Chapter 1: The Contract That Screwed Me (and Apparently Him Too)
I died on a Thursday.
Big surprise.
No heroic last stand. No tearful goodbye. No dramatic rain-soaked monologue. Just me, forehead meeting keyboard at stupid o'clock in the morning because the quarterly report refused to balance and I refused to go home. Cursor blinking like it was judging me. Heart gave out mid-keystroke. Screen went dark. Lights out.
I figured that was it. Black nothing. Maybe a little peaceful, even.
Instead: fire.
Not poetic inner fire bullshit. Actual burning. The kind that makes you realize screaming without a throat is still somehow possible. It felt like centuries, but probably wasn't. Time's weird when you're on fire.
Then it stopped.
A voice, flat and bored like someone reading off a spreadsheet, cut in.
"Tanaka Akira. Twenty-nine. Overwork. Soul… huh. 99.8%. That'll do."
The flames winked out. I was kneeling, still somehow naked, on what looked like polished bone tiles. Nine black-flame orbs floated overhead, giving the room the vibe of a particularly aggressive mood lighting setup. In front of me stood her, or it. A woman whose skin looked like old contract paper, hair dripping upward like spilled ink refusing gravity, eyes like red notary stamps.
She flicked a finger. A blood-red sheet of paper hovered between us.
"Sign. Or keep burning. Dealer's choice."
I tried to talk. Got ash in my nonexistent mouth.
The text was legible anyway, even without eyes. Because of course it was.
Position: Exclusive Director of the Demon King's Personal Affairs
Reports to: Beelzebub IX, Sovereign of the Nine Hells, Devourer of Light
Term: Eternal
Compensation: Full authority over empire, legions, finances, schedule, and body
Special Clause: He cannot refuse any direct order. Ever.
My brain flatlined harder than my actual heart had.
She smiled. Teeth like snapped fountain pens.
"He's waited three millennia for someone cold enough to collar him properly. You're the first who qualified without flinching. Lucky you."
I didn't get time to process. Something grabbed my hand, force not fingers, and dragged it forward. Blood appeared from nowhere. I signed in crisp kanji before my soul could throw up a protest.
The paper caught fire.
Reality cracked like cheap glass.
I hit black marble hard enough to bruise. Body back, but upgraded: taller, sharper jaw, suit that felt like it was stitched from shadows and bad decisions. Power buzzed under my skin, low and ugly, like too much coffee and not enough sleep.
Across the hall: throne.
On it: him.
Beelzebub IX looked like someone took every fantasy painting of a fallen angel, fed it steroids, then dipped it in molten silver. Two-twenty-something cm of muscle and menace. White hair spilling everywhere. Pale skin. Black wings edged in actual flame. Horns. Gold chains across his chest like he'd looted a pantheon's jewelry box. Crimson eyes that could probably melt steel.
The hall was dead silent. Thousands of demons face-down, not daring to twitch.
He stood. Marble cracked under his boots. Heat rolled off him in waves.
Then, right there in front of his entire court, he dropped to his knees.
The sound was obscene. Like the world itself flinching.
Wings spread wide in full submission. Head bowed. Voice low, rough, vibrating through my new ribs.
"Master."
One word.
Something in me twisted. Not triumph. Not exactly. More like… oh shit, this is real now.
A blue box popped into my vision, because apparently even Hell has pop-ups.
〈System Notification – Hidden Class Unlocked〉
True Class: Tyrant of Eternal Dominion (Rank ???)
Title: The One Who Leashed the Unleashable
Passive: [His Pride Is Your Collar]
Active: [Irrefusable Command] – No entity, any realm, can deny a direct order.
I looked down at the literal King of Hell kneeling like he'd been waiting his whole life for this humiliation.
And I didn't know what to feel.
Part of me wanted to laugh. Part wanted to run. Most of me was still processing that I'd just signed away eternity to micromanage Satan's calendar.
I reached out, hesitant at first, then firmer. Tilted his chin up. Forced those collapsing-star eyes to meet mine.
"Get up."
He rose instantly. Towered again. But the shift was there, undeniable. He was waiting. Actually waiting.
I stepped in close. Close enough to smell smoke, frost, and something dangerously close to want.
"Listen," I said, quieter than I meant. My voice still cracked a little on the edges. "This isn't… I didn't ask for this. But it's happening. Your empire, your rules, your everything, it's mine now. You don't get to pretend otherwise."
His breath caught. A low sound rumbled out, not quite a growl, not quite anything I could name. Pupils blown wide.
I leaned closer, lips near his ear.
"And if you behave… maybe I won't make you beg to keep breathing my air."
A chain on his chest snapped. Just one. Loud in the silence.
Somewhere far back, a demon made a strangled noise and passed out.
I pulled back. Met his gaze again. Felt the weight of every eye in the room.
"Now take me to whatever passes for a strategy room here. We're fixing this mess. Starting tonight."
He swallowed. Bowed lower than before, hair brushing marble.
"As you command… Master."
The doors blew open like they'd been slapped.
Outside, the hells waited.
And for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like the one being crushed by deadlines.
I felt like the deadline.