A full year had passed since Malerion first noticed Verosika Mayday's poster hanging on a cracked wall in the northern district. Back then she had been nothing more than a name on cheap paper sharp eyes, pink skin, white hair, a hopeful voice lost somewhere in the Lust Ring's constant noise.
A year had changed everything.
And strangely enough, Malerion had watched her progress more closely than she would ever know.
Not as a fan.
Not as a patron.
But as someone who recognized potential long before the world did.
Sin Rouge had transformed in that same year.
Territory stabilized.
Supply routes regained reliability.
Their name carried weight in both slums and middle rings.
And the hybrid war with the lesser Goetia houses, though still ongoing, had cooled into a watchful, bitter pressure instead of outright attacks.
Vael's occasional visits were enough to keep the nobles from doing anything reckless.
Fear was an excellent stabilizer.
And in that careful silence, Malerion's organization had grown stronger.
But between meetings, patrols, negotiations and cultivation, one project had quietly occupied a corner of his attention.
A project with a voice that cut through the Lust Ring's chaos, a smirk that could sell sin by the glass, and a determination sharper than most demons twice her age.
Verosika Mayday had just finished her first year as a rising performer.
Her rise wasn't explosive or dramatic not yet.
No scandals.
No riots.
No headlines.
Just real, steady fame.
Crowds coming back week after week.
Clubs rebooking her.
Managers sniffing around.
Early fans forming the roots of devotion.
Malerion had never approached her.
Never spoken to her.
Never interfered directly.
But
Rafe quietly redirected a few bad influences out of her path.
Quill anonymously funded repairs in some venues that tried hosting her.
And Dreg made sure certain "recruiters" stayed far away from her dressing rooms.
Small things.
Barely noticeable.
But enough to tilt fate a little in her favor.
Now, one year later, Malerion stood in front of a newly cleaned wall, where a fresh poster hung in proud colors:
VEROSIKA MAYDAY — ONE-YEAR SHOWCASE
"THE FUTURE VOICE OF THE LUST RING"
A faint smile crossed his face.
"She learned branding quickly."
Alastor hummed in the back of his mind.
"And she learned it well. Fame is a powerful cultivation resource, for mortals and demons alike. Few understand that."
Malerion did.
Influence echoed.
Emotion fueled momentum.
Attention shaped reputation.
And in Hell, reputation was as real as blood.
Rafe appeared beside him, chewing a cinnamon stick like it was a cigar.
"Staring at her again," he said, tone bone-dry.
"I'm evaluating a long-term investment."
"So yes," Rafe repeated, "you're staring at her again."
Malerion ignored the jab and examined the poster more closely.
Better print quality than last year.
Better paper.
Brighter colors.
Someone was funding her not generously, but steadily.
"Growth's been consistent," Rafe said, flipping through his notebook. "She's not a big name yet, but the numbers are solid. And she hasn't signed any predatory contracts so far. Probably luck."
"Or instinct," Malerion said.
Rafe nodded.
"Could be. She's confident, reads people well. Reckless, but not stupid."
"She'll need that," Malerion murmured.
Rafe closed his notebook.
"You planning to move now?"
"No. This year was for observation. Next year… we might offer opportunities. Indirect ones. Nothing forced. Let her come to us naturally."
Rafe smirked.
"You want her under Sin Rouge."
"No," Malerion corrected calmly. "I want her to stand on her own. I just want the wind behind her to be ours."
Alastor chuckled.
"You're building a empire, even if you refuse to admit it."
"A foundation," Malerion replied.
His eyes drifted back to the poster her confident stance, the spark of trouble in her smile, the early hints of the charisma that would one day turn half the Lust Ring upside down.
Sixteen years until canon.
But Hell rarely waited for canon.
Threads moved early.
Stars rose sooner.
Verosika Mayday was rising ahead of schedule.
And Malerion planned to be ready when she reached her peak.
A breeze lifted one corner of the poster, revealing another underneath — an advertisement for a new singer desperately trying to break into the scene.
Competition.
Inevitable.
"You think she'll last?" Rafe asked.
"Absolutely," Malerion replied without hesitation. "She has the voice, the drive, and the fire."
He turned toward Sin Rouge.
"But she'll break too."
Rafe frowned.
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because ambition always burns hotter than the world can tolerate," Malerion said quietly. "And Hell never lets talent rise without bleeding it."
Alastor whispered:
"And when she breaks… you'll have to choose. Let her fall into canon, or intervene and change her story."
Malerion gave no answer aloud or in thought.
He simply walked.
Verosika would climb higher this year.
Higher the next.
And higher still.
And when the storm finally hit her the betrayals, scandals, heartbreaks, addictions, manipulations someone would have to decide whether she was worth catching… or letting fall.
For now she was just a young succubus with a voice and a dream.
And Sin Rouge continued to grow with quiet strength.
Some time until Malerion's next cultivation breakthrough.
Sixteen years until the universe began to unravel into canon.
Plenty of time.