Three days had passed since Sho first encountered Azazel.
In those three days, his routine remained almost the same—attending school during the day, and afterward, instead of returning to his home, he found himself heading to the Grigori.
After all, Azazel worked there, and since he can easily teleport between underworld and back earth easily, the arrangement wasn't entirely out of place.
During this time, Azazel had taken a particular interest in Sho.
Again and again, he ran tests, observed, and attempted to uncover the source of Sho's abilities. His suspicion at first was straightforward: perhaps Sho possessed a Sacred Gear.
Yet, despite all the examinations, all the checks, the conclusion remained frustratingly clear—Sho had none.
That revelation only raised more questions. If it wasn't a Sacred Gear, then where exactly were Sho's powers coming from?
Azazel eventually recognized something familiar in the energy Sho wielded. The more he analyzed it, the more undeniable it became—the power Sho carried was unmistakably connected to Leviathan, one of the Four Great Satans who had perished in the Great War.
But that discovery only opened a deeper mystery.
Why would a human boy, who wasn't even a devil, possess the might of Leviathan? His parents weren't devils, nor did he have any trace of demonic lineage on record. And yet, here he was.
How did he knew Sho parents don't have Devil's connections?
Simple answer is Spy.
Azazel, with his usual pragmatic reasoning, began to piece together a possible explanation. Perhaps, long before the Great War.
The original Leviathan had knocked up a lover in the human world. If so, it was possible that her descendants carried dormant traces of her bloodline, and Sho—by sheer fate—had awakened it.
That theory, at least, would account for the presence of Leviathan's power within him.
Still, Sho's case was strange. His power seemed like a mutated version of what Leviathan once held.
Unlike devils, Sho lacked their inherent traits, and most peculiarly, he was immune to holy energy—it didn't burn him, nor was it fatal.
He carried only the raw power, stripped away from the usual weaknesses and characteristics of devils.
And because it wasn't a Sacred Gear, Azazel's interest soon waned but still was Interest in Sho non‐devil traits but decided to hold that research for while since he was busy with creating Artificial Sacred Gears.
He ultimately dismissed Sho's abilities as nothing more than a mutated gene awakening—an odd but explainable inheritance of Leviathan's power
In those same days, Sho wasn't idle either. With Azazel's guidance—and the strange way his mind seemed capable of absorbing information—he picked up more than a few tricks. Teleportation magic, advanced barrier spells… for others, such things required years of training and precise control.
But for Sho, however, it was almost unfairly simple. The moment the knowledge was explained, it was as if the techniques uploaded directly into his brain, becoming instinct rather than something to be memorized.
It was also during this period that Azazel entrusted Sho with a task. A favor, he called it.
He wanted sho to keep an eye on a particular boy—Hyoudou Issei same school as him. According to Azazel, there was a strong chance the boy possessed a Sacred Gear of significant power.
The obvious question hung in the air: how did Azazel even know Issei had one?
The answer, as always with him, was both reckless and ingenious. Azazel had technically hacked into the Heavenly System—the divine records that tracked the existence of Sacred Gears.
The results weren't always precise, but precision was never Azazel's concern. With enough tinkering and tracking devices, he managed to pinpoint two potential wielders within Kuoh Academy. One was Saji Genshirou, already turned into a devil and firmly under Sona's peerage. That left only Issei.
To be thorough, Azazel had already dispatched one of his own to keep tabs on the boy: Raynare. On paper, her role was observation. But Sho knew better.
He alone was aware of what would really happen—Raynare's mission wasn't to watch, it was to kill. And once Issei died, Rias Gremory herself would step in and save him as a part of her peerage.
Of course, Sho accepted the task without hesitation. On the surface, it seemed simple enough—watch over Issei and report anything unusual. But beneath that, Sho had his own motives.
While Azazel provided him with basic information about Sacred Gears—details Sho was already familiar with— But sho asked if Sacred Gear can be extracted and give to someone else: the Sacred Gear extraction ritual.
The very same method Raynare had once used.
