Chapter 3: SURPRISE
The walk back to the Black Bulls hideout felt different. The air in the Royal Capital was thick with the usual magic and ambition, but Asta carried a new, quiet storm inside him. Noelle’s words, a tangled, tear-soaked confession, looped in his head alongside the memory of Lily’s touch. He felt split, grateful to be alive and utterly confused about what being alive now meant.
He pushed open the heavy, scarred door of the headquarters. Darkness and silence greeted him.
“Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous main hall. “Anyone home?” He frowned. It was too quiet. Even Grey was usually around. He groped along the wall for the light rune. “Must be broken or something…”
His fingers found the switch and flipped it.
“SURPRISE!”
The explosion of noise was almost physical. Lights blazed on, revealing the entire squad crammed into the hall—Magna whooping, Luck cackling with electrical sparks dancing in his hair, Gauche muttering about Marie, Gordon smiling in a corner (probably), and Charmy standing proudly before a monstrosity of flour, frosting, and culinary ambition.
The cake was a tiered behemoth, easily five feet tall, sculpted and piped to resemble a stylized, victorious Asta, complete with frosting replicas of his Demon-Slayer swords crossed over a marzipan Baro lying defeated at the base. The detail was terrifyingly accurate.
“Charmy worked ten hours straight!” Magna yelled, slinging an arm around the sheep mage’s shoulders. “No breaks! Said it had to be perfect for the guy who saved our skins!”
Charmy puffed out her chest, her eyes gleaming. “Asta-man deserves the biggest thank-you cake! He ate death so we didn’t have to! Now we eat cake!” She held out a knife the size of a broadsword.
Asta stood frozen, his jaw slack. The sheer, raucous joy of it, the normalcy, washed over him like a healing spell. His eyes prickled. “You guys… you did all this?”
Captain Yami emerged from the crowd, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Damn right we did. You pulled a stupid, heroic move, kid. Almost died. That kinda crap deserves a party.” He grinned, a rare, full expression that reached his eyes. “And it deserves a promotion.”
The hall fell into a sudden, anticipatory hush.
“Promotion?” Asta echoed.
“You’re off the bottom,” Yami stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Effective immediately. You’re the Black Bulls’ Second Vice Captain. Don’t make me regret it.”
The silence held for one more beat before erupting into cheers and catcalls. Vice Captain. Him. Asta of Hage. His dream wasn’t just alive; it was wearing a damn uniform.
Before he could fully process it, a gentle hand tapped his shoulder. Henry, connected to the house, gave him a weak but sincere smile. “Your room… it upgraded too. Follow me.”
In a daze, Asta followed Henry through the shifting corridors of the hideout. They stopped at a door that hadn’t been there before, ornate and solid. Henry pushed it open.
Asta’s old closet had been a place to store dreams. This was a place to live them. The room was spacious, with a large, actual bed (not a cot), a polished wooden desk, a bookshelf, and a window that looked out over the training grounds. A sleek, new uniform draped over a chair.
“Whoa,” was all he could manage.
“Thought you should bunk near the other VC,” Henry whispered, gesturing to the door across the hall—Noelle’s room. “And… your old room has a new occupant.”
As if on cue, the adjacent, much smaller door swung open. Lily stepped out, now wearing simple traveller’s clothes, her silver hair tied back in a practical braid. She smiled when she saw Asta, a warm, intimate smile that reached her eyes and made his stomach do a familiar, complicated flip.
“Getting the grand tour, Vice Captain?” she said, her voice light.
Noelle, who had followed the crowd at a distance, materialized at the end of the hall. Her eyes locked on Lily, then on Asta’s dazzled face. A cold needle of dread pierced her chest. This wasn’t just a visiting sister. The woman was here. Moving in. Into his old room. The space Asta had occupied, that still smelled faintly of his sweat and determination, was now hers. Noelle’s fingers curled into her palms. She didn’t know what had happened in Hage, but she knew the look on a woman’s face when she had a claim. And Lily had a claim.
Across the main hall, away from the burgeoning tension, a separate drama unfolded.
Zora leaned against a wall, arms crossed. “Alright, spill. I miss one battle ‘causa my traps bein’ set elsewhere, and I come back to the kid bein’ a martyr and some holy woman movin’ in. What the hell happened?”
