Chapter Text
Hell was the setting for many stories, both real and fictional. That place, imagined by all as a realm of eternal flames and lava pits where sinners were tortured for all eternity, had always been a subject of intense, morbid curiosity for humanity.
Dante never quite understood why. He couldn't grasp the reason for it. It was hard for him to comprehend why a place that was theoretically so terrible, the source of all human evil and suffering, a realm of eternal torture, served as the backdrop for so many tales. It was also confusing because Hell simply wasn't like that; to Dante, it was just a rather dull place, and the place his father had come from.
Surprisingly, most works depicting Hell greatly exaggerated the reality of the place. After all, he made his living hunting demons, and this wasn't his first time there, though it was certainly his longest stay.
One thing no one ever exaggerated, however, was the smell, it was atrocious. Sulfur and rot were everywhere, it was like a garbage can (which, more or less, it was). The only thing offering a semblance of relief was the scent of his motorcycle tires burning against the ground. He never thought he’d like the smell of burning rubber, but it reminded him a little of home, something that really helped in a situation like this.
What situation, you ask?
Two weeks ago, he’d received a call from a place called Vie de Marli, a woman named Lucia had requested his services. A man named Arius was exploiting the island's ecosystem and its people to open a portal to Hell, attempting to harness the power of a mighty demon named Argosax. Of course it was about power; it was always about damn power.
After a embarrassing on Arius’s part, Dante and Lucia managed to close the portal to the Demon World before it could stabilize. That was what Dante wanted to say, but the portal managed to stabilize, and he couldn't let Lucia deal with it.
So, after some convincing, he stepped through the portal (distracting Lucia so he could do so) and fought Argosax, an okay fight, though ultimately disappointing for a guy supposed to possess strength rivaling Mundus, and his reward for winning was... getting stuck in Hell since the portal had to be closed.
Dante wanted to say that fighting demons in Hell was at least fun, however, it seemed Argosax was the best thing Hell had to offer him at the moment. which was, again, disappointing.
He didn't even stop his motorcycle when he encountered demons anymore, he’d just draw Rebellion and deal with them while riding. How did he have a working motorcycle in the most desolate place in the universe? Didn't it need fuel? When you have demonic energy, the answer is no. That saved him some money, money that was unfortunately useless, since Lady and Trish would always find a way to spend cash and put it on his tab. As if he didn't have enough debts already.
Back to the matter of Hell: what was his plan to get out? Great question!
Dante didn't have one.
All he was doing was wandering around, hoping that if there had been a portal into Hell, there had to be one leading outsomewhere. The biggest problem was that he had no idea how long he’d been there.
Food wasn't, and wouldn't be, an issue as long as he kept killing demons and absorbing their red orbs, but that didn't mean he wanted to spend the rest of his life in Hell.
Dante had to find a way out, somehow. This place might have been his father's home, but it certainly wasn't his. It would never be his.
The smell of sulfur around him began to grow stronger, snapping him out of his thoughts. He never thought he’d be grateful for the presence of demons, yet he needed a distraction, even if it lasted only a few seconds and he likely wouldn't even remember it later. The problem was, he couldn't see a single demon in sight.
The ground began to shake abs he furrowed his brow and turned his head trying to detect and source of energy since the smell was confusing him, and- ah, he really should have thought of that. He should have realized the ground was the demon, and it didn't seem to appreciate the son of Sparda riding in its back and disturbing its nap.
Dante quickly drove Rebellion into the demon's back, a move that proved to be a stroke of genius when the giant beast took flight. The demon resembled a spaceship, but judging by the tail visible when Dante looked back and the wings (if you could even call them that), a giant demonic stingray was a more accurate description.
Some demons were really creative with their physical forms.
The creative demon began to soar upward at a near-ninety-degree angle, trying to shake Dante off; yet, despite the clever tactic, Dante saw a genuine opportunity. He simply jumped and let gravity do the rest of the work, allowing Rebellion to tear into the creature as he fell.
Once he was clear of the creature's back, he drew Ebony and fired a series of shots into the demon's head, causing it to vanish.