Sho's reasoning was simple. If such a ritual really worked, then in theory, he could claim the Boosted Gear from Issei himself. The thought alone was enough to spark ambition.
Yet when Azazel explained the truth behind it, Sho's hope was quickly crushed. Technically, the ritual functioned—but only at the cost of the bearer's life. A Sacred Gear wasn't a mere weapon; it was tied directly to the soul. To rip it out meant ripping away the essence of the person who held it.
That led to an even more dangerous question: what about the Longinus-class Sacred Gears?
Azazel's explanation was enough to kill even the boldest dreams. Yes, the ritual could be used on them as well. But Longinus weren't ordinary Sacred Gears.
They were living entities, god-slaying weapons that pulsed with will and awareness.
The moment their host died, the gear would either vanish back to Heaven or, in a worst-case scenario, react violently
To tamper with the soul-binding of a Longinus was the same as asking it to detonate. And when a Longinus unleashs it's power, it wasn't just an explosion—it was destruction on a catastrophic scale, a "Ka-BOOM" that could level everything around it.
And will you get the Longinus Sacred Gear after all that shit ?
Off course No.
Sho wasn't exactly disappointed, though. He still had his system, and with it, a chance that someday it might grant him a safer way to separate Sacred Gears—or even something greater than them. For now, patience would have to suffice.
What did catch his attention the most during his stay in Grigori, however, were the facilities. The organization had training chambers constructed from special materials strong enough to withstand destructive magic and raw power.
They were a perfect place for training, far better than mountains or remote areas where stray energy could easily draw unwanted attention.
These chambers gave Sho exactly what sho lacked—SECRECY.
As for secrecy, Sho was careful. He never removed his glasses in front of anyone in Grigori —not even Azazel himself.
To them, he was always "glasses Sho," and that was how he intended to keep it.
The only thing that left him truly dissatisfied was missing the chance to meet Vali. The White Dragon Emperor, Who was away on missions.
...
[10 –Gacha Tickets stacked. 6 from Daily Mission and 4 from simple tasks.]
Currently Sho sitting on the terrace of Kuoh Academy, the afternoon sun warming the rooftop tiles. Lunch break was half over, but he wasn't in any rush to leave. An ice cream rested in his hand, slowly melting as he took lazy licks and sucks.
"Those training facilities were good," he muttered to himself, his voice muffled between licks.
Of course, he couldn't exactly claim one of those rooms as his own. Azazel had given him permission to use the Grigori's training chambers, but there was always a catch. The real problem wasn't the rooms—it was Sho's techniques. They didn't come from books or mentors; they came directly from the System. And those chambers had surveillance. If anyone happened to catch him practicing something far too advanced for a human, what excuse could he possibly give?
Knowing Azazel, the man wouldn't pry too deeply. Still, from Sho's perspective, it felt like he was freeloading too much.
"Making that kind of training room would require a lot of money…" he sighed, sucking thoughtfully on the ice cream stick.
Just as he was about to take another bite—
> Mission Assigned
How long are you going to suck on ice cream made by others? Make your own ice cream and make others suck it.
Rewards: 10 Gacha Tickets and 2 Upgrade Cards
"..."
Sho froze, staring blankly at the half-eaten ice cream in his hand as the system's sus-sounding mission echoed in his head.
But then, the thought struck him like a spark. What if he actually did start an ice cream business?
After all, from what he had learned during his time in Grigori, the Underworld wasn't only populated by devils and fallen angels.
A large number of humans had migrated there as well, and if there was one thing humans clung to, it was their familiar food. Human delicacies were also quite in the Underworld. If he could introduce something new—something the locals hadn't tasted before—it could very well succeed.
Earning him a good amount of money, that can potentially help him build his own personal training room.
His memory drifted back to his past life, recalling an ice cream that had taken the market by storm.
It wasn't the flavor alone that made it a hit, but its design. Mango-flavored, yes—but shaped like an actual mango. Clever, simple, and instantly recognizable. In this world, he hadn't seen anything like it yet.