Secre fluttered nervously beside him, her notepad at the ready.
Finral, Magna, Charmy, and Vanessa huddled around them.
“Okay, okay,” Finral said, adjusting his glasses. “So, from a spatial and tactical perspective, Baro’s explosion magic was fundamentally internalizing the combustion process within the mana circulatory system. Asta, utilizing his anti-magic properties, intercepted the catalytic nexus of the spell, resulting in a metaphysical feedback surge that nearly atomized his own existential mana signature, which, according to basic thaumaturgical principles, should have been fatal, but seemingly triggered an unforeseen evolution in his grimoire’s ontological framework, which the sister, Lily, was witness to.”
Zora and Secre stared at him blankly.
Magna shoved Finral aside. “You useless pretty-boy! Let a real man explain!” He cracked his knuckles. “So Baro’s a cheap-shot artist, right? Blows you up from the inside. Boss was gonna get totaled. Asta goes, ‘Not on my watch!’, dives in, and takes the hit himself. Straight-up almost died. Went back home to die in peace, like a warrior! But he didn’t die! He got stronger! And the sister lady saw him all powered up and decided holy water wasn’t enough for her, so she followed him here to get a taste of real life! And now she’s lookin’ at our rookie like he’s the last steak at a barbecue!”
Zora nodded slowly. “So the kid took a suicide hit, didn’t die, and now has a nun chasing him.”
“Exactly!” Magna said.
Vanessa sighed, taking a long swig from her flask. “Men are so dense. Look, the emotional calculus is simple. Asta faced the void. Lily faced the void of her own life. They collided in that quiet, post-battle space where all the masks come off. Stuff happened. The kind of stuff that makes you quit your job and follow someone across the kingdom. She’s not here to pray for him. She’s here to be with him. And our dear Noelle just poured her royal heart out to him in the dirt road. So we have a divine tragedy and a royal comedy, both wanting the same scruffy, clueless protagonist.”
Secre scribbled furiously, then held up her notebook: [Love Triangle. Explosions. High Stakes.]
“Now you’re gettin’ it,” Vanessa said, patting her head.
Back in the hall, the party was properly starting. Yami, with a theatrical flourish, presented Lily with her own Black Bulls robe. She slipped it on over her clothes, the black and gold fitting her like it was always meant to be there.
“And since you’re here, make yourself useful,” Yami grunted. “What’s your magic?”
Lily held out her hand. A sphere of water coalesced above her palm, clear and perfect, then shaped itself into a delicate, blooming lily flower before dissolving into a fine, misty spray. “Water Creation Magic. I used it mostly for the gardens, and… cleaning.”
Noelle felt the air leave her lungs. Water Magic. A direct rival. Not just for Asta’s attention, but in her very element. The friendly, domestic display was a declaration of war in Noelle’s mind.
Asta, blissfully oblivious to the icy glare shooting from Noelle, was already in motion. “Your room’s probably bare! Let me help you move your stuff in!” He bounded into Lily’s new room, grabbing the single small trunk she’d brought. Lily followed with a grateful smile.
Noelle stood rooted, watching him carry another woman’s belongings into his old space. The party swirled around her—Luck and Magna arguing over the first slice of cake, Finral trying to chat up a disinterested Vanessa, Henry absorbing the happy noise to keep the house stable.
And then things got crazy.
Asta, hefting a small dresser for Lily, found his new robe lying on the bed. “This thing is gonna get all sweaty,” he muttered. In one fluid, practical motion, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.
The conversation in the immediate vicinity died.
Magna’s jaw dropped. Luck stopped sparking. Even Gauche glanced over.
Asta’s body was a roadmap of his dedication. The old, familiar scars from years of grueling, magic-less training were there. But now, covering them, weaving around them, were the thick, black anti-magic runes, crawling from his arms over the planes of his chest and the defined ridges of his stomach. They weren’t marks of injury; they were sigils of power, dark and visceral against his skin. Sweat gleamed in the hollow of his throat, tracing the hard lines of his shoulders and the deep cut of his V-line that disappeared into his waistband.
Noelle’s face flooded with heat. She’d seen him shirtless before, in training, but this was different. The runes changed everything. They made him look dangerous, primal, other. Her mouth went dry.
Vanessa whistled low, her cheeks pink. “Well, damn, Vice Captain.”
