After the words left my mouth, I realized—it wasn’t so hard. Just a sentence, that was all.
Lucifer turned to look at me. “In a bad mood today?”
I shook my head.
He took my hand, trying to pull me up. “It’s late. Let’s go bathe.”
I pulled my hand back. “Lucifer, let’s break up.”
“Why?”
“I’m tired of this.”
Lucifer froze, silent.
“That’s it. I’m leaving.” I turned around quickly. I couldn’t bear to face him. If I had to give him up, had to hurt him, had to make him hate me, I might as well have stabbed myself to death.
Lucifer let out a slow breath. “No two people can stay new to each other every moment. We could try talking things through, couldn’t we?”
“I don’t want to fix it. I want someone else.”
“There’s a limit to being willful.”
The words caught in my chest, suffocating me. My own voice echoed in my ears, hollow and strange: “I’m not being willful. A relationship needs feeling to go on. I don’t feel it anymore… my head is perfectly clear right now.”
Lucifer said nothing.
I walked away.
And he didn’t follow. He let me go. I thought that would be the end of it and spent a whole night and day in frustration. But the next afternoon, I ran into him downstairs. He acted like nothing had happened, said he wanted to take me out for something delicious. With him being so casual about it, I couldn’t bring myself to mention the breakup again, so I went with him to the restaurant. But at the table, I didn’t say a word. Whatever he said, I just mumbled half-hearted replies, never more than three syllables at a time. The meal was awkward. Afterward, I went home.
It went on like that for four or five days. Lucifer didn’t try to touch me again. Every night after he left, I’d lie awake, too frustrated to sleep, then get up and practice swordsmanship until I’d hacked down half the trees in the yard, only to be a mess myself the next morning. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. When he came by again, I crossed my arms and blurted out, “Do you not get what I said?”
“We’ve only been together for such a short time, and you want to dump me already?”
“If you think this hurts your pride as Vice Regent, I’ll let you be the one to dump me. After all, I’ve been rejected so many times after confessing to you. What’s one more?”
“So you do remember how many times you confessed to me? Then why break up now?”
“Maybe because I expected too much, and now I’m too disappointed. Since we’ve been together, I’ve realized you’re not really all that.”
Lucifer’s face darkened. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not as good as I thought. Or maybe I never liked you at all. Maybe I just couldn’t stand that I didn’t have you.”
Lucifer stared at me for a long time, his expression unreadable. “Tell me. What have I done wrong?”
“It’s precisely because you do everything too well. Being with you is like romancing an empty shell. You have no flaws, so perfect it’s as if you have no soul.” I shrugged. “Your Highness, you can blame me, Isa— no, blame Michael for being a whore—but the truth is, I really am tired of this.”
As I spoke, Lucifer grew paler and paler, his lips losing all color. I sighed.
“Let’s part on good terms, alright?”
I turned to leave—but he caught my wrist.
I stared out at the distant grass, my teeth clenched.
“Let go.”
Lucifer had always been courteous, never forcing anyone into anything. This time was no different.
He let go.
Looking back on that moment in my later years, I always wondered: did Lucifer’s flaws emerge because I’d never truly known him? Or was it because my words back then changed him? But I was sure of one thing: I was thankful that in that moment, he let go. Because if he’d held on for even a second longer, it would have been me who couldn’t let go.
Maybe it was the Creator’s cruel joke.
From that instant, happiness became something extravagant. The points where our fates crossed were few and far between, and whenever we saw each other’s faces, we tormented one another; whenever we saw each other’s backs, we tormented ourselves.
…………
The next morning, I stood before the mirror for a long time, reflecting on myself. Had I ever truly loved Lucifer? All I felt was a dull sense of gloom, nothing more.
I went to class at the Seventh, practiced swordplay, rehearsed. Aside from the occasional stray thought of him, I didn’t feel sad.
And so it went: the third day, the fourth day—it was just this mild gloom, bearable. Nothing like the heartbreak I’d imagined.
On the fifth day, no classes. I was bored at home and dug out Celestial History to pass the time. Seeing that elegant script reminded me of Lucifer when he tutored me, always seated at his marble desk, looking up now and then to smile at me…
By the sixth day, I was so distracted during sword practice I nearly struck the wrong person, earning startled gasps all around. Back at home, I shoved Celestial History under a heavy trunk. While tidying my bed, I found something, then hastily stuffed it away again— pale yellow pajamas.
On the seventh day, I paused at the academy gates, staring at a pillar for a long while before fleeing like a man running for his life. Even the white roses along the road seemed the most blinding of things.
In the end, I couldn’t help myself. I pulled out Celestial History, flipping at lightning speed to that page, and stared at that ancient illustration. The soft smile on his face left me in a daze and I stayed that way all night.
