POV: Haruki
So it's the training arc, I thought, amused.
Right now, we were climbing a mountain in the Underworld to reach our designated training ground.
"Hurry, Ise. Quick," Rias said over her shoulder.
I turned to Issei. The poor guy was drenched in sweat, his knees buckling under the weight of every girl's luggage. Rias, Akeno, Koneko - all of them packed with impunity. Normally, this would be trivial for a devil. Even a weak one could surpass Olympic athletes with ease. But Issei was wearing runes, gravity enchantments, commissioned by Rias specifically for this occasion. A classic trope: training weights.
Why a training arc, you ask?
Apparently, Rias's fiancé decided to drop by. The engagement had been accelerated, moved forward under circumstances I wasn't present for. He tried, rather reasonably, from a political standpoint, to convince her to accept the match. To embrace the inevitable. Rias, predictably, refused.
Then the Queen of satan Lucifer, Grayfia, offered a compromise: an unofficial Rating Game to decide the outcome. Both parties agreed. If Riser wins, they marry immediately. If Rias wins, the engagement is annulled.
"How honorable of your fiancé to give you ten days of preparation," I said to Rias as we climbed.
"Fairness isn't exactly something you expect from a devil," I added, amused.
Rias chuckled softly. "You're a devil too, you know."
"That's true, I suppose."
"But yes. It was very generous of Riser to give me prep time," she said, her eyes drifting into the horizon. "Although I don't know if he did it out of the goodness of his heart or due to his ego."
"Either is good for me," she concluded.
I hadn't met Riser personally. I wasn't present when he visited. I found out only after the agreement had been finalized, when Rias came to inform me and invited me to join the ten days of training.
And that's why we were here.
Entering the Underworld was rather complicated. Rias and her peerage could teleport via the Gremory magic circle. I could not. I had refused to allow that symbol to be engraved on my body. I will construct my own, when the time comes. I will not rely on others.
So instead, we took a train of all things into the Underworld.
The Underworld is equal in size to Earth. But it has no seas. No oceans. Only immense lakes, scattered across the landscape. The sky, once perpetually purple, now mimicked Earth's. A sun was constructed by the new Satans following the implementation of the Evil Piece system. They synchronized time to better integrate former humans like myself. The potential of demonic power continues to impress me even more. It is just so fun.
The underworld is divided into two domains: half belongs to the devils, the other to the fallen angels.
"So this territory belongs to the House of Gremory?" I asked, scanning the vast land around the mountain.
"No, this is not our territory," Rias replied with a vindictive smile. "I asked Sona for a favor: to provide us with a training place. And she was more than happy to oblige."
She chuckled. A little too pleased.
"So it's meant to be a middle finger to your family," I said, amused.
Quite petty of her. I respect it.
After some more climbing, we finally reached the peak. A mansion stood there—massive, imposing, opulent. It belonged to the House of Sitri. Not surprising. Pillar families possessed wealth beyond all human nations.
The boys - me, Issei and Kiba -were in the living room. The girls were upstairs changing. Issei and I stood there, gaping like idiots at the sheer scale of the place. Every corner oozed wealth. Ridiculous wealth.
"I'll also go and get changed," Kiba said. He carried a blue jersey as he entered a room on the first floor. He glanced at Issei with a teasing smirk. "Don't peek."
"I will seriously punch you, bastard!" Issei shouted, though he barely had the strength to lift his arm.
I went to change as well, grey sweatpants sufficing.
Eventually, we gathered in the living room, each of us now in proper training attire.
"So, we have exactly ten days to prepare," Rias said with a sigh. "Here is the plan: Issei will be trained in hand-to-hand combat by Koneko and Kiba, magic by Akeno, and general conditioning by me. We will also attempt to awaken his Sacred Gear."
She looked at Issei.
"Since Haruki and I are the strongest here, we'll take turns training Akeno, Kiba, and Koneko in general combat. After that, Haruki and I will spar."
That was the plan.
Currently, Rias and I were both high-class in demonic power. Akeno came close—borderline high-class, though not quite there. Kiba and Koneko were evenly matched, though Koneko possessed greater reserves. And Issei, naturally, sat at the bottom.
"So then let's begin," said Rias cheerfully.