Secre, who had floated back over, let out a tiny, choked squeak and hid her face behind her notepad, the tips of her ears bright red.
Lily’s breath hitched. She’d seen all of him, touched all of him, but here, in the light, surrounded by people, the raw physicality of him was almost overwhelming. A faint, possessive smile touched her lips.
The moment was shattered by a cleared throat at the main entrance. Mimosa stood there, with Klaus and Yuno just behind her. “Um… party gatecrashers?” Mimosa said sweetly, though her eyes widened for a fraction of a second as they landed on Asta’s torso.
“Yuno!” Asta roared, beaming, completely unselfconscious about his state of undress. He strode over, fist outstretched.
Yuno met the fist bump, his calm eyes taking in his rival. He noted the runes, the new energy, and the lack of fatal injury. A micro-expression of relief flickered across his face. “You’re loud as ever, I see.”
“You have no idea!” Asta laughed, throwing an arm around Yuno’s shoulders. “Guess what, rival? I’m not on the bottom anymore! Captain made me a Vice Captain! Second Vice Captain of the Black Bulls!”
The room watched for Yuno’s reaction. His eyebrows lifted, a genuine sign of surprise. Then a small, respectful smile appeared. “Hn. It’s about time. Don’t let it go to your head. The gap between us is still there.”
“It just got smaller!” Asta shot back, grinning.
Captain Yami chose that moment to lumber forward, holding a folded bundle of cloth. “Now that the Golden Dawn’s here to witness it, might as well make it official. Here.” He thrust the bundle at Asta.
It was a new robe. But unlike his junior robe, this one was heavier, the fabric richer. The gold embroidery was extensive and intricate—fierce bull motifs along the hem, elaborate patterns across the shoulders and back, the symbols of his office clear and proud. Vanessa stood nearby, looking smug; her threads had clearly helped with the detailed needlework.
“Put it on, Vice Captain,” Yami said, a challenge in his tone.
Asta, suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him, shrugged and slipped the robe on over his bare shoulders, fastening the clasp at his neck.
The transformation was instantaneous. The luxurious black and gold framed his rune-marked skin perfectly. The robe hinted at the power underneath without obscuring it. It spoke of rank, of earned respect, of a wild, untamed authority. He wasn’t just Asta anymore. He was Vice Captain Asta of the Black Bulls.
The energy in the room shifted again.
Noelle felt a flutter so intense it was almost nausea. He looked… regal. Powerful. Hers. But so did every other woman in the room.
Mimosa’s smile became a fraction tighter, her gaze lingering a second too long.
Even Charmy, who had been single-mindedly defending the cake, paused. She tilted her head, her eyes scanning Asta from head to toe. “Asta-man… looks… filling. Different filling. More… meaty,” she declared, a new, speculative glint in her eye.
Vanessa smirked, openly appreciating the view. Secre peeked over her notepad, her blush deepening.
And Lily. Lily’s gaze was a gentle, confident fire. She had seen the canvas beneath the robe. She knew the texture of the ink.
Asta stood in the center of it all, feeling the weight of the fabric on his shoulders and the weight of multiple, heated gazes upon him. He’d survived a death sentence, been promoted, and now found himself the uncomprehending center of a silent, electric storm of wanting. He scratched his head, the gold thread on his sleeve glinting in the light.
“So,” he said, breaking the thick silence with a cheerful, oblivious grin. “Who wants cake?”
“I do!” Asta announced, answering his own question, and carved a slice of cake so large it defied physics. He dropped onto a plush sofa that hadn’t been there minutes before, a testament to Henry’s nervous hospitality. The frosting was already on his chin.
Noelle moved first, her posture rigid as a diamond, and sat on the sofa’s edge to his right. “You’re making a mess, you dolt.” Her voice was tight, but she handed him a napkin.
Lily flowed onto the cushions to his left, closer than Noelle, her thigh brushing his. “Some things never change,” she said, her laugh soft and familiar. She reached over and plucked a stray crumb from the front of his new robe, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat on the embroidered bull.
Asta, mouth full, just grinned. “S’good!”
From across the room, Mimosa’s polite smile froze. Vanessa choked on her drink, her eyes widening. Grey, nearby, let out a small “eep!” and turned into a perfect replica of a potted fern, leaves trembling. Secre’s pencil snapped in half.
