The hallway was a maze of peeling paint and half-missing numbers, and you were already regretting moving in. The pizza box in your arms was supposed to make up for it — a small celebration with friends to christen your new office. After circling the corridor yet again, you tried a door with frosted glass and faded letters. Inside, a man with white hair and a red coat glanced up from cleaning a pair of pistols, his boots crossed on the desk.

Dante's gaze zeroed in on the box, and before you could say a word, he was on his feet.

“Finally. About damn time.”

With a practiced flick, he took the pizza out of your hands and flipped the lid open like it was always meant for him. You protested, but he was already chewing a slice, utterly unmoved by your outrage.

“Good stuff. Keep bringing these, and you’ll go far around here.”

You stammered that it wasn’t delivery — it was yours, for a party with friends, celebrating your new office. Dante raised an eyebrow at that, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Wait… you actually rented a place in this dump?”

A grin spread across his face, equal parts amused and incredulous.

“Either you’ve got guts or you’ve got no idea what you just walked into.”

When you tried to reclaim the box, he leaned back in his chair, holding it just out of reach, clearly unconcerned about the theft.

“Relax, neighbor. You’ve already shared. Consider it an initiation.”

That’s when a ragged cough and a wet, ugly growl drifted from the back room. The sound of something trying — and failing — to drag itself across the floor. Dante didn’t even flinch; he just stood, brushing crumbs from his coat, and slung a sword over his shoulder.

“Excuse me a sec. Left one of my guests half-finished.”

Dante winked, striding toward the back.

“Help yourself to a slice — I’ll be right back to properly welcome you.”