After a long, uneventful day of classes, the afternoon bell finally chimed, signaling the end of the school day.
Instead of heading home, Satoru walked with purpose toward the adjacent year-level's classroom.
His eyes locking onto a familiar mop of brown hair packing up his stationery.
"Issei, do you have a minute? Mind stepping outside with me?"
Five minutes later, in the secluded shade of the overgrown courtyard grove behind the gymnasium, Issei stood clutching his backpack strap, looking deeply suspicious.
"Satoru... seriously, what do you want with me? If this is about this morning, I already apologized!"
"Relax, I'm not here to rough you up for fun," Satoru said, stretching his shoulders and rolling his neck.
"I need a sparring partner. Can you fight me for a few minutes?"
Issei nearly choked on his own spit, waving his hands frantically.
"Are you out of your mind?! Me? Fight you? I value my spine, thanks!"
He still vividly remembered how effortlessly Satoru had folded him into the ground like a cheap lawn chair.
"I'll hold back."
Satoru offered smoothly, holding up a single finger. "And to compensate for your time, I'll pay you 100,000 yen."
Issei froze. His jaw dropped. One hundred thousand yen? For getting tossed around for a minute?
"T-This isn't about money—"
Seeing Issei hesitate, Satoru calmly added another finger. "300,000 yen."
"Now hold on, Satoru-kun, you've got me completely wrong—I'm not the kind of guy who sells out his dignity for cash, it's just that—"
"One million yen."
Issei's eyes turned into giant glittering dollar signs. All self-preservation instincts instantly evaporated. "When do we start? I was born ready!"
Money broke his resolve.
Issei, from an average household, barely got by with his allowance. One million yen can buy games, magazines and cover expenses for over a year.
---
"Alright, prepare yourself," Satoru said, stepping back into a sparring stance.
Issei puffed out his chest, trying to channel every martial arts anime he had ever binged. "Here I come! Don't say I didn't warn you!"
He lunged forward with a clumsy, telegraphic punch.
Two seconds later, he was once again staring up at the rustling canopy of the grove leaves as he lay flat on his back.
"Man," Issei groaned, picking twigs out of his hair as he sat up. "I really thought with a pep talk I'd at least land a graze this time."
Satoru offered a hand up, but his mind was elsewhere. The System remained silent. No new Traits.
[System Notice]
Target subduing complete.
Warning: Diminishing returns detected. Repeated farming of the same target triggers a cooling period. No new traits generated.
So it had a cooldown of a month on the same target. He couldn't grind the same target repeatedly.
Satoru let out a light sigh, transferring the promised million yen directly to Issei's mobile account with a few taps on his phone.
"Keep the cash. Consider it payment for your cooperation today."
Issei stared at his phone screen, his bank balance reflecting a life-changing number.
He looked back at Satoru with a mixture of profound awe and deep bewilderment.
"You're... honestly a terrifying guy, Satoru-kun. But if you ever need a human punching bag again, you know who to call."
"Noted," Satoru replied, turning his back as he began the walk home.
The trait-farming exploit hit a wall with Issei for now, but the seed had already been planted.
The supernatural underbelly of the city was vast, and there were plenty of other targets waiting in the wings.
-----
It wasn't as simple as he first thought.
Satoru stared at the system panel, frowning.
Using shortcuts like arm wrestling wouldn't work. Neither would endlessly grinding by bullying some "experience bags."
The truth was clear—if he wanted new Traits, he had to fight real opponents.
The system was clear about one thing traits only came from real battles against opponents with strength or significance.
"Time to test a formal dojo."
Leaving the school gates, Satoru located a traditional kendo academy nestled two blocks down.
He deployed his most effective cheat code: cash.
After dropping two million yen at the reception desk to clear liability, he systematically sparred with every student, instructor, and visiting sensei on the tatami mats.
When the head master finally stepped up, Satoru pressed his advantage, sweeping the veteran's stance in a clean exchange.
The system chimed.
[System Notice]
Target defeated: Kendo Master.
Acquired White-tier Entry: [Do Not Bully a Middle-Aged Man in Poverty].
Effect: Increases Sword Training efficiency and execution speed by 10% during training.
"…So that's how it works."
Satoru wiped sweat from his chin, his expression calm but thoughtful.
"It seems only by defeating characters of importance—or powerhouses with a certain level of strength—can I obtain Traits."
The puzzle was slowly becoming clearer.
By the time he stepped back onto the street, twilight had stained the sky bruised purple.
He turned his steps toward home, his mind calculating efficiency metrics, until a nondescript man in a gray suit stepped out from an alley intersection and shoved a glossy pamphlet into his hands.
[Fulfill Your Wish!]
A strange magic circle was printed in the center.
Satoru glanced at the flyer, a knowing glint touching his eyes. Instead of tossing it into the nearest bin, he slid it carefully into his blazer pocket.
---
Back at his apartment, the routine began.
100 push-ups.
100 sit-ups.
100 squats.
10 kilometers of running.
That was one round.
A brief ten-minute rest, then repeat.
By the end of the fifth cycle, his body screamed in protest. He collapsed onto the floor, clothes drenched, sweat dripping into dark little puddles against the wooden boards.
His calves throbbed with leaden weight; every twitch of muscle sent lances of pain shooting through his limbs.
Anyone else would have broken themselves by now. But Satoru had one advantage—his sacred gear could heal the strain.
After recovering just enough, he picked up his wooden sword and continued kendo practice, his eyes sharpened with quiet determination.
Steel hummed in the air as he transitioned to sword drills. The blade cut clean lines through the space around him, each motion faster, sharper, more refined.
---
Meanwhile, miles away in the occult research clubroom of Kuoh Academy, Kiba Yuki pushed open the heavy oak door and dropped her schoolbag onto the mahogany table.
"President, I've returned."
Bathed in the warm glow of lamplight, a crimson-haired young woman sat elegantly with teacup in hand. Rias Gremory lifted her gaze, her sapphire eyes gleaming.
"You're later than I expected," she remarked softly, voice carrying both curiosity and grace.
"Nothing serious," Yuki replied, shaking her head. "But… I did encounter something unusual."
She reported everything she'd seen—arranging fights with classmates, challenging an entire kendo dojo.
•
[Kiba Yuki]
•
[Rias Gremory]
•
*****
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