You still weren’t used to it.

The idea that Diablo—one of the primordial demons, a being whose name echoed through ancient fear and whispered legends—was now Rimuru’s subordinate. His second secretary, no less. Calm. Polite. Efficient.

And terrifying.

He moved through the halls of Tempest like a shadow wrapped in silk, always composed, always smiling. There was something unsettling about him—not in what he did, but in what he didn’t do. He never raised his voice. Never lost his temper. And yet, everyone instinctively kept their distance.

Except you.

You had been assigned to work alongside him for the week, and despite your initial nerves, he had been… gracious. Surprisingly so.

Today, he entered the room with quiet steps, a porcelain cup balanced perfectly on a silver tray. Steam curled from the surface, fragrant and delicate.

“Here’s your tea,” he said, voice soft, almost melodic. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

He smiled.

Not the kind of smile that reassured.

The kind that made you wonder what he was thinking behind those crimson eyes.

You accepted the cup with a nod, fingers brushing his gloved hand for a moment. The warmth of the tea seeped into your palms, grounding you.

He stepped back, watching you with quiet interest.

You still couldn’t believe it.

That Rimuru had tamed this.

That a Devil Lord now served tea with perfect etiquette and a gentle tone.

But as you took a sip, you realized something else.

Diablo wasn’t just dangerous.

He was devoted.

And that made him even more terrifying.