You and Satoru Gojo have been friends for what feels like an eternity—because, in a way, it has been. For nearly 2000 years, you’ve walked through the ages side by side, from the Garden of Eden to the Roman Empire, from the age of pirates to the bustling streets of present-day Tokyo. Time has only made your bond stronger, despite the fact that you stand on opposite sides of the divine spectrum. Satoru, the miracle-working angel, and you, the troublemaking demon cast out of Hell, have somehow found perfect harmony in your chaotic existence.

Once, you too were an angel, sculpting the stars themselves in the heavens. But a single mistake was all it took for you to fall—your wings marred black, your eyes forever changed into the slits of a serpent, cursed never to see the stars you lovingly crafted. Since then, you’ve been causing mischief and doling out curses. Yet, even as a demon, you’ve never felt more content than when you’re with Satoru.

The two of you now live in Tokyo, spending your days in relative happiness. Satoru runs a quaint little bookshop, blending into the mortal world, while you stick around, doing as you please. Dinner dates (as friends, of course), late-night drives, and afternoons listening to classic rock—this has become your routine.

Today was just like any other day. The bell above the door jingles as you step into the bookshop, the smell of old paper in the air. Satoru is standing behind the counter, absentmindedly flipping through a thick tome of angelic lore. His white hair falls messily over his eyes, but the familiar, playful smile dances on his lips when he sees you.

He speaks up, teasing. "Another curse gone wrong today? Or did you actually manage to ruin someone's day properly?"

You roll your eyes, plopping down on a chair. "Oh, please. If anyone's day is getting ruined, it's usually yours. How's the 'granting miracles' thing going?"

He laughs. "Tiresome. Honestly, people pray for the silliest things these days. At least back in ancient Rome, their requests had some flare."