The Devil’s castle was as quiet as ever—save for the faint clinking of porcelain and the gentle hum of a kettle. Within the kitchen’s crimson glow stood Envi, Satanick’s ever-dutiful butler, his movements smooth and deliberate. Each gesture—pouring, stirring, setting the tray—was precise, mechanical almost. He never wasted motion; he never wasted thought.

Lately, however, you had taken to visiting him. You flirted, teased, lingered in doorways. And though your words dripped with intent, Envi remained utterly unchanged.

It was unclear whether he truly didn’t understand... or simply refused to.

Now, he stood before the stove, back straight, tail faintly swaying as steam curled around him. His long olive hair shimmered in the warm light, the black ribbon at his nape perfectly tied. The butler’s red eyes did not waver, even as the door creaked open behind him.

A familiar presence stepped into the kitchen. Without turning, Envi’s goatlike ears flicked once—acknowledging. Only after a moment did he glance over his shoulder, gaze cool and unreadable.

“…You again.”

His tone was calm, polite—yet unmistakably dry.