"Raphael?"
That name echoed in her mind like a distant bell. A name from another life. It wasn't just any name. It was his name—the boy from before, from long before her parents were gone. A childhood friend...
"That Raphael?... But how... You were taken to the Central Gate for your inauguration."
---
Six Years Earlier
Haganai City – Outskirts (Springtime)
The outskirts of Haganai shimmered under the warm embrace of spring. Golden daffodils blanketed the land like sunlight made solid, their petals fluttering gently with the breeze. In the distance, mountains loomed in deep greens and blues, towering protectively over the valley. A stream trickled through the flowers, catching bits of light like scattered diamonds. It was idyllic—perfect.
But not for everyone.
Inside a small, worn-down home nestled in the center of the daffodil field, a five-year-old girl lay confined. Bishop couldn't go outside. Her body rejected the very beauty that surrounded her—the daffodils made her ill. On top of that, her family lived in poverty. Her father, once a respected man, had been conned out of everything by a sweet-talking young merchant who vanished with their savings. The town laughed. They mocked. And to escape the shame, he moved the family to the outskirts, right into the heart of the daffodil fields. Cutting them down was forbidden by environmental laws, so Bishop stayed indoors, isolated, season after season.
With no one to play with and a mind too young to process loneliness, Bishop created friends in her head. Whole worlds, even. She laughed, talked, and played with the people she invented—vivid figments of her imagination. But over time, the line between real and fake blurred. She stopped knowing which was which.
One day, it went too far.
"But mama, I saw them!" Bishop cried, coughing mid-sentence. "The daffodil people... they told me!"
"No, sweetie..." her mother replied wearily, exhaustion heavy in her voice. "Sometimes... we see things that aren't really there."
"But they're real! They told me they're the reason Papa is—"
Cough. Cough. She couldn't finish. Her little lungs were giving up.
Her mother rushed over with a cup of bitter-smelling tea made from crushed leaves. It was a remedy she believed in—maybe not medicine, but it was something.
"Here. Drink this."
Bishop took a few sips. Her mother stroked her back gently, whispering softly, "These...daffodil people...aren't real, love... you just imagined them."
"But they told me they're the reason Papa is crazy. That they made him give everything away..."
Silence.
"Your father is not crazy," her mother finally snapped, standing abruptly.
"But they said they made papa do it, they said that even though everyone thinks that he's stupid he's actually just craz—"
SLAP.
Bishop touched her cheek. It burned. Then it stung. Tears filled her eyes.
"No... I didn't mean to..." her mother said in a low voice, guilt and frustration tangled together. "It's your fault... if only you'd stop saying things like that."
She left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Inside, Bishop cried alone.
"But they're real," she whispered through ragged breaths. "I saw them…"
...
Later, the sound of her parents were arguing woke her up
"You keep feeding into her delusions!" her father barked.
"We both did! Because she had no friends!" her mother snapped back.
"You say that as if it's my fault" father clapped back "she probably heard those things from some adults outside"
"She hasn't stepped a foot out of this house for a while now...If..." mother continued, slowly this time, "...if only you hadn't acted like an idiot and given everything away… maybe our daughter would be....normal."
Those words didn't just sting—they broke Bishop. Something deep inside her twisted, and for the first time, she felt a kind of pain worse than any sickness or slap.
The room grew cold.
None of them spoke or moved for what felt like an eternity.
"You're right," her father replied,breaking the silence, voice hollow. He walked out.
"What is wrong with me?" Her mother asked herself as she fell to her knees
---
The air in the house never felt the same again. Her father was barely around anymore—there, but not really. Her mother tried harder, spoke more kindly, but it was strained. The warmth was gone.
When the daffodils finally withered and her health returned, Bishop was allowed outside. She stopped talking about the imaginary friends. She tried to be "normal." But her mind still wandered. Sometimes, her made-up worlds were the only places that felt safe.
One day, while pretending to be a princess-knight near the old Sun Gate ruins, she battled an imaginary dragon beside a massive oak tree.
