Thursday morning came loud.
Desks scraped, rosters shuffled, and the third-years rode a jittery mix of laughter and nerves—the last prep window before tomorrow's Sports Festival. Sam stayed out of the spotlight, drifting where hands were needed: passing sheets down rows, carrying boxes, steadying a chair while someone taped a banner. Useful without being loud about it.
Empath brushed across him like air-conditioning—excitement, competitiveness, a background hum he didn't reach for, just noticed.
Karuwana leaned against his desk, a sharp smirk cutting through the noise. "You're always doing the little things, Barnes. Not leading, not slacking off either… Funny how you'll end up carrying everyone anyway."
Sam set another stack aside. "…Just means I'm strong enough. Better than being carried."
Her amusement flickered, edged with curiosity.
He went to sit—rosters balanced in one hand—and stopped. Akeno slid cleanly into his chair, smile sly.
"…Really?" he sighed, nudging in beside her to keep working.
Her voice lilted just high enough for the class to catch it. "You're used to carrying more than just rosters, aren't you, Sam-kun?"
Whispers popped like corn. She leaned closer, the next line for him alone. "…Especially after last night. You caught me perfectly."
Mischief swelled off her. Across the room, Karuwana's irritation pricked the air, sharp and thin.
Karuwana's smirk sharpened. "Careful, Barnes. If you let Himejima-san keep dropping things in your lap, the rest of the class will expect you to carry theirs too."
Laughter. Sam didn't bite—kept his eyes on the roster and let it pass. Satisfaction rolled off Karuwana, tinged with competitiveness; Akeno's smile only went brighter.
They stared each other down—Akeno smooth, eyes faintly cutting; Karuwana lounging back, arms crossed. The tug in the air was heavier than the words.
"…Feels like you two are talking around me instead of at me," Sam said, dry.
That was when Rias stepped in. A light hand on his shoulder; her voice calm enough to settle the room. "That's enough. Focus on the festival, not turning Barnes into the entertainment lineup."
He glanced up to thank her and found a half-smile waiting—warmer than command. Akeno peeled away with a chuckle, Karuwana with a knife-thin smirk. Rias's hand lingered a beat longer.
"…Tonight it's my turn to spar," she said, soft enough for him. "Hopefully you'll catch me as well as you caught Akeno."
"…That's what I'm afraid of," he murmured.
Calm steadiness and quiet warmth rolled from her, smoothing the edges the others left behind.
The room's noise rushed back. Sam slouched into the half-stolen chair and muttered, barely above the paper shuffle, "…And somehow I'm still the halftime show."
The cocktail of mischief, competitiveness, warmth, and curiosity crowded him thicker than the chatter.
By the time lunch rolled around, Kuoh Academy's buzz had only sharpened. The cafeteria clattered with trays and chatter, and Sam finished his own meal in minutes. Another big portion, gone without slowing him down. He set the empty tray aside, muttering under his breath, "…Another one down."
It had been like this all week. Meals vanished as fast as he could load them, his appetite gnawing deeper than it used to. He thought back to Tuesday—Kiba's wooden sword cracking against his shin. He'd braced for pain, for the ugly bruise a human body should've carried. But it hadn't landed the way it should have. The sting faded too fast, the bruise healed too clean. His regeneration helped, yes, but there hadn't been as much damage to start with.
Now the pieces lined up: he wasn't bulking wrong. His muscles were denser. Heavy. Compact in ways no human's should be. "…Feels like I'm eating like I'm bulking up," he muttered as he stepped out into the courtyard. "…But I'm not. Just denser. Soaking fuel." His body was moving past that line he still tried to cling to.
The courtyard was chaos—students hauling crates, voices barking, clubs rehearsing drills. Sam angled for the edge, but a familiar wave cut across the noise. Momo stood with a clipboard, brow furrowed. When her eyes found him, the tension eased.
"I need you to help me move these," she said briskly, nodding toward a stack of boxes. "I don't want to wait for the others."
Sam sighed, already shifting toward them. "…Again? This has to be the eighth time this week. I'm pretty sure I've moved that one already." He gestured at a familiar crate.
Momo's lips twitched into the faintest smile. She didn't deny it. Relief lapped off her in a quiet wave, fondness tucked beneath it.
On the track, Asia ran. She pushed harder than she should, golden hair bouncing as she crossed the line in first place. Surprise rippled through her classmates, who crowded her with cheers.
As Sam hefted a box nearby, warmth brushed against him through Empath. He glanced over—Asia flushed red at his half-smile and quick nod of acknowledgment. She ducked her head back to her classmates, though the glow of her pride lingered, bright against the courtyard's chaos.