I was going to face Akeno. Perfect.
Payback time, for when she tormented me while I was weaker.
And I was going to enjoy it. Very, very much.
-----------------------------------------------------
POV: Akeno
The air burned with ozone, crackling at my fingertips as lightning rippled down my arms. That lovely hum beneath the skin—like standing too close to a storm. I exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing on the smug little monster in front of me.
Haruki Yamashiro.
Hands in his pockets. Posture slouched. That insufferable, I-read-two-books-and-now-I'm-a-god smile plastered across his face. Not even the decency to activate his aura. He was daring me to make the first move. Of course he was.
I didn't hate him.
I intensely disliked everything about him.
The arrogance, the laziness, the way he spoke like the universe owed him a throne and a foot rub. But most of all, I hated the way he made me feel—small, clumsy, inadequate. It's been less than two months since the little freak sprouted a pair of devil wings, and already he's reached high-class in demonic power.
Ridiculous.
Simply ridiculous. I've trained for years. Years. I'm talented. Respected. I have the blood of a fallen angel running through my veins, and yet I'm still not quite there and he just waltzes in and—
No. Focus..
Generally speaking, if a low-class devil is the baseline for demonic energy reserves, a middle-class devil has about five to seven times that. And a high-class? Ten to twelve times that of a middle-class again. I've always had strong reserves thanks to my lineage, at a guess, I'd say mine are about eight times that of mid-class. Impressive, but not enough. Never enough.
Climbing the ranks, pure power rank not the social ranks, isn't just about raw power, though it's the most important factor. There are other… variables. Unique Traits. Qualities, things like determination or willpower. Requirements that differ from one devil to another. Think of the class system as layers of existence, you need the energy, the potential, and something else to ascend. I have a suspicion about what's holding me back.
Maybe I should start lounging around and making smug comments about other people's technique. That apparently works wonders.
I moved.
Lightning cracked like a whip as I launched forward, the sound trailing behind me. For a heartbeat, I saw his expression change—then he vanished.
"Too slow," purred a voice right behind my ear.
I spun, throwing out another blast on instinct, and he caught it.
Just caught it. Like I'd handed him a sparkler at a festival. Lightning arced up his arm, lighting that stupidly sharp face for a second.
No flinch. No strain.
"Come on, Akeno," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself. "If I close my eyes, I might actually get some training out of this."
My face burned hotter than the plasma in my palms.
"Shut up!" I snapped, voice cracking as I hurled a barrage of bolts. The courtyard lit up like the inside of a thundercloud. I swore, swore, I had him this time.
But he just walked through it. Walked. Through. It.
Each strike broke harmlessly against him, scattering like rain on stone.
"You can't just rely on spells," he said, strolling through my storm like it was mist. "Your lightning's impressive. But predictable. And predictable…" He smiled. "Gets you killed."
"You're a Queen, Akeno. Why are you fighting like a Bishop?" he added with mock concern.
My teeth clenched so hard I might've cracked a molar.
I fired a concentrated beam right at his smirking face. Close range.
He tilted his head and let the beam roar past, missing by a millimeter. Or letting it miss. Hard to tell with him.
His voice, when it came again, was like a scalpel dipped in honey.
"You know," he said conversationally, "you're really good at dramatic posing. Not so good at actually hitting me."
Then he blurred.
Suddenly he was in front of me, that smug little upturned smile still on his face.
"Boo."
I jumped, actually jumped, and as I stumbled back, he flicked my forehead.
Not hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to humiliate.
I felt my dignity crumble like wet paper.
"Do you ever take anything seriously?!" I growled, half shrieking, half snarling.
"I would," he said, circling me like a cat playing with its favorite wounded bird, "if you gave me a reason to."
Oh, I'll give you a reason, I thought darkly.
I fired again, more reflex than strategy, and he at least had to move this time, dodging the blast with a lazy lean. Sparks shredded the air.
"That was better," he murmured. "Still not enough."
I charged.
Point-blank blast. Fast, direct, precise.
Too slow.
He caught my wrist like it was nothing, twisted gently, enough to unbalance, not enough to break. Before I could even curse, he swept my legs.
I hit the ground with a graceless thud, the remnants of lightning flickering out like embarrassed fireflies.