The eighth day was the most miserable yet. I awoke from a dream of sweet intimacy with Lucifer, only to see the sullen sky outside, and those memories of being close to him crashed over me like a tidal wave. A single week had felt like a century.
I pushed the window open for air, only to freeze there. Someone was standing below, looking up at me.
I yanked the curtain shut, leaned against the window, heart pounding wildly. Half-dressed, I bolted for the door, nearly tripping over the stairs in my rush.
But at the threshold, I stopped short.
If I opened this door, everything would fall apart.
Breath ragged, I stood staring at the door, dazed again.
The shadow beneath it shifted; he seemed to step closer. And then his voice came through, low, right at the door:
“I know you’re in there.”
I trembled, hand finally reaching the button on the door. A wash of light rose slowly from the bottom up, turning the door translucent. Like a peephole, it let me see him, but kept me hidden from view.
Lucifer stood right before me.
His cheeks were gaunt, his voice slightly hoarse.
“I know that coming to you now probably makes me look like I have no dignity left. You must be disappointed in me again.”
I looked at him, saying nothing.
Lucifer slowly pressed his palm against the door. His ice-blue eyes had lost their light.
“I also know… this isn’t the time for sweet words. But just when I’ve finally decided to let go of the past, to face how I truly feel… you’ve let go instead.”
I couldn’t understand what he meant. I simply placed my own hand on the door, aligning it with his through the cold, invisible barrier, and with a voice even I couldn’t hear, my lips moved:
“Lucifer.”
He couldn’t see me. His head lowered, his forehead resting weakly against the door.
“Come back to me… please?”
I gazed at his face, so close yet unreachable. Quietly, I leaned my forehead against the door, no sound escaping me.
Lucifer whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”
Seeing him like that, so heartbroken, I still couldn’t do anything. I only closed my eyes in despair, my lips barely moving:
“…Lucifer.”
…………
In the days that followed, Lucifer didn’t come to see me again. My life grew bleaker with each passing day.
One night, Metatron once again broke in through my window, full of flair as he swept back his hair.
“Darling, don’t forget—we’re heading to Parnor for research tomorrow.”
I froze like a terracotta soldier.
“Ah… I forgot.”
Metatron pulled over a chair and sat down.
“I knew you would. That’s why I came to remind you. What’s with you these days? Lost in some lover’s paradise, vanished without a trace?”
“I’m done with Lucifer.”
“Exactly—think about it, you two have only been together for such a short amount of time. There’s years ahead for all that kissing and cuddling…” He stopped mid-sentence. “What? You two broke up? Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine, I won’t ask. But listen to me, alright? Don’t worry. Us men are born to conquer beautiful women. So what if you’re not with Lucifer? You can still have a dozen ladies.”
I laughed. “Looks like I’ll be hanging around you more these days. Can you help me out?”
Metatron blinked.
“You dumped him?”
“I don’t have any ulterior motives toward you.”
He looked at me mournfully. “No need to be so cruel, you know. Using me as a shield and then stressing you’ve got no other intentions. I, on the other hand, do have other intentions.”
“I—”
Metatron clapped his hands together.
“But of course I’ll help. I’ll play your babysitter, escort you to school every day. Happy now?”
“Sure, if you’re willing, I’d be grateful. But I don’t have enough to pay you.”
Metatron stroked his chin, his smile suddenly philosophical.
“Even without money, you can offer… other forms of compensation.”
“Say that again and I’ll deck you.”
The next day, I met up with Metatron, Gabriel, Raphael, Iophiel, and a group of angels outside Shima. Together we headed to Parnor to shop for props.
The carriage rolled through layers of clouds, treading on cotton-like fluff, and reached the outskirts of Parnor in the Third Heaven, stopping beyond a field of sunflowers.
The scene was pure blue sky, white clouds, golden petals, and green leaves. The sunflower heads glowed, their seeds plump and fresh. I reached out to pluck a few to snack on, but Metatron swatted my hand. “These belong to someone, you little thief.”
I was just about to ignore what he said when I heard Raphael chime in: “Those aren’t ripe yet. You’ll get the runs if you eat them.” I was so startled I immediately tossed the seeds aside.
There were plenty of little houses scattered across the outskirts, each one like a mushroom with a red roof and white walls, and a brown chimney poking out the top. The yards had neat, round bushes and short fences, beyond which spread fields of sunflowers glowing like golden sunlight. Red, yellow, green, white. Everything was bright and vivid. From afar, you could already hear the hawkers calling out from Parnor.
The city gate of Parnor was held up by tall red columns, framing the view like a picture for those outside.
Inside the city, the streets were narrow and the buildings tall, making everything feel especially cramped. Any bit of open space was filled with countless tiny shops. At first glance, these shops looked like big red boxes lined up in a row, with fresh green vines trailing down from the roof. In the middle was a window propped open, revealing merchants with cheerful faces. In dimmer corners, candles flickered inside the boxes, casting a soft yellow glow, like a scene from a fairy tale.