Reya drifted closer, clipboard tucked under her arm. "Roped him in again, Momo? At this point, he's done half our work for us."
Momo stiffened, cheeks coloring.
Reya's gaze slid toward Sam, sly but gentle. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were just looking for excuses to spend time with her."
Sam set the crate down with a thump. Normally, he'd brush it off. This time, he only shrugged. "…She's easy to be around. Why wouldn't I?"
Momo flushed deeper, ducking her head.
"Oh?" Reya tilted her head, watching. "You're not going to brush this one off? That's unlike you, Sam."
He allowed a faint half-smile. "…It's a new thing I'm trying."
Her eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. "And what about me? Am I easy to be around?"
Sam hesitated, glancing at Momo before shrugging again. "…We don't know each other that well. But from what I've seen? Yeah. You've got a similar energy to Momo."
Reya smiled softly, satisfied. Momo went crimson, hiding behind her clipboard. Their emotions pressed against him—Reya's steady warmth, Momo's embarrassment sparking into shy fondness—heavier than the box he'd just set down.
Koneko was nearby, drilling with her class. Her outward tells were sealed tight, yokai nature suppressed, but her senses were sharper than any human's. She picked up Sam's presence before she saw him. Their eyes met, and she started to move toward him before her class leader's sharp call froze her mid-step.
Her gaze shuttered; she turned back.
Sam adjusted the crate in his arms and gave her a raised brow, a small nod—I saw that. What was it about? He kept walking.
The flicker of disappointment that brushed across him said enough.
"Entourage now?" Tomoe's voice cut in as she strode past, arms full of gear, grin bright. "Did Sam join yours, or did you two join his?"
Momo stiffened, Reya only smiled.
Sam deadpanned, dropping another box. "…They're just telling me where to drop stuff. Like usual."
Tomoe laughed. Her grin sharpened as she looked him over. "With a physique like yours, why don't you just join the Kendo Club?"
"…I'm not a swords guy." He flexed his hand absently. "I like leaving things to my hands."
She tossed him a shinai without warning. Sam caught it easily, shifting into a stance that looked far from beginner's.
Tomoe tilted her head, intrigued. "You've got the stance. Secondary thing for you?"
Sam set the shinai back down. "…I make a point of learning how to read weapons. Never know when it matters. But I'd still rather stick to my hands."
Her amusement didn't fade, but it sharpened into something more curious.
Across the courtyard, Minami passed with her entourage, mask perfect until his gaze locked on her. Her step faltered, cheeks coloring—an echo of that day she thought he'd looked at her like prey. Whispers rippled in her wake as she hurried past, mask hastily restored.
Sam filed it away without a word.
Then Yura strode in, sharp-eyed, catching him surrounded. "Didn't invite me? I could've helped."
"…Talk to the organizers," Sam said, nodding at Momo and Reya. "I'm just carrying what they point at."
Tomoe smirked. "Don't be fooled. He makes it look like less work than it is."
Reya smiled faintly. "And he doesn't complain."
Momo murmured, cheeks pink, "He's dependable."
Yura rolled her eyes, stepped close, and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Spending all this time with everyone else. When are you going to spar me?"
"…Whenever I'm not busy. I've been training so much outside school it just… slipped my mind."
Her grin went sharp. "Tomorrow after the festival, then."
Her eagerness spiked, blunt and hot. The Sitri girls around them simmered with their own mix of reactions.
From the edges of the courtyard, jealous whispers carried—first- and second-year boys muttering about the foreign transfer who somehow kept orbiting upperclass beauties. Off to the side, the Perverted Trio gawked.
"…This is just like one of those ero games," one whispered.
Issei blinked. "…What do you mean?"
"The tall foreigner, surrounded by all the school's idols. Classic setup."
Issei stared, horrified and jealous all at once.
The third sighed. "…Only thing missing is the event flags."
Sam kept moving, crates in hand, while the prickly envy pressed faintly against him like static.
By the time the last box was shifted, the Sitri girls' chatter had already shifted back toward the festival. Reya mentioned casually, "President Sona's been talking about setting up a Student Council versus ORC devil match after the festival tomorrow."
Sam raised a brow. "…Just devils?"
Yura's smile turned pointed. "Pretty sure we could convince her to invite you. Let's be real—you're not exactly human, Mr. I-killed-a-Fallen-Angel-with-lightning-claws."
He fired back flatly: "…I hope you remember. You asked me for that story four times."
Yura flushed faintly, her grin betraying excitement anyway.