Haruki crouched beside me, peering down with mock curiosity.
"At this point," he said, "I'm starting to wonder if you like being on the floor."
Heat flared in my chest, rage and something else I'd rather stab than name.
"You're impossible," I hissed through clenched teeth.
"No," he said smoothly, offering his hand with mock chivalry. "I'm Haruki."
I hate him.
I stared at the offered hand for a long second. Then I took it, if only to avoid looking like I'd lost. He pulled me up easily, effortlessly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Too close. Too steady.
"Try to hit me," he whispered, voice low, intimate. "Just once. You can do that much."
The way he said it, like he knew I couldn't.
Lightning surged from me in a raw, furious wave. The air lit with ozone.
If I had to burn myself out to touch him, then fine.
I would.
-------------------------------------
POV: Haruki
It had been a couple of days since we started training here. Or rather, since I started beating them into shape. I'm no master martial artist, no wise instructor with sage advice, I can only fight. Overwhelm them. Force adaptation through pressure. Diamonds and all that.
Still, this would be the first match with Rias since I ascended to the high-class tier. The thought excited me, if only slightly. Fighting someone my equal? A rare indulgence. Training the others had its novelty in the beginning, but repetition dulled it fast.
Warning: Third person narration
Rias's crimson eyes locked onto him, brimming with resolve.
He lowered his stance, demonic energy gathering in his legs.
He vanished.
A burst of concussive force shattered the ground as he surged forward, exceeding the speed of sound. Trees snapped behind him from the pressure. Rias barely twisted her body out of the way, her hair whipping in the gale. She raised her hands to guard, but his supercharged right hook slipped through, crashing into her ribs and sending her skidding violently across the forest floor, tearing through bark and root.
She recovered in a crouch.
He was already above her.
Without warning, he twisted mid-air and hurled both legs backward, a dropkick aimed at her skull. Rias arched back. The kick missed, barely, but struck the massive boulder behind her. The rock cracked with a sickening crunch. It shifted, unbalanced. Dust and rubble scattered. Her nose was grazed, bleeding.
"Come on, you can do better than that," Haruki said, tone dry and amused.
From the wall beside him, a magic circle bloomed. Crimson light burst forth. Rias's Power of Destruction surged, but he blurred to the side, the energy tearing apart the space he'd just occupied.
The Power of Destruction licked the air around him like heat waves.
"Scared?" Rias asked, eyes glittering.
He smiled faintly. "Now it's getting fun."
"You have no sense of danger," she replied
She lifted her hands and conjured a swarm of orb-sized spheres, each one humming with barely restrained annihilation, then launched them forward in waves.
Haruki danced between them with unsettling grace. He weaved through the energy blasts and laughed.
"Are those love-bites?" he taunted, smirking.
She said nothing.
Instead, every orb expanded.
He blinked.
They had grown massive, a dozen swollen suns encircling him.
That was unexpected.
He focused everything into his legs. Demonic power surged. He bolted upward, the destructive spheres closing behind him. The edge of one grazed his side as he escaped. He hit the ground rolling, breath sharp, heart steady.
She didn't give him a second.
Rias rushed, hand glowing with the Power of Destruction, aiming directly for his head. The blast trailed her palm like a comet.
He ducked, the crimson aura missing him by inches, then sidestepped as her follow-up spell exploded against the earth, turning rock into nothing. The heat brushed his face. That would have incinerated a lesser being.
But she pressed on.
Punches. Kicks. A relentless onslaught. She overwhelmed him for a heartbeat.
She was fast, faster than before. He noted the shift.
For a moment, he fell behind.
Interesting.
But then—
She stopped.
Her eyes narrowed.
She sensed it.
Particles of demonic energy drifting in the air—imperceptible to most, but not to her. Her head snapped to the side.
He was holding a lighter. Smiling.
Her pupils shrank. She launched into the air in panic.
The forest detonated behind her.
Flames tore through the trees. The heat melted the bark and snapped trunks like twigs.
Rias escaped—but barely. Her clothes were scorched, parts of her dress incinerated. She hovered, breathing hard.
Her eyes widened.
She caught movement above her.
Too late.
He was above her.
His heel crashed into her stomach.
The force was unnatural.
