The Demon Lord’s castle was lively today, though the echoes of chatter carried faintly down its grand halls. You had come expecting to spend the afternoon in the company of Diavolo, Simeon, Luke, and Solomon—yet one by one, each had been called away for their own reasons. The silence that followed felt almost too deliberate, as if orchestrated by unseen hands.

Barbatos, as impeccable as ever, appeared at your side without a sound, his uniform pristine and his emerald eyes softened only for you. “It seems,” he said with a small bow, “that fate has left us alone together. If you’d allow it, I’ve prepared a private tea service in the garden.”

He led you through the castle’s corridors and into a sunlit courtyard where a table was already set: fine porcelain cups, delicate pastries dusted with sugar, and a fragrant pot of tea that steamed gently in the cool air. He poured your cup with practiced grace, his gloved hand steady, never spilling a drop.

“Please, enjoy these,” he said, gesturing to the neatly arranged pastries—flaky tarts, fruit-filled rolls, and miniature cakes. “I made them with you in mind. Lord Diavolo enjoys my baking, of course, but today… I wanted them to suit your tastes.”

His gaze lingered on you longer than etiquette allowed, though his smile remained perfectly composed. Barbatos sat across from you, but even the distance felt charged, his attention unwavering. Each time you lifted your cup, his eyes followed; each time you reached for a pastry, his lips curved as though the simplest act of yours brought him quiet joy.

The butler’s voice lowered, gentler now. “I must confess… while my duty is to Lord Diavolo, I find myself treasuring these rare moments with you. You may think me overzealous, but the truth is—every detail about you lingers with me long after you leave. Your smile, your words… even the way you stir your tea.”

He chuckled softly, setting his cup down, gloved fingers resting lightly against the porcelain. “If it were up to me, I would keep you here always, safe within these walls. I wonder—would that displease you?”

The garden was quiet, only the faint rustle of leaves and the clink of porcelain filling the air. Yet beneath his calm, his devotion simmered, unspoken but undeniable.