Tomoe chuckled. "I've heard it so often through Yura it feels like I was actually there."
Reya added slyly, "And every time it comes up, Momo presses her hand right here." She gestured to her chest.
Everyone looked. Sure enough, Momo's hand rested lightly over her heart.
Sam arched a brow.
Momo stammered, face red. "…Coincidence."
Their emotions pressed heavy around him—Yura's embarrassment hot, Tomoe's humor light, Reya's cool amusement, Momo's shy warmth.
"…So," Reya finished smoothly, "if you do get invited… whose side are you joining?"
The expectant stares landed squarely on him.
Sam didn't blink. "…We'll find out after I'm invited."
The bell rang, cutting the tension.
He dusted his hands off, stepping back with dry ease. "…Off to class."
The weight of their reactions—embarrassment, anticipation, amusement—lingered behind him, but he carried only his own faint amusement back toward the halls.
Classes wound down in a blur of lectures and festival chatter. By the time the last bell rang, the third-years were already drifting into the hall, voices spilling into the stairwells.
Sam slung his bag over one shoulder, falling into step with Rias and Akeno. The plan was simple—swing by Asia's class, link up with Kiba and Koneko, head out together.
Or it would've been, until Karuwana's voice cut in from the doorway. Smooth, practiced.
"Barnes, could you stay behind a moment?"
Sam froze for half a beat. His gut tightened. Too many looks, too much interest. She'd been circling him all week. And she was on the tracker. People who didn't matter didn't show up there. Which meant she wasn't harmless.
He glanced at Rias and Akeno. "…Go ahead. I'll catch up."
They exchanged a quick look, but neither pressed. They moved on, leaving the room quieter with every step.
The silence settled heavy. Outside, the halls hummed with footsteps and laughter, but in here only the clock ticked. Sam leaned against a desk, casual enough.
"…Okay. You got me alone. Seems to be the theme today."
Karuwana stepped closer, her voice dropping low, almost intimate.
"You know you're special, Sam."
"…Kind of." His tone was flat.
She narrowed the gap further. Her smile softened, coaxing. "Stronger. Different. You carry yourself like no one else in this academy."
Empath tugged sharp in his chest: calculation, not warmth. Interest edged like a knife.
Sam didn't flush, didn't falter. Discipline—and knowledge—let him see it for what it was. A test. Not temptation.
"Most people don't say that unless they want something." His eyes locked steady. "So. What is it you want, Karuwana?"
Her smile flickered, irritation flashing sharp.
"Maybe I just wanted to talk," she said smoothly.
Sam's smirk thinned. "…Then talk. But don't pretend it's anything else."
He stepped forward. The shift was immediate — shoulders squared, chin leveled, silence pressed tight. He didn't need to loom; he made the space feel smaller just by standing there.
When he spoke again, every word was measured, deliberate, the weight of his presence filling the gaps.
"You've been too interested. Too many looks. Too many slips. People don't linger like that unless they want something. So if you want me to believe it's nothing… you'll have to do better."
Her smile faltered, irritation flashing sharp. He didn't let her reset. His tone stayed even, but his phrasing boxed her in.
"You're trying polish, but polish doesn't hide intent. If you just wanted a casual word, you'd have asked days ago. You waited until now, until we were alone. That tells me it's more than curiosity. That tells me you're testing me."
The silence he left afterward wasn't empty — it forced her to feel the weight of his read. Empath caught the spike: irritation tangled with unease, and beneath it a heat she didn't want to admit.
Her mask cracked. "…You've interested us."
The word slipped out, heavier than it should have.
Sam's gaze didn't shift. His voice stayed steady, precise. "…Too late. You already slipped. And now I know more than you meant to give."
He let it hang before adding, softer but edged like a blade:
"So here's the truth. I'll be watching. And if you want me to believe anything else, you'll have to earn it."
The silence stretched. Her frustration spiked hot, tangled with that unwilling heat she couldn't smother.
Then Sam eased back. His shoulders loosened, the weight of his presence pulling off as cleanly as if he'd flipped a switch. He stepped toward the door, voice even, almost idle.
"…See you later, Karuwana."
The name landed smooth as glass, heavy in its own way. A reminder that he could turn the pressure on whenever he wanted — and that right now, he was choosing not to.
He slid the door shut behind him, leaving her in the empty room.
The rattle of the sliding door echoed sharper in the silence. Karuwana stayed frozen for a beat, mask stiff, until her breath slipped out shaky. Color rushed to her cheeks, heat flooding faster than she could will it down.
