"What...? How can you be here?"
Dirga’s voice cracked with disbelief as he stared at the figure in his doorway.
There stood Sasa — tall and lean, wrapped in a crimson suit far too pristine for Earth, and topped with that eerie, grinning rabbit head. Its glassy black eyes reflected no light, yet seed to see everything.
"Like I said," Sasa replied cheerfully, voice light as air. "Three days. We et again. So—is it settled? Mind letting in?"
Dirga hesitated only a second longer, then stepped aside with a sigh.
There was no point resisting. For a devil like Sasa, this penthouse was just another piece in a cosmic ga.
The mont the door shut, Sasa strutted in — not walked, strutted — like a noble on stage. He spun once, arms wide, and flung himself onto Dirga’s expensive leather sofa with a dramatic groan of delight.
"Mmm, what a nice sofa. Has it really been that long since I set foot on Earth? Ugh—this head is always in the way..."
Then — without warning — Sasa reached up and peeled off the rabbit head.
Dirga’s eyes widened in horror.
"What the hell—?"
It wasn’t a mask. Not a costu.
It opened — like the world itself bent around the act.
Beneath the head was the face of a man — or sothing that wore a man’s skin like a disguise.
Salt-white hair curled back above a sharp widow’s peak. His face was lined, worn by ti, but not ancient — maybe late forties, with an odd warmth to him. His eyes, though, told a different story.
Not monstrous.
Not grotesque.
Just... wrong.
Like sothing pretending to be human, and doing a disturbingly good job.
"Ahhh... now that’s better."
He stretched his neck, bones cracking audibly.
With a flick of his fingers, a bottle of aged red wine floated from the cabinet. It hovered midair, popped its own cork, and poured into a single glass — which then floated smoothly into Sasa’s waiting hand.
"You’ve got good taste, Patron."
He took a long, satisfied sip.
"This is... divine."
Dirga stared, trying to piece together the chaos.
"What the hell is this? Why—what are you doing here?"
Sasa didn’t answer imdiately.
He tilted the glass, watching the wine swirl. Then he looked up with that signature half-smile.
"Focus, Dirga. We’ve got work to do."
Dirga blinked.
"Work?"
"Training."
Another sip.
"You’ve stepped onto the board, Patron. It’s ti you learned how to play the ga."
"Training."
Another sip.
"You’ve stepped onto the board, Patron. It’s ti you learned how to play the ga."
Dirga frowned, taking a step forward.
"Training? What are you talking about?"
Sasa leaned back on the couch, legs crossed, wine glass cradled in his palm like a relic.
"In our last eting, you told what you wanted — to save Naya. Since you’re now officially my Patron..." he smirked, "...you’ll be competing in a tournant."
Dirga’s brow furrowed. "What kind of tournant? What does that even have to do with Naya?!"
His voice rose — frustration cracking through his carefully held calm.
Sasa didn’t blink.
He set the wine down, his voice sharpening.
"Because Naya’s soul has been marked. That Hell Flower you saw? It isn’t just an affliction — it’s a brand. The Devil King himself has claid her. And claims like that..."
His smile faded.
"...aren’t easily removed."
Dirga stared, speechless.
"You want to save her? Then we have to replace the claim. And to do that — I need to rise."
"Rise?"
Sasa stood now, pacing slowly in front of the window as twilight swallowed the skyline.
"The devils are not equals, Dirga. We’re ranked. Structured. We play by rules — even if we’re the ones who made them."
His voice dropped lower.
"At the top: The Devil King."
"Below him, the Four Apocalypses — the Judgnt Bringers. Famine. War. Pestilence. Death."
"Below them: The Thirteen naces — generals of sin, each ruling a domain: Lust. Fear. Envy. Despair. Pride. And so on."
"Then, the 52 Devils. Us."
He tapped his own chest. "The ones who bargain. Who bet. Who twist."
Dirga’s fists clenched at his sides.
"So what are you among them?"
Sasa smiled again — wide, proud.
"I’m part of the 52. Technically. But more importantly..."
He raised one eyebrow.
"I’m the Black Joker."
Dirga’s brow furrowed. "That sounds like a joke."
"It is," Sasa said, teeth glinting. "A very dangerous one."
He waved a hand, and a black playing card appeared midair — floating and spinning slowly, its edges glinting with infernal red.
"Hell’s structure is modeled after a deck of cards. Four suits: Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, Spades. Each suit has ranks from Two to Ace."
The air shimred as ghostly figures flickered into view — silhouettes of devils seated on twisted thrones, each glowing with their own color-coded power.
"The 52 Devils are modeled after a deck of cards. Four suits: Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, Spades. Ranks from Two to Ace. The higher the card, the stronger the devil. Aces are near the top. Kings are forces of chaos. Queens and Jacks are nightmares made elegant. The rest... monsters in various degrees."
He flipped the card once — and it vanished in a puff of dark smoke.
The card turned again — then split in two.
A red Joker. A black one.
"And then there are us. The Jokers. We don’t belong to any suit. We’re outside the hierarchy, yet above it in function. Enforcers. Arbitrators. Wild cards. We intervene when the suits break rules or tear too many holes in reality."
Dirga stepped closer.
"So you’re more powerful than most, but still not able to challenge the big ones?"
Sasa sighed. "Power doesn’t always equal permission. Even Jokers have red tape."
He let the card burn to ash between his fingers.
"To challenge a nace — one of the Thirteen — I need to prove legitimacy. That ans earning support. But unlike the suit-bound devils, I don’t need to climb the ladder. I just need to et one of the four requirents."
He held up four fingers.
"I can challenge a nace if I..."
"Get the backing of two Aces — any suit.""Or four Kings.""Or six Jacks or Queens.""Or the full consensus of every Number in a single suit."
"Just one of those paths is enough for a Joker like to legally initiate a challenge."
Dirga scowled. "So it’s politics. Even in Hell."
"Everything is politics," Sasa replied.
"Especially where souls are the currency."
He poured himself another glass.
"Now, here’s where it matters for you."
He took a sip.
"I made a wager."
Dirga’s gaze sharpened. "What kind of wager?"
"That my Patron — you — would win the upcoming tournant."
"If you win, one of the Aces will officially endorse . That’s one piece of the puzzle. With that, I’ll only need one more supporter to challenge a nace."
Dirga stepped back, the weight of the mont settling over him like cold water.
"And if I win... you can actually challenge a nace?"
Sasa set his glass down and turned to face him directly.
No jokes. No smirks.
"You win — I rise."
"I rise — I Challenge."
"I win — Naya’s Live."
Dirga swallowed.
Then asked the question that had been burning in him since the na "nace" was first spoken.
"And can you win?"
Sasa’s eyes flashed red — a slow-burning ember in the dark.
"Oh, Dirga..."
His voice went low. Heavy.
"The naces are children trying on their father’s crown."
"I’ve been breaking monsters long before they were born."
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