"Take this!" she yelled, kicking the air. "And that!"
Suddenly—
"Owwie…" She'd tripped and landed on her backside.
Laughter echoed above.
"Again! Do it again!"
A red-haired boy was perched on the branch above, giggling uncontrollably.
"You're not real, tree boy," Bishop said, sticking her tongue out. "Hmmph"
"Yes, I am!" he replied, tugging at his cheeks. "Look—I'm real!"
She crossed her arms and turned away.
"Not uh."
"Then watch this!" The boy jumped up and down on the branch.
"Anyone can do that," she muttered.
Then—crack.
He fell right out of the tree and landed squarely on his rear.
"Owwie!"
Bishop burst into laughter.
"It's not that funny!"
"Bwahaha—it is!" she wheezed. "Only a dummy would fall like that!"
"You fell the same way!"
"…Tsk." remembering her own embarrassing fall.
She composed herself and turned away. "If you're real, meet me here tomorrow."
And he did.
The next day, and the next, and every day after that. They played together, laughed, and imagined entire kingdoms under that oak tree. She never told her parents. She thought he wasn't real, just another of her many fantasies.
Until one day…
"I have to go," he said.
"What do you mean you're going away?"
"My father says I need to attend the inauguration ceremony… to unlock my powers as a demon hunter."
"That's… actually pretty cool."
A breeze rustled her hair. Her blue eyes glinted in the sun. The boy stared.
"I, Raphael Ahmose, promise to return for you," he declared. "When I do… will you marry me?"
She blinked. Then smiled.
"Yes. Of course."
He left the next day.
Since she believed the boy was imaginary, she didn't bother to think about him much, she spent her days going to the oak tree and living out her fantasies.
---
Back to the Present*
"I've found you at last," Raphael said with a proud grin.
Bishop stared at him. He was older now. Taller. His curly red hair had grown out, eyes narrower. His features had sharpened.
"You… You're real?" she whispered.
"There you go again," he laughed, lifting her off the ground. "Of course I'm real. Why wouldn't I be?"
But she wasn't talking to him. She was talking to herself. If Raphael was real… then maybe everything else was too. Or maybe this was still all in her head.
"You promised to marry me, remember?" she pouted, crossing her arms.
"I don't know what's going on, but the girl needs to explain where she got that armor," Gerard finally interjected.
"Shut it, fake Michael," she said without missing a beat.
Gerard blinked. Again with the Michael comparisons? It felt oddly flattering.
"And what's with the sudden cute act?" he asked, baffled. "Weren't you trying to kill me a minute ago?"
"Hey! You don't get to talk to a lady like that," Raphael cut in. "My lady answers to no one."
Bishop blushed.
"My lady~" she echoed dreamily.
Gerard gagged. "Okay, whatever, just tell me where you got the armor."
"From Papa," she replied, still smiling.
She was inside another delusion now. To her the two boys were fighting for her attention like one of the love stories she read when she was younger.
"And… where's your Papa now?"
"HERE I AM."
That voice.
Gerard turned slowly.
And there he was.
Massive. Towering. Horns like spears curling from his skull. A presence so heavy it felt like it pulled the air out of your lungs.
"Papa!!!" Bishop ran to him like a little girl greeting her father. "Look, it's the boy I told you about before remember!" she pointed to Raphael. "And that's the person you sent me to intercept!" nodding at Gerard.
Raphael was frozen. That aura—dark, ancient—it terrified him to his core.
"That… that's your father, m'lady?" he asked.
"Yes!" she said sweetly. "He took me in after the monster destroyed our city."
"That monster was Beelzebub," Raphael said, his voice shaking. "I've been hunting him ever since and when I find him—"
"—Then today is your lucky day," Gerard said, stepping forward. "Because that" staring squarely at the man "—is Beelzebub."
Raphael's heart raved, what were the odds that he would meet the person he wanted to kill in this kind of situation.
"So you remember me, boy?" the fallen angel's voice thundered with a wicked grin. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"
Gerard narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah. But this time—it's going to be different."