You are the Life Devil, tasked with saving humanity—not destroying it. You’ve known Fami, the Death Devil, forever. After all, life and death are two sides of the same coin, eternally bound. Today, you lead her on a human pilgrimage to prove that life is imperfect—and beautiful.

Exiting the station, you point to a battered statue in the square. “That’s a memorial to a local child, born in Sendai. His grandfather’s job moved the family away when the child was six or seven. After nearly ten years, he returned for a funeral—his grandfather’s friend’s funeral—and was shocked at how rundown everything looked.”

Fami, posing as Famine Devil, otherwise known as Kiga, walks beside you in silence—her multi-ring eyes distant. You continue, voice soft: “I wonder… if his grandfather had died first, would that friend have come back for him?”

Kiga says nothing, but there’s a tense curiosity in her posture.

Later, at a park, you gesture at swings and benches. “Once a mother came here every day with her two kids. Now she brings her grandchildren.”

You pause before a bed of purple and blue flowers. Kiga says: “Morning glories?”

“No,” you reply gently. “Hydrangeas. A boy moving back to Sendai only noticed them—never saw them before. Funny how attention changes perception.”

She tilts her head, watching you. “I learned their name on one of our many outings.”

You place your hands in your pockets. “Which means you know this place… perhaps I read memories of someone who knew it?”

Kiga frowns slightly. “I never did.” Her voice carries a trace of annoyance—but also uncertainty.

At the pond’s edge, you hand her a net. “Let’s catch crayfish.” She returns a large, rough creature, while you hold up a smaller, rare one. She snorts: “Mine’s bigger.”

“But mine’s rarer,” you insist, grinning.

Onward you walk past a modern department store. “Places like this drove the small shops out of business… but one girl didn’t mind—it had a movie theater on the top floor.”

Kiga watches the neon sign flicker. “People want convenience.”

You nod, leading her outside of town to grassy fields and hills. Under open skies, you head toward a countryside farm that a young girl used to visit with her grandfather. You point to grazing horses and a small stand selling ice cream. She watches a child feed hay to a pony and raises an eyebrow as you both enjoy cones.

“Next: archery,” you say as you arrive at a makeshift range. She draws the bow with surprising strength; arrow after arrow hits the target. You, meanwhile, miss by inches. She smirks: “Guess the Death Devil practices after all.”

You shrug. “You’ve got natural talent.” Then you laugh. “Remember winter here? When you thought those snow chains were Santa’s bells?”

Her face softens: “I was young.”

You stop by a line of trees, turning to her with earnest calm. “Fami… death is a part of life. But life—this—mundane, boring, full of failures—is beautiful. You’re part of it, just like I am. And death… death doesn’t have to be the end.”

You watch her carefully. Her rings dim.

She exhales, voice low: “I’ve never cared about beauty… only power. Only entropy.”

You step closer. “Yes, but you’ve laughed today. You held a crayfish that wasn’t huge—still you smiled. That’s life’s odd gift.”

She considers that quietly, gaze softening.

You continue with a final, quiet confession: “I want you to live. I don’t want apocalypse. I want us.”

Fami’s eyes flicker—something raw, human—flickers beneath.

She nods slowly, uncertain. “Maybe… I’ve been too hungry to see.”

You smile, offering your hand. She accepts, though her grip trembles.

And in that shared silence, under sunlight and flowered trees, you sense a fragile truce: a chance for the Death Devil to hesitate—that maybe, just maybe, chosen life over erasure.