Blood surged from her mouth as she rocketed downward, crashing into the dirt hard enough to carve a crater.
Her wings curled around her reflexively. Above, Haruki laughed, descending lazily.
"Is that all you've got?" he shouted.
She coughed violently, pain flaring in her ribs. But her eyes blazed.
"I'm not done yet!" she snapped.
A sphere of crimson formed in her hand, swelling into a deadly ball of destruction. But again, she saw it. The fragments. The familiar, subtle glint in the air. And him. Another lighter.
She abandoned the spell and flew into the sky, narrowly escaping.
Haruki appeared behind her. She barely turned before he drove both fists down onto her skull. The blow hurled her toward the earth.
He followed instantly, wings folded for speed. As she fell, he seized her head midair, dragging her through the trees, each trunk shattering on impact, and slammed her body into the ground.
She stayed there, breath ragged.Her wings flickered out of reflex, but her limbs twitched in pain. Knees trembling. Hands twisted. Blood dripping from her mouth. Her jaw was slack, broken. Bones cracked.
She was on all fours, disoriented and silent.
Haruki laughed softly from the air. "You look like a dog."
The insult hit harder than any spell.
Rage burst from her body in the form of pure crimson energy. Power of Destruction erupted from every pore.
The forest vanished.
Everything exploded and ceased.
He escaped into the air, wings unfurling. The wind from the blast chased him as he soared toward a distant mountain.
But she followed.
With her final trump card in hand.
A colossal arrow formed, wider than any tree, deeper than any roots.
"Destruction Arrow!"
She hurled it with a scream.
The mountain disintegrated on impact.
She stared, shocked. "I may have… gone too far."
A voice whispered beside her.
"It would have been worrying… if it had hit."
She turned. He was flying alongside her, smiling calmly. He was bruised, perhaps, but far from broken.
Both were bleeding.
They both hovered there, watching one another in silence.
Their breathing steadied.
"It's enough for today," she said.
He didn't disagree.
------------------------------------
POV: Haruki
Healing through physical contact. Generally, demonic energy is not suited for such a thing. That is why healing abilities are rare, and healing potions are immensely valued. Even in Hell, doctors are regarded as one of the most respected professions. However, there is a catch. Healing through physical contact is slow, and the demonic energy between individuals must match. They need to be either from the same family or from the same peerage. That is another reason peerages are well-liked among the nobility. Since the Evil Pieces use the King's energy as a template, peerage energy is similar to that of their King, like a family. So, they can heal each other through long periods of physical contact, like sleeping naked together.
All of that is to explain why I am currently lying in bed, naked, with Rias.
We were both injured from our spar, and she proposed we sleep together to recover more efficiently. I didn't refuse. Her head rested against my bare chest, the softness of her hair brushing my collarbone. I absently traced slow circles on her shoulder, trailing over healing skin.
"I was going to comment on your rather uninspired use of the Power of Destruction," I said with a deliberately lazy tone, "but etiquette restrained me."
She snorted, the sound muffled against my chest. "You and etiquette? Two parallel lines that will never meet."
"Damn. Shots fired. Undeserved," I murmured, smirking faintly. "I am, in fact, a remarkably polite man."
She raised her head slightly, looked up with a quizzical eyebrow. "You? A polite man?" She sniffed with exaggerated disdain. "And I am a dog."
"Well, I mean, the way you were on all fours during the spar…"
She lightly slapped my chest. "And whose fault was that, hmm?" she said. "In any case, I don't think your Harukiness and politeness are mutually compatible. I doubt you'd show respect even toward the Crimson Satan himself."
"Crimson Satan?... Your brother's not half-bad though," I said. And I meant that. It takes an immense level of adhering to principle to not wipe out all those annoying members of the high court.
"For a devil? You wanted to say that, right?" she accused me with a mocking glare.
"You're putting words in my mouth now."
"Honestly, your prejudice against devils is always amusing."
"I'm not that prejudiced against devils. They're not even at the top of the list."
"Oh, what a great insult to us." she said with a chuckle. "My honor demands to know which mythical beings have earned the dubious honor of your utmost disdain?"
"Vampires and fallen angels."
Rias chuckled. "Am I about to get another rant on why?"
