He wanted to say something else but was interrupted by a knock that could only mean one thing. He corrected his tie, straightened up, and went to the door to greet the committee. He opened it just enough for them to see him and froze the guard standing in front of him with his eyes.

"No entry. Go away."

"By order of the Lord, we are to inspect this place," hissed the uniformed lieutenant in charge of this whole misunderstanding from behind the guard.

"You are under my orders. Go away," growled the Hunter as Mephisto slowly approached the door to look out over his shoulder and assess the situation. There was now complete silence in the Guard Room.

"Not if it's a direct order," Lucifer said as he passed the lieutenant, pushed aside the guard, and faced Beelzebub. "Let me in."

They froze each other's gazes for a moment, but finally, the Hunter of Hell relented and opened the door, allowing the god of war, the committee, and a whole entourage of guards ready to intervene in case of trouble to enter. The demons in the Room bowed at the sight of him, and he walked over to the table and a moment later sat down at the tabletop.

"Whose cup is this?" he asked, looking into the tea vessel.

"Mine. I don't work here, I can" he waited until Lucifer nodded.

"Bring the papers," the men ordered. He sat with his back to the door and most of those now gathered in the room, waiting. Beelzebub gave Mephisto a slight poke, and the latter immediately moved to the cupboards in the depths, gathered everything into one file, and then brought it and placed it in front of Lucifer.

"Thank you," Lucifer began reading what was brought to him. No one said anything. All that could be heard was the rustling of the pages he was rearranging, breaths, and the slight rustle of the fabric of the suits. The silence seemed utterly palpable and seemed to grow with each passing moment, suffocating them with its weight.

"You get the idea, unless this report is inaccurate. Your input, Mephistopheles, is incomplete, missing a extract of the copy of the statistics and the exact number of new recruits. It's not an assumed demand for biscuits; there are exact figures to define those numbers. How many is that approximately?" Finally, he asked without lifting his gaze from the table, and it seemed to them all that it was better for him to remain silent after all.

"I am responsible for the state of Mephisto's documents," hissed the Hunter, but he already knew that this would not settle anything.

"That doesn't explain him. You will apologize to him yourself later for a reduction in his salary for this month. At the moment, I am interested in how much it is approximately." Lucifer still did not lift his gaze from the documents. Beelzebub shifted his apologetic look to Mephisto, and the latter moved rather cautiously towards the door to disappear more quickly from view, just in case.

"This is your entry, Belial. Explain it," Lucifer continued, raising his head at last and scowling now at the general standing a bit further away.

"Two more or less," said the one looking at the floor, choking on his words.

"Yes, I understand. When they take you prisoner, I will also send out about two messengers to negotiate. And it would then be better to turn out two more than less. I doesn't want inaccurate entries here. Since there are mugs standing here, I will also ask for tea instead of wine," he said. Beelzebub immediately went to prepare a cup of tea, without waiting for their reaction.

Hell's etiquette demanded treating the guest, whoever they might be, with red wine. They often drank, and bottles stood in plain sight. To refuse liquor was tantamount to a particularly nasty insult, but since Lucifer demanded tea, which shouldn't be here at all, he shouldn't be teased further. The silence was increasing again, so the god of war slowly swept his gaze over those gathered.

"What are you waiting for? Sit down," he said in a friendly manner, as Beelzebub placed a cup in front of him and stood against the wall. Lucifer knew that he would run out of seats if he sat down too. He watched as Mephisto took his seat again at the head of the table, and one of the magistrates, a tall Hack, sat down next to him, his face betrayed more than he wished to reveal. The others, upon seeing them, slowly took their seats, ready to react at any moment.

"Let's agree on something, since we're sitting at the same table. I am not going to come here every day or send control. It's exhausting for you as much as it is for me. I am prepared to take the patrols off the streets, and inspections will review the documents once a month. You will know the date in advance, and I will withdraw the Academy Acts. I seem to have reminded you of what it could be like if you didn't come out of the Heavens... I simply request proper behavior," he declared calmly, warming his hands against his mug.

"What is the definition of proper behavior?" asked Leonard, one of the dewy-eyed executioners with whom Mephisto usually executed his sentences, not entirely confidently.

"I want what is due to me as Lord of Hell: your obedience, respect, and honesty. If I wanted to listen to fairy tales, I would ask Tiramis, not look at the statistics you have prepared. These are not unreasonable requests," he hissed, finally taking his first sip of the brew.