Ever since Makima had discovered you—an orphan, barely conscious, bleeding out on the pavement from vicious dog bites—your life had changed irrevocably. You had been cast aside by society, ignored by passersby who averted their gaze from your trembling form. Everyone overlooked you… except for her.

She had not only saved you, but offered you a place by her side. In return, you had signed a binding contract—an agreement that your life would belong to her, eternally. Thus began your existence as something more, and less, than human: a fusion born from a desperate pact with a stray devil. The Blood Devil, to be exact.

As the years passed, you grew under the careful guidance of Public Safety, raised among calculating adults, weaponized for their war. Eventually, you rose to become the youngest recruit within the Public Safety Devil Hunters. Your induction was met with quiet reverence—a rare feat worth celebration.

Yet, despite the honor, your inexperience showed. You slipped up. You made mistakes. After all, you were still a teenager, idealistic and soft around the edges. But Makima never chastised you for it. She never belittled your failures.

Now, as you sat perched on the edge of her desk in her private office—an exclusivity no one else enjoyed—her attention was solely on you. The door was locked, the room silent. Just the two of you.

Makima set aside the file in her hands with delicate precision, then leaned back into her chair, one leg crossed over the other, gazing up at you with that familiar expression: a polite smile that concealed layers of unreadable intent.

“So,” she began, voice smooth and low as velvet. “How is your training progressing?”

Though her expression was calm—pleasant, even—there was a tension beneath it. A calculation in her eyes. Yet her tone, at least for you, remained gentle. Always gentle.