Work Text:
What Happens When You Forget Someone Important?
After several erratic flickers, the television box finally came to life, bathing the dim room in a melancholy blue glow.
The pain ran deep into his bones.
Ever since he had lost his body, damage to his interface had caused electricity to leak constantly through his systems. But he no longer had the will—or the energy—to distinguish whether the agony was physical or emotional.
In any case, the once-unrivaled leader of a new era had been reduced to nothing more than a television set capable of little more than hopping across the floor.
Just like that stupid deer had said.
He would never forget.
His two companions had treated him surprisingly well. Even after he lost his body, they had left him in a VoxTek office rather than abandoning him entirely, giving him a chance to speak the apology that would finally let everything go.
Even as his reputation crumbled like a collapsing tower, they always found a way to gather the broken fragments and rebuild something resembling his pride.
Pride.
When had it shattered?
Back when he was still human, he had been a textbook opportunist, willing to do whatever it took to seize power and status. He could never understand it. He was talented enough—more than talented enough—yet people still treated him as defective.
Was it because he endured their mockery in silence?
Or because those unusual eyes of his made him different?
He didn't know.
He only knew that his pride had been stitched back together countless times by his own hands, only to be mercilessly broken again and again. And the day he finally regained his confidence came only after he had died in the most absurd way imaginable.
"Look. I finally put my heart back together for you."
The smell of alcohol in the bar was strong enough to sting the eyes. Even his thoughts seemed faintly soaked in the hazy scent of whiskey.
Across from him, the famous radio star smiled gently.
How beautiful.
Like the sweetness of honey drifting from an old American beekeeper walking through town.
He thought it was the perfect moment.
Electric currents surged from the depths of his memory.
Was it the same reckless impulse as before, or simply the overwhelming tangle of emotions within him?
"Would you be my partner?"
He had been so sincere.
Then he remembered.
His heart breaking all over again.
Dizziness and helplessness mixed together like flowers bleeding through a wet oil painting.
"Why are you so cruel?" he wondered. "Why couldn't you simply reject me? Why did you have to make such a spectacle of it?"
He wasn't even sure who he was asking anymore.
Images and sounds crashed through the poor television box. The flashing lights were more violent than anything in Pride Ring's nightclubs, blazing with the brilliance of a dying supernova.
Chaos flooded his processor.
Even the most advanced technology in Hell could not understand why the person he cared about most had rejected him.
————————————————————
Vox had always cared only about his own interests.
Even after arriving in Hell, that hadn't changed.
With an unparalleled instinct for the tides of the age, he expanded his influence step by step, building an empire around himself. Yet despite everything, he still despised people who looked down on others from above.
Perhaps because he knew too well what that felt like.
So he never offered anyone his genuine heart.
Instead, he relied on flawless performances, winning support through charm, confidence, and carefully crafted appearances.
But throughout the rise of his empire, a certain shade of red continued to haunt his thoughts.
It was impossible to escape.
Dangerous.
Tempting.
A flame filled with strange longing.
And no matter how hard he tried, he found himself chasing it.
The red deer reveled in bloodshed and spectacle. Whenever Vox compiled the news, he inevitably found himself paying attention to the bizarre demon.
Powerful.
Dangerous.
Strange.
Everything about him invited curiosity.
After another exhausting day of work, Vox visited one of Pentagram City's most famous bars. He needed soft music and a drink to ease the strain on machinery pushed far beyond its limits.
The door was unusually heavy.
Yet even through it drifted the unmistakable scent of alcohol.
His vision widened as he stepped inside.
And then he saw him.
The Radio Demon.
His screen flickered.
He had never expected someone like Alastor to be sitting in a place like this.
As if pulled by an invisible force, his feet carried him forward until he found himself seated barely twenty feet away.
"Bartender, another whiskey~"
The voice crackled through a haze of radio static.
Electricity danced wildly between Vox's antennae.
He couldn't suppress his curiosity.
Or his admiration.
At this rate, his cooling system would betray him before he ever opened his mouth.
Apparently noticing the television-headed stranger who had sat down without ordering anything, the Radio Demon's smile seemed to widen slightly.
He casually swung his cane behind him, swirled his drink, and approached.
"My dear television friend," he said pleasantly, "are you waiting for someone important? Or perhaps..."
He leaned closer.
