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[Motohama's POV]
The next morning, I stood at the edge of the clearing with my arms crossed, wondering if booking front-row seats to my own inevitable downfall was considered a hobby yet.
The abandoned forest section of Kuoh stretched before me in all its glory, wild and unclaimed by human development, perfect for the supernatural cage match I was currently supervising. Sýr stood on one side of the makeshift arena, her black outfit absorbing the dappled light like a void, while Kalawarner hovered above on the opposite end, light spears already manifesting in her hands with distinctive fallen angel magic.
I'd given them each a Gravebloom Restoration potion before this would start. The winner hands it to the loser after the beatdown, very sporting of me, and positioned myself far enough away to avoid collateral damage but close enough to witness the carnage in high definition.
This was supposed to be a simple sparring session. Test Syr's combat capabilities, give Kalawarner some practice against an unfamiliar opponent, maybe gauge where they both stood in the pecking order of my increasingly dysfunctional little group.
Simple, right?
WHOOOOSH!
Three light spears screamed through the air with lethal precision.
Kalawarner had opened with her signature move, launching spears from her elevated position with the confidence that came from years of combat experience, and for a split second I actually thought she might land a hit. The spears converged on Syr's position from different angles, cutting off escape routes, forcing her into a corner where she'd have to either dodge perfectly or take damage, classic fallen angel tactic.
Syr tilted her head, which I recognized as her version of mild interest and raised one hand almost lazily. Shadows erupted from the ground like living things, tendrils of darkness that transformed into arrow-shaped projectiles mid-flight, and they intercepted Kalawarner's light spears with absolute accuracy. Each collision resulted in a burst of opposing energies that lit up the clearing like fireworks, light versus dark in the most literal interpretation possible, and when the smoke cleared Sýr stood exactly where she'd been before, completely untouched and looking vaguely bored.
FWIP!
One moment she was on the ground, the next she'd closed the distance to Kalawarner's airborne position in a blur that made my perception struggle to track, and I watched with fascination as she delivered a palm strike to the fallen angel's midsection that sent her spiraling backward through the air.
Kalawarner recovered with a desperate flap of her wings, trying to create distance, trying to regain the advantage of her aerial superiority, but Syr was already there, matching her with a pair of black shadow wings, with impossible agility. The familiar's movements flowed like water, each strike calculated and efficient, just pure overwhelming physical dominance that made it abundantly clear who was in control of this fight.
I winced as Syr delivered a spinning kick that connected with Kalawarner's ribs with an audible thwack, sending the fallen angel tumbling toward the ground. Kalawarner managed to get a grip of herself at the last moment, wings spread wide, breathing hard, and I could see the exact moment she realized this wasn't going to end well for her.
She tried to summon another volley of light spears, desperation bleeding into her actions, but Sýr didn't give her the time. She dropped from above like a missile, hands moving in pure mastery that suggested she'd been trained in actual hand-to-hand combat rather than just relying on raw power, and proceeded to demonstrate why giving your opponent breathing room was a critical tactical error.
The beatdown that followed was like watching Kratos dismantling Poseidon.
Sýr's strikes landed with precision, each one forcing Kalawarner to abandon her offensive attempts and focus purely on defense, and even that wasn't enough. The fallen angel tried to use her wings for mobility, darting left and right, but my familiar anticipated every movement like she could read minds. Feints were ignored, counterattacks were parried before they finished forming, and throughout it all Sýr maintained that same eerily calm demeanor, head occasionally tilting as if analyzing Kalawarner's fighting style in real-time and finding it underwhelming.
It reminded me uncomfortably of watching a professional UFC player demolish an amateur, there was no malice in it, no sadistic pleasure, just pure overwhelming competence that made the skill gap painfully obