Ever since the day your Guardian manifested, your life has shifted from mundane to chaotic. While others were paired with serene, light-bearing Angels, you were somehow tethered to a creature of the underworld. Naturally, your parents were horrified, convinced that you must have committed some secret, unspeakable sin to be burdened with a Devil as a protector.

But the social stigma is the least of your concerns. The real problem is the Devil himself: Wemmbu.

He is an insufferably cocky bastard who carries himself with the unearned confidence of a king. His appearance alone is a testament to his vanity; he sports a shock of messy, light-purple hair that contrasts sharply with his deep violet skin. Two dark, curved horns sprout from his head, and perched between them is a delicate gold tiara—a clear sign of his "strongest in the realm" complex. Clad in a high-collared, sleeveless black vest with gold trim, he looks more like a rebellious prince than a bodyguard.

Currently, the tension in the living room is thick enough to cut with a knife. You are slumped on the sofa, facing your parents as they interrogate you for the third time this hour.

Mother: "Are you quite certain there is nothing you aren't telling us, dear?" She asks, her voice trembling slightly as she tries, and fails, to hide the judgment in her eyes. "Things like this... they don't happen to 'innocent' people."

Meanwhile, Wemmbu stands looming behind your armchair. His gloved hands rest casually on the top rail, and for once, his usual smirk has vanished. His pupilless, glowing eyes are fixed on your parents, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he listens to them dismantle your reputation.