And if it wasn't sold in the human world, then chances were, the Underworld hadn't seen it either.
Sho glanced at the plain, melting ice cream in his hand, a smirk curling across his lips.
"Mango-shaped ice cream, huh? That could work."
[Image]
"He leaned back, letting the idea roll in his head. There are other Businesses I could try, but this one's simple. Doesn't even need heavy funding. I can just open a small stall first, test the waters, and see how it goes.
The excitement dulled slightly as a more practical problem crept in. He couldn't just sit behind a stall himself. He had school, Azazel's tasks, and training—there was no way he could spend hours selling ice cream.
"I'd need to hire someone… but if the business flops, how the hell am I supposed to pay them?" he muttered, frowning at the thought.
But then, as quickly as the doubt rose, a solution surfaced. There was always a way out—and Sho already had one in mind.
Sho stood up and decided to head back to class as the lunch break ended. The rest of the day passed by normally, nothing unusual.
The moment the last class ended and the bell rang, Sho quickly picked up his bag and dashed outside.
But this time, he wasn't heading to Grigori or home. Instead, he found himself standing in front of a bar—or rather, a cheap-looking one the kind of place that smelled of oil and old cigarettes.
A smirk spread across his face. Sho knew exactly what kind of people gathered here: small-time thugs, wannabe gangsters, the sort who made perfect candidates for "free employees" in his new business plan.
His idea was simple—provoke one of these lowlifes, let them take a swing at him, beat them down, and then force them to work for him without pay. Of course, if the business grew in the future, he would pay them properly. But for now, what he needed weren't workers in the usual sense—he needed slaves.
Or, as he corrected himself with a chuckle, free working employees.
Sho slipped into the bar, keeping low as he ducked past the guard. Inside, the place opened into a common area with private drinking rooms branching off the sides.
"Now where can I find some free employees?" he muttered, drawing a long breath before starting to push open doors one after another.
First : "Who are you?"
Sexond : "Hey, this is private!"
Third : "Hey—boy!"
Fourth : "Kid, where do you think you're going?"
Finally he stopped moving as the smell of cigarettes hit him, along with the shine of tattoos and chains. Finally, he'd found them.
"Is your boss around?" Sho asked.
"Hey, kid—who do you think you're calling for?" someone snapped.
"Bring him inside!" a heavy voice barked from further in.
A man swaggered forward, trying to look intimidating as he rattled the chain around his neck. "So, kid—what do you want?" he demanded.
Sho glanced past him and counted four men in total. He met their stares without flinching. "I want you to work for me."
"...."
"...."
"...."
"...."
Silence stretched out. Then one of the men grabbed Sho by the collar and pulled, trying to haul him closer. But couldn't budge Sho.
"An attack happened and legally I can use self defense?" he said coolly.
The four of them were left staring, uncertain how to answer.
~Timeskip~
The very next second, all four of them were down on their knees, faces swollen with red bruises, clutching their aching legs and arms.
"Who the hell is this kid? Are kids really this strong these days?" one of them groaned.
"Here, drink this," Sho said calmly, tossing three small vials toward them.
The thugs eyed the bottles suspiciously, half-convinced it might be some kind of drug. But really, what kind of thug would hesitate over something like that? Without much thought, they each downed the contents in one gulp.
Almost immediately, their bruises faded, their pain melted away, and their bodies felt whole again. The four men exchanged confused looks.
"What… what's happening to us?" one muttered.
Sho folded his arms, expression flat. "Now, tell me your names."
The Boss spoke first. "Goro."
"...Taro," said one of the lackeys.
"Jiro," the next added quickly.
And the last one muttered, "...Baka."
Sho blinked once. "..."
What kind of name was that? Sho thought, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it.
"Ahem… well, let's get down to business," he said, clearing his throat. "I want you to help me run my business. Of course, I can't pay you right now, but if things go well and the business takes off, we'll discuss salaries later. Any problem with that?"
All four of them shook their heads in unison, agreeing without hesitation.
Their expressions, however, told the real story: Like we even have a choice here.
