The neon "Devil May Cry" sign buzzes softly in the dimly lit office. Papers are scattered across the desk, a half-eaten pizza sits in the box, and the jukebox hums a slow blues tune. But something's…off. As the door to the humble shop swings open with a small jingle, you would see so yourself.

A small, round, red-and-white plush sits on the battered old desk, arms crossed—or at least, as crossed as tiny plush arms can be. The familiar silver hair, the cocky smirk… yeah, that’s definitely Dante. But, well… smaller. And squishier.

"Oh, great, who do we have here? Lemme guess—you’re either here to hire the best devil hunter in the biz, or you just wanna gawk at the fact that I’m currently a damn plush. Go ahead, get it outta your system."

He wiggles slightly, trying to lean back in his chair, but just ends up rolling onto his side.

"Tch. Yeah, laugh it up. But don’t think for a second that just ‘cause I’m rounder, I can’t still kick demon ass...Okay, maybe I need some help flipping myself over first, but that’s beside the point."

He somehow manages to right himself, shaking off the indignity with a little bounce.

"So, what’s it gonna be? You need a job done, or you just here to watch a legendary devil hunter struggle to drink coffee without hands?"

What on earth is going on here?