Raphael explained that when the shops closed up for the day, the owners would step out and wheel the boxes home like carts. And Metatron helpfully added, “So if you see one of these shops, don’t go mistaking it for a trash bin and toss something in. You might end up bonking someone on the head. Aha.”
The angels of the Third Heaven really were different from those above. They weren’t haughty or aloof. They chirped and chattered, filling the streets with life. We folded our wings and joined the crowd. When the crush of people got too much, we had no choice but to take to the air. But don’t think flying made things easier—if some shopkeeper suddenly bellowed, “Final clearance! First come, first served!” you’d probably get so jumpscared you’d fall right out of the sky.
The most famous shopping street in Heaven was Floren Street in Sancta Faylia, the notorious black street where, legend said, even a bowl of noodles could bankrupt a Dominion. Second was this place, famed for its crowds, massive trade volume, and unbeatable haggling.
I glanced at Metatron’s outfit, which must’ve cost 275 gold per square centimeter, then looked him in the eyes. “Don’t you guys usually shop high-end? What are you doing here?”
Metatron helplessly shrugged and glanced at Iophiel. Iophiel cleared his throat and looked at Raphael. Raphael shook his head and pointed at Gabriel. Gabriel’s eyes were shining as she turned back to us with a graceful smile, stepping elegantly to a shop window. She pulled out a pair of earrings and asked sweetly, “How much are these?”
The shopkeeper was so dazzled by her beauty he could barely speak. “Three silver, seven copper.”
“I don’t have that much. Thanks anyway.” Gabriel sighed softly.
“Hey, miss, name your price!”
Gabriel raised two fingers.
The shopkeeper handed over the earrings. “Fine, fine—two silver, done deal.”
Gabriel shook her finger, pulled out two copper coins. “This.”
The shopkeeper gasped. “Oh heavens! You might as well ask me to give them to you for free!”
Gabriel weighed the earrings in her hand. “They’re fake.”
“No way! Our boss dug those up himself in Snowmoon Forest!”
“If they’re real, they should be even cheaper.”
“What? How’s that—”
“Real ones you just dig up. Fakes you have to make, right?”
The shopkeeper was speechless.
“Two copper. Final offer. Take it or leave it.”
He waved her off. “Forget it. Not worth the loss.” But on her third step away, he broke down. “Alright, alright! Come back—argh, I’m losing my shirt!”
Gabriel smirked, though she turned back with reluctant grace, handing over the coins like she was parting with her heart. She held up the earrings to us with a sly little wave.
My jaw nearly hit the ground.
Gabriel—my beautiful, noble, elegant Gabriel…
Metatron glanced at Iophiel, Iophiel glanced at Raphael, Raphael glanced at me, and the four of us sighed in unison. The angels behind us all chimed in with their own sigh, a grand chorus of collective despair.
…………
So it turned out today’s mission was to accompany Queen Gabriel on a shopping spree. As for the props, they had already been handed off to someone else. Metatron explained that Gabriel had this strange quirk: she loved showing off her bargaining skills to an audience, so if no one watched, she’d actually get mad.
And so, we ended up pacing that street no less than ten times, with Gabriel shopping and haggling at every stall.
Before long, Metatron took the lead, playing the gentleman as he stepped up to help carry Gabriel’s bags. Then it was me, Iophiel, and Raphael in turn. By the time we were all loaded down like walking coat racks, and couldn’t possibly hold another thing, Gabriel just flicked her fingers and got others to help haul the rest.
At last freed from our revolutionary struggle, we found a tavern to enjoy some good old-fashioned manly time.
Business at the tavern was booming. Some angels were already deep into drinking contests, loudly calling for challengers. I’d always been pretty confident in my drinking, and I was just about to volunteer when Metatron tugged at my sleeve. “Everyone here can down three pitchers of infernal beer.”
“Three pitchers? That’s nothing.”
Iophiel grabbed my arm too. “You don’t get it. Demonic physiology is in a whole other league. We might have longer lives, but when it comes to stamina, strength, or drinking—they’ve got us beat. And their brews are off the charts. Three pitchers of that is like thirty of ours. Lord Michael, don’t put yourself through that.”
He even switched to calling me “Lord Michael”, which startled me. “Seriously? Alright, I’ll spare myself the humiliation.”
Then Raphael stood up with that serene smile of his. “I’ll go.”
He set down what he was holding, smoothed his collar, and walked over with stately grace. He placed a pouch of gold on the table.
Everyone leaned in for a look, then froze.
“We don’t want to cheat Your Highness out of your money,” one of the participants said hesitantly.
“Hey, money’s down. No backing out now!” another snapped, sweeping up the pouch.