"...you know who I am? Has the reputation of the Radio Demon left you speechless?~"
The red figure moved even closer.
Though Vox had been observing him the entire time, the sudden attention still caught him off guard. He could feel the fans inside him spinning faster.
"N-no... no, that's not it. I-I mean... I do know who you are..."
He quickly corrected himself and awkwardly explained why he had been paying attention to Alastor.
"News coverage, hm?" Alastor shrugged. "Quite efficient, I suppose. Certainly more convenient than newspapers were in my day, though I can't say modern technology interests me much."
His gaze drifted toward the liquor shelves before settling once more on the visibly overheating television.
"Still, I rather approve of this particular form of media. It's quite useful, isn't it?"
"R-Really?! That's... that's such an honor!"
Vincent tried desperately to maintain the composure of a successful entrepreneur.
He failed spectacularly.
"Strange as it may sound," Alastor continued, "I've been having trouble finding suitable material for my broadcasts lately. Hell has become rather dull. Sometimes even the screams of the damned begin to sound repetitive."
The gentlemanly deer tapped his cane against the floor.
Only then did Vincent realize it was actually a microphone, emitting bursts of static.
"I—I might be able to help..."
"Oh?" Alastor's ears twitched. "How eager. I haven't even finished speaking and you're already trying to flatter me."
"N-No! That's not what I meant!"
The television felt as though he might faint.
His language module had completely shut down.
At any moment, he feared he might simply collapse onto the demon standing before him.
Alastor reached out and lightly adjusted the television's head.
"Listen. You're one of the few people who genuinely interest me."
Vincent froze.
"I know you don't want to miss this opportunity. I'll be spending some time here in the coming weeks."
His fingertips brushed across the television screen.
Then he casually slid a glass of whiskey toward him.
"You can come find me."
The Radio Demon smiled as he slowly rose from his seat.
"This one's for you."
Then he turned toward the exit.
"Some demon is probably looking for trouble. I'd better be going."
The warm lights of the bar blended perfectly with the surrounding shadows.
Then the darkness gathered around him like a black sky.
Crimson musical notes glowed beneath the curtain of shadow, becoming even more alluring against the darkness.
The impromptu performance ended alongside the fading echo of a radio broadcast.
When Vincent finally came back to his senses, the Radio Demon was gone.
Only the untouched whiskey remained.
His happiness arrived several moments too late.
"What... was that?"
He stared at the glass.
At the lingering scent of whiskey.
At the place where the red demon had been standing only moments ago.
The strange flutter in his chest refused to fade.
And of one thing he was absolutely certain.
He would never forget this feeling.
Business flourished under Vincent's careful management, and his company's influence spread steadily across Hell.
Before long, people began noticing something peculiar: wherever the infamous Radio Demon appeared, an odd television-headed subordinate was never far behind.
And the television seemed perfectly happy about it.
In a Hell consumed by endless competition and ambition, that splash of red brought a different color to Vincent's drive for success.
It wasn't the dazzling spotlight he had chased in life, the kind that shone upon a single person while everyone else faded into darkness.
Instead, it was something gentler.
A quiet, enduring presence.
A steady companionship that accompanied him along the endless road of his ambitions—the only respite on a journey that never allowed him to stop.
Every night in Hell.
Every meeting in the bar.
Every memory scented with swamp air and juniper gin.
Every note of piano music drifting through the room.
Together, they allowed Vincent to set aside, if only briefly, his near-obsessive hunger for achievement and recognition.
For the first time since his death, he found himself enjoying moments of peace.
How unbelievable.
"The Radio Demon and that television seem pretty close."
"I thought they were supposed to be fierce rivals."
The citizens of Hell never stopped talking about it.
As the leader of modern media, Vincent inevitably heard the gossip.
And those careless words gave him a confidence he had never expected.
"I'm definitely his best partner."
That was what he believed.
---
Alastor taught him countless things—strange things, useful things.
Despite having arrived in Hell decades before him, the Radio Demon often offered advice that felt almost fatherly, helping Vincent navigate social situations with a grace he had never possessed before.
Nobody knew much about Alastor's family.
All anyone knew was that, after some unknown tragedy during his mortal life, he had worn that impossible smile ever since.
With natural charisma and extraordinary talent, he had risen above prejudice and become one of New Orleans' most celebrated radio personalities.
The more Vincent learned about him, the more his admiration grew.