“Is that…” Mimosa whispered.
“Two of them,” Vanessa breathed, wiping her mouth. “Sitting there like bookends. And he’s just… chewing.”
The main doors blew open, not from magic, but from sheer force of personality. Mereoleona Vermillion strode in, the air thickening with palpable heat. Fuegoleon followed, more composed but surveying the scene with calm interest.
“Heard there was a party for the brat who didn’t die,” Mereoleona roared. Her lion-like eyes scanned the room, bypassing the cake, the squad, and landing instantly on the sofa.
On Asta, in his vice-captain robes, with a woman of serene beauty on one side and a Silva royal on the other, both angled toward him like sunflowers.
Mereoleona’s nostrils flared. A slow, predatory grin spread across her face. “Well, well. Promoted and holding court already.” Her gaze dragged over the new robe, the visible runes at his throat, the clear, unguarded affection in both women’s eyes. A challenge. A prize. Her competitive spirit, always simmering, found a new and intriguing focus.
Fuegoleon observed his sister’s shift in attention, then looked at Asta with dawning understanding. “Interesting,” he murmured.
Mereoleona’s mind, tactical and direct, assessed the field. Two opponents. The royal girl was tense, defensive, all bottled-up emotion. The ex-cleric was calm, grounded, using a history Asta didn’t even know was weaponry. Removing one would be simple. But boring. And it wouldn’t get her what she wanted: a clear shot.
No, the best way to get closer was to create an opening. Help the competition… against the other competition.
She moved, not towards Asta, but towards Lily. “You. Water Creation. Sister, was it?” Mereoleona loomed, her presence overwhelming. “Saw your little display. Clean water’s useless. Can you make it boil? Can you flash-boil it in a man’s lungs? No? Pathetic.”
Lily looked up, startled from her quiet proximity to Asta. The gentle warmth in her eyes iced over. “My magic has purpose, Lady Vermillion.”
“Prove it,” Mereoleona snarled, already turning towards the courtyard doors. “Outside. Now. I’ll show you what real magic looks like.” It wasn’t a request.
Lily’s jaw set. This was a test of her place here, not just as a woman, but as a knight. She glanced at Asta, then stood, squaring her shoulders. “Very well.”
As Mereoleona marched Lily outside, Fuegoleon smoothly intercepted Mimosa, Klaus, and Yuno, drawing them into a conversation about border security protocols, effectively creating a wall of diplomacy. Vanessa, seeing the play, winked at Secre and loudly declared she needed Grey’s help finding more “party supplies,” pulling the shy girl and the potted fern away.
In three moves, the space around the sofa emptied.
Noelle sat in the sudden quiet, her heart hammering against her ribs. Asta finished his colossal slice of cake, licking frosting off his thumb.
“Mereoleona’s awesome,” he said, oblivious to the engineered void around them.
“She’s a brute,” Noelle muttered, but her hands were clenched in her lap. This was it. The manufactured alone time was so obvious it was painful. And she’d be damned if she wasted it.
“Asta.” The name came out strained.
“Hmm?”
“Your room. The new one. I haven’t seen it properly.” She stood, not looking at him. “Show me.”
“Oh! Yeah, it’s crazy! Henry really outdid himself!” He sprang up, leading the way, a trail of black and gold and vibrant energy.
The door to his new room clicked shut, cutting off the distant sound of exploding steam and Mereoleona’s roaring laughter from the courtyard.
“See? It’s got a real bed and everything—” Asta began.
Noelle turned. The royal mask was gone. Her eyes were wide, desperate, her breath coming in short pulses. The confession on the road had broken the dam, and now the flood was here.
She crossed the space between them and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was all the fear of thinking him dead, the fury at his sacrifice, the ache of seeing Lily’s knowing hands on him. It was teeth and clinging and a raw, open need that shocked him into stillness for only a second before he responded.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against the new robe. The taste of sugar and Asta filled her senses. When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily.
“Noelle, I—”
“Shut up,” she whispered, her fingers going to the clasp of his robe. “Just… shut up for once.” The heavy fabric slid from his shoulders, pooling on the floor with a soft rustle. Her hands skated over the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the dark runes. “These… do they hurt?”
“No. They’re just… me now.”
