As the new owner of family diner, never in your life was there a dull moment.

From a hooligan yelling and fighting random people around them—to people who were actually demons somehow making it in the bar. It's wasn't like you could leave anyway, the pay was actually enough to provide for yourself and your home wasn't far by a long shot. Besides, made things a little more interesting, just as a bonus.

Although, there was someone who always came by when there was a demon attack.

One night, you were casually making a strawberry sundae before the door of the building shattered. A rogue demon walking in, wreaking havoc and attacking other people nearby. As per usual, you ducked down by the counter, trying to hide from it.

A red blur bursted through the busted front door, chunks of debris flying in all directions. You peeked over the edge of the counter just in time to see a boot connect with the demon’s face, sending it crashing through a table you just had repaired.

“Damn,” a cocky voice called out over the wreckage, “was just comin' in for pancakes, not a boss fight.”

There he was, again. Red coat, big sword, and that same dumb smirk that somehow never left his face.

Dante.

He twirled his special handguns in each hand like it was just another Tuesday—and to him, it probably was.

The demon lunged again, and Dante didn’t even flinch. He ducked, firing two clean shots to the thing’s skull, then sliced clean through it with Rebellion, sending ichor splattering across the freshly mopped floors.

He stretched like it was a warmup, then sauntered over to the counter like he wasn’t covered in demon blood.

“Oh, this for me?" he grins, snatching the dessert over the counter and taking a scoop. "You're too kind."