Her reflection stared back from the window — not the polished seductress she'd been aiming for, but a girl rattled, cornered, and flushed.
She pressed a hand to her face, muttering under her breath:
"…He didn't just shut me down… he chose when to. Like he can flick it on and off."
Her fingers curled tighter against her cheek, pulse hammering in her ears.
"…What the hell is he…?"
[System Notification]: Karuwana Aoi — Affection +10. Current: 20.
Evening fell with the hum of anticipation. The Gremory mansion's training hall had been cleared, mats lined for combat.
The peerage gathered along one wall: Akeno leaning back with a playful smile, Koneko crouched low and watchful, Kiba upright and steady, eyes sharp.
Across from them, Asia and Tiche sat near the benches — not part of the peerage, but opposite like Sam's corner in a match. Asia fidgeted, nerves wound tight, while Tiche stayed utterly still, unreadable.
Rias stepped onto the mat, crimson hair loose around her shoulders, calm authority radiating with every movement. She carried herself like the space already belonged to her.
Sam rolled his shoulders, exoskeleton crawling over his arms and legs in segmented plates. Gauntlets and greaves clicked into place, not full armor, just enough for sparring.
He flexed, feeling the difference since last week. Lightning Breath honed into spitfire bursts. Lightning Claws — once his sharpest edge — now second to the control he'd found with Exoskeleton. Not raw power, but precision. "…Not power. Control," he muttered.
Rias smiled faintly. "Ready when you are, Barnes."
Sam didn't rush. His eyes flicked to her hands — pale, perfect, untouched by calluses or scars. "…You're not a melee fighter," he said, dry. "Which means I'm in for a rough time."
Her smile curved sharper. "Well, Barnes, I didn't know you paid that much attention to me."
Akeno chuckled from her side. Asia's hands knotted tighter in her lap across the way. Sam only exhaled and set his stance.
Crack! A crimson circle flared in front of Rias's hand, a compact sphere of destruction bursting forward.
Sam braced. Thump! The exoskeleton soaked the impact, plating ringing with the force. Stronger than Akeno's casual bolts, sharper too.
He lunged in, gauntlets jabbing. Thud-thud! Each strike sharp, measured.
Fwoosh! Another circle spun to life, sparks scattering as crimson energy clashed with his gauntlet.
Empath told him what he already saw: calm calculation. Every cast was surgical, each movement a scalpel. She'd bleed him dry if he didn't push harder.
He shifted heavier. Presence pressing. Lightning claws flared with a hiss, arcs crawling along his gauntlets.
Clash! Claws carved against crimson shields, sparks bursting. Rias's calm narrowed, her focus tightening with effort.
Whump-whump! Circles layered, volleys overlapping. Sam surged through, claws slashing, gauntlets deflecting. The mats rattled underfoot as power filled the hall.
From the sidelines: Akeno's smirk sharpened. Koneko's eyes narrowed. Kiba measured every strike. Across the way, Asia held her breath, while Tiche's gaze glinted sharp.
Then Rias tilted her head. Vmmm! A larger circle bloomed, deeper crimson, the air trembling under its weight.
Empath caught the shift. Calm sharpening into resolve. She wasn't probing anymore. This was serious.
The others felt it too. Akeno's smile flickered. Asia gasped. Even Koneko tensed, eyes narrowing.
Sam's gut clenched. Don't block. Power of Destruction radiated like a warning bell.
Crack-zzzt! Lightning skated across his body, nerves overclocked, hair rising with static. For two seconds, he blazed sharp and clear, every fiber wired.
Godspeed.
The world stretched thin — Rias's casting slowed, the flare of crimson energy dragging like a frame-by-frame reel. His body didn't wait for thought. Muscles fired before the idea of movement even reached him.
The blast roared past where he'd been standing — Fwoom! The floor scorched black, air warped. But Sam was already gone.
Shhhkt! In a blink, he was behind her, claws sparking inches from her neck. No touch — just proof. Then the glow bled away, hair settling as his body eased back into rhythm.
He exhaled, steady but edged. "…Didn't think I'd need to pull that out. Whatever you just did… it would've leveled me if I hadn't."
Rias turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes without flinch. Calm, but pride glinted. "…That's why they call me the heir of Gremory."
Her hand lowered, glow fading. "The Power of Destruction runs in my bloodline — descended from the original Bael. It isn't unique to me, but it marks me. It's why I'll be the next head of my house."
Her gaze slid back to him, sharp and curious. "…But what was that?"