Dante was still falling and had to figure out how to handle the descent, he could simply shift into his demonic form to fly, or just teleport to the ground. It would all be incredibly easy for him, yet he didn't feel much like doing any of it. What for? The fall wouldn't kill him, and even if it could, would that really be such a bad thing?
Damn, he’d suddenly made the mood heavy.
Well, all those questions would have to wait for later anyway, because just then, the light around him began to distort, and the energy grew exponentially purer. The last thing he managed to do before being swallowed by the light was grab the handlebars of his motorcycle.
When Dante opened his eyes, he was still falling, but the sky was different. It was no longer red, instead it was a glaring and brilliant shade of blue, and the air around him no longer reeked of wet trash.
He was still gripping the bike's handlebars with his right hand, while Ebony remained in his left. Dante looked down and saw a multitude of buildings, skyscrapers clad in windows that reflected the sky's nauseating blue, bearing no resemblance to the older, less imposing structures of his own city.
Teleporting to the rooftop of one of them, he approached the edge with his brow furrowed. The streets were packed with car after car, that place was certainly far busier than what he was used to. Not that his home lacked cars or people, however, there hadn't been nearly this many.
He wasn't in his city, and Dante didn't need to spell out why that was a problem, though he didn't panic over it. He had already experienced (and hated) dimensional travel twice before; the last instance had been quite recent. He’d even had the pleasure of killing Mundus during that trip, though the fight had been so disappointing it was one of the worst of his life, leaving him unsure whether to laugh or cry about it.
The situation was surprisingly easy enough to fix since Dante just had to find a portal back to Hell on this side and step through.
Still all of that made Dante let out a loud sigh. Just great, before, he’d only needed to get out of Hell and now, he had to go back. He really had incredible bad luck, how was that even possible? At least this wasn't a post-apocalyptic dimension where humanity had betrayed his father, causing Sparda's revolution to fail and leaving Dante for the dead by Mundus’s hand.
The bar was set in Hell, quite literally. That was when a guy stepped onto the terrace and immediately started yelling at Dante, ranting about how he was trespassing on private property and threatening to call the cops if he didn't leave right away. Dante wasn't really interested in what the man was saying, nor was he pretending to be; he was more focused on the fact that the man was literally blue.
He was blue and spoke Japanese.
The Japanese part wasn't an issue for him, after all, he’d lived in Japan for six months back when he was a kid, so he understood perfectly what the guy was getting at, but the fact that he was blue and Japanese was the problem... What were the odds that he’d end up in the exact same place he’d end up when he was sixteen, now that he was twenty-five?
Pretty high, apparently, because it seemed like the universe had a personal vendetta against him. He pressed a hand to his forehead, and the blue man stopped shouting when Dante started to laugh.
It was not Dante’s intention to scare the guy, he was just in utter disbelief about the whole thing, and a little annoyed, too. It was also really funny to him, what were the odds of that? What was the fucking likelihood? At least he hadn't landed in a trash can like the first time (the bar was still set in hell).
He ran a hand over his face, still laughing as if he’d just heard the best joke in the world. He hadn't laughed like that in months, it felt good, in a twisted sort of way. "No... way..." he murmured in near-perfect Japanese, wearing a smile that was far too wide for what was actually going through his mind.
It really was an incredible joke, because at one point in his life, Dante would have been excited, even happy, about all this. Now, however, the discomfort of being back clouded any other feelings he might have had.
"Hey! Are you listening to me?!" The man demanded his attention again, clearly more irritated and agitated after Dante’s sudden fit of laughter. "This is private property! If you don't leave immediately, I'm going to-"
"Call a hero?" Dante scoffed, pointing Ebony at the blue man, who had gone pale, or as pale as a blue man could get. Pastel blue? Baby blue? "Never mind," he clicked his tongue. "Just shut up for a second. Your voice is so annoying, it's making it hard to think." He squeezed the bridge of his nose hard and counted to ten, just as Morrison had taught him.
