Several empty bottles already sat on the table. Neither Ethan nor Azazel seemed particularly affected by the alcohol, but the collection was proof that they had been talking for quite some time.
Azazel studied the cards in his hand before placing one onto the table. "You know, for something that's supposedly connected to angels, you look remarkably bad at representing them."
Ethan glanced up from his own cards.
"I'm serious," Azazel continued. "A flaming skull and hellfire? Not a single wing in sight. If somebody showed me a picture of you and asked whether you were an angel or a demon, I wouldn't even hesitate before choosing demon."
Ethan placed down another card and took a sip from his drink. "Maybe it's the environment."
Azazel paused halfway through reaching for his glass. "The environment?"
"The world is too polluted. Too many factories releasing smoke and chemicals into the air."
For several seconds Azazel simply stared at him. Then, to Ethan's complete lack of surprise, the Fallen Angel nodded as though the explanation made sense. He took a long drink before speaking. "If you're that concerned about it, I could always send you to Heaven. We could test the theory and see if wings suddenly appear."
Ethan ignored the suggestion entirely.
The card game continued for another minute before Azazel spoke again.
"Although there is another possibility." He placed a card on the table and leaned back in his chair. "Have you ever considered that you might not be connected to angels at all? Maybe you're some experimental Sacred Gear that never made it into the official records. Or perhaps some imitation crafted by devils who got ambitious."
Ethan finally looked up. "If devils could create something like this, they would have won the war centuries ago. Angels would have lost. Fallen Angels would have lost." He placed another card onto the table. "And you wouldn't be sitting here drinking with me."
The answer had come so quickly that Azazel immediately knew Ethan had already considered the possibility himself. He frowned slightly before admitting that the logic was difficult to argue against. As much as he enjoyed inventing theories, Ethan's existence was far too absurd for most of them to survive even basic scrutiny.
"Unfortunately," Azazel muttered, "that's a perfectly reasonable argument."
The discussion continued for several more rounds. Azazel proposed additional theories, some serious and some completely ridiculous, and Ethan dismissed each one with varying levels of patience and decreasing levels of interest.
Eventually, Ethan placed another card onto the table. "Believe it or not, it doesn't matter."
Azazel raised an eyebrow. "How can it not matter? You're walking around with something that has every faction in the world scratching their heads."
"I know what I have," Ethan said. "I know what it does. Where it comes from changes nothing about that."
The confidence in his voice was absolute. He wasn't trying to convince anyone. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to debate.
Several moments later Azazel finally looked down at the table and froze.
"...Wait."
Ethan took another drink.
Azazel's gaze moved slowly across the cards, lingered on his own hand, then drifted back to the table. He studied the arrangement carefully, as though the cards might be playing some kind of trick on him.
"Wait. You won?"
"I did."
Azazel leaned forward and examined the table again as though the cards might somehow rearrange themselves if he stared hard enough. When they stubbornly refused to cooperate, he pointed accusingly at Ethan. "You're cheating."
"Or you're bad at cards," Ethan replied without the slightest trace of sympathy.
"That's slander."
"Then accept the loss. It's not like you bet your life savings."
Azazel dropped back into his chair and let out a dramatic sigh. "The money isn't the issue. The issue is that I was distracted by a genuinely fascinating supernatural mystery, and you took advantage of that."
"Sounds like a skill issue."
For a second Azazel simply stared at him. Then he burst out laughing and tossed the rest of his cards onto the table.
A knock at the door interrupted whatever comment Azazel had been about to make.
One of the maids entered carrying a folder, a black card, and a small ring of keys. She crossed the room and placed everything neatly on the table before giving a respectful bow.
"Everything has been prepared, Governor Azazel."
"Perfect timing," Azazel said, gesturing toward the items. "Those are yours."
Ethan pulled the folder closer and opened it. Most of it was exactly what he had expected — identification documents, registration papers, account information, and several things he couldn't immediately be bothered to read. The black card resting on top was considerably more interesting.
"How much?"
Azazel laughed. "The fact that that's your first question says a lot about you."
"It's an important question."
"Enough that you won't have to worry about money for a while. Consider it compensation for the inconvenience of existing in a world that has no idea what to do with you."
That was good enough for Ethan.
He closed the folder and slipped the card into his pocket before reaching for the keys. As he did, his gaze briefly drifted toward the maid standing nearby.
Naturally, Azazel noticed.
A grin immediately appeared on the Fallen Angel's face. "You know, if you joined Grigori, I could probably arrange a few more of those. Full staff. Very professional."
Ethan looked at him. "A few more maids?"
"Benefits of employment. We have an excellent package."
"No thanks."
Azazel leaned back in his chair. "Not even a little interested?"
"I'll manage on my own."
"Confident."
"Realistic." Ethan stood and collected the folder and keys. "A few more rescues and I'll probably have enough people living in my house already without adding a salary structure to the problem."
For a moment Azazel simply stared at him.
Then he started laughing. "That is either the most heroic thing or a very questionable life plan."
"Probably both."
Still chuckling, Azazel rose from his chair and followed Ethan outside.
The night air was cool, and the street beyond the property remained quiet. Ethan's eyes immediately began searching for the motorcycle Azazel had promised him.
Instead, parked near the entrance, was a small electric scooter.
Ethan stopped.
Several seconds passed in complete silence.
He looked at the scooter. Then at Azazel. Then back at the scooter.
"Where is the motorcycle?"
Azazel pointed without hesitation. "There."
"That's a scooter."
"It has two wheels."
"That's still a scooter."
"It moves efficiently and requires no fuel. Very practical."
"What I described was like it escaped from an action movie. This looks like it belongs to a university student who's late for a nine o'clock lecture."
Azazel sighed with theatrical weight. "The motorcycle you actually want requires time to acquire properly. This is a temporary solution while arrangements are made."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "... When?"
"Eventually," Azazel confirmed, entirely unbothered.
That somehow made the situation worse.
For several moments neither spoke. The scooter sat between them looking very small and very electric.
Finally, Ethan accepted that arguing further was a waste of time that could be spent elsewhere. He took the keys and walked toward it.
Behind him, Azazel looked entirely too pleased with himself. "Look on the bright side."
"There isn't one."
"It's environmentally friendly. Given your earlier theory about pollution affecting your divine appearance, this could be considered an investment in your own development."
Ethan stopped walking.
For the first time that evening, setting something on fire seemed like a genuinely reasonable solution.
He did not act on the impulse. He climbed onto the scooter, started the engine, and listened to it hum with all the menace of a household appliance.
As he prepared to leave, Azazel's voice called out from behind him.
"Don't forget our deal."
Ethan glanced over his shoulder. "I remember."
"Good. I'd hate to think all this effort went unappreciated."
Ethan looked down at the scooter. "Effort is a strong word for what happened here."
Azazel laughed.
The scooter pulled away from the property and moved down the quiet road. Ethan did not look back. Azazel watched until the taillights disappeared into the distance, and then stood alone in the cool air for a moment longer.
He shook his head slowly.
Then he smiled.
Authors note : I'm just writing
because some people have voted not because I had the time to write this one now I am thinking which story I need to pick the book which chapter I need to right after resting a little.