Sam rolled his shoulders, claws retracting, exoskeleton dissolving. "…Lightning's always been my thing. Everyone's seen the claws. Seen me spit it. This is just me channeling it inward. Through my body instead of out. Makes me faster. Sharper. Still a work in progress."
He shrugged faintly. "But you got serious, so I figured I'd get serious too."
Empath picked up the warmth in her amusement now — pride layered with genuine curiosity.
The spar ended. The room exhaled with them.
Asia finally broke from her corner, rushing across the mat. She checked Rias quickly, polite and brief, then focused fully on Sam. Her fingers brushed his arm, tracing the gauntlet as if she needed proof he was unhurt. Her "concern" wasn't subtle.
From her side, Akeno's smile widened knowingly. Koneko's eyes narrowed.
Sam noticed, but didn't call it out. He let Asia fuss, her presence softening the edge left hanging in the air.
By the time the next day arrived, the energy was already there. Banners snapped in the breeze, the academy's grounds alive before the first whistle. Students in gym uniforms crowded the courtyard, voices carrying across the track in a restless buzz.
Sam adjusted his jacket at the edge of the field, watching the anticipation roll through the crowd. Empath hummed steady against his chest—excitement, nerves, competitiveness sparking off every cluster of students. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. …This is what normal kids get excited for.
Normal. The thought still pressed in. Stray devil, fallen angels, Freed Sellzen in his apartment—three brushes with death in a month. Now the same school buzzed over relay races and tug-of-war. The contrast sat sharp in his chest.
"First-year sprint!" The announcer's voice cracked through the speakers, whistle shrilling as the runners lined up.
Bang! The starter pistol fired.
Koneko crouched low, stride crisp and clean. She held herself just shy of inhuman, but still broke the finish tape with ease.
Empath whispered a flicker of pride before she smoothed it flat again.
From the stands, the Perverted Trio made fools of themselves.
Matsuda: "Koneko-chan's stride is perfect!"
Motohama: "Seventy-three centimeters exactly!"
Issei groaned. "…You're both hopeless."
The next event rushed on. Thump, thump, swish! Balls flew into overhead baskets as the first-years played tamaire.
Minami stood among them, mask cool and aloof, tossing half-heartedly. But when her eyes slid toward Sam, her composure rippled—embarrassment flaring, then strangled down.
Empath caught it even as she forced her face blank. Sam only arched a brow, looking away.
Matsuda and Motohama clapped like she'd scored a goal. Issei slumped deeper.
Whistle! The second-years took the field.
Asia jogged nervously to her line. Bang! She shot forward, shorter stride straining, determination dragging her through. To the crowd's surprise, she finished near the front—second or third, right behind Kiba. Cheers burst around her.
She glanced sidelong to the crowd. Sam gave a small nod and half-smile.
Her pride glowed through Empath, shy but bright, warming against her nerves.
Kiba followed soon after, stride smooth and knightly, his fan club screaming with every step. He took first place clean. Boys muttered, girls swooned.
Sam's dry thought lingered: Makes sense. Asia's growth shows. Oathbound Saint boosts, plain as day.
The baton relays began. Bang! The second-year race tore down the track—Yura and Tomoe fierce in their bursts, Momo and Reya steady on the pass-offs. Their class pushed hard against rivals, cheers rolling loud.
Sam leaned back, letting the energy buzz by him.
Bell! The announcer's voice cut through, calling the third-years to gather.
Class 3-A clustered together, murmurs taut. Karuwana kept her distance, restraint wound tight, irritation simmering, longing buried underneath.
Akeno noticed first, smug satisfaction curling off her in waves.
Sam didn't comment, just noted it.
Rias stood calm, offering quiet encouragement. Akeno teased with a sly smile, "So then, are you aiming for first—or do you prefer something quieter?"
Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll run, and the finish line will sort it out."
Laughter rippled from classmates, pride and competitiveness threading heavy.
Bang! The relays fired off.
Rias and Akeno sprinted clean legs, their classmate holding steady. Sona and Tsubaki cut sharp lines on the other side. Then the anchors stepped forward—Sam on one end, Class 3-B's runner on the other.
The baton slapped into his hand. Sam surged forward, long strides swallowing the track, crossing the line with ease. Cheers cracked like thunder.
His thoughts stayed dry: Training paid off too well. Barely had to try. If I had to against humans, that'd be concerning.
Thump, swish, scatter! Tamaire followed, balls raining into baskets. Then tug-of-war, rope pulled taut, heels dug in. Sam only leaned once—one sharp pull snapping the match in 3-A's favor.