I obliged. "The Fallen... oh, what an apt term. Not simply fallen from Heaven, but from relevance, from decency, from anything resembling purpose. These are not misunderstood rebels or grandiose Promethean figures. No, don't romanticize it. These are beings who saw the face of the Almighty, tasted divinity itself, and still chose to fall. Not out of some noble rebellion, but because they couldn't keep their pants on. Literally."
Rias was already snorting with laughter. I continued, voice taking on the mock seriousness of a lecturer.
"They were cast out not for intellectual divergence or ideological war, but because they got horny. Too horny to remain in the presence of holiness. That is a level of pathetic that warrants its own tier of damnation. And have you read the Book of Enoch? I have. Disturbing bedtime reading, admittedly, but illuminating. The so-called 'Grigori' didn't just fall. They crashed like drunk pilots into the moral fabric of mankind. They taught humans sorcery, advanced warfare, not that humans needed teachers, cosmetics, yes, cosmetics, and then proceeded to impregnate every village girl between Babylon and Antioch. All because they wanted to be worshipped. By humans."
She laughed harder.
"Imagine beholding the grandeur of God, basking in His radiance for untold millennia, and then going, 'Actually, I'd like to roleplay as a tribal fertility idol and get praised by bronze-age mortals for inventing eyeliner and swords.' That is not tragic. It's embarrassing. The Fallen are, essentially, the ex-boyfriends of Heaven. Clingy, bitter, and obsessed with proving they're still desirable by hitting on anything with a pulse and no spiritual self-respect."
Rias was laughing loudly.
Rias wiped her eyes. "You're unbelievable. What about vampires?"
"No reason. They just suck. A bunch of glorified leeches who can't digest garlic."
Rias laughed harder at that. Then came a stretch of comfortable silence. Her hand idly moved over my chest.
"Are you okay?" I asked eventually.
"Never felt better. Why do you ask?" she replied dryly.
"Oh, no reason. Just the fact that we're training on a mountain in the middle of nowhere for your duel against your immortal, flame-barfing fiancé, whom you despise. And if you lose, you get chained into a dynastic marriage that makes ancient Roman hostage treaties look romantic. That's all."
"Right," she muttered. "Put like that, it does sound a touch grim."
"Just a touch," I echoed. "Like cyanide in your wedding cake."
She sighed through her nose. "Well, maybe I'll get lucky and fall off the mountain before the ceremony."
"If you do, I'll push the priest off after you. For symmetry."
She cracked a smile. It didn't reach her eyes, but it was something.
"You know," she said, "you're not exactly cheering me up."
"Your grasp of the current state of affairs is as keen as ever."
Another pause.
"You're insufferable," she muttered.
Silence again. Then, quietly: "To be honest, I'm scared. Riser has had ten Rating Games so far. He's won eight. He lost two of them on purpose as kindness to a household he's close to. In reality, he's undefeated. He's already dubbed the second greatest prodigy in our generation."
"Second? Who's the first?"
"It's not you, you self-absorbed prick," she said, giggling. "It's actually my cousin, Sairaorg Bael. But he's...unique."
She grew somber again. "The problem with Riser is his ability. You're aware of the ability of House of Phenex, right?"
I nodded.
"Immortality like the bird of legend. It's ridiculously hard to defeat or kill a Phenex. They can regenerate from any wound instantly. And Riser is extremely talented. His weakest pawn easily defeated Issei." she spoke.
She sighed.
There was grudging respect in her tone now. "There are two ways you can defeat him. One is to beat him down with incredible power. The other is to keep taking him down until his mind breaks. The first method requires the strength of an ultimate-class. The second one requires saving our stamina until Riser's mind collapses. Even if his body is immortal, his mind isn't. If we break his will, we win."
It was clear she had been thinking about this extensively.
"He sounds quite impressive when you say it like that. But I already gave you my word that I would help. And I always keep my word," I responded coolly.
"That was corny."
"No, I assure you, it was a very cool and significant character moment," I said with mock solemnity.
"You really are not half as cool as you think you are," she said, laughter dancing in her eyes.
She's just a hater.
"In any case, don't give up yet," I said. "I watched all of his matches. He's good but not invincible. We have two high-class in this team. While his peerage may be full, most of them aren't particularly impressive, aside from his Queen and two Bishops. I can take out the rest simultaneously in a straight fight."