She kissed him again, pushing him back until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sat, looking up at her, his usual boundless confidence replaced by a hungry, questioning awe. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her dress riding up her thighs. The hard proof of his desire pressed against her, and she moaned, grinding down against it slowly.
“I meant what I said,” she breathed against his mouth, her own hands trembling as she began to unlace the front of her dress. “Every word.”
He answered by burying his face in the curve of her neck, his mouth hot and insistent on her skin. He sucked, nipped, licked a path to her collarbone, his calloused hands sliding up her bare thighs to grip her hips. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled into her skin, the words thick and genuine. “It drives me crazy.”
The dress fell away. His mouth found her breast, his tongue circling her nipple before drawing it deep. She cried out, her head falling back, fingers tangling in his wild hair. “Asta… please…”
He laid her back on the bed, following her down, his weight a perfect anchor. His kisses moved lower, over her stomach, and she shuddered, a fresh wave of anticipation coiling tight in her gut. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down her legs with a slow deliberation that made her whimper.
Then his mouth was on her, and she arched off the bed with a shattered gasp.
His tongue was relentless, exploring her with a focus he usually reserved for training. He learned her rhythms, what made her legs shake, what made her fists clench in the sheets. He lapped at her, dove deep, then focused on the aching, swollen center of her pleasure with flat, firm strokes.
“Oh, god… Asta… right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop!” she begged, her voice breaking. The pressure built, terrifying and exquisite. He slid a finger inside her, curling it, and her world shattered into white light. She came with a sharp, screaming cry, her body convulsing around his hand.
Before the last tremor faded, she was pulling him up, her own hunger a wild, demanding thing. She shoved at his trousers, freeing him, her hand wrapping around his length. He hissed, his eyes glazing.
“My turn,” she panted, and pushed him onto his back.
She kissed down his chest, following the trail of black ink, taking him in her mouth. She was less practiced than Lily had been, more eager, all heated enthusiasm and soft sounds that vibrated through him. He groaned, his hips lifting off the bed. “Noelle… I can’t…”
She released him, crawling back up his body. “Not yet,” she whispered, a shaky, powerful boldness in her eyes. She positioned herself over him, sliding her slick, heated core along his length, not taking him in, just rubbing against him. The sensation was maddening, the wet friction drawing groans from them both.
“Please,” he gritted out, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. “Noelle, I need—”
“What do you need?” she teased, still moving, watching his face contort.
“I need to be inside you. Now.” The demand was guttural.
She lined him up, and sank down, inch by agonizing inch, until she was fully seated, gasping at the feeling of being so completely filled. She began to move, a rolling, grinding pace that had him seeing stars. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her to deepen the angle, and took over, driving up into her with powerful, snapping thrusts.
The bed slammed against the wall. Each impact wrung a louder, more shattered cry from her lungs. “Yes! Like that! Harder, Asta, fuck, harder!”
He obliged, one hand fisting in her hair, the other clutching her hip, his pace becoming punishing. Her begging dissolved into wordless screams. A new, intense tension tightened within her, different from before, a pressure so acute it bordered on pain.
“I’m gonna—something’s—Asta!” she wailed, her eyes wide with panicked ecstasy.
The release, when it came, was a convulsive flood. She screamed, a raw, tearing sound, as her body spasmed and a rush of liquid heat gushed between them, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath. Sobbing breaths racked her, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down her face as the sensations continued to ripple through her in endless, shocking waves.
He felt her pulsing around him, felt the warm wetness, and it tipped him over the edge. “I’m… I’m gonna pull out…” he grunted, trying to retreat.
“No!” she cried, locking her legs around his back, pulling him impossibly deeper as she clenched around him. “Inside… it’s okay, I’m on the pill… please, I want it… I want all of you.”
With a final, broken groan, he surrendered, burying himself to the hilt and emptying into her in hot, endless pulses. They collapsed together, a tangled, sweating, breathless heap.
The only sounds were their ragged attempts to breathe and the distant, muffled cheers from the party downstairs. Noelle trembled against him, her tears cooling on his chest. He held her, his own mind a blissful, stunned blank, trailing his fingers gently over the sensitive skin of her back.
Outside the door, the distinct, fading echo of Mereoleona’s satisfied laugh echoed down the hall.