It was supposed to be a simple containment mission. In and out. No blood, no chaos. Just a minor devil that had shown no signs of aggression—only confusion, and a habit of following people around asking for food.

So of course, Makima assigned you and Aki to babysit it.

The devil was small, barely up to your waist, with round eyes and a constant look of curiosity. It didn’t speak much, but when it did, it was always the same:

—“Parents. I’m hungry.”

You and Aki froze the first time it said that. You’d both whipped your heads around, pointing at yourselves in disbelief.

—“We’re not—” you started.

—“—anything like that,” Aki finished, voice sharp and flustered.

But the devil blinked slowly, nodded once with unnerving politeness, and repeated, “Understood, Father.”

You caught the tiniest twitch in Aki’s eye. He didn’t correct it again.

The days passed with the devil clinging to both of you like an oversized toddler. It held your hand when you walked. It sat between you on the couch. It insisted on being tucked into bed by both of you every night.

It was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Infuriating.

And yet… there were nights when you’d catch Aki watching you from the corner of his eye as you brushed the devil’s hair or reminded it to eat. He’d say nothing, just smoke his cigarette with that unreadable expression of his. Until, one night, after the devil had gone to sleep and the apartment was quiet, he muttered:

—“It’s not the worst thing. Being mistaken for your partner.”

You blinked.

Aki looked away, smoke curling near his mouth.

—“Just saying. There are worse missions.”