Focus, focus! He needed to figure out his next move. Dante firstly needed to get off the building's rooftop, secondly he needed money. He looked at the blue man, who was trembling with his hands raised, and snapped his fingers. "How much cash do you have on you?" Hold your judgment for a moment.
"W-what?!" The man started shaking even harder.
"Show me your wallet. Am I not being clear enough?" Was his accent worse than he thought?
The Japanese man tossed his wallet, somewhat clumsily, to Dante’s right, he was trembling all over, or perhaps he was hoping for a distraction so he could make a run for it and call for help. Either way, he hadn't expected Dante to snatch the wallet out of the air as if it were nothing. Dante opened the wallet with one hand and saw that the man was carrying a decent amount of cash, maybe it was payday. There were a few credit cards, too, but Dante wasn't that much of a jerk (and he knew cards could be cancelled in his world and if in his world was like that the cards might just shock him if he tries to use them here). On one of them, he could make out the man's name: Hideaki Kazuho.
"Mr. Hideaki, how about we make a deal?" he said, softening his voice a little.
"Y-you can t-take e-everything you want- just please don't kill me!" Kazuho said, tears now streaming down his bluish cheeks.
"I'm not going to kill you," Dante clicked his tongue. Maybe pointing a gun hadn't been the best idea, though it was certainly better than using Rebellion, which was strapped to his back. "I'm not going to rob you, either. Here's the plan: I take the cash from your wallet, and in exchange, you keep the motorcycle. What do you say?" It was a good deal in Dante's opinion, the bike, despite being a bit of a heap, was worth more than the money in the man's wallet, or so he thought... he wasn't great at currency conversion, and the dollar in his own dimension surely had a different value.
Kazuho blinked, visibly confused. What kind of mugging was this? Was it some sort of psychological tactic? He glanced at the bike; it looked rusty, but otherwise like a normal motorcycle. Not that he knew much about bikes. "I... I keep... the bike?" He repeated, because the words still didn't quite make sense together. Was this a forced sale?
"That's it," Dante replied, already holstering Ebony as if the matter were settled. "You keep the bike, and I keep the cash. That way, nobody gets hurt and everyone wins. Especially you."
"But- but I d-don't know how to ride that thing!" Kazuho tried to argue.
"Not my problem," Dante shrugged. "Learn, sell it, use it as a lawn ornament, give it away, I don't care."
Kazuho was still shaking like a leaf, but he nodded. "O-okay! Fine, take the money, just please-just go away!" He pleaded with the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere. It had been such a normal day... until this white-haired lunatic in red and black clothes simply popped up out of thin air.
Dante gave a crooked smile, did a quick count of the cash (one five-thousand-yen note and two two-thousand-yen notes, he didn't know the exact value, but the numbers had plenty of zeros, so he was satisfied), and tossed the wallet back at the man's feet. He then walked over to the bike and gave the handlebars a light pat. "Take care of her," he murmured softly, turning to Hideaki. "It's a good bike and don't do anything I wouldn't do." He started walking toward the door; the Japanese man scrambled aside to let him pass, and Dante paused, narrowing his eyes.
"You're going to have to figure out a way to get that motorcycle off here, alright? I'm really not dealing with this right now so good luck." Dante finally stepped out the terrace door and was immediately faced with a flight of stairs, the guy said something behind him, but Dante was already quickly heading down. He hadn't ruled out the possibility of Kazuho calling the cops, not that the local police could actually do anything to him, but it was still something else he didn't want to deal with.
When he finally landed at the bottom of the stairs, he sighed. Why do people around here like such tall buildings? When the power eventually went out, it was going to be a total pain in the ass having to walk down all those stairs.
An older man entering the building seemed to be struggling with the door, so Dante took the opportunity to hold it open for him.
"Thank you, young man." The old fellow tipped his hat, and Dante nodded back before stepping through the doorway. Morrison used to do the exact same thing and Dante shook his head to clear the thought before it could take hold.