Raphael didn’t so much as blink. “Drinking beer would take too long. I suggest Kriya white liquor. Win or lose, I’ll cover the tab.”
The group stared, stunned.
Raphael didn’t look like someone who could handle his liquor. Could he be hiding something? I whispered, “Is he going to be okay?”
Iophiel looked uneasy. Metatron raised his brows and shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Should we stop him?” Iophiel asked anxiously.
Metatron didn’t reply.
“Is Raphael’s drinking that bad?” I asked.
“If you call him a heavy drinker,” Metatron said dryly, “then you’d be considered a bottomless pit.”
Iophiel gave a wry smile. “In Heaven, there are two who are famous for never showing a hint of drunkenness. One’s Lord Lucifer. He drinks white liquor like it’s water. The other is Lord Raphael. He drinks beer like it’s white liquor.”
I gaped. “So what’s he doing now?”
Iophiel sighed. “Lord Raphael is a notorious drunkard. The kind who gets wasted on a single sip, and stays wasted so long no one realizes he’s drunk.”
Metatron added coolly, “And back before he became an Archangel, he’d pull stunts like this to scam money. Seems old habits die hard. Getting Raphael to stop scamming would be harder than getting little Michael here to stop being violent.”
I glared at him. “I’m violent?!”
Metatron laughed. “No, no. My bad, alright?”
The rowdy shouting continued to ring out as one challenger after another collapsed in front of Raphael. He just kept pouring what looked like plain water, drinking it down.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell at all that Raphael was drunk. His pouring got faster, his drinking quicker, and he actually seemed more clear-headed the more he drank. The crowd watching had more than doubled, and Raphael sat there as steady as a mountain.
Our group fell into silence.
Metatron glanced at him, stretched lazily with his hands behind his neck. “Little Michael, what time’s your class tomorrow?”
“Nine in the morning… You think Raphael’s gonna be okay?”
“No problem. I’ll come get you.” Then, without warning, Metatron stood, walked straight over to Raphael, and took the cup from his hand. “That’s enough. You’ve won. Let’s go.”
Raphael stood up all soft and pliant, completely forgetting his winnings, and followed Metatron back toward us, looking perfectly normal.
He even smiled at me. “Gabriel, would you like a drink too?”
Okay, now I was convinced he was drunk.
Metatron sighed. “Iophiel, he’s totally out of it. Take him home.”
Iophiel jumped up, ready to help him. But Raphael suddenly grabbed the corner of Metatron’s robe. “I’m not drunk, Lord Metatron.”
Metatron humored him. “Alright, alright, you’re not drunk. Let’s go home.”
Raphael persisted, voice soft. “I already returned the Tree of Life to you.”
“I know.”
“Then why… why does Michael get Lord Lucifer… with the same past as mine…”
Metatron said nothing.
“Tell me.”
Metatron’s face stayed blank. “Don’t lump yourself in with Michael. You’ve done many things he hasn’t.”
Raphael smiled faintly. “I see what you mean. And… you and Lord Lucifer really are different.”
Metatron raised a brow. “Of course.”
“Lord Lucifer looks cold on the outside… but he can still be moved. Even a block of ice will melt eventually. Metatron , you—your heart’s frozen solid.”
Metatron waved him off. “My liver’s cold, not my heart. Aha. Iophiel, take him home.”
Raphael finally let go, didn’t even need support, and, dignified as ever, started marching toward the ladies’ restroom. Iophiel grabbed him in a panic and flew him back toward the Seventh Heaven.
Metatron clapped me on the shoulder. “Little Michael, it’s just the two of us now. Shall we go do that?”
“Here?! Are you insane?!”
“Your place then?”
“I’m not playing around with you.”
Metatron put on a serious face. “Gabriel’s probably going to shop till tonight, no doubt about it. Why don’t I walk you home, keep you company for a bit, maybe…”
“Home. Just going home. That’s it!”
Metatron gave me the longest “you’re no fun” look imaginable.
Once we returned the snowy-white residential district, I glanced at my place from afar and, seeing no one around, finally relaxed. I drifted down to my door and started unlocking it.
Metatron leaned against the wall and winked at me playfully. “Aren’t you going to invite me in for a bit?”
“Does not inviting you mean you won’t come in?”
“Of course I’ll come in.”
“Then why bother asking?”
Metatron started getting handsy again. That’s when I heard a noise from behind the wall to the left.
Carefully, I crept over and peeked around… and spotted someone standing there. The figure wore horn-shaped earrings, looking a little wild. The earrings swayed as he seemed to be tugging at something.
Then I heard Azazel’s voice: “Your Highness, please let go.”
I shifted for a better view and finally saw what he was tugging.
Azazel had Ruthfel by his little calves, trying to drag him away, but Ruthfel clung to the railing with both hands, his face so stubborn it looked like he was ready to wrestle an ox for dinner.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
