakes with alarming grace.

Ezravia, purple hair cascading like royalty at a mild inconvenience, was inspecting syrup like it had personally offended her lineage.

Ravvy was eating a pancake straight off the plate.

It had not been assigned to her.

It had not been plated.

It had not even fully solidified.

She was chewing thoughtfully.

Selene stood on a stool, dramatically stirring batter like she was summoning something.

"Infernal confectionery ritual complete~!" she declared in a suspiciously anime tone.

"You're making breakfast," Ezravia said flatly.

"It's about presentation," Selene corrected.

Eris sat at the table swinging her legs.

"Papa! Come eat!"

But as I started walking toward the table—

Gabriel's blindingly sweet smile hit me like holy flashbang therapy.

She was standing by the doorway.

Radiant.

She was still in her pyjamas, but still looked like she had descended straight out of a cathedral's stained-glass window and into my kitchen.

Golden hair slightly messy. Big innocent eyes. Pyjamas with tiny sheep on them.

She was holding a mug.

It said: World's Okayest Angel.

"Oof! Grandnephew! Good morningstar~!"

She waved enthusiastically.

I paused mid-step.

I blinked.

"…You stole that from Selene."

Selene gasped dramatically. "Witchcraft plagiarism!"

Gabriel tilted her head. "Borrowed! I will return it when my morning sanctification ritual is complete!"

"You mean coffee?" I asked.

"Yes!" she beamed. "Holy bean water."

Ezravia pinched the bridge of her nose.

Valeria smirked. "Adorable."

Ravvy had already stolen another pancake.

I sat down slowly, scanning the room like a general assessing an unhinged battlefield.

Everything looked normal.

Which meant something was wrong.

"Where's Zeraphira and Carmilla?"

Valeria flipped a pancake midair and caught it perfectly before answering.

"Balcony," she said casually. "Brooding."

"Together?" I asked.

Ezravia sipped her tea with aristocratic precision. "Yes."

I blinked.

"Voluntarily?"

Ravvy looked up from her fourth pancake. "Zera has been staring at the skyline like it owes her money."

Gabriel leaned in and whispered loudly, "They look very intense! I tried offering them waffles, but the air caught on fire a little."

Selene gasped. "Romantic tension or atmospheric combustion?"

"Yes," Ezravia said.

I rubbed my temples.

Right. Wrath. And the ancient vampire queen.

On a balcony.

Brooding.

In New York.

Nothing ominous about that.

Absolutely nothing.

I stood up.

"I'm going to check before Manhattan becomes a crater."

Eris grabbed my sleeve. "Can I come?"

"No."

"Aww."

Gabriel raised her hand like a classroom student. "May I supervise from a safe distance? For moral support?"

"…You are the least safe distance possible."

She beamed anyway and followed me.

—

The balcony doors opened.

Cold morning air swept in.

Zeraphira stood at the railing, long crimson hair flowing behind her, gaze fixed on the city.

Beside her stood Carmilla—elegant, composed, arms folded, expression unreadable as always.

The air between them felt… charged.

Not violently.

Just heavy.

Like a thunderstorm politely waiting for paperwork approval.

Neither turned around.

"Good morning," I offered carefully.

Zeraphira didn't look at me.

"...It was my turn."

Ah!

A tiny bulb lit up in my mind.

Oh no.

Not that.

"Grayfia just... not stable enough. So I let her sleep with me for one extra night. But I promise… it wasn't a rotation violation," I finished carefully. "It was… a crisis management exception."

Silence.

Wind brushed past us.

Somewhere below, a taxi honked.

Carmilla finally turned her head slightly, red eyes glinting with refined amusement.

"A crisis," she repeated smoothly. "How administrative."

Zeraphira's fingers tightened on the railing.

The metal creaked.

Just a little.

"I was not informed," she said flatly.

Ah.

Yes.

Because informing Wrath about why you spent the night with someone else always goes well.

Gabriel stepped forward beside me, peeking over the railing.

"Oh! The city looks very peaceful today!" she chirped brightly.

Zeraphira did not look at her.

The air temperature rose by approximately three degrees.

Carmilla exhaled softly. "Lady Wrath believes fairness is a matter of structure."

Zeraphira finally turned.

Her eyes met mine.

Red.

Intense.

Controlled.

Which was worse than angry.

"And structure," she said slowly, "is being ignored."

I raised both hands.

"Correction. Structure was temporarily adjusted due to psychological fragility."

"Of another."

"Yes."

"And not me."

"…Correct."

Gabriel raised her hand again.