His eyes ended up on an alleyway, and he knew he should seize the chance. He walked over and stashed Rebellion beneath a dumpster; even though it physically pained him to leave the sword behind, and in such an undignified spot, he knew it was better than causing a scene if someone spotted it. It wouldn't be a huge problem, though, after all, he could just call the blade to come to him.
"Hang in there, we'll figure something out." He wasn't sure if he was saying that just to the sword. Leaving his guitar case behind before heading to Vie de Marli was definitely the worst decision he’d made, but there was no way he could have imagined things would turn out how they did. Dante stepped out of the alley, feigning confidence in his direction while trying to hatch a plan.
First things first: he needed to run through what he already knew about the place. As far as Dante recalled, the reason he’d ended up there the first time was a masked, faceless villain. Sure, portals to hell opened up there occasionally, but that guy had devised ways to force more of them open, in fact, it was one of the man's devices that had ultimately allowed Dante to return home. That meant getting back to hell wasn't impossible, and there were two ways to do it: the natural, and much harder, route, or finding one of that weirdo's devices.
It would be faster if he could just get his hands on that technology, but how?
"Think, Dante. Think." He didn't even have a moment to savor the air, free from the stench of sulfur and rot, before the answer hit him, and he didn't like it a bit. He knew it would be easier to reach out to people he already knew. The fact that he knew people there was a good thing, right?
Not exactly because those people didn't know him, they knew Tony Redgrave, and he hadn't been that guy for a good decade.
A long time had passed, and many things had changed: he was no longer a mercenary and he was no longer Tony Redgrave, either, his act under that name had ended when-
When his life ended along with Nell Goldstein (he avoided thinking about her, though this time the urge was too strong to resist).
Dante hadn't used the name Tony in years, and when he moved away from Red Grave, he’d made sure all his paperwork reflected the change. He’d never planned on using that name again, but the people here didn't know him as Dante Alighieri, the son of Sparda (singular, since-) and the legendary devil hunter.
Maybe he was being dramatic, but he really didn't want to subject himself to the barrage of explanations he’d likely owe these people. Damn it, he’d forgotten how exhausting this place was; Dante already felt more drained here than he did in literal Hell.
He spotted a bench a little ways ahead and let gravity take its course. Dante lowered his head and began massaging his temples; stress-induced migraines were a pain because, unlike with alcohol, his regeneration couldn't cure stress, which was a shame. It would have made his life a lot easier if it could.
Dante didn't even want to think about what Lady and Trish were doing to his shop while he was away (next time he took a job that dragged on like this, he’d make sure to leave the deed with Morrison). Dante could practically feel his debt mounting.
His mind was so preoccupied with everything that he barely felt the touch on his shoulder. He jerked his head up, expecting someone to have found him, but, thankfully for his blood pressure, it was just a little old lady standing in front of him. She had gray hair pulled back in a bun, a lilac sweater, and a cane. An ordinary little old woman in every aspect, as far as Dante could tell, no antennae, and no skin color straight out of a box of red or blue crayons.
"Can I help you?" Dante asked, unsure of what to expect.
"That’s the question I should be asking, young man," the little old woman said as she sat down beside him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," he lied quickly, glancing around before looking back at the woman. "Am I bothering you? There are other benches... do you need something?" He asked, already growing impatient.
"Not me, though it seems you might," she replied, and she sounded sincere. The cheap nostalgia of being back in this place, combined with the woman's unexpected kindness, made Dante think of someone else. "Do you want me to call someone? Are you not feeling well?"
Dante ran a hand through his white hair, trying to push back the wave of memories that had flooded his mind without warning. "Do I look like someone who isn't well?" He forced a smile.
"You do, a little." The woman clearly wasn't afraid to be honest. "You look out of place, too, which, frankly, can be worse than feeling sick."
Dante let out a short laugh through his nose; he hadn't expected an answer like that. "If it's that obvious, I guess I can't deny it." Lying to the elderly was wrong.
The woman smiled, satisfied with the admission. After all, admitting something is wrong is the first step toward fixing it. "You have an accent. Tourist, I see?"
"Something like that," Dante replied, trying to stave off another wave of nostalgia. "But I don't have a map, a hotel reservation, or any restaurant recommendations."