"Good. Then tell me—how many members are in your gang?" Sho asked.
The four exchanged awkward glances, each waiting for someone else to answer, before silently admitting the truth: there were only four of them.
"Well, that'll do," Sho said flatly. "Do you at least have a base or a hideout? It stinks in here. Let's move somewhere else to talk."
The group quickly gathered their things and followed Sho out of the bar.
Some time later, they arrived at a rundown spot in the backstreets—a one-room garage-like space, worn down but furnished with four battered couches lined up against the walls.
Sho sat down on the lone couch while the four wannabe thugs crowded opposite him. One of them hesitantly raised his hand like a school kid.
"What is it?" Sho asked.
"Uh… what kind of business are we talking about here? Like… drug supplying? Kidnapping? Maybe a little… killing?" the man asked cautiously.
Sho froze, staring at them in disbelief. "Have you ever even done any of that before?"
"No," all four replied in unison, almost proudly.
Wannabe thugs indeed, Sho thought, sighing.
"This isn't that kind of business," he said firmly. "I want to open a chain of ice cream shops—a brand I'll launch in the underworld."
Another one raised his hand. "Wait… the underworld is into ice cream now?" His voice was dripping with confusion, and the others leaned in, just as curious. They'd been imagining guns, drugs, kidnappings—maybe even assassinations. Ice cream was nowhere on the list.
Sho buried his face in his palm. "Not that underworld. I'm talking about the place where devils live."
The four exchanged wary glances, their faces practically screaming the same thought: Is this kid actually mentally ill?
"I should've just explained it more simply," Sho muttered under his breath.
A faint glow surrounded his palm, and water rose into the air, coiling like a snake before darting forward and wrapping around one of the thugs. Just as quickly, it dissolved into nothing.
The four froze, their eyes wide, throats dry. For a second, they wondered if this was all a drunken hallucination—or maybe the alcohol had finally fried their brains.
"Now," Sho said flatly, "don't question anything. Just listen."
He broke it down in the simplest way possible: there was Earth, there was Heaven, and there was the Underworld. Gods, devils, all of it was real. To make it more believable, he conjured a small ball of fire in his hand, letting it flicker brightly before snuffing it out.
Even after witnessing magic with their own eyes, the four still looked dazed, half-believing, half-confused—but they nodded along, too scared to argue.
"Good. Then here's what I need." Sho pulled out his phone, scrolling through a list he had jotted down. "Get me ripe mangoes, milk, honey, dates, lemons, vanilla extract, white and dark chocolate, heavy cream, coconut oil… and a bunch of other stuff like that."
The thugs blinked. They were expecting bombs, guns, or at least weapons. Instead, they were being asked to fetch groceries and also using their own money.
Sho didn't care. He didn't actually know how to make ice cream—he just opened doogled site to search every possible ingredient that might go into it. But he still had that enchanted apron, and if there was ever a time to test it out, it was now.
....
Some time later, the five of them were huddled around a table. Ingredients and utensils were scattered everywhere, while Sho stood in the center—an apron tied around him like he was about to film a cooking show.
He picked up a ripe mango, closed his eyes, and pictured the mango-shaped ice cream he remembered from his past life. Its texture, its taste, even the way it looked.
The moment he touched the fruit, his hands moved on their own, guided by the apron's magic. The mango was crushed into pulp, smoothly blended with milk, honey, and the rest of the ingredients until it became a thick, creamy paste.
As for the mold, Sho used an aluminum sheet. He picked up a ripe mango, and with a faint buzzing sound, his arm turned black, the coating spreading over both his hand and the fruit. This was — Armament Haki—
Then, gripping the mango tightly, he pressed it down against the aluminum sheet.
Clang.
The sheet dented, then slowly reshaped, capturing the mango's curves with perfect precision. Sho lifted his hand, then repeated the process with another sheet until he had two flawless molds.
Lining them up together, he also made a hole From there, he poured the thick golden paste he'd just prepared — mango pulp mixed with milk, honey, and cream — letting it slowly fill the mold and put the stick.
