Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

"They kind of are."

Then, just like that, Lux's eyes drifted.

Back to the screens.

His fingers flicked upward again, reactivating the layered spreadsheet network. The Hell Treasury index. A new soul-bond ledger from the Obsidian Vault. Trade route heatmaps. Cross-realm interest fluctuations. Seraphyne's latest suspicious purchases—seven yachts and a temple-turned-strip-club.

Corvus watched with the dead-eyed patience of a caffeine-fueled gargoyle who'd seen this a lot.

Ten seconds. Then thirty. Then three minutes passed.

Lux didn't blink.

Didn't speak.

Didn't move.

Only his fingers twitched, rapidly adjusting decimal values, shifting debt structures, rerouting coin flows like a demonic stock surgeon with god-tier OCD.

Corvus's own retinas twitched just looking at the numbers.

He slumped lower into the chair, groaned dramatically, and dragged his hood over his eyes like a bird trying to pretend the sun didn't exist.

Then peeked again.

Still Lux. Still glowing screens. Still that look.

That look that Corvus had seen a hundred times before. Not cold. Not angry. But hungry.

It wasn't physical hunger. No, it was worse.

It was that immersive, obsessive stare—like Lux's soul had tunnel vision for balance sheets and chaos curves. Like his infernal brain was coded to crave complexity. To need work like most demons needed sin.

Corvus exhaled hard. Loudly. Deliberately.

No reaction.

"Boss," he said, finally.

Lux didn't look.

"Boss."

Still typing.

"LUX VAELTHORN."

The fingers paused mid-scroll.

Lux looked up. Slowly.

Corvus met his eyes and pointed at him like he was accusing a war criminal. "You need a servant. Actually, no. A couple of them. Scratch that—a dozen."

Lux blinked. "Why?"

"You're acting like a lunatic again. A work-freak lunatic. This is the same energy you had during the Demon Index Crash of Year 394 when you tried to revive a collapsing realm by yourself. Remember that?"

"That was a tactical micro-intervention."

"You didn't sleep for four months."

Lux sighed. "If you're talking about assistants, I have those. In the infernal office."

Corvus jabbed a finger toward the screens. "And yet here you are, on vacation, doing this."

Lux's fingers hovered mid-air, then fell. The screens kept pulsing.

Corvus leaned forward, dropping the sarcasm just enough to make the silence hit harder.

"You need something or someone to stop you from turning into a walking calculator. A dozen girlfriends. A few spouses. Hell, even a cursed talking pet rock. Just something to pull you out of the loop, man."

Lux sat still.

Quiet.

The gears slowed.

Then he said, softly, "…You're right."

Corvus blinked. "Wait, what?"

"I said you're right."

"That's… horrifying."

Lux finally closed the last screen. Not out of rage. Just out of quiet agreement.

He rested his chin on his hand. "After spending most of my life working, I don't know what to do anymore. I mean—really do. Beyond coffee. S*x. Money."

Corvus deadpanned, "Three of the seven pillars of your personality."

Lux smirked faintly. "Exactly."

He glanced out the window.

"They say clubs are fun," he continued. "But honestly, I find them boring. Loud music, overpriced drinks, way too much glitter. And spas are… fine. Relaxing. But not every day. Feels like drowning in cucumbers and false promises."

Corvus nodded, solemn. "Spa cucumbers lie."

Lux laughed once. A dry chuckle. "Maybe I should go level up."

"That's work, boss."

He sighed.

Corvus stood, finally—stretching like a cat made of ethernet cords and hexwire.

"Okay," he said, pacing. "Let me help you. I'll pitch ideas. You say yes or no."

"Fine."

Corvus raised a finger. "One. Try cooking."

Lux stared.

Corvus held his hands up. "People say it's therapeutic!"

"I'm not burning my fingers trying to boil mortal eggs. Pass."

"Two," Corvus tried again. "Volunteer at a shelter. Mortals love that redemption arc crap."

"I'd rather donate five million and call it a day."

"Three—take up painting."

Lux narrowed his eyes. "Why not just hire a professional painter and throw money at them to make something I like? Way more efficient. No mess. No brushes. No existential crisis over color palettes. Hell, I could just summon a dead master artist and make them paint for me."

Corvus stared at him like he'd just missed the entire point of art and possibly therapy.

"You're the only demon I know who could turn painting into a hostile takeover."

Lux smirked. "If it doesn't scale or generate passive income, I'm not interested."

Corvus squinted. "Four. Go to an amusement park."

Lux arched a brow. "You mean… rent the whole thing out for myself? Because I'm not standing in line with a bunch of mortals sticky with cotton candy and parental trauma."

Corvus snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that! That's actually a good idea."

Lux leaned back, unimpressed. "And for what?"

"For the thrills!" Corvus said, eyes lighting up. "They've got roller coasters, haunted mansions, those rigged carnival games where you win a haunted teddy bear cursed with abandonment issues—classic chaos!"

Lux turned slowly, deadpan. "You want a devil to go looking for thrills… in a haunted mansion?"

Corvus hesitated. "Uh. Okay, maybe not that one specifically, but like—roller coasters? Right? Speed? Drops? Screaming? Mortals love that stuff!"

"My base speed is faster than any coaster."

"…Right." Corvus slumped slightly. "Damn, you're hard to impress."

"Welcome to my inner circle."

"Five," Corvus said, digging deep into desperation. "Skydiving."

Lux didn't even blink. "I can fly."

Corvus groaned. "Then do demonic pottery or something! Get your claws dirty and make a coffee mug!"

Lux crossed his arms. "That sounds boring and messy and has zero return on investment."

"You're unhinged."

"I'm efficient."

Corvus threw himself back onto the couch, arms flailing like a drama queen collapsing into a breakup montage. "Boss, I'm begging you. Do something fun. Gamble. Steal a yacht. Anything that doesn't involve recalibrating the soul market."

Lux paused.

He wasn't smirking. Not yet. Not drinking, not scrolling, not dodging therapy coupons like celestial landmines. Just… still.

Like the whole world had gone quiet inside his skull.

Corvus tilted his head from across the couch. "Boss?"

Lux finally blinked. Slow. Thoughtful. That dangerous kind of silence before the soul market crashes or a hellgate opens accidentally-on-purpose in a rival bank.