"Question! If someone is fragile, is hugging them the optimal solution?"

All three of us looked at her.

She blinked.

"What? I am learning emotional logistics."

Carmilla's lips twitched.

Zeraphira inhaled.

Her aura flared faintly—just a ripple of heat in the air.

"Darling," she said quietly. "I do not require consolation."

"I know."

"I do not require reassurance."

"I know."

A pause.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"…Then why does it irritate me?"

Ah.

We have reached the emotional boss fight phase.

Gabriel gasped softly.

"Oh! I think this is the chapter where feelings are discovered!"

I gently pushed her back with one hand.

"Stay behind me. Emotional crossfire zone."

She saluted.

"Yes, Grandnephew Commander."

Zeraphira stepped closer.

The wind picked up.

Wrath did not burn indiscriminately.

Wrath burned precisely.

"You were weak," she said calmly.

I nodded.

"Correct."

"You were unreliable."

"Frequently."

"You were inexperienced."

"Painfully."

Her eyes sharpened.

"Then why does the thought of you prioritising another—"

She stopped.

Carmilla tilted her head slightly, interested.

The pause stretched.

I stepped forward.

"Because," I said quietly, "you care."

The words landed like a pebble in a still lake.

Zeraphira's expression flickered.

Almost imperceptibly.

"…I do not."

"You do."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

Heat flared.

A tiny crack appeared in the balcony tile.

Gabriel leaned toward Carmilla and whispered loudly, "Is this flirting?"

Carmilla whispered back, "In its most volatile form, yes."

Zeraphira's glare could have melted titanium.

At me.

Not Gabriel.

Progress.

"You assume much," she said.

"I observe," I replied.

She stepped closer.

Now we were within arm's reach.

Her presence felt like standing near a contained supernova.

"You let another occupy your night," she said.

"It was necessary."

"You decided that."

"Yes."

"And I was not consulted."

"…No."

Silence.

Wind.

Distant sirens.

Then—

She grabbed my collar.

Gabriel gasped dramatically.

Carmilla did not move.

Zeraphira pulled me closer, eyes burning into mine.

"Do not presume I will tolerate negligence."

"I don't."

"Do not presume I will wait quietly."

"I wouldn't dare."

Her grip tightened slightly.

"And do not presume I am interchangeable."

That one.

There it is.

I softened my voice.

"I never did."

Her eyes searched my face.

For what?

Hesitation?

Guilt?

Preference?

Her fingers were still twisted in my collar.

Her eyes were still burning.

The wind was still doing that dramatic anime slow-motion thing with her crimson hair.

And Gabriel was absolutely vibrating behind me like she had front-row tickets to something educational.

So yes.

Optimal choice detected.

I leaned forward.

And kissed her.

—

There are different kinds of kisses.

Soft ones.

Careful ones.

Tentative ones.

This was none of those.

Zeraphira froze for exactly half a second.

Half.

Then the balcony temperature spiked hard enough that somewhere in Manhattan, a pigeon reconsidered its life choices.

Her grip on my collar tightened—

Then shifted.

From restraining.

To pulling me closer.

Heat flooded outward in a contained pulse.

Not an explosion.

Not destruction.

Just intensity.

Wrath, focused.

Behind me—

Gabriel gasped.

"Oh my—!"

Carmilla calmly placed a hand over Gabriel's eyes.

"You may observe later," Carmilla murmured smoothly. "This is advanced coursework."

"I am very mature!" Gabriel protested.

"You said 'holy bean water' this morning."

"…That is fair."

Meanwhile—

Zeraphira's lips were not gentle.

They were decisive.

Possessive.

Claiming.

When she finally pulled back, it wasn't because she lost momentum.

It was because she chose to.

Her hand slid from my collar to the back of my neck.

Still holding.

Still warm.

Still dangerously focused.

"…You are reckless," she said quietly.

"Consistently."

"And arrogant."

"Frequently."

"And weak."

"Publicly."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Privately?"

I smiled faintly.

"Wanna check my progress... in bed~"

The wind stopped.

Not because it respected romance.

Because Wrath had just been challenged.

Zeraphira stared at me.

There was a flicker—just a flicker—of stunned disbelief.

Then her eyes slowly narrowed.

Behind me, Gabriel made a tiny squeaking noise that absolutely did not belong in a battlefield of emotional dominance.

Carmilla, ever composed, sighed softly. "Ah. He chooses audacity. Fascinating."

Zeraphira's fingers tightened slightly at the back of my neck.

"Repeat that," she said calmly.

Oh.

That calm.

That was the dangerous one.