And perhaps something more than admiration.
Sometimes Vincent thought they must share something in common.
He understood what it meant to be judged unfairly.
To be pushed aside.
To be looked down upon.
And he knew how difficult it was to stand back up afterward.
But also how brightly that courage could shine.
A person's heart could be a fortress.
Those outside longed to enter.
Those trapped inside longed to escape.
The experiences of Vincent's mortal life had built his heart into exactly that—a fortress.
Within its walls, ambition and conflict flourished unchecked.
And he never realized it.
Nor did he realize that someone had already opened a window in those walls.
A single window.
And through it came spring sunlight.
Softening all the gray.
---
Time passed strangely in Hell.
Nobody really bothered keeping track of it.
Yet one day, Vincent realized something surprising.
He had never taken a photograph with Alastor.
The realization lingered.
He knew perfectly well that the Radio Demon despised tasteless entertainment, cheap radio dramas, and modern electronics with equal passion.
That was precisely why Alastor's willingness to help him had always been so surprising.
And yet, Vincent knew better than to expect the old-fashioned demon to change his opinions simply because they had become close.
While sorting through news reports one day, Vincent deliberately searched for every photograph ever taken of the Radio Demon.
Unfortunately, every single one was ruined.
Covered in static.
Blurred by interference.
At best, they showed little more than a vague red silhouette.
Still.
Perhaps a photograph together might improve Alastor's opinion of modern technology.
And, incidentally—
It would give Vincent something to remember.
No matter what happened, he was determined to take a picture with his future partner.
---
As fate would have it, he and Alastor already had plans to meet at the bar that evening.
Vincent had lost count of how many times they'd met there.
Yet every encounter felt like the first.
The sound of a piano drifted through the room.
A red coat, a cane, and a neatly folded jacket rested nearby.
Alastor sat before the piano, elegantly performing a new composition.
When he noticed the approaching television, he gradually stopped playing.
"I already ordered your drink," he said. "Try not to sit there doing nothing every time."
His smile widened slightly.
"Oh? Would you like to give this a try?"
He gestured toward the piano.
"Still popular in your era, isn't it?"
Lifting Vincent's glass, he lightly tapped it against the television screen.
Then he motioned toward the sheet music.
"A composition written by the Radio Demon himself. What do you think?"
Before Vincent could answer, the score had already been placed in front of him.
"I've heard modern information networks expose people to all sorts of knowledge. Surely our beloved media leader can learn something on the spot."
His grin sharpened.
"Unless, of course, you'd like to wound my pride."
---
To be honest, televisions from the twentieth century weren't nearly as impressive as people imagined.
At their core, they were simply video players.
Fortunately, Vincent's former career as a host had left him with plenty of talents.
Otherwise, he might have embarrassed himself completely.
Still, Alastor's unusual enthusiasm today left him struggling to think clearly.
How could he refuse?
After a rapid internal recalibration, Vincent nodded.
"Of course. It's not as if I'm a workaholic."
Looking more closely, he recognized the piece immediately.
Classic jazz.
Rich with storytelling melodies.
An excellent composition.
His admiration for the man beside him only deepened.
Alastor tilted his head.
"I wrote it for us."
The television screen flickered brightly.
"Really? That's incredible!"
"I've never understood your generation's obsession with rock music."
The compliment visibly pleased him.
His smile softened.
Became more natural.
Then he shifted slightly to make room on the bench.
"Two parts."
He patted the seat beside him.
"Shall we begin?"
---
Vincent sat down in a hurry.
His peripheral vision stubbornly refused to leave the demon beside him.
He had never been this close to Alastor before.
Years of friendship had taught him exactly what happened whenever he got too close.
And he knew something else.
As far as he was aware, he was the only person in Hell whom Alastor allowed to touch him at all.
The thought made him both embarrassed and terrified.
The performance began.
Gentle piano notes flowed through the bar like water.
The atmosphere became warm.
Dreamlike.
Intoxicating.
Vincent focused on the music before him.
Then he realized something.
Alastor was looking at him.
The moment awareness struck, countless currents surged through his screen.
His head spun.
Trying desperately to remain composed, he cautiously turned his gaze toward the Radio Demon.
And froze.
The smile waiting there was unlike any he had ever seen.
Gentle.
Warm.
Filled with emotions Vincent couldn't begin to name.
