A/N: I had to do this.

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

Seeing is believing, they say. Not that Shiro was that curious. Mephisto was apparently not sulking over the lost bet, and he had questions that needed to be asked: in all, plenty of reasons to pay a visit to the large, classy office. Plenty of reasons; none being that he was curious to see if Mephisto really looked that good in normal clothes.

"Oi. What spell have you worked on the teachers, you old goat?" he greeted as he pushed one of the double doors open with his shoulder and hopped in on his crutches.

"I can only think of the one called 'salary', but other than that: none", came the answer: not from behind the desk, but from the panorama windows overlooking most of True Cross Town.

Shiro blinked. He shouldn't be surprised anymore. He'd seen Mephisto the Demon King, Mephisto the Failed Chef, Mephisto the Pampered Dog… Weird as they were, clashing as they did, those had been perfectly real sides of Mephisto: this… this wasn't Mephisto. This was someone who could actually grab the spot as The Most Desirable Man in Europe and East Asia. Without even breaking a sweat.

"Like what you see~?"

It was definitely Mephisto when he opened his mouth, though; not to mention he gestured at himself like one presenting a five-star buffet.

"And for all your talk of dressing properly, you keep that hidden at the far back of your wardrobe?" Shiro stared at the tailor-fitted black suit. It cut the demon's slender shape a most complimenting silhouette against the window. Burgundy shirt, black tie, black dress shoes and white spatterdashes… The clothes certainly make the man. "Seriously, did you get anything done at the personnel meeting? As I've understood it, all the female teachers were busy gawking at your waist and legs and god knows what."

And Shiro had the strangest idea… that maybe that was another reason Mephisto dressed the way he did. That clownish outfit drew one's attention like a nail in the eye, but at least the weirdness of it let you keep your head: when he dressed like this, without that disturbance to throw the effect off, there was a magnetizing air about him that drew your attention and derailed your thoughts at the same time. Distracting didn't even cover half of it.

"Oh, I knew where their eyes lingered~" Look at that smug face, when he came sauntering over from the windows: and how he walked…

"Those ugly pants really hide it well normally…" Mephisto walked with Midori's smooth, subconscious sensuality, and the innate elegance of a king. No human could ever mimic that. "I don't hear a word he's saying, that's kinda nice… I should probably snap out of whatever-this-is, though…"

"-can blame them?" Mephisto's amused lilt phased into his ears. "Indeed, the smell of pheromones in that room was so thick I had to turn the air conditioning on. Poor things, tied like dogs on leashes too short for them to reach the bone~"

"And Nao-sensei is probably off buying a camera", Shiro chuckled, hopping forward on his crutches to occupy one of the least antique and least brick-hard chairs. "Now I know why you dress like a clown normally: couldn't run a business looking like this."

Yes, of course. Dressed for business, eh? Wearing his principal's uniform, he looked like a clown: wearing this, he looked like a devil. Sleek, black deceit robed in perfect propriety. You couldn't run a business with the Vatican looking like that.

"Looking like…?" the demon led on with a flirtatious smirk: dog or humanoid, being stroked along the grain was something he appreciated.

Shiro assumed a sceptical look. Saying Mephisto wasn't handsome in that outfit would be lying, but admitting that he was would make his head so large every passage in the Academy would have to be converted into double doors.

"Right: I will only say this once, so perk up those big ears of yours." Shiro was, after all, there to ask help: stroking the dog a bit before he asked couldn't hurt. He braced himself in the chair… "You look really good in that." …and Mephisto's ego filled the office like the blaring of a brass orchestra: loud, piercing, and drowning out everything else within a fifty metre radius. Really, it took some effort not to burst out laughing. "Now, if you wouldn't mind getting back down on earth, I've got stuff I need to ask."

Mephisto disappeared, and reappeared lounging in a chair right in front of him, looking very snug and comfortable in his inflated Ego.

"Do tell…?"

"The imprint", Shiro commenced in business tones. "Can it change me physically?"

"No." And all the same, he raised a cautioning finger. White gloves? Classy bastard. "However, your imprint is not like the ones observed in the Futotsuki, and diverging effects can not be ruled out." His wrist tipped the finger forward to point the question at Shiro: "Since you ask, I take it you have reason to suspect it would have changed you physically?"

Shiro related the attack on Kiridani Ryokan from his point of view. He related his wrestling with the tengu and how he had not only broken its neck but also cracked its beak with his bare hands.

"I shouldn't be able to do that", he finished and held up his hands in front of him. "And ever since, I've had this dull ache in my fingers. The imprint was the only explanation I could think of."

"That is… interesting." The demon rose to examine his hands, possibilities flitting across the green eyes as they scrutinized them closely. Mephisto's gloved fingers turned and pushed and prodded, and Shiro confirmed where there was pain and where there wasn't; he asked him to bend and flex the fingers, and describe how it felt and if it hurt. "Interesting indeed." In the blink of an eye, the demon's fingers had left his hand for his wrist, and pulled him up from the chair and into a one-armed embrace. The other hand let go, and rose in a familiar gesture. "In the mood for a little trip~?"

*poof!*