That wasn't a boast. It was a fact.
She looked thoughtful. "The issue is his sister, Ravel. High-Class, like him. A gifted strategist. I don't think I could neutralize her fast enough to help you deal with Riser. And their regeneration, it really is a cheat."
She said nothing. The room fell quiet again.
After a while, Rias spoke again.
"What do you mean my usage of the Power of Destruction is uninspired?" Her tone was curious, neither defensive nor offended, simply inquisitive.
I met her gaze. "It may just be me overestimating the Power of Destruction," I began, evenly, "but isn't it extremely versatile? So far, you've only been using it as an energy attack. A glorified magical fireball. A crimson Kamehameha, if you will."
She blinked. No visible reaction beyond that.
I continued. "But the Power of Destruction doesn't just damage things. It erases. Obliterates. Annihilates without remainder. Conceptually, it's far more terrifying. If you can erase matter, what's stopping you from erasing the space between yourself and your opponent?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"Instant teleportation," I said. "Or something like it. Instant relocation by annihilating the concept of between."
I stepped closer. I wasn't sure whether I was trying to intimidate her or merely emphasize the point, but I found I liked the sound of my own reasoning.
"You could erase momentum. Erase gravity. Erase sound. Silence a battlefield, rupture a spell mid-cast, even erase someone's identity if you mastered it on a conceptual level. Not that I recommend that last one. Probably frowned upon by the magical ethics committee."
"That's not a real committee," she said.
"Only because they probably all erased each other trying to define 'ethics.'"
I didn't smile. She didn't laugh. That wasn't the purpose of the line.
"My point is," I pressed on, "the Power of Destruction is a scalpel pretending to be a sledgehammer. You're swinging it around like a blunt-force trauma enthusiast when you could be doing much more. You've got a philosopher's nuke, Rias. Why waste it on glorified fireballs?"
She fell silent, eyes slightly narrowed in thought.
There was a long pause. She didn't look away from me, but her mind had receded inward, beneath the surface of her red gaze. I waited. Eventually, she spoke.
"To be able to use it on such concepts… I can't even begin to imagine the amount of power, understanding, and control one would require. Perhaps my brother may be able to do it. But you may be right. I should change my approach to it."
Her voice was soft, contemplative.
"What about you?" said Rias suddenly.
I turned my eyes toward her, not moving otherwise. "What about me?"
"Your demonic energy is high-class," she said thoughtfully. "But you don't really have a way to harm Riser."
Her tone was not mocking. It was analytical, as if she were reviewing a report, not speaking to a person. I listened without interruption.
"I mean, your use of demonic energy reinforcement is extremely impressive," she continued, "and that little trick with the lighter, I would know, since I've been at the receiving end of them. But it won't really matter against a person who can endlessly heal. There's only so much punch and kick you can do against immortality or explosions, really."
I allowed the silence to stretch a moment longer before I replied. "You're not wrong. Which is also what I'm working on."
It wasn't a lie. My offensive capability was lacking. In combat, I relied almost entirely on speed, strength, and that controlled detonation I'd integrated into close-quarters movement. It worked well enough, against people who could die.
"Why don't you create a common trait?" she said. "For someone of your talent, it shouldn't be hard."
Common abilities. Universally replicable techniques. The fallback of most devils. Fire manipulation, poison creation, mists…, the sort of thing you could teach a half-competent magician in a month. Almost all transmutations of demonic energy fell into that category. Not because they were desirable, but because they were feasible.
Devils defaulted to them, even when they did not suit their personality or nature. Hell, most devils never even attempted to go beyond the basics. Not because they lacked ambition, but because they understood what ambition required. Anything truly unique demanded sacrifice. Not metaphorical sacrifice. Not time. Not meditation. Actual cost. The kind of price that burned its receipt into your existence. That was the trade: to manifest an ability of sufficient complexity or potency, you had to give something up. And even before the payment, you had to imagine it clearly enough to will it into the fabric of your being.
Devil magic was based on imagination. Fire, lightning, venom, frost, these things were easy to picture. Tangible, familiar, constantly represented in the world. But what did it mean to imagine immortality? How do you visualize time stop? What would it look like to delete someone's memories, or reverse causality? The mind recoils. And the power recoils with it. That is what makes the pillar houses Lucifer given abilities so revered.
