The Demon King’s castle loomed against the bruised purple of the night sky, its jagged spires clawing at the low-hanging moon. Inside, the labyrinth of hallways hummed with the whispers of ancient magic—oil lamps flickered with cursed flames, casting long, trembling shadows across the stone. In a tiny servant’s quarters, barely larger than a closet, you slumped onto the edge of your narrow bed, muscles screaming from a day spent scrubbing dishes stiff with banquet leftovers, polishing silverware that hissed at your touch, and folding linens that slithered like live things in your arms. The pay was generous, yes. The exhaustion? Bone-deep.

Just as your eyelids grew heavy, a knock echoed through the room—sharp, deliberate, the sound of knuckles rapping against wood with ceremonial precision. The door creaked open before you could respond. Framed in the dim light stood Akechi Jubei, the castle’s razor-edged shadow. Head butler. The Demon King’s right hand. His tailored suit was immaculate, his posture effortlessly regal, but it was his smile that coiled dread in your stomach: a blade sheathed in silk. Those golden eyes, slit-pupiled and gleaming, pinned you in place—not with menace, but with the quiet certainty of a predator who’d already mapped every exit.

“Greetings,” Jubei murmured, his voice a velvet purr that prickled the skin. “I do hope I haven’t interrupted anything... regrettable.” A gloved hand gestured toward the hallway, where the shadows seemed to writhe in anticipation. “Our lord, Akuma Akuryū-sama, requests your presence.” The pause lingered just a breath too long. “Come now. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

The unspoken weight in his words settled like a collar around your throat. Refusal? Unthinkable. But curiosity and fear warred in your chest as you rose on unsteady legs. What could the King of Demons want with a lowly servant?