I smiled faintly.

"I said," I continued smoothly, "you're welcome to personally evaluate whether I've improved."

Gabriel's hand shot into the air behind Carmilla's palm.

"I have several questions!"

"You may not," Carmilla replied without moving her hand.

Zeraphira's aura flared—just a ripple this time, controlled, focused heat.

"Do you believe," she asked slowly, "that this is amusing?"

"Extremely."

The balcony railing began to glow faintly red.

Not melting.

Just… reconsidering its life choices.

She leaned closer again, so close I could feel the warmth of her breath.

"You were trembling during your last spar," she said.

"Correct."

"You were overwhelmed."

"Debatable."

"You could barely stand afterwards."

"I tripped over my own foot."

"You did."

Gabriel whispered loudly, "That was very cute, actually."

Carmilla gently rotated her away from the scene.

Zeraphira's gaze didn't leave mine.

"And yet," she continued, voice low, "you provoke me."

"I adapt quickly," I replied.

Her eyebrow twitched.

"Adapt?"

"Yes."

I gently brushed a strand of her crimson hair behind her ear.

The temperature spiked again.

"You think I would issue a challenge I can't survive?"

For a split second—

Just a split—

Her composure cracked.

Not in anger.

In fluster.

A faint flush crept across her cheeks.

Wrath.

Blushing.

That might have been more dangerous than the heat spikes.

Behind us—

Gabriel gasped dramatically.

"She's pink! She's pink!"

"I am not—" Zeraphira snapped instinctively—

And that was the mistake.

Because she absolutely was.

Not bright red.

Not embarrassed chaos.

Just a very subtle, very real blush creeping across the Demon of Wrath's face.

Carmilla's lips curved faintly.

"Well. This is historic."

Zeraphira shot her a look that could level fortresses.

Carmilla did not blink.

I tilted my head slightly.

"Did I overheat the processor?"

Zeraphira released my collar abruptly.

"I am not a machine."

"You're running hot."

"I am always hot."

"That you are~"

Gabriel squeaked again.

Carmilla calmly dragged her two steps farther back.

Zeraphira turned away sharply, crossing her arms.

The wind picked up again, as if trying to assist her dignity.

"I do not blush," she declared.

"You absolutely do."

"I do not."

"You're doing it right now."

"I am not!"

The tile beneath her foot cracked.

Just a little.

She realised it.

Looked down.

Then looked even more irritated.

Which made it worse.

Because now she was blushing and annoyed about blushing.

Double damage.

I stepped closer again—carefully.

"You're competitive," I said lightly.

She huffed.

"I do not compete over trivialities."

"You compete over everything."

Silence.

"…That is irrelevant."

"You didn't like not being chosen."

Her jaw tightened.

"I was not overlooked."

"You felt overlooked."

"I did not."

"You did."

"I—"

She stopped.

Her shoulders stiffened.

And then—

Very quietly—

"…It was my night."

There it was.

Not rage.

Not dominance.

Not pride.

Just that.

Simple.

Direct.

Honest.

Gabriel sniffled softly.

"Oh… this is very romantic."

Carmilla actually looked mildly impressed.

Zeraphira refused to look at either of them.

Her gaze stayed forward.

Unyielding.

But her ears were red.

Very red.

I softened my tone.

"You're not interchangeable."

She didn't respond.

"You're not part of a schedule."

A slight shift.

"You're you."

Silence stretched.

The city hummed below us.

She inhaled slowly.

Then—

Without turning—

She grabbed my hand.

Firm.

Warm.

Possessive.

Not dramatic.

Not explosive.

Just decisive.

"…You will not make such adjustments without informing me," she said.

"Understood."

"You will not assume I am unaffected."

"I won't."

"You will not smirk like that."

"I can't promise that one."

She squeezed my hand harder.

Not painfully.

Just enough to warn.

Behind us, Gabriel wiggled free of Carmilla's hand.

"So does this mean you two are reconciled? Should I bring celebratory waffles?"

Zeraphira finally turned back toward us.

Her face was composed again.

Mostly.

Except for the faint lingering warmth in her cheeks.

"There was no conflict," she said smoothly.

Gabriel blinked.

"But the air was on fire."

"That was weather."

"In winter?"

"Yes."

Gabriel nodded solemnly.

"That makes sense."

It absolutely did not.

***

A/N: Sorry about yesterday, from now on the schedule will follow the same time.

Stone me, I can take it!

Leave a review, seriously, it helps.

Comments are almost nonexistent. Which, in turn, demotivates the authors. Please have some compassion.