I Took A Succubus's First Time

Her younger sister was a prodigy, a being of unrivaled talent who wielded the abilities of both demon clans with effortless grace. She was not only strong—she was exceptional, a force that surpassed even their mother and father, both of whom had once been regarded as the pinnacle of power in their respective clans.

Misuzu, on the other hand, was weak. Dull. Worthless.

Her sister embodied everything she lacked. Where Misuzu stumbled, she soared. Where Misuzu struggled, she excelled. The difference between them was not just a gap—it was an abyss, deep and insurmountable.

With her sister's brilliance eclipsing her entirely, Misuzu's worth in her parents' eyes crumbled to nothing. Their gaze, once filled with expectation, no longer held even a sliver of recognition for her. She became invisible. Forgotten.

The clan members, too, followed suit. Once, she had been their pride, a child born of two powerful bloodlines, a symbol of their unity. Now, she was a disgrace, an afterthought. They did not look at her. They did not speak of her. It was as if she had ceased to exist.

A mistake. That was all she was.

But she refused to accept that.

Desperation clawed at her, driving her to seek strength, to reach beyond her limits, to prove—to anyone, to herself—that she was worth something. She threw herself into her training, pushing her body past its breaking point, forcing herself to endure agony and exhaustion in pursuit of power.

She fought, again and again, clawing her way forward.

And after years of relentless struggle, she finally achieved a breakthrough.

But it was meaningless.

Her sister had reached the same milestone a decade earlier.

A single year was all it had taken her. Ten long years of Misuzu's suffering and sacrifice amounted to nothing.

That was when the truth settled in, cold and suffocating. She was a failure.

And it was then that her parents made their decision.

"We don't want you in this family any longer."

Their voices were cold, devoid of warmth, devoid of regret.

"We have no use for a failure like you."

"Your sister alone is enough to carry the legacy of our two clans. You are unnecessary. We allowed you to stay because you were once our child, but after nearly a century, we no longer see you as such."

"Leave. Now. This is final."

Silence.

Misuzu could not speak. Could not cry. Could not even think.

So, she obeyed.

She stepped forward, out of the home she had known for nearly a hundred years, and into the bitter cold.

Mocking laughter trailed behind her. Voices, filled with scorn, sneered at her as she passed, their contempt thick enough to crush her beneath its weight. But she did not turn back. She did not respond.

The world outside was frigid, a vast stretch of endless white. The land was always cold, but today, it was colder. The air was merciless, the wind biting into her bare skin like jagged shards of ice.

She had nothing—not even the clothes on her back. They had taken everything. Stripped her of her possessions, her identity, her dignity.

Barefoot, she walked through the snow, each step sinking into its frozen depths. The chill seeped into her flesh, crawling up her legs, coiling around her like a merciless serpent.

Her body trembled violently, every breath leaving her in a fragile, shuddering gasp. Her vision blurred, not from tears—there were none left to shed—but from exhaustion, from the numbing cold that was slowly leeching away her strength.

She was a demon, but even demons could freeze.

Her father's side of her family had been born with an affinity for ice magic, their blood woven with its power. But she had never inherited it. She could not summon warmth. She could not shield herself. She could only suffer.

Her life had been a failure.

She had sought validation, but none had been given. She had longed for their love, but it had never existed. She had been born as the fruit of a union meant to create a leader strong enough to uphold two clans, but she had failed them. She had failed herself.

She was nothing.

"I thought I would die right then and there."

Misuzu's voice was steady, but the weight behind it was suffocating.

Kouhei remained silent, watching her intently, his expression unreadable.

"It was so cold," she continued, her voice quieter now, as if speaking the words would bring back the numbness that had nearly swallowed her whole. "I had nothing—no clothes, no belongings. They took it all. As if to say I never owned anything to begin with, as if even my existence belonged to them."

She exhaled, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

"Honestly, I was surprised they didn't just kill me on the spot."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked to hear it," Kouhei murmured, a pang of guilt settling in his chest. "Something like this... it's not easy to talk about, is it?"

Misuzu shook her head gently. "No, it's fine." Her voice was soft, yet steady. Then, with a faint smile, she added, "Besides, I'm glad I told you."

Kouhei exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Well... I don't really have anything to offer you in return. I have my own stories, but they're nowhere near as heavy as yours."

That was only natural. He was human—eighteen years old, still in the earliest stages of life. He had barely lived long enough to form a story like hers, to endure even a fraction of what she had suffered. Misuzu had spent nearly a century drowning in pain. There was no way Kouhei could ever truly comprehend the weight of that.

Misuzu, however, simply chuckled. "That's fine. Besides, I'd like to hear your stories too." She rested her chin on her hand, gazing at him with quiet amusement. "Humans may have short lifespans, but they live their lives to the fullest. I want to know what that's like."

Kouhei scratched his cheek, lips curving into a small, sheepish smile. "Well… maybe I'll have something worthwhile to tell you when I'm older."

"Fufufu…" Misuzu laughed softly. "Alright then. I'll look forward to it."

A comfortable silence settled between them before she tilted her head slightly. "So? Do you want me to continue? I was about to tell you how I became part of Yuuna's faction."

Kouhei nodded.

Misuzu's expression darkened slightly as she returned to her story.

—---

She had walked for what felt like an eternity, the endless stretch of snow swallowing her small, trembling form. Every step grew heavier, her limbs stiff and unresponsive. The cold had long since pierced through her skin, seeping into her bones, turning her flesh rigid as if it, too, was becoming part of the frozen wasteland.

Her blood felt sluggish, thickening into something unmoving, something lifeless. She could barely breathe, her chest tightening, her heartbeat slowing.

Still, she hugged herself in a desperate attempt to retain what little warmth remained.

But it was useless.

She was completely naked, her body exposed to the merciless cold. No clothing, no protection. Just pale skin against the unyielding ice.

She wasn't going to survive this.

Her vision blurred, her strength finally failing her as her legs gave out beneath her.

With a dull thud, she collapsed face-first into the snow.

The frost burned against her skin, biting into her bare flesh like thousands of needles, yet she barely felt it.

She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't care.

She was going to die here.

And strangely, the thought didn't scare her.

All she had ever wanted was validation. Praise. That was all. Just a word, a glance, anything to prove that she mattered. That she wasn't a mistake.

But she had never received it.

And now, she never would.

Maybe this was how it was meant to end. Maybe she was never supposed to exist in the first place.

She was nothing more than a failed product.

Her frozen eyelashes fluttered shut. The darkness of death reached for her.

And then—

Warmth.

Something pulled her from the snow, strong yet gentle, lifting her from the abyss she had resigned herself to.

A voice followed.

"Everything's okay now. I've got you."

It was warm. It was so warm.

Not just the voice, but the presence itself—so utterly, incomprehensibly warm that it seeped into her frozen body, melting away the numbness, pushing back the cold.

She had never felt anything like it before.

"Aria," the voice called again, this time to someone else. "Prepare a fire for her. Her body temperature is dangerously low. If she's not exposed to heat soon, she won't make it."

There was movement. A shuffle of fabric.

And then, one by one, layers of clothing were draped over her bare form.

It took a moment for her mind to register what was happening.

She was being covered. Protected.

Her eyelids fluttered open, her vision still blurred from exhaustion, but she could make out the shape of the person holding her.

The warmth surrounding her, the hands that had reached out to save her—

It was Yuuna.