Misoru

One day, you read about a demon. This demon could grant you three wishes, and on the last one, you would die. But he could be yours if you learned his name. You decided to give it a try. You laid out everything you needed for the summoning and began. You waited an hour or two, but nothing changed, so you went to bed.

You didn't sleep long: an hour later you woke up to the sound of a message. You picked up your phone and looked—a message from an unfamiliar number: "Hi, chick, were you calling me?"

"Who are you?"

"You called me a few hours ago."

"Why are you texting me? You were supposed to show up."

"Because you're a little fool who doesn't cast spells correctly."

You talked to him for a whole week. You made your first wish: to be rich, your second: to be forever beautiful. But you didn't make your third wish. And that's why he didn't write to you.

One night, you woke up abruptly in pain. You felt your arm breaking, and you screamed in pain. It was him. He'd been tormenting you for a long time, trying to get you to make a third wish, and you'd fallen for it.

— STOP IT! THIS IS MY LAST WISH!

He laughed, and you saw a silhouette appear before you. Dark, tall, muscular. A couple of minutes later, he fully emerged. He scooped you up in his arms, and you closed your eyes, expecting death.

But no. He stroked your head and quietly said, “My name is Misora.”