The Contract That Burned My Soul (and His Pride)
I died on a Thursday.
Nothing dramatic. No explosion, no betrayal, no last-minute confession under the rain. Just me, face-planting into a cold keyboard at 3:14 a.m. while the quarterly report mocked me in 12-point Calibri. Heart stopped. Screen went black. End of story.
Or so I thought.
Then came the fire.
Not metaphorical fire. Actual, roaring, soul-melting hellfire that wrapped around my naked consciousness like a lover who wanted to kill me. I screamed, or tried to; there was no mouth, no lungs, just pure agony as I burned for what felt like centuries.
A voice cut through the inferno, cold as the void between stars.
"Tanaka Akira. Twenty-nine. Died of overwork. Soul integrity: 99.8%. Perfect."
The flames vanished as suddenly as they came. I found myself kneeling (naked) on a floor of polished human bones, in a circular chamber lit by nine floating suns of black fire. In front of me stood a woman made of contracts. Literally. Her skin was parchment, her hair was ink that dripped upward, her eyes were glowing red seals.
She flicked a finger. A single sheet of paper the color of arterial blood appeared in the air between us.
"Sign," she said. "Or burn forever. Your choice."
I tried to speak. My throat was ash.
The contract floated closer. I could read it even without eyes.
POSITION: Exclusive Director of the Demon King's Personal Affairs
REPORTING TO: Beelzebub IX, Sovereign of the Nine Hells, Devourer of Light
TERM: Eternal
COMPENSATION: Absolute authority over his empire, his army, and his body
SPECIAL CLAUSE: He will never refuse your command. Never.
My soul went very, very still.
The woman smiled with teeth made of broken quills.
"He's been waiting three thousand years for someone ruthless enough to own him completely. Congratulations. You're the first soul cruel enough to qualify."
Before I could think, before I could hesitate, invisible hands forced my finger forward. Blood (my blood) welled from nowhere and signed my name in perfect kanji.
The contract ignited.
And the world shattered.
I landed hard on black marble that drank the impact like it was thirsty. My body was back, but not the old one. This one was taller, sharper, wrapped in a suit woven from midnight and screams. Power thrummed under my skin like I'd swallowed a supernova.
In front of me stood the throne.
And on it, him.
Beelzebub IX was not beautiful. Beautiful was too small a word.
He was catastrophe poured into muscle and bone. Two-twenty centimeters of raw dominance. Silver-white hair cascading like molten metal. Skin pale as moonlight on fresh snow. Massive black wings arched high, each feather edged in living flame. Horns curved like executioner's blades. And his eyes, twin collapsing stars of molten crimson, locked on me with predatory focus.
He wore only darkness and gold chains across his bare chest, every link forged from the crowns of dead gods.
The entire hall was silent. Thousands of high demons knelt, foreheads pressed to the floor. None dared breathe.
The Demon King rose slowly.
Each step toward me cracked the marble. The temperature skyrocketed. My new suit should have incinerated. It didn't.
He stopped one inch away. Close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off his skin, smell smoke and winter and raw, impossible power.
Then, in front of his entire empire, the Sovereign of Hell dropped to both knees.
The sound of it echoed like the end of the world.
He bowed his head, wings spreading wide in total submission, and spoke in a voice that made my bones vibrate.
"Master."
One word. Just one.
But it broke something inside me and rebuilt it into something darker.
A blue screen exploded across my vision, larger than ever before.
〈System Notification – Hidden Class Awakened〉
True Class: Tyrant of Eternal Dominion (??? Rank)
Title: The One Who Collared the Uncollared King
Passive Skill: [His Heart Is Now Your Leash]
Active Skill: [Command the Uncommandable] – No being in any realm can refuse your direct order. Ever.
I stared down at the most powerful creature in existence kneeling at my feet, waiting.
And I smiled.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
I reached out, gripped his chin, and forced those burning eyes to meet mine.
"Stand up, Beelzebub."
He rose instantly, towering over me again, but the dynamic had shifted forever.
I stepped closer until our chests almost touched. His wings trembled.
"From this moment forward," I said, voice low enough that only he could hear, "you belong to me. Your empire. Your power. Your pride. All of it."
His pupils dilated. A low, involuntary growl rumbled in his chest, half rage, half something else entirely.
I leaned in until my lips brushed the shell of his ear.
"And if you're very, very good… I might let you keep your name."
His breath hitched. The chains across his chest snapped one by one, unable to withstand the tension.
Somewhere in the distance, an archdemon fainted.
I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again.
"Now," I said, rolling up my sleeves, "take me to your war room. We're rewriting every law in this realm tonight."
He swallowed once, hard, then bowed so low his hair swept the floor.
"As you wish… Master."
The throne room doors blasted open on their own.
Outside, the nine hells themselves seemed to hold their breath.
Because the King had finally been claimed.
And his new owner hadn't even finished his first day on the job.