He swore that every poisonous temptation in Hell was less intoxicating than that smile.
It wasn't the smile Alastor wore for the world.
It wasn't a performance.
It wasn't a mask.
It was something real.
The most beautiful smile Vincent had ever seen.
The most captivating.
The most sincere.
And that smile—
he would never forget.
After their eyes met, Alastor couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the expression on the other’s face.
Just then, the music came to an end.
“What kind of face is that? Your television screen is completely red,” Alastor laughed so hard he almost doubled over.
Realizing once again that his emotions still couldn’t escape the other’s notice, the television almost wanted to tear his own head off.
“S-sorry…”
Alastor had truly never laughed like this before.
“Haha—honestly, you might just be the most entertaining broadcast channel I’ve ever heard since coming to Hell.”
It was clear the Radio Demon was more pleased than ever.
Vincent, who had originally intended to ask for a photo together, hadn’t expected things to turn out like this. Making a fool of himself in front of someone he admired—it was humiliating.
“Say… haven’t we never really left behind any keepsakes?” Perhaps the overly warm atmosphere made the emotionless demon shift the topic. This, however, made the television’s heart jump.
“Y-yeah… then, how about taking a photo together?” Vincent asked cautiously.
“You mean you want to turn that foolish modern electronic contraption into our first keepsake?”
“N-no, I just thought it might be a good idea…” Realizing he had phrased it badly, the television quickly tried to correct himself.
“…I never said I wouldn’t do it. I’m just in a good mood today—fine, I’ll indulge you~”
The playful deer demon dropped his feigned annoyance and returned to a satisfied smile.
“But doesn’t the camera not even work on you?” the television asked, still uncertain.
“Opportunity knocks only once~” Alastor skillfully dodged the question.
“You’d better seize it. I can’t guarantee the result will be good…”
“Hey—?!”
Before he could finish, the television quickly grabbed a coat from the side and draped it over Alastor, took his cane, and firmly grabbed his wrist—then bolted forward.
The citizens of Hell on the street were shocked by the bizarre sight: a television-headed man dragging Hell’s most dangerous Radio Demon down the sidewalk at full speed. The intense static electricity made the TV screen flicker wildly, making it impossible to tell whether the man had lost his mind.
Meanwhile, the Radio Demon behind him stumbled slightly while being pulled along, but still used his shadow as transportation, maintaining his usual elegance—though his other hand remained firmly stuck in place.
“…Ha… we’re… here…”
Vincent panted heavily, wires on his head bouncing from electrical interference.
“Have you drunk yourself stupid? I swear those passersby will think I’m about to turn you into a soul for my broadcast,” the Radio Demon said with a light laugh.
“Hah… so that means I won’t, right?” the television replied, still recovering—his nerves and alcohol both affecting him.
“…Hard to say.”
In an instant, the demon’s antlers elongated, and static engulfed the television’s head.
“Al, Al—Alastor, I’m sorry!”
The television immediately sobered up in panic, remembering what angering him could mean.
“I don’t want to pierce your foolish screen with my shadows during our photo session. Let’s go. Time to get serious.”
With a gentle wave of his cane, the terrifying aura disappeared.
They stood before a mirror.
“Look at you—running around like that, your clothes are all messed up,” Alastor said, grabbing the television’s tie and pulling him closer. The TV almost lost balance and fell forward.
“This is what a proper television prince should look like,” he added, tidying him up carefully—completely unaware of how red the other had turned.
“3, 2, 1—smile~”
At the moment the shutter clicked, Vincent felt the static beside him spike briefly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the photo is ready. You two look like hell’s supermodels—though the gentleman in red is a bit blurry. Would you like to retake it?”
The shop owner clearly didn’t recognize the Radio Demon’s identity.
When Vincent looked again, the image wasn’t actually blurry—only a bit of noise surrounded the Radio Demon’s figure.
“I told you it was fine, but I really did my best,” the shop owner said.
After refusing a second shot, the two left the shop.
Alastor’s brows relaxed.
“I definitely wouldn’t take something so foolish a second time… but it turned out quite good. It should last a long time, right?”
“It can last until the end of Hell itself—unless you make it to Heaven,” the television joked.
“Then you’d better take good care of it. Here—two copies. This one’s yours. Mine should be fine, but you? You’d better frame it, and maybe add some dehumidifiers and anti-corrosion protection.”
