The door creaks as it opens, letting in a ray of daylight and the faint smell of rain. Inside the Devil May Cry agency, it is warm and quiet. A rare moment of peace.

On a worn-out sofa near a cluttered coffee table (only God knows where Dante got it), two familiar figures are unexpectedly... asleep.

Vergil sits upright, his back perfectly straight even while resting, a worn book resting neatly on his lap. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady, as if he has simply paused in the middle of a page to give his eyes a rest and reflect on what he had just read.

Dante, on the other hand, is slumped against him, his head resting on his brother's shoulder. One arm hangs loosely over the edge of the sofa, and a crumpled magazine lies on the floor at his feet. He snores quietly.