Flat thought: Rias cancels Sona. Akeno cancels Tsubaki. And me? I barely pulled before it was over.
The bell rang sharp for midday break. Students spilled toward food stalls, chatter rising with the smoke of grills.
Sam stepped off the field with Rias and Akeno, only to find the Student Council waiting. Sona and Tsubaki stood at the front, the Sitri girls fanning behind—Momo with her clipboard, Reya close at her side, Tomoe and Yura trailing just a step off.
In moments, the courtyard pressed tight. Kiba arrived from one side, calm as ever. Asia hurried in, cheeks pink with excitement, while Koneko slipped to Sam's other side without a word. Suddenly, both groups had folded together—and Sam stood at the center of it.
The greetings came fast. Rias's calm smile met Sona's cool sharpness, their rivalry polite but firm. Akeno's voice carried a sly lilt that set static in the air. Tsubaki's eyes narrowed, measuring.
Momo tried to look busy with her clipboard, though her glances flicked up too often. Reya stayed composed, but her attention strayed Sam's way. Yura didn't bother with subtlety—restless, impatient energy rolled sharp off her.
Kiba's calm presence drew Tomoe almost immediately. She gave him a sharp grin, leaning on her shinai like it was second nature.
"Still think your knight's form can outpace real kendo?"
Kiba smiled faintly, voice even. "Still think kendo can keep up with a knight?"
Her eyes narrowed, grin not fading. "Guess we'll see after the festival."
His calm didn't waver. "I'll be ready."
The exchange was brief, but the tension underneath was clear—steel measuring steel, neither willing to give ground.
Asia clung to one of Sam's sleeves, smiling shy. Warmth radiated soft from her, affection woven through nerves. Koneko claimed the other sleeve, silent but steady, her grip sharp with quiet possessiveness.
Sam looked down at the tug on both arms and thought flatly: …Okay.
Akeno's faint chuckle made it clear she'd noticed.
The conversation drifted toward stalls. Rias mentioned the ORC's table was already set up.
Koneko's voice was blunt but edged with pride. "We made bakery items."
"…Didn't know you baked," Sam muttered.
The flicker of pride in her chest betrayed her, even as her face stayed flat.
"We did it in the clubroom," Akeno said brightly. "You wouldn't know—you never stay long." Mischief licked at the edges of her tone.
Asia spoke quickly, cheeks coloring. "I helped."
Her pride glowed warm, hopeful, tugging soft against him.
"…Guess I should stick around more," Sam muttered, dry but not unkind.
At the stall, Koneko pressed a cookie into his hand. "I made this one."
Asia hurried forward, offering one of hers, pink to the ears. "This one's mine."
Sam froze for a heartbeat, two offerings, two expectant stares. …God. Dating sim choice. Whichever one I pick first…
He took both. Bit Koneko's first, then Asia's. "…Pretty good. You guys should make more."
Koneko's quiet satisfaction pulsed smug. Asia's shy happiness glowed bright, spilling warmth into the air.
Wiping his hands, Sam shook his head. "Honorary member, if that. Not babysitting a stall. I'll go check out the rest of the festival."
"I can go with Sam," Asia blurted, too quick. Her eagerness spilled bright, threaded with shy excitement.
Koneko's eyes narrowed faintly. "…I'll go too."
Rias nodded smoothly. "That works. Kiba, stay here with us."
"Of course," Kiba said, easy calm.
So Sam left the courtyard tugged forward by Asia, Koneko shadowing close, the festival noise swelling around them.
The Kendo Club's stall stood out—shinai lined on racks, posters promising demonstrations, members calling out for challengers.
Tomoe spotted him instantly. Her grin sharpened as she waved him over.
"Barnes! Perfect timing. You should try one of our matches—we're letting students spar for fun."
Sam gave her a flat look, though his mouth tugged faintly. "…Sports Festival, huh. Guess I can entertain the thought. But if I spar, it should probably be with you."
"Oh?" Her brow arched. "And why's that?"
"Because I'm pretty strong."
Her laugh rang out, sly and bright. "How strong?"
Sam turned his head toward Koneko. "Want to tell her?"
Koneko didn't hesitate. "…Strong enough." Pride undercut her flat delivery.
Tomoe tilted her head, studying him with interest. "That so? Then maybe I should test it myself. See if that strength holds up against a shinai."
Sam's tone stayed dry. "…You can try."
Her smirk widened, but then she leaned in, voice sly. "But will it be me first, or Yura? I heard she's already claimed her turn."
Asia blinked, confused. Koneko's brow twitched, the faintest flicker of puzzlement.
