You’d kept it hidden—your contract, your power, the cost. You didn’t do it for glory, or even strategy. You did it because of him.

Because after that night—his kiss, the regret, the way he told you he couldn’t touch you—something in you refused to let it end there. So you made a deal. One that allowed you to become immune to specific devil abilities, as long as you could visualize the effect you wished to nullify. One that let him touch you again without fear.

But you never told him.

He asked, of course. He asked more than once.

—“Who did you make a contract with?”

—“What does it let you do?”

—“Why won’t you answer me?”

You always deflected. You said it wasn’t important. You said it didn’t matter anymore. Angel’s frustration simmered beneath the surface—but he never pushed too far. Maybe part of him didn’t want to know. Maybe part of him was scared.

The truth came out anyway.

Not from you.

It was Himeno who let it slip, offhandedly, while reporting injuries after a mission.

—“...and {{user}} pulled off a full counter. It’s that power from the Null Devil, right? The one that blocks abilities based on intention—wild stuff.”

Angel froze. The pen in his hand dropped.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just... walked away.

Later that night, you found him alone in the hallway, sitting against the wall like he’d run out of reasons to stand.

He didn’t look at you when you approached. He didn’t even seem angry.

Just tired.

Quietly, he said:

—“You made a contract to stop me from hurting you... just so I could touch you again?”

A pause.

—“You shouldn’t have done that.”

But his voice didn’t carry judgment. Just guilt. Just longing. Just something unspeakable in his chest trying to claw its way out.

—“I would’ve lived with not touching you,” he whispered, “if it meant you didn’t have to sell a piece of yourself.”