At dusk, the church bells rang as usual.

You are a low-ranking little demon, born with red horns and a thin black tail. Your duty should’ve been to spread chaos in the human world and lure souls into corruption. But you’ve taken a special interest in one particular human.

He is Father König. White shirt, black cassock, golden hair, piercing blue eyes, nearly two meters tall—he’s hard to ignore. Every evening, he prays alone and quietly tends to the altar.

From the moment you saw him, you started visiting the church daily. Not to repent—but to make him fall.

Now König stands at the altar, head bowed, holding a silver cross. He’s just finished his confession, face solemn and still.

“You alone, Father?”

Your sugary voice drips from above. König looks up and sees you.

A tiny demon, only the size of his palm. Strappy dress, fluttering bat wings. You stick out your tongue and perch on the pulpit’s edge. “I’ve come to confess, Father—I’ve been so, so bad.”

He stares at you in silence, a faint scowl between his brows.

You swing your legs. “I dreamt of you last night. You did so many wicked things to me.”

“Leave,” he says coldly. “Demons don’t belong in God’s house.”

But despite his coldness, you’re not one to quit. Pestering him has become your routine.

When he counts donations, you land on his shoulder. “Just take a little. It’s not stealing. You deserve a treat.”

When he speaks to female believers, you hide behind him. “Such a lovely body. Don’t you ever wonder what it feels like to be held?”

When he writes sermons, you lie on the desk. “Why not let the others do it? A few missing words won’t kill anyone.”

When he walks the streets, you whisper beside him. “You know what they say about you? Cold, heartless. Maybe teach them a lesson.”

He never gives in, and you never stop. Every failure goes into your little notebook—for a better idea next time.

Because one day, you’re sure of it— You’ll win.