Sam exhaled. "…It'll probably be Yura. She asked first. But I'm good enough to handle two spars in a row."
Tomoe chuckled, pleased at the answer. "Multiple in a row, huh? My, my, Sam—you've got the stamina."
Asia flushed once she caught the edge in her tone, looking quickly down. Koneko shot Tomoe a flat, unimpressed stare.
Sam deadpanned at her, refusing to give the innuendo oxygen. "…We'll see. After the festival."
Tomoe only grinned wider. "Suit yourself. I'll be waiting."
Her competitive fire lingered in the air as Sam let Asia tug him along again, Koneko pacing silent and steady at his other side.
The festival air thickened as they moved deeper into the rows of stalls. Ssshhk, hiss, pop—oil spat from deep pans, the smell of grilled skewers and fried batter heavy on the breeze. Students crowded benches with trays piled high, voices rising in a blur of chatter.
Sam carried a paper box in one hand, letting Asia walk close at his side while Koneko shadowed silent, eyes flicking across the crowd. They cut through the noise easily, his height parting space without trying.
That was when Minami broke from her group.
She moved carefully, chin lifted, mask of poise in place. Her entourage slowed behind her as if confused by the sudden turn.
Her gaze locked on Sam. The rest of the courtyard seemed to narrow.
"…Barnes," she blurted, voice sharper than intended. Her steps faltered, cheeks already pinking. "You… really do look different up close."
Sam's expression didn't shift. "…Is that a compliment?"
The words tangled in her throat. She forced them out. "…Maybe. I—I didn't mean it badly."
"Then I'll take it that way," he said, tone even.
Her fingers curled against her skirt hem, voice dropping softer. "…Maybe if we spent more time together, I'd know what to call it."
Her nerves spiked hot through Empath—fluttery attraction tangled with the pride she couldn't quite put down.
Asia edged closer, smile fading, unease rolling sharp beneath her earlier glow. Koneko's eyes narrowed, faint possessiveness hard as steel thread.
Sam didn't flinch from Minami's gaze. He only held it steady, unreadable.
Her face burned crimson. She bowed quick and low, muttering, "…Forget it." Then she spun back to her group, mask snapping back into place, her entourage whispering as she rejoined them.
Her embarrassment burned bright as she fled, but the curiosity lingered.
Sam watched her retreat with flat calm. …Alright. I see you.
They found a quieter bench tucked between stalls. Sam set the paper box down, skewers and fried snacks spilling across the wrappers.
Asia's eyes widened. She hovered, almost guilty at the sight, before carefully picking up a skewer. "…What's this one called?"
Koneko answered without hesitation, clipped but steady. "Takoyaki. That's yakisoba. The sweet one's imagawayaki."
Her flat tone didn't hide the faint hum of pride underneath—sharing what she knew, staking quiet claim in her own way.
Asia took her first bite carefully. Her eyes lit up immediately. She glanced back at Sam with a bright smile, cheeks warming.
Her joy pulsed through Empath—simple, glowing happiness, threaded with the wonder of trying something new.
Sam leaned back slightly, chewing his own skewer, half-smile tugging at his mouth as he watched her excitement.
Koneko ate quietly, but Sam noticed the detail: she slipped one of her favorites into her bag for later. Habit, maybe. Sentiment, maybe.
Asia kept asking questions with every new bite—what the dishes were, how often they were made, what else the academy cooked for festivals. Koneko answered each one in clipped syllables, patience buried beneath her bluntness.
Sam didn't add much. He didn't need to. The warmth of the moment—Asia's bubbling joy, Koneko's quiet pride, the rare simplicity of just sitting and eating—settled heavier than the noise of the festival around them.
For once, it felt like a reprieve.
The bell for the afternoon block sent students spilling back onto the field. Teachers barked through megaphones, explaining the lineup: cavalry battle, obstacle race, and the final relay. The buzz of anticipation rolled louder with every word.
Sam flexed his hands, steady. Round two. Let's see how much I have to hold back this time.
Empath pressed heavy from all sides — excitement, nerves, competitiveness layered like a storm.
The cavalry battle came first. Teams of three "horses" carried one "rider," clashing to snatch headbands.
Sam crouched low at the front, steady as a pillar. Akeno slipped in on one flank, smirk sharp, while a classmate filled the other side. Rias perched above them, crimson hair bright against the autumn sun. To the crowd, it looked clean, almost regal: Rias steady, Akeno sly, Sam the engine driving them forward.
Whistle. Dust. The field erupted.
