Me and the Prince of the Underworld are watching a soccer game

"Wait, why are you still alive in my body?" I asked, still lying in bed, trying to figure out if that whole thing really happened… or if I just had a vivid dream caused by cold lasagna at night.

"I think it’s just pure spite," Lu replied, completely unbothered.

Before I could think any further, the door burst open—

BAM!

"SONNNNN!!!" my mom screamed, already crying, hugging me like she was trying to glue me back together with raw emotion.

"You're alive!"

"Yeah... I guess I am," I mumbled, still dazed.

My dad followed close behind. The moment he saw me, he froze beside the bed like he’d just spotted a UFO crash-landing in the backyard.

"Son... what happened to you?"

"What do you mean? Did something happen? Am I hurt?" I asked, instinctively patting myself down.

"You... you changed. Look in the mirror."

So I walked over, cautiously. Looked at my reflection—

And froze.

Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL—"

My reflection… wasn’t mine.

My hair was white. My body looked like I’d been doing MMA, CrossFit, and spiritual enlightenment all at once. My eyes glowed yellow, like one of those overpowered anime characters who show up in episode two just to flex on the cast. And the weirdest part?

I could see perfectly. No glasses.

I turned away from the mirror, still wide-eyed, like it had just whispered a dirty secret to me.

"This... this is real?"

Then I heard Lu’s voice in my head again — and for once, he sounded rattled.

“...What is this?!”

"You tell me! You're the demon!"

"No, no, no — hold on. This doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re seriously telling me you, the almighty Prince of Hell, DON’T know what’s going on?”

“I’ve read about Spiritual Battles, okay? In grimoires. In scrolls. They were always symbolic… not this anime fusion power-up nonsense!”

“Yeah, tell that to my hair,” I muttered. “I look like a secret unlockable boss.”

“This is unprecedented,” he mumbled. “You weren’t supposed to win. Especially not with that fake menu screen! That was cheating!”

“It wasn’t cheating,” I said. “It was emergent gameplay based on years of doing nothing productive and learning all the wrong things. Respect the grind.”

Lu went silent for a few seconds.

"...Okay. Maybe I underestimated you.”

“You tried to erase me from existence.”

“Yes. And somehow you turned into an overpowered protagonist. I hate this.”

I smirked, still processing the chaos.

“This is really real?”

“Unfortunately for me… yes.”

And then I remembered something very important.

"Mom, what time is it?"

She blinked. "It’s 6 p.m., honey. Why—?"

"FUCK, I’M LATE!"

I rushed to my wardrobe, frantically grabbing my lucky jersey, my bus pass, and my printed ticket for the match. This was one of the biggest moments of my life.

But right when I was finishing packing, my dad shouted from the door:

"We were worried sick about you and this is how you repay us? What a worthless son."

I knew if I tried explaining my situation — glowing eyes, demon roommate in my head, spiritual glitch transformation — they’d lock me in a padded room faster than I could say “possession.”

So instead, I just said:

"Sorry, Dad. I’m okay. You guys don’t have to worry about me. I’m just an ordinary supporter going to watch his team in a continental final."

Lu chimed in sarcastically:
"What a wonderful son. Ignoring his grieving parents just to watch a crappy soccer match."

"I swear to God, Lu. I will end you."

"Lu? Who’s Lu?"

"It’s your nickname. I made it up. Cute, huh?"

"I hope you burn and die slowly."

And that, my friends, is how Lu got his nickname.

We went together to the game after that. And dude... it was legendary. Easily the best football match I’d ever seen in my life. A comeback in stoppage time. The other team led the whole game — then, in the final minutes, Alvingro tied it up and turned it around. The stadium went insane. I swear both me and Lu almost died from heart attacks. Alvingro was the continental champion for the first time in their 145 year-old history.

“See? Told you it wasn’t just a dumb little game,” I said, panting.

“Shut up,” Lu grumbled. “This sport isn’t even better than golf.”

I ignored him. I hoped that was sarcasm.

I went back home beyond happy. New jersey. Picture with the GOAT himself — Robertinho Capivari, a player so legendary he makes Pelé, Maradona, and Messi look bad in comparison. I had tickets to the Intercontinental Games, I was still chanting the anthem of the club under my breath, and I was glowing with pure victory vibes

"Alvingro! Alvingro! Tua bandeira vai voar!

Com orgulho e raça, vamos te exaltar! "

But just as I stepped through my front door, the joy in my chest turned into something else: shock and confusion.

A gorgeous girl stood in the living room. Horns on her head. All black gothic clothes. Eyes glowing violet.

She smiled when she saw me.

“Welcome back… Master Lucifer.”