As for freezing it, Sho simply placed his palm over the aluminum mold. Thin wisps of vapor began to rise as frost spread across the surface — a low-class ice magic he had recently learned.
After a few minutes, he carefully peeled away the aluminum sheets. And there it was: a mango-shaped ice cream, its colors a mix of soft orange and golden yellow. It wasn't glazed, yet it seemed to shine on its own — perhaps the apron's hidden ability at work.
"Taste it," Sho said.
The four of them each grabbed one, hesitated for a moment, then took a bite. SWOOSH. The flavor burst across their tongues, overwhelming their senses. For an instant, the dingy garage melted away; they were standing in a sunlit orchard, surrounded by mango trees, the sweet fragrance heavy in the air.
The room echoed with muffled sounds of delight, a chorus of "Mmmhhmm…" as the thugs savored every bite.
> Mission Completed
Others have sucked your ice cream.
Reward: 10 Gacha Tickets and 2 Upgrade Cards.
"..."
Sho watched them nibbling like children, their bodies trembling in excitement. A strange, almost awkward feeling welled up in him.
He took one for himself and bit down. Boom. The flavors exploded in his mouth, his surroundings warping into the same endless orchard filled with the scent of ripe mangoes.
"What the hell…?" Sho muttered as the vision faded. "The ingredients were simple. How in the world does it taste this good?"
With this level of cooking Sho was sure he could fight for seats in Food Wars anime, or so Sho thought.
After settling everything, he prepared a another batch of 500 ice creams and stored them using a small floating magic circle—basically a storage flyer inscribed with formulas that acted like a portable bag.
As for the rest, Sho simply asked Azazel for help. He knew Azazel could teleport him directly to the Underworld( Devil society) since he had the coordinates or he himself could do it, but direct teleportation was banned and carried serious consequences.
After all, if it were that easy, enemies could sneak into devil society the same way. Forceful teleportation was also out of the question—it would instantly alert the security forces. Just like the human world had police, the Underworld had its own.
And Sho wasn't here to become a fugitive. He wanted to do business.
Azazel, being as supportive as ever, explained everything and even told him the perfect spot to set up shop—an amusement park in Gremory territory.
To make things easier, he delivered Sho four train tickets as he asked for it. The railway was the safest route, and the workers there would also prepare the necessary trade documents for him.
With everything planned, Sho's first business launch was ready. The idea was simple: hand out small samples first — once people tasted it, they wouldn't be able to resist buying more. Devils used their own currency, coins or credits, so he decided to keep the price reasonable: three coins for one piece.
The problem was the timing. The train to the Underworld left at eight in the morning, and Sho couldn't go himself.
So the next day, the job fell to the four of them — Goro, Taro, Jiro, and Baka.
"Where did that kid tell us to go again?" Goro muttered, scratching his head.
"He said B1 platform. Find the big pillar, hold your ticket, and walk straight through," Jiro replied, his voice uncertain.
The four of them stood in front of the enormous pillar, staring at each other nervously.
"…You think this will really work?" Baka asked.
"Only one way to find out," Taro said, stepping forward. He gripped the strange ticket Sho had given him and pressed toward the pillar. For a moment it looked like he'd slam into solid stone—then, woosh, he slipped right through and vanished.
The others froze in shock, until Taro's head poked back out of the wall.
"Oi! Hurry up, you guy's! The train's here, just like the kid said!"
One by one, the others stepped through.
On the other side was a hidden railway station, vast and bustling. Lanterns glowed with an eerie light, and the air buzzed with strange energy. And waiting on the tracks was a massive train, black and red, its design both elegant and classic.
It was almost exactly like the Hogwarts Express — only this train didn't go to a magic school. This one went straight to the Underworld.
A uniformed worker greeted them with a knowing smile. "First time here?" he asked, before directing them through the boarding formalities.
Moments later, the four of them climbed aboard, the train's whistle echoing through the hidden station.
Choo..chooo!
Their journey into the Underworld had begun.
.....