There's a meaningful difference between being lonely and being antisocial.
A lonely person aches for connection and dreads being alone. An antisocial person is something different—someone for whom other people's opinions are simply not a governing concern, whose internal compass points inward rather than outward, and who may carry, whether they acknowledge it or not, a quiet conviction that most people are not worth the effort of engaging with fully.
Kai belonged firmly in the second category. Where he differed from the typical antisocial personality was in self-awareness. Most people of that type don't recognize what they are—they just come across as abrasive, oblivious to the friction they generate. Kai knew exactly what he was. He had identified it clearly enough to build a functional mask over it, one he wore with such consistency that it had become almost second nature.
To a casual observer, he appeared easy to approach. Agreeable, mildly warm, the kind of person who could hold a conversation with anyone and never seem out of place. But the distance was always there, for anyone who looked closely enough and honestly enough to see it.
The difference now was that Rias and the others knew the mask existed. When he was with them, he didn't bother wearing it. No performance, no managed warmth, no practiced smile deployed to fill a social obligation. Just the composed, self-contained person underneath—which, in its own way, was more revealing than anything the mask could have hidden.
The school day passed without incident. On the surface, it was indistinguishable from any other: lessons, breaks, the usual ambient noise of student life. But the quiet fullness of power running through Kai's body was a constant, low reminder that whatever else he was now, he was no longer simply human.
After the final bell, he completed his cleaning rotation—his class was on duty—and arrived at the clubroom about ten minutes late.
He heard water running as he stepped inside.
A set of clothes had been folded neatly on the sofa. The garments on top were delicate, lace-trimmed, and clearly Rias's. The bathroom curtain was a translucent fabric panel, backlit from within, and the silhouette moving behind it was both unmistakable and self-evident.
Akeno and Koneko were both in the room, which confirmed the occupant of the shower by process of elimination.
She does love her showers, Kai thought, with no particular judgment about it.
He nodded to Akeno and Koneko in turn and took a seat on the sofa.
Koneko was eating. This was not a surprise. A small architecture of empty wrappers and packaging had been built up at the edge of the table beside her with quiet architectural precision. She ate at her own pace, without urgency, without self-consciousness, as though provisions were an ongoing professional obligation. Kai had no idea where it all went. Perhaps the physics of Devil biology simply operated on different rules.
"What does the club actually do?" he asked. "Day to day."
Akeno smiled—that warm, unhurried expression she seemed to wear as a default setting. She was holding the change of clothes she'd prepared for Rias, cradling them with the easy familiarity of someone who had done this many times. Of all Rias's servants, Akeno occupied a particular position—less subordinate than companion, with the quiet, steady devotion of someone who had chosen that closeness rather than simply been placed into it.
"The Occult Research Club is a cover," she said. "In practice, we distribute summoning flyers to find humans willing to enter into contracts with us. That's how Devils accumulate power—through voluntary contracts, freely entered."
"Flyers," Kai repeated.
He sat with that for a moment.
"This." Koneko extended a piece of paper toward him without looking up from her current pastry.
He took it. It was printed with a stylized magic circle in deep purple—and now that he had a Devil's body, he could feel something coming off the paper. A faint, low resonance of demonic power, embedded in the ink itself.
The bathroom curtain drew back.
Rias stepped out in a cloud of warm steam, her hair damp, a towel wrapped around her and nothing else. Droplets of water clung to her shoulders and collarbones. She crossed the room in bare feet with the easy, unhurried manner of someone entirely comfortable in her own space, which she was.
Akeno moved to meet her with the change of clothes. Rias accepted a hand towel and began working it through her hair.
"You've seen the flyer, then," she said to Kai, not pausing in her task. "We distribute them to find willing contractors. The actual work—granting wishes, fulfilling agreements—is what generates the power. The advertising is just the front end."
"Familiars handle most of the distribution," Akeno added. "We focus on the contracts themselves."
"Speaking of which," Rias continued, "next time the Familiar Forest opens, we'll take you along to find your own. But for now—" she glanced over at him with a small smile, "—you'll handle the flyers yourself. Consider it an orientation."
"Every Devil needs to do it at least once," Akeno said cheerfully. "Personally. It's character-building~"
Koneko reached across the table and held out a thick stack of summoning flyers without ceremony.
Kai took them. He looked at the stack. He looked at Koneko.
"Good luck," she said, with the same intonation she might have used to observe that it was cloudy outside.
He noticed a few pastry crumbs at the corner of her mouth. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and held it out to her, tapping the corresponding spot on his own face by way of indication.
Koneko blinked, then accepted the tissue and addressed the crumbs with characteristic composure.
"I'm heading out," Kai said, standing.
"Hehe." Rias glanced up from toweling her hair. "Good luck. I have faith in you."
The street he'd been directed to was busy enough—foot traffic in both directions, shopfront awnings, the usual texture of a city in the early evening hours.
Kai stood there for a moment, stack of magic circle flyers in hand, and had one quietly absurd thought:
Is handing out flyers for a Devil summoning ritual considered disturbing the public peace? Is this a citation waiting to happen?
He shelved the question. Either most people in this world knew about Devils and didn't care, or the flyers would simply register as novelty promotional material for something vaguely mystical, which—given what filled the average city street—was probably not remarkable enough to attract attention.
He arranged his expression into the smooth, practiced customer service register he'd developed over years, stepped into the foot traffic, and got to work.
"Excuse me—our club is running a divination and wish-fulfillment service. Can I tell you a little about it?"
"Hi there—if you have a moment, we're offering—"
"Pardon me—"
It was, in the most fundamental sense, identical to every other flyer distribution job he'd ever done in his previous life. The mechanics were the same. Most people waved him off without breaking stride. Some took a flyer with the reflex politeness of someone who immediately intends to throw it away. A small number paused long enough to actually look at it.
Kai moved through it all with the same measured efficiency, neither bothered by the rejections nor energized by the occasional interest. It was work. He did it.
Hours passed. The stack thinned to its final few sheets.
Good. Nearly done.
He looked up to scan the crowd for the next approach—and saw a girl walking toward him. He registered her with automatic professional attentiveness: young, well-dressed, bearing that kind of presence that catches the eye without quite being able to explain why.
He stepped forward with his standard opener.
"Hi—our club is running a divination and wish-fulfillment event. Would you be interested in hearing more?"
The girl stopped.
She looked at him with an expression that was not the mild disinterest he'd seen a hundred times that evening, but something closer to genuine surprise—and underneath it, something harder to name.
"That's unexpected," she said quietly. "You can actually see me."
Kai went still.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her.
"…Should I not be able to?"