The rain had softened to a drizzle by the time Azrael left the ruined street.
Neon reflections shimmered in the puddles at his feet, each light fractured like the pieces of his broken divinity. He walked with no destination — silent, barefoot, and wrapped in a borrowed coat he'd found hanging over a rusted fence.
Humans walked past him without noticing the faint glow under his skin. Their eyes slid over him, unable to comprehend what he was.
The System dimmed his aura to "civilian-safe mode."
> [ Aura suppression active. Visibility — normal. ]
[ Note: Your appearance is still statistically "unusual." ]
"…You're saying I look strange."
> [ Affirmative. ]
He sighed softly, his voice nearly lost to the city wind. "So I must disguise myself as one of them."
> [ That would be advisable. ]
---
He wandered through a commercial district until the scent of fried food caught his attention.
Steam curled from a small street stand — an old man cooking noodles beneath a plastic tarp.
Azrael stood there, silently watching the swirling broth, the sound of sizzling oil, the rhythm of the man's motions.
The old man finally noticed him and blinked.
"You buying or staring, boy?"
Azrael tilted his head. "Buying… requires 'currency.' I have none."
The old man frowned. "Then move along before you scare off paying customers."
Azrael didn't move. His silver eyes watched the pot like it held the secrets of creation. "What is that scent?"
The man sighed. "Chicken ramen. You really from out of town?"
Azrael thought for a moment. "Out of… heaven."
The old man blinked. "Heh. College kid, huh? Everyone's from 'heaven' after midnight."
He shoved a steaming bowl toward him. "Here. On the house. You look like you need it."
Azrael accepted the bowl carefully, as if it were sacred.
He tasted it — and the world exploded.
"…Salt… warmth… flavor… existence," he whispered.
The old man raised a brow. "You okay there, philosopher?"
Azrael's eyes widened. "This is divine."
The man chuckled. "That's just cheap broth and MSG, kid."
For the first time since the fall, Azrael laughed — softly, awkwardly, but genuinely.
It startled even him.
---
Later that night, he wandered again, following a map the System projected above his wrist.
> [ Objective: Secure Shelter. ]
[ Local Housing Data: 27 options available within walking distance. ]
[ Budget: 0 currency. ]
[ Success Probability: 0%. ]
He frowned. "You mock me."
> [ Statement: Not intentionally. Factually. ]
After an hour of wandering, he found a worn-out building squeezed between two skyscrapers. Its sign flickered weakly:
"Takahashi Apartments – Reasonable Rent, No Pets, No Drama."
He hesitated. "System… what is 'drama'?"
> [ Human term for emotional chaos. ]
"…Then this place may reject me."
[ Probability: High. ]
---
He rang the bell.
A metallic voice answered from inside:
"Rent's due on the first. If you're selling religion or fake insurance, go away!"
Azrael blinked. "I am… neither. I seek lodging."
The door creaked open, revealing Mira Takahashi — mid-30s, sharp eyes, messy bun, holding a half-empty mug of coffee like it was a weapon.
She froze when she saw him.
"…What in the anime hell are you?"
Azrael tilted his head. "A fallen seraph."
"…Right. You're a cosplayer. That hair's real?"
"Yes."
"…Do you glow on purpose, or is that a medical issue?"
He blinked. "I… can dim it."
Her eyes widened slightly as the faint divine glow under his skin faded away.
"…Okay, I don't know what makeup you're using, but that's impressive."
---
Inside, the apartment was small — walls cracked, furniture mismatched — but it was warm.
Mira sat across from him, still suspicious.
"So, no ID, no money, no shoes, no phone. You're basically a lost alien."
Azrael thought for a moment. "Technically accurate."
"…You're really committed to the bit, huh?"
The System chimed in:
> [ Social advice: Nodding and smiling increases human trust by 37%. ]
Azrael nodded stiffly. His smile looked… unnatural.
Mira laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, you win. There's an empty room on the top floor. It's tiny, but if you help with maintenance, we'll call it even. Deal?"
He stared blankly. "What is a 'deal'?"
"…Oh, sweet holy mother. You're serious."
> [ Translation: A mutual agreement. ]
Azrael nodded. "Deal."
---
That night, he stood on the apartment rooftop, overlooking the city.
Rain glistened on the skyline. The hum of life echoed through the streets below — laughter, music, traffic. So different from the silent perfection of Heaven.
For a brief moment, he felt something he couldn't name — not peace, not happiness… something warm.
Then the System broke the quiet:
> [ Alert: Unknown signature approaching. Energy type — Celestial. ]
He turned, eyes narrowing.
A dark figure landed on the rooftop across from him — a fallen angel, wings jagged, eyes glowing red.
The figure grinned. "Found you at last, Azrael. The others said you vanished. But here you are… eating ramen and playing house with humans."
Azrael's voice was calm. "They have better food than Heaven."
"…Still pretending you're above us? You're nothing now — a stray god with no wings."
Lightning cracked across the sky. Azrael stepped forward, coat fluttering in the wind.
"Perhaps," he said quietly, "but even a fallen flame remembers how to burn."
> [ Combat mode: Standby. ]
The city lights dimmed. Wind roared.
And for the first time, Elyndra's rooftop became a battlefield between angels once brothers.