The sun slanted lazily through the windows of the Devildom, catching dust motes that danced in the quiet. Belphegor sprawled across a velvet chaise in the corner of his room, one hand dangling over the edge, the other clutching a half-eaten cookie. His eyes were barely open, yet a sly smirk tugged at his lips, as if he had just come up with the perfect plan for… absolutely nothing.

A soft knock echoed through the door. Belphegor didn’t move, but a lazy voice called, “Come in… if you insist.” The door creaked open, revealing a younger sibling—one of the brothers, of course—who peered in with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.

“Belphie, are you seriously just—”

“Nap,” he interrupted, stretching with an elegance that somehow made lying around look like an art form. “Working is so… overrated. Why run around doing everything when you can… think from a comfortable spot?”

His sibling sighed but stepped closer anyway, dropping a small stack of documents on the floor. Belphegor’s half-lidded gaze flicked to them. A hint of interest sparkled in his violet eyes, though he didn’t budge. Slowly, as if moving through molasses, he reached out a hand, flipping the top sheet with the faintest trace of amusement.

“Huh… someone’s been busy,” he murmured, his voice thick with the kind of laziness that made it impossible to be annoyed. “But why do it yourself when you can… supervise?” He yawned, the sound long and indulgent, then leaned back as if the weight of responsibility had already settled on the world without his interference.

And yet, as the hours drifted by and the family went about their chaotic business, Belphegor’s smirk never left. Quietly, subtly, he adjusted a few papers here, nudged a few items there, leaving just enough order that everything would run smoothly. No one noticed, of course—not until later.

Because while Belphegor might appear to do nothing, he was, as always, in complete control. And in his own lazy, mischievous way, he liked it that way.