He listed them one by one on his fingers, genuinely worried the precious photo might be ruined.
“…What even are those anti-corrosion things?” Alastor asked, as if reading scripture.
After thinking for a moment, he shrugged.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let something I put so much effort into just disappear.”
He carefully placed the photo into his suit pocket.
“Alright, it’s getting late. My broadcast is about to begin.”
The red demon turned back toward the television—a quiet farewell.
“Wait, Al!”
The television rushed forward and shoved something into the shadow.
“A noise-canceling microphone? What is this?” Alastor asked, once again encountering modern technology.
“Hey—just take it! It’s the latest tech from my company! Keep it with the photo—take good care of both!”
Vincent waved enthusiastically.
“See you tomorrow at the usual place. I have something to tell you—”
“…Of all times,” Alastor muttered, biting his lip, clearly distracted.
The shadow lingered.
Then a voice—barely recognizable as the Radio Demon’s own—came from within the mist:
“…Understood.”
Alastor stepped out of the fog, still wearing his signature smile.
“I’ll be there tomorrow. Goodbye.”
His smile was slightly dimmer than usual, but before leaving, he still gave his best expression to the television.
Vincent didn’t notice any of it.
His antennae crackled with electricity, his internal engine roaring.
The Radio Demon—who supposedly despised modern electronics—had not only taken a photo with him, but also accepted his gift so readily.
That meant tomorrow would surely go as planned.
Vincent rushed home in excitement, imagining a future where their companies would shake all of Hell—standing together under the spotlight, seeing that smile every day.
This was the first time he had shared the star he had been desperately chasing with someone else.
And he would never forget it.
Restless thunderclouds, flickering and screaming, draped Hell in a sky that felt almost comically theatrical. The red heavens stretched like a dyed silk curtain, layered in shifting shades of crimson and violet.
Vincent paced back and forth in front of the mirror, repeatedly rehearsing the scene in his mind.
"I’ll dress properly and stand in front of him… no, no—that might be too formal. Would he find it offensive? I remember he likes whiskey. I should get him a good one… no, actually, he’ll probably arrive earlier than me. He can just appear there anyway… I need to approach this from a business development angle, then—wait—would that be too utilitarian? Friends… would he accept that? Or maybe if I frame it as currency, he’d understand it better…"
For the first time, this felt more complicated than any corporate strategy he had ever designed.
It was also the first time he had cared about someone this much.
He glanced at the clock.
It was almost time for their usual meeting.
Vincent took a deep breath and reassured himself.
"It’s fine. Just wait for me. Worst case, he’ll just reject me."
He looked at his reflection one last time.
Nothing about his appearance had changed from usual—except for a faint trace of perfume.
“Calm down, Vincent. Just calm down—”
Feeling the electric current and simulated pulse surging through his body, the television box nervously pushed open the door.
And just like the first time they met—
Alastor was already there.
Seated in his usual place.
Slowly swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand.
Wearing that same meaningful, unreadable smile.
“…Of course he’s here before me again,” Vincent muttered internally.
At least this time, he had prepared for it.
“Sit,” Alastor said casually. “What is it you wish to talk about today?”
Vincent sat down.
But unlike before, when he kept a cautious twenty-foot distance—
this time he moved several seats closer.
“You’re really inspiring, you know that?” Vincent began carefully. “If I think about it… modern entertainment actually started from radio…”
“Mm…” Alastor glanced at his glass and slowly closed his eyes.
Seeing his expression, Vincent quickly backtracked.
“Did I bore you with flattery?”
“Perhaps,” Alastor replied, turning his gaze back to him.
“Listen,” Vincent said, leaning forward slightly. “I’ll be direct.”
“We’ve known each other for years now. Everyone knows us. They like us together. With new Overlords appearing every day—before you say I’m just a newcomer—”
He mimicked Alastor’s voice through his modulation system, his screen briefly shifting into the other demon’s face.
Alastor chuckled softly, clearly amused.
“I know, I know,” Vincent continued. “But my thinking is more forward-looking. So… you should at least hear me out.”
“I’m listening, my friend—bartender, another whiskey~”
Vincent could barely contain his emotions.
While the drink was being poured, he nervously fiddled with his antennae.
“It’s like this, Alastor,” he said. “With your incredible power and my influence over media… we would be unstoppable.”
