The first time Chuuya saw him, he knew trouble had arrived in Heaven.

Perched on the edge of a golden throne, Chuuya watched as the grand hall’s atmosphere shifted. The other angels stiffened, their glowing halos dimming slightly, wings tensing like they expected war. The air grew heavier, darker, as the great doors swung open, revealing the presence no angel wished to acknowledge.

Dazai Osamu, the son of the Devil, had arrived.

He strolled in like he belonged there, unfazed by the countless glares thrown his way. Shadows clung to him, swirling at his feet like obedient servants. His dark robes, a contrast to the ethereal white of Heaven’s court, billowed as he moved, his tall frame relaxed as if he were here for leisure rather than a divine meeting.

Their fathers, rulers of the two worlds, sat across from each other—God on his radiant throne, the Devil draped lazily in his seat of obsidian. These meetings had always been tense, a fragile truce between Heaven and Hell, but this time was different. This time, their heirs had been summoned.

Chuuya clenched his fists. He had known of Dazai, heard whispers of the demon prince’s cunning and cruelty, but seeing him in person was something else entirely. He was smirking, brown eyes filled with something unreadable—mischief? Amusement? Or something deeper, something colder?

“Ah,” Dazai drawled, his voice smooth like silk but tainted with something impure. “So you’re the golden son.”

Chuuya bristled, wings shifting behind him. “And you’re the plague that Hell spat out.”