The Demon Lord Can't [Return] So I Became His Friend

“Shuu-dono.”

The air split.

I turned, slowly.

Glowing yellow eyes.
Seven feet tall.
An aura like madness.
Skin as red as a Steam sale backlog.

The Demon King. Mao.

His gaze bore into me.

I tensed—muscles tight, breath shallow.
This was it.
One mistake, and I’d lose everything.

No more excuses. No more delay. Time to act.

I moved.
He moved.

The result was immediate.
Devastating.

My fingers froze. I looked down in horror.

“It’s not fair. You always get the good controller.”

He nodded, composed as always.

𐌹𐍀𐌴𐌽𐌰𐌼𐌰𐌿𐌸 𐍃𐌹𐌲 𐌿𐌽𐌰 𐍂𐌿𐌽𐌸𐌰𐌹𐌿𐍂𐍃𐌴

“It was your idea that we settle this through M*rtal K*mbat,”

𐍆𐍂𐌰𐌾𐌹𐌹𐌽𐌰𐍃 𐌷𐌰𐌹𐍂𐌿𐍄𐍂𐌴𐌻 𐌹𐌱𐌴 𐌼𐌴𐌻𐌴𐌹𐍄𐍃𐌴

“Would you like to switch?”

I looked at him. At his perfect button responsiveness.
His silky analog, driftless glory.

I sighed.

“No… It’s fine. I’ll just mash harder. Fire up the queue.”

The Demon King nodded.
The match began.

The battle between good and evil has many forms.
This one just runs at 60 FPS.

Mao wasn’t like other Demon Lords.

Or anything else I’d encountered, really.

Like most of them, he just… popped into my room one day.

No summoning. No drama. Just—portal. Demon. My space.

Personal space? What’s that?

He glowed with unholy power.
His presence bent the air.
His stare could rust a nail in place.

“Get out,” I told him.

Totally fair, right?

I braced for a declaration. A backstory.
Some dramatic vow of eternal conquest.

Instead, Mao nodded.

𐍄𐌹𐌻𐍉𐍄𐌴𐍃 𐌴𐌽𐌽𐌰 𐌹𐌽 𐍂𐌰𐌻𐌹𐍄𐌹𐌽

“Very well. I seek no quarrel with you.”

And then he left.

Huh. Go figure.

A whole week passed without incident.

From him, anyway.

I still got flung into fantasy worlds.
Still dodged divine summons.
Still outmaneuvered rogue trucks with bloodlust in their exhaust pipes.

But the world didn’t end.
I didn’t burn in unholy fire.
And nobody tried to teach me how to wield a sword forged from the regrets of their ancestors.

Progress.

Then one day, it rained.

I had an umbrella. Because I’m smart.
(Aiko’s mom gave it to me on my way out.
Thank you, Okaasan. I love you.)

There he was.

Same crimson skin.
Same quiet menace.
Just… standing there.

Steaming in the rain.
Looking up at the sky like he was waiting for a prophecy to trigger.

He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just… existed.

I left him there.
Not my problem. I didn’t summon him.

But the next day?

Still there.
Same spot.
Same posture.

“…You alright, buddy?”

He didn’t flinch. Just nodded.

𐌰𐍄𐌰𐌼𐌰𐌿𐍂 𐌽𐌰𐌼 𐍃𐌷𐌿𐌿

“I am fine, child of man.”

“…Shuu’s fine.”

𐌰𐍄𐌰𐌼𐌰𐌿𐍂 𐌽𐌰𐌼 𐍃𐌷𐌿𐌿𐌳𐍉𐌽𐍉

“I am fine, Shuu-dono.”

A respectful Demon Lord. Weird flex, but I’ll take it.

“You got a name, big guy?”

𐍆𐌰𐌽𐌽𐌰 𐍃𐌹𐌼 𐌽𐌴𐌴𐌳

“I had no need of one.”

“…Okay. But if you did? What did your friends call you?”

𐍆𐍂𐌴𐌽𐌳𐍃? 𐌷𐌰𐍂𐍂𐌴𐌳𐌰𐍂 𐍄𐌴𐌹𐌽𐍃 𐌷𐌰𐌹𐌳𐍂𐍉𐌴𐍄 𐌰𐍂𐌴 𐌹𐌽𐌽𐌰𐌿𐌱𐌻𐌰

“Friends? My subordinates simply called me their lord.”

“…Mao it is.”

I brought him inside.

Probably the first time I ever let one of them stand under my roof willingly.

He didn’t ask.
Didn’t thank me.
Just stepped in like it made perfect sense.

Mao told me about his life.
Or at least, the parts he wanted to share.

He’d crossed into my world with one goal:
Defeat the hero of prophecy before they could rise.

A preemptive strike. Classic Demon King logic.

(Might’ve been a little… misled on who that hero was. Just saying.)

But when he arrived, something changed.

The fire that drove him here dulled.
Like a fog had lifted.
Like the universe he came from had loosened its grip.

So he waited.

Tried to understand.

And the longer he stayed, the more he realized:
It wasn’t weakness.

It was clarity.

The genre had lost its hold on him.

“So… now what? Going home?”

𐌸𐌰𐌲𐌾𐌹𐌿𐍃𐍉𐌽 𐌸𐌰𐍂 𐌽𐌰𐌼

“I do not belong here.”

𐍂𐌴𐍂𐌱𐍉𐍃𐌰𐌻 𐍄𐌴𐌽𐍂𐌿𐍂𐌾𐌹𐌽 𐌸𐌰𐌷𐌹𐍂𐌳𐌰𐍂

“But… should I return, I fear I would bring only harm.”

“…Well.”

The words came unbidden.

“You can crash here for a while, man. Just don’t be a hassle. I gotta write.”

Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee.

Dramatic, yes.
But somehow… earnest.

𐌸𐌰𐌹𐍃𐍄𐌰𐌹𐍂𐌴𐍄 𐍃𐌷𐌿𐌿𐌳𐍉𐌽𐍉

“By your leave, Shuu-dono. I thank you.”

He meant it.

Never overstepped.
Never loomed.
If I was in the zone? Writing? Silence.
If Aiko's mom brought food? Vanished.
Dad came knocking? Gone. Like he never existed.

I taught him the sacred ways of non-doomsday entertainment.
Smash Bos. Warzone. W*rframe.

He listens when I vent.
Nods like some crimson therapist from hell.
And honestly? His advice is weirdly good.

Great insight for my web novel!

He’s a real bro.

That’s the story of how I became friends with the Demon Lord.

But even his great power couldn’t save me from the looming shadow of the Isekai.