"I wanted to create something special," I answered.
A devil could, in theory, possess up to four distinct traits before the weight of them began to tear at the soul. I already had one. That left me with three chances. Three carefully chosen, singular directions in which to define my magic, my existence, my identity. I had no intention of wasting any of them on fireballs.
------------------------------------
POV: Haruki
It has been ten days since we began our training arc, and by most measures, it proceeds satisfactorily. Issei has not yet awakened his Sacred Gear, a disappointing but unsurprising fact. I have come to suspect that such devices, rooted in instinct and trauma, respond not to calculation but to extremity. He will require either a decisive trial of will or an emotional experience to unlock it.
In the meantime, we have settled on strategy. A blitz assault. A blitzkrieg. Rias and I will strike in tandem, masking my full power until the critical moment. It increases the probability of success.
Now we've returned to the human world. It is night. The others dispersed, leaving only Rias and me.
"Haruki… may I speak to you for a moment?" she asked, voice quieter than usual. Her cheeks were tinged with a faint, telling blush.
I was preparing to answer, but then my phone rang.
Hikaru.
I raised a hand to Rias in apology. "One moment, please."
"Hello," I answered.
"Brother… sob… sob… mama… papa…" she wept.
A sudden weight pressed against my chest. My stomach turned, instinctively, before my mind could process the implication.
"Hikaru," I said, keeping my voice steady, "what happened?"
"They're dead..." she whispered. Then louder, more broken: "They're dead...!"
My breath caught.
"I... sob... I killed them... I killed Papa and Mama... Haruki, I killed them... sob... I'm a monster. I'm a murderer..."
She was crying uncontrollably now, as if her lungs could not carry the weight of her words.
"Hikaru… please tell me what happened. What do you mean you killed them?" I asked, though even as I said it, I knew I was asking the wrong question.
"The monster… sob… the one from my dreams… it came out of my shadow… I had a fight with mom before that, and then the monster came out and it… it killed mama first… and then papa…"
I could hear her losing herself.
I gripped the phone tightly, my fingers pale.
"He's big… he has four arms with chainsaws… I'm scared, brother… no, no no no—"
Her tone shifted abruptly."There are people coming… they're coming for me… I have to run… they'll kill me—"
The line went dead.
"Wait! Who—?" I shouted, but it was too late. She had already cut the call.
I stared at the dark screen. My hand was trembling. Not with fear, not with despair, those are clean, manageable things. This was worse. A gnawing, sour dread that hollowed me out from within.
I turned back to Rias.
She saw my face and stepped forward, concern written all over her expression. "Haruki? Are… are you okay? What happened?"
"Something terrible," I replied, voice strained despite my efforts to contain it. "I'm sorry, Rias. I have to leave. My sister is in danger."
Her expression darkened. "What do you mean? Is everything… okay?"
"No. Everything is not okay." I steadied my breathing. "I have to go now. It may be a long journey."
"But the Rating Game is tomorrow. Where will—"
"I know, Rias," I cut her off. "But I must go now. I don't have much time. I promise you, I will return."
With that, I unfurled my wings. The wind tore at my coat the moment I launched.
"Haruki - wait-" she called after me.
But I didn't. I couldn't.
My home city lies 200 kilometers away. At maximum speed, the journey would take me nine minutes and forty-two seconds. I must not slow down. Not once.
-----------------------------
POV: Rias
He promised.
I have whispered those words to myself a hundred times now. Each time, softer. Each time, more desperately. It's nearly 11:40 PM. We're all gathered in the old school building, just like we planned. Everything is just as it should be, except for the one thing that matters.
Kiba stands by the wall, armored gauntlet glinting faintly under the fluorescent lights, swords aligned beside him with careful precision. Koneko-chan is curled in a chair near the corner, seemingly calm, quietly flipping the pages of a book. She wears fingerless gloves now: practical, worn by martial artists. I remember Haruki once said she looked like someone from an old arcade fighting game. He had that little smirk when he said it. That quietly amused one. I miss it.