"You picked the worst city to visit without a plan." Dante could have argued that he hadn't chosen to be there, but he didn't. The woman scratched her cheek. "Is there anyone you can call?"
Dante’s mind immediately conjured up an image of a teacher with messy black hair and deep dark circles under his eyes. He was about to speak when he also remembered an annoying, irritating blond bird from the night before he left: If you ever fall into a dimensional rift again and end up here... well, you know.
Well, Dante knew and he hoped feather face knew to since it would be easier to deal with him than dealing with the old man anyway, though Dante was old too, he no longer had the standing to call anyone else an old man.
"Do you know where I could find the office of..." the name took a moment to come to him until Dante snapped his fingers "...Hawks, actually?" The old lady’s eyes widened when she heard the name, and Dante instantly regretted asking.
"You mean the president of the Hero Commission?"
"What?" Dante blurted out before composing himself. "That's right, yeah."
The woman took a mobile phone out of the small handbag she was carrying. "I can call a taxi to take you to the Commission headquarters, what do you think? You’ll have a better chance of getting help that way," she suggested while typing something into the phone with some difficulty since she had left her glasses at home.
"That would be kind of you, but you don't need to pay. I have money," probably enough for a taxi ride.
"All right, dear." She typed a bit more and then turned the screen toward him, her chest puffed out slightly with pride. "It’ll be here in eight minutes."
"Thanks, I guess... could I borrow your phone for a moment?" Dante asked. The woman handed it over without hesitation, something that impressed him a little; he didn't remember the people from that place being so willing to help, with very few exceptions.
He had owned a device like that before, but the passage of time meant he understood almost nothing of what all those icons were supposed to mean, and it seemed the old woman noticed.
"The search tool is right here." The old lady tapped it for him, making Dante feel a bit embarrassed. Accepting help from the elderly, how the mighty had fallen.
At first, he just stared at the Japanese keyboard, wondering what to search for, until "Aizawa" came to mind naturally, though he quickly deleted it. He typed it again a moment later, only to delete it once more... why was he avoiding it like that?
Was he afraid of discovering that something terrible had happened to the old man, just as terrible things happened to everyone who had ever cared for him? If he searched for that name and an obituary popped up, what would he do? He would be lying if he said he had never thought about that possibility, or never had nightmares about it, however, the possibility was easier to deal with than the reality. At the very least, he concluded that he didn't want to find out that way, or, really, in any way at all.
In the end, Dante simply decided to search for "Hawks," and the first image knocked the wind out of him as if he’d been punched in the gut. The feather face was right there, but he was missing a crucial part... the feathers. Hawks also bore two scars: one running from his cheek down to his neck, visible in only a few photos, and another on his forehead.
Dante left the photo section and clicked on another tab that appeared to be news and there was one article from a few years back read: Today marks five years since Japan's former number-two hero stepped out of the spotlight to become president of the Hero Commission. He has become an inspiration to everyone across the country! Long live this prosperous presidency.
Hawks... wasn't a hero anymore?
Dante stared at the screen, faced with a complicated explanation that the lady beside him didn't comment on.
It felt so wrong. Hawks without wings was like Trish without her lightning, Lady without Kalina Ann, or Morrison without a cigar and that hat of his: all those things were possible in theory, but deeply offensive nonetheless. He scrolled down the page, looking for any other information that might make it all make sense. Dante didn't fully grasp the details, but it basically seemed like a massive battle had taken place a few years ago, resulting in significant damage and changes.
He stopped reading when 緑 appeared on the page. Dante didn't want to find out anything that way. He clicked his tongue, annoyed and irritated, and handed the cell phone back to the lady who was watching him closely but saying nothing.
"Thanks, ma'am," Dante said, standing up. He didn't want to keep talking; he knew that if he stayed, he might end up saying something rude and that was a thing he wanted to avoid, given how kind she’d been to him.
"You're welcome, young man." She truly hoped the man would be alright; he seemed troubled.
