A dozen hours ago, 8:00 PM local time, light rain pattering outside the Devil May Cry office.
The lights were already off, way earlier than usual. The faint glow of streetlamps slipped through the narrow window, barely illuminating a figure slouched in a chair, legs propped up on the desk, motionless—probably asleep.
The shrill ring-ring-ring of the office phone shattered the silence. The man stirred, lazily tossing aside the magazine covering his face. With a half-hearted kick, he sent an empty pizza box sliding off the desk, then hooked the phone receiver with his foot, snatching it up.
"Devil May Cry~" he drawled into the mouthpiece, voice dripping with his usual cocky charm.
This was a mercenary who made his living hunting demons, hands-down the best demon hunter on the planet. Pity he was also a total slacker. Unless a job caught his fancy, he'd let himself starve before bothering to take the next gig.
His fees matched his skill—sky-high—which meant that despite the office's reputation, folks rarely came knocking unless they were desperate.
"Oh, Dante, don't tell me you're sleeping again? What time is it over there?"
The voice on the other end belonged to someone Dante knew all too well, nagging him like an overbearing mom. Squinting at the clock on the wall, he shifted slightly—legs still propped up—and said, "Trish? I'm the one who should be asking. Isn't it, like, pre-dawn where you are?"
"Yeah, and I'm swamped."
Trish's voice crackled through the receiver. "But I found something on this island you're definitely gonna care about. Wanna hear it?"
"Me?" Dante chuckled. "Lemme guess—another world-domination plot with a poor, innocent damsel caught in the middle?"
"Close enough," Trish replied.
Dante leaned back, grinning. "C'mon, Trish. This kinda thing—"
"Don't hang up just yet," she cut in, her tone playful but knowing. "I sent something to your fax machine. Take a look."
"Fax?"
Dante raised an eyebrow, not quite sure why Trish was making such a big deal out of this. He set the receiver down, rolled out of his mahogany chair, and fumbled in the dark to flip on the fax machine in the corner. A single sheet slowly churned out.
Grabbing it, he stepped into the dim light by the window.
His expression shifted, turning… weird.
He flicked on the office light, strode back to the desk, and leaned against it, picking up the phone again. "This is…?"
"What do you think it is?" Trish countered.
Dante twirled the black-and-white photo from the fax in his hand. "Your latest selfie? Gotta say, you went overboard with the filters."
"Any other thoughts?"
"Not really your style to play the cutesy type…"
He trailed off, his brow furrowing deeper.
Then it hit him. Trish had disguised herself to infiltrate some organization on that island—she wasn't in her usual look. And the chest in this photo… no matter how he squinted, it wasn't hers.
"Hey, Trish," he said, his voice dropping low.
"Yeah?"
"Tell me this is you."
"And if I say it's not?"
"Damn it!"
Dante's grip tightened, crumpling the edges of the photo. "Those bastards—"
"Hold off on the rage for a sec and let me finish," Trish said calmly.
Dante took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Talk."
"I only found out today. Yamato's on this island."
"I'm booking a flight," Dante said without missing a beat.
Trish sighed. "Seriously, let me finish."
"There's more?" Dante asked, genuinely surprised.
"The girl in the photo? She's got a connection to Yamato."
Dante froze, like he'd been turned to stone.
"I did some digging," Trish went on. "The Yamato that ended up on this island was in pieces, completely unusable, and nobody could get a reaction out of it. Until she came along."
Dante snapped out of it, gently setting the photo on the desk. "You've met her?"
"Who do you think took the picture?" Trish said, as if it were obvious.
Dante smirked, running a hand through his bangs. "Yeah, figured. That outfit's totally your style."
He paused, then asked, "So… what's your take?"
"Probably what you're thinking."
"Whew."
Dante shook his head, his tone lightening a bit. "Guess that guy was more of a softie than we thought."
"You could just say 'ladies' man,'" Trish teased. "Our little beauty's an orphanage kid, by the way."
"Oh, that's rough," Dante said with a chuckle. "Alright, I'm heading out. Anything else you're holding back?"
"Nope, that's all the juicy stuff. Oh, wait—one more thing."
"What now?"
"You probably didn't notice, but I borrowed a few of your 'cute little toys' from the office. They're currently stuffed inside a Hell Gate."
"…" Dante's face was a mix of disbelief and resignation. Trish was his longtime partner, so he couldn't exactly complain about her swiping his gear. "Fine, whatever. But a Hell Gate?"
"A fake one. It can still connect to the demon world, though. There's a real one too, but you know it's sealed tight."
"Got it. Anything else?"
"Sparda's sword is in the hands of their Pope."
"…You're kidding."
Trish's voice stayed calm. "Had to figure out what they're up to, right?"
"Fair enough. No big deal—I'll just take it back. What do they want with it?"
"Oh, that brings us back to our little beauty," Trish said, her tone teasing. "She's the one who gave me the final piece of the puzzle. This group, calling themselves the 'Order of the Sword,' used demon power to build something big. They call it the 'Savior.'"
Dante groaned. "Why do these villains always lack originality?"
"Right? But here's the kicker: the Order worships Sparda as a god, and the Savior's core needs someone with Sparda's blood."
"So they're screwed forever… wait."
Dante caught the implication. Sparda's blood—
"You get it now?" Trish said. "We're out of luck. There just happens to be someone with Sparda's blood on this island. And now you know why they need Sparda's sword."
"Then we'd better move fast," Dante said, stepping away from the desk and stretching.
"Exactly. They're one step away from pulling this off. If we don't stop them soon, things could get messy."
"Messy's never been a problem for me," Dante quipped. "But you're right—I need to haul ass."
He hung up, grabbed his trusty greatsword Rebellion, and strode out into the rainy city.