Akeno has been watching me for a while now. Her arms are crossed, lips pressed tight, eyes flicking toward the clock more often than the window. Her concern is not just for me, but for him. Of course it is.
"Where is Haruki-buchou?" Issei asks. My diligent pawn. Ever hopeful. Ever loyal. Even now, he looked to me for strength.
Haruki.
I try to steady my voice, make it sound warm, assured. "He'll come, Issei-kun."
He will come. He promised.
But the others… they just glance at one another, silently. The silence makes it worse. It's as if the air itself has begun to doubt me.
The clock shifts. 11:45. Five minutes. Still nothing.
Akeno starts pacing now, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she mutters something under her breath. Likely a curse. Maybe a plea.
11:48. I've stood up too. I can't sit still. I keep walking, the same three steps back and forth like it'll summon him. Like if I pace hard enough, the doors will open and he'll be there, looking tired but amused, like always. Muttering something cold and clever before we all take our positions.
But he's not here.
He wouldn't abandon me… would he?
No. No, there must be a reason. He must be hurt. Injured. Or something must have happened. He would never choose to leave us like this. Like me.
I remember the look on his face the night he left. There was fear there. Real, palpable fear. And Haruki never shows fear. That same boy who, as a mere human, hurled himself toward a monster from myth because he thought I was in danger. The one who stood his ground against exorcists and fallen angels to protect a girl he didn't even know.
He isn't someone who turns away from people who need him. He isn't someone who makes a promise and breaks it. He wouldn't leave me. I know him better than that. I do. There must be a reason.
He said he had to find his sister. That there wasn't much time.
Is she safe? Is he?
I don't know what to feel anymore. All I know is that he is not just a friend. Not to me. He never treated me like a noble title or a sacred name. When he looks at me, I am simply Rias. Not "Gremory." Not the heiress. Not some fragile glass figure or divine symbol. Just a girl. Just me.
He talks to me like I'm someone real. He argues with me. Challenges me. Mocks me. He doesn't flinch when I'm angry, and he doesn't grovel when I'm kind. He understands me. We share the same dream—to be free, to live not for duty or name, but for ourselves. And somewhere along the way, I began to dream of him.
We've laughed. We've fought. We've stared at the same stars in silence.
He wouldn't abandon me. Not me.
And if he couldn't come back, it's because he couldn't. Not because he didn't want to.
The magic circle flares softly with power. Grayfia steps through, composed as always. Her silver hair sways like silk behind her.
"Is everyone ready? It's ten minutes before the match," she says.
We all rise to our feet. It's happening.
Grayfia begins her explanation. "When it becomes the time to start the battle, you will be teleported to the battlefield through this magic-circle. The location of the place is in a different dimension used for battles. You may fight with all your power. It's a disposable space so feel free to fight to your satisfaction."
And still… he isn't here.
"Buchou, Haruki is still not here," Issei says. His voice is hesitant. Quiet.
Akeno's response is sharp. Bitter. "Can't you see, Issei? Haruki has abandoned Buchou. We should've never trusted a man. They're all the same."
No. No, she's wrong. She doesn't know him.
"He didn't abandon me," I say quickly, voice tightening, "He must have something important to do."
But my eyes betray me. They sting. My vision blurs.
Where are you, Haruki?
My only hope. The one person I thought would never break his word.
"Buchou, please don't cry," Koneko says. Her voice is soft. Gentle. "We will do our best."
I try to smile. I try to believe her. But I can't stop thinking of him. Of the silence. Of the promise. Of the cold, sharp absence where he should be.
Haruki… come back to me. Please.
AN: Another chapter, folks. This one had a lot of emotion, especially toward the end. I hope I managed to portray Rias's inner sadness well. So... Haruki didn't honor his promise. What happened? Well, we'll find out next time.
Also, I decided to shorten the training arc. In my opinion, those can drag on and become boring if not handled carefully. For the fight scenes, I switched to third-person narration because it helps me describe action more clearly. I'm not confident in writing combat from a first-person POV just yet, so I hope it's not too annoying.
And every time Haruki talks about God, I find myself thinking: is it possible he doesn't know that "God is dead"? I suppose that's what happens when you skim the actual plot of the anime in favor of focusing on something else. I do wonder what his reaction will be when he finds out the truth about God's death..