The driver was an ordinary normal guy, aside from his blocky head (someone lost the genetic bet) and Dante realized that he would have to get used to that sort of thing all over again. It certainly would have been harder to ignore if Dante’s mind hadn't been so preoccupied as he watched the scenery pass by the window. Despite all the changes, at least this place still somewhat matched what he could remember (which wasn't much).
The driver didn't try to strike up a conversation, something Dante appreciated, as he wasn't in the mood for small talk. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh and for a second, he could pretend he was in Morrison’s car, heading to some shitty job Lady had forced him to take because of his debts, a job that would likely bore him to tears and make him question his life choices. Dante never thought he’d prefer boredom over anything else, but go figure.
Unfortunately, he couldn't keep up the charade for long when images of Hawks, scarred and wingless, kept flooding his mind whenever he let his guard down.
Of course-of course not even this could remain unchanged. Dante knew things would be different here, too. His teenage self had spent plenty of time dwelling on the "what-ifs," yet he’d always found comfort in the fact that he didn't know the details and had lost touch. It was probably a bit odd, but if he didn't know what had happened here, then everything would remain fine in Dante's mind. The last image he held of this place would still be of those happy kids, the old man hugging him, and the feather face handing over that keychain, that was how Dante liked it.
However it seemed he couldn't even have that small thing.
The taxi stopped, and Dante handed over a two-thousand-yen note, hoping it would be enough; it was, he even got change back.
The Hero Commission building was towering, covered in windows that reflected the nauseating blue of the local sky. It was vastly different, and far more minimalistic, than anything Dante was used to seeing back home; even the grimiest buildings there had more character than that wall of mirrors, making it even harder to reconcile his memories of Hawks with this place. People can change a lot indeed.
Dante took a deep breath, adjusted his shirt, and tucked Ebony and Ivory a little more securely beneath his trench coat. A security guard in a suit and sunglasses stood at the entrance and despite the shades, he was clearly staring right at Dante, who remained unfazed as he walked into the building.
Inside, the floor was made of marble (?) that stretched toward the elevator bank. To the left, there was a seating area with an oddly shaped sofa, looking like a bench where the backrest was just a metal bar, an armchair, and a coffee table made of that same black stone. To the right stood a long, high counter, also made of the same material, with a woman behind it typing away at a computer.
"How can I help you, sir?" The redhead asked when Dante remained in awe looking at things. Dante approached the counter and noticed she was wearing a uniform and he recalled that Hawks had some secretaries that intercepted calls for him, that was annoying.
"I need to speak with your boss," Dante said, getting straight to the point.
"And who would you be, exactly?" The secretary asked, adjusting his glasses, or at least the frames, since Dante was pretty sure there were no lenses in them. Maybe something to do with her quirk? Quirk? Was that the word for it?
Dante mentally slapped himself. "Tell Hawks it's Tony Redgrave." He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at using that name again.
"Unfortunately, he isn't in the building since he's at an off-site meeting," the secretary said with a smile, though she didn't touch the computer to check or even attempt to call Hawks.
Dante knew exactly what she was doing and he rested an arm on the counter and leaned in slightly. "Why do I get the feeling you're lying to me?" He tilted his head, making an effort not to let his irritation show.
"Look, I can let him know you were here, Mr. Redgrave," she widened her smile, trying to appear friendly, though her right hand was gripping the computer mouse tightly. "However, that won't be possible until later."
He flinched a bit. Dante knew he’d hate hearing that name again, but the intensity of his reaction surprised even him. He took a deep breath and counted to ten again. "Later doesn't work for me, sweetheart," he replied calmly, he was calm, very calm, very, very calm. "I've already been through hell today”, she didn't need to know it was literal, “and I'm not really in a state to wait. Do you understand?"
"He isn't available."
"That's not my problem."
The secretary kept the forced smile on her face. Her training for situations like this must have been impeccable, not to mention the experience she surely possessed. "Sir, if you don't leave, I'll call security-"
"I know you probably think I'm just some weirdo who showed up out of nowhere”, and, in a way, he was, "but look..." Dante started trying to think of something that would help his case right then, however he had practically nothing on him. "Look, I know it seems ridiculous to walk in here and ask to speak to your boss out of the blue, but..."