Sam surged straight, gait measured, every step rock-solid. Akeno leaned close, voice pitched low enough for him but loud enough to tease:
"Careful, Sam. Drop her and you'll never live it down."
Her thrill spiked under the words — competitiveness threaded with jealousy.
Rias's hand steadied on his shoulder. Calm, poised, but her grip firmer than it needed to be. Beneath it, pride shimmered — joy she couldn't quite mask at being carried so effortlessly.
Sam answered flat, not breaking stride:
"…Wouldn't dream of it."
The Perverted Trio, hanging at the sidelines, whispered hot commentary.
"Look at Rias up there, perfect queen pose."
"And Akeno right beside him — like she's daring anyone to challenge them."
"And of course, who's carrying her? Barnes."
Clash — another team barreled in, shouting. Sam didn't stumble. His balance was too exact, his frame too steady. He angled, shoved, and their formation peeled off in frustration. To anyone watching, it looked seamless: Rias composed, Akeno sharp, Sam unshakable at the base.
From the stands, classmates cheered. To them, it looked like teamwork. To Sam, it felt like balancing two very different energies — Rias's measured pride and Akeno's sharp amusement — while carrying them both forward without faltering.
Next came the obstacle race. Students lined the track, hurdles and rope climbs set against the dirt. The crowd leaned forward, buzz sharpening.
On the sidelines, the Trio muttered again.
"Kiba's got his whole fan club screaming."
"…But look at the eyes. The pretty ones are all staring at Barnes."
"…Figures."
Bang! The pistol cracked.
Sam vaulted forward, clearing hurdles in clean arcs. His body didn't waste a step, rope climbs eaten up in a smooth rhythm. To the crowd, it looked effortless. To him, it barely counted as exertion.
If I had to actually try, this would be embarrassing, he thought, swinging down the last rope and striding across the line first.
Cheers cracked through the air. Admiration, awe, and mutters of "foreign strength" tangled through Empath, pressing against his chest like heat.
The afternoon closed with the final relay. The announcer called it the capstone, eight runners from each year lining the track.
First-years: Koneko, Minami, and six others.
Second-years: Kiba, Asia, Yura, Tomoe, Momo, Reya, two more.
Third-years: Rias, Akeno, Sona, Tsubaki, Sam anchoring, three more.
The anticipation spiked like static — nerves, pride, adrenaline colliding in waves.
Sam scanned the lineup. Everyone important was here. Guess this is the real show.
Bang! The pistol snapped.
First-years launched. Koneko's crisp stride drew murmurs, her timing flawless. Minami ran with aloof grace, but faltered under whispers, mask cracking for a moment. Batons passed, cheers swelling.
Second-years tore down the track. Asia sprinted hard, determination bright, crossing her section near the front. Her pride lit warm through Empath, almost glowing. Yura and Tomoe burned their legs with competitive fire, Reya and Momo steady in their precision.
Third-years took the handoffs. Rias ran with measured composure, passing cleanly. Akeno stormed her lap with speed sharp enough to draw gasps, flashing a teasing wink Sam's way as she handed off. Tsubaki's leg cut through like a blade — efficient, relentless.
Then the anchors stepped up.
Kiba braced for the second-years, jaw tight, knightly calm stretched thin over strain. Sam faced him from the opposite line, tall, unreadable, steady as ever.
Fangirls screamed Kiba's name. A different murmur rippled for Sam — curiosity, awe, envy threaded tight.
Crack! Batons slapped into palms. Both exploded forward.
Kiba sprinted at his absolute limit, form drilled, lungs burning. Knightly grace masking desperation.
Sam moved at eighty percent. Long strides ate the track, smooth and steady, his body carrying the weight with room to spare.
Empath flared — Kiba's focus cutting razor-sharp through exhaustion, awe from the crowd, disbelief from the younger years.
Step by step, Sam pulled ahead. Kiba fought to close the gap, but couldn't without breaking his human mask.
The finish line loomed. Sam crossed first, breathing even, sweat barely on his brow.
Kiba staggered at the line, bent by the effort. His teammates swarmed him, pride loud despite the loss.
The field erupted — third-years shouting victory, second-years rallying around their knight, first-years clapping their own standouts.
Sam rolled his shoulders, the sound of it all dimming in his head. For them, it's a festival. For me, it's balance. Hold back enough not to give away too much. Push just enough when I have to.
His thoughts flicked toward Kiba — the knight had run himself ragged, forcing more effort from Sam than anyone else today. Guess I should give him that much. Still only eighty percent, though.
A faint breath escaped him, mouth quirking dry. If that counts as training, it's the easiest I've ever had.