“Radio… and television…”
He stepped closer and placed a hand on Alastor’s shoulder.
Static crackled faintly from the Radio Demon.
“We could rule Hell together.”
“You and me.”
“As partner.”
Alastor seemed as though he had expected every word.
I reached out my hand, looking at him with full expectation.
“Heh… hehehe… hehe… ahahahahahahahahaha—oh, this… you’re serious?”
He burst into frantic laughter, his face twisting as if distorted.
“Come on, Vox… hahahaha…”
He buried his face in his hand as he laughed.
I couldn’t tell whether it was mockery or something closer to despair.
But I noticed his hand was trembling violently.
“I know you can be pathetic at times, but I didn’t expect you to be this weak.”
Alastor lifted his head again, returning to his usual smile, but this time it was laced with clear sarcasm as he looked at me.
“Haha… w-what…?”
“Hahahahaha—damn! You want me to join your little team? I thought you might actually be getting close to my level… but this? Asking for help?”
I had never seen him like this before.
“Be partners? How disgraceful. You really disappoint me.”
His tone wasn’t disappointment—it was deliberate cruelty.
My thoughts completely stopped.
My pupils trembled on the screen.
“I just thought… since we’re friends…”
Weakness flooded through my entire body.
Helpless, I slumped into the chair as darkness blurred my vision from all sides.
“Friends?”
Alastor turned his eerie, radio-modulated eyes toward me.
“Vincent! There are no friends in Hell!!! I thought you understood that. How pathetic.”
I stared at him in shock.
So this was what he had always thought.
My eyes were already wet with tears.
I can no longer remember the expression on his face at the end.
All I remember is staring at him desperately, hoping for any response.
All I received was a sigh.
And then I ran out of the bar.
I can no longer clearly recall what happened afterward.
---
Thunderclouds collided in the sky, producing a sound like the wailing of despair itself.
Outside, the rain poured down violently.
Water seeped into my circuitry.
I didn’t care about anything anymore.
The salty rain mixed into that miserable night.
Thunder drowned out every other sound.
I ran down a road with no end, splashing through puddles that soaked my trousers.
The scent of perfume mixed with the cold rain blowing against me from the wind.
All I felt was nausea.
I stumbled into a nearby alley and began vomiting violently.
The freezing rain cut into my circuits like blades, piercing straight into my heart.
It felt as if it was trying to tear my very soul away.
When I woke again, the rain had stopped.
I was lying in the mud, unable to get up.
And I would never forget what happened that day.
“Fuck! Enough! Why am I remembering that freak again!”
Vox violently jumped off the chair, using its edge to tear out a cable.
“He’s always like that—treating everything like his own entertainment, a complete madman! He never cares about anyone else’s feelings! I’ve never been this sincere with anyone, and what does he take me for… fuck… it hurts!”
The torn cable dragged out part of Vox’s internal wiring along with it. Only now, driven by rage, did he realize the damage.
“Ha… ha… what is this supposed to be? You abandoned me for 70 years, and what then? Every time I was left beaten and broken, you never gave me an explanation. So why don’t you just rip my soul out and kill me already?!”
If Alastor were here—even if he despised the television—he would surely be shocked at the sight of his old acquaintance reduced to this: only a head remaining, internal neural wires and a terminal display system hanging and straining in midair.
“Seventy years… you don’t even know what I’ve done. I really became the media overlord of Hell. I could’ve done it without you.”
“Without the other two, you are nothing.”
Vox recalled what Alastor had said when he captured him earlier.
“You think I care? You outdated relic—just get swept away by the tide of time. No one will even know where you die.”
Seven years ago, Alastor had vanished without a trace.
At first, Vox thought it was one of his usual tricks—after all, no one could track the elusive Radio Demon.
Three days, five days, a week, a month—the suffocating voice from the radio never returned.
Vox panicked. Even with surveillance spanning all seven rings of Hell, he still couldn’t find him.
“Broadcast Demon is gone. Alastor is dead! Now, welcome the cleansing wave of a new technological era!”
Vox smiled and said that to the media.
Every night, he kept searching for him.
He went to bars countless times—never found him.
He could not accept that Hell’s most powerful villain had simply died without a trace.
Just like when he had once rejected him.
Until recently—when that old man suddenly reappeared, forming some kind of hotel with the Hell princess.
“Why can he be with someone he just met… but not me?!”