"Sir, I really need you to leave." The woman interrupted him again.
Taking another a deep breath and trying to suppress the urge to simply barge into the building. "I literally know your boss." Dante said.
"Uh-huh," the secretary said, clearly skeptical. "I bet you do, Mr. Redgrave, but I still need you to leave."
What a terrible time to realize he hadn't taken any photos with Hawks when he was a kid. Dante did have proof he wasn't lying, though it probably wouldn't mean much to the secretary. He patted his pockets and felt something and sighed with relief that he hadn't dropped it and pulled out the Devil May Cry keys, it was always attached to a wing-shaped keychain those wings that were supposed to be red but were chipped and missing paint in places, revealing the gold underneath that matched the keychain's small chain. "You might not believe me, and I don't really have a way to prove I knew him. The only thing I have is this keychain..."
The secretary's green eyes went comically wide making Dante even take a step back. "Where did you get that?!" She exclaimed, rising from her chair.
"Hawks gave it to me..." Dante narrowed his eyes and closed his hand around the keychain. "Why the surprise?"
The young woman adjusted her glasses. "It’s just that this, this is a limited-edition 'Winged Fury' keychain with a gold chain! Only ten of them were ever made!" The image of the competent secretary was completely replaced by that of an excited fan. It could have been a fake, but the material of knockoffs was usually low-quality, and the gold plating would certainly have flaked off along with the red paint if it were a cheap copy.
Now it was Dante’s turn to widen his eyes; he opened his hand to look at the keychain he’d been using for years. "Seriously...? This old thing? I always thought he’d bought it at some random little shop-"
"It’s a collector's item!" She exclaimed, visibly excited. "There’s one being sold on eBay right now for over twenty million yen."
Dante had no idea how much that was worth, but millions were involved... millions for a tiny piece of metal that about three demons had already tried to eat. "Do you have an estimated value in dollars?"
The secretary typed something into her computer. "Around twelve thousand dollars."
"What?!" Dante looked at the keychain in his hand again as if it had suddenly turned into a grenade. "...twelve thousand?" He was completely dumbfounded, maybe he could sell it before he left... that would pay off a good chunk of his debts.
The secretary nodded vigorously and leaned in slightly to try and get another look at the keychain. "There’s one of those on eBay, but it’ll probably never sell. Not because there’s no interest, but because Mr. Hawks gave an interview years ago saying he was against the resale of those special keychains-"
Dante grimaced. "Of course he did. Obviously he did." He slipped the keychain into his pocket before the woman could try to take it from his hand. "Right. It was cool, apparently completely useless to my life, though thanks anyway."
"Where did you get that keychain?" The secretary wasn't looking at Dante’s eyes, but rather at the pocket where he’d stashed his keys.
"Like I said: he gave it to me. It was a parting gift." Feather face had given it to him the night before he left to go back to Red Grave. It had been an emotional moment! Or at least, from the little he remembered, it had been.
The secretary scratched her head; even though she still didn't want to call him "her boss," it actually made sense. "There were rumors that Mr. Hawks was the first to receive the special edition keychain, however he never appeared in the media with his, not even to promote it." She pursed her lips as she looked back at Dante and let out a resigned sigh before sitting down. "I’ll let him know you’re here." Even if this guy didn't actually know Mr. Hawks, she had to give him a chance; at the very least, he was a fan, just like her and deserved an autograph.
"I thought he wasn't available?" Dante asked with a mischievous chuckle.
The secretary’s hand froze on the phone. She knew she’d been caught red-handed, though in her defense, she was simply doing what Mr. Hawks had asked. He had mentioned, during her first few days of training, that she should turn away anyone who seemed to be merely wasting his time, including journalists, and as far as she was concerned, the white-haired man could be either.
"I'll let him know," she repeated, swallowing hard.
"I'm sure you will," Dante sighed, exhausted from having to speak to so many people in a single day. And the hardest part was still to come.