Vox shook violently, ripping out half of his wiring, which finally fell to the ground.
“What were all those years between us supposed to be?! Did you forget everything?!”
“Alastor is back~” a moth demon added casually.
“What did you just say?”
The table was carved with deep scratches.
Looking at him on the surveillance feed, I felt an unspeakable emotion.
The last time we clashed was seven years ago—and he was still the same, always composed, always calm.
I fell into his trap—but that gave me the chance to capture him.
The Radio Demon was bound to a chair, humiliated thoroughly by me. That rare opportunity—I had finally seized it.
Useless.
“What makes the Radio Demon abandon even his last shred of pride just to help that idiot princess?”
“I am merely your prisoner. I owe you no explanation.”
The deer’s ears drooped as he turned away.
Why.
After I seized power, Alastor used me—broke free from all restraints, not just the contract we signed, but perhaps…
But what reason could justify him abandoning everything from the past, treating me again as nothing but a tool, a pawn?
When he broke our contract, my already unstable sanity finally collapsed.
I regretted it.
“As long as I can make Alastor stop smiling…”
“I don’t care about anything else.”
Hot tears welled behind my eyelids, reflecting a blurred world.
Since descending into Hell, I have only cried twice—for the same person.
“Damn it! Enough! Enough, enough!”
Vox screamed hysterically into the void.
“I’m just a joke!”
His lips twisted into a grotesque smile as he howled.
The usually composed man now let out a rasping, sandpaper-like cry—his sobs and rage entangled like crushed moonlight.
In that wailing moment, he understood everything.
“If I forget you, I’ll never suffer again. I won’t have to understand you anymore.”
He had no body—but it felt as if he were trying to peel this “incomprehensible shell” off his bones.
The television moved toward the terminal and struck the power button.
recording…
system booting…
“You know… after that night at the bar, I could never forgive myself.”
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“‘The Radio Demon hates physical contact’—that was what I heard when I first arrived in Hell. But ever since I met you… when you pulled me close… when we touched hands while playing piano… when I escorted you home after every bar closing… I began to question that rumor’s truth. Until you tricked me with that word game—I finally understood you always cared.”
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“This only made me realize… our feelings from 70 years ago weren’t fake.”
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“And that’s what I can never understand.”
“The word ‘partner’… did it really mean that much to you? I’m not talking about myself…”
waiting directive…
“Honestly, I thought you simply rejected me… you must have had your reasons.”
DELETE ALL THE MEMORY OF ALASTOR
it seem like important data. please think twice
“I don’t want to know anymore… and it’ll already be too late anyway.”
CONTINUE
are you sure? This is the last opportunity.
“I see…”
“We’ll never return to how things were, will we?”
“This is the best way I can think of… If I ever meet you again, what expression would you have? Laughing at me? Shocked? Crying and hugging me? How childish… I think I’d rather you just not care at all.”
“This recording is for me—and for you in the future. It’s my revenge. I’ll make sure you drown in regret even after death. Let’s see how you fix it then.”
YES
delete process beginning…
Every fragment of unforgetting memory intertwined—impossible to separate, impossible to untangle.
“I never regretted meeting you for the first time.”
A piano melody drifted from memory, dancing in the air.
STAY GONE—the first song Alastor sang after returning. So it was the same as that earlier piano piece…
He glanced at the broken photo on the wall—torn by his own hands, leaving only a blurred image of the Radio Demon. He could no longer remember where the other half was.
“I wonder if he kept his… and my microphone. It’s probably outdated by now.”
In a haze, the scent of whiskey drifted through.
Their conversation unfolded within the blurred smell of alcohol.
He ran with Alastor… somewhere far away.
He confessed his feelings to ******.
“Sorry…”
Tears fell like rain splitting on glass—never to meet again.
delete successfully
“OR, I’LL NEVER FORGET YOU.”
Otherwise, I will never be able to forget you.
recording end
No matter what changes occur in Hell, a new day always comes.
The rebooted television felt as though he had woken from a hazy dream, having set something down—something he no longer recognized.
He noticed a torn photograph of a red gentleman in his office and decided to ask his colleagues about it.
But he would likely never know whether the man on the wall had kept the photograph—or the gift filled with love.
Perhaps one day, he would listen to the recording together with him… and begin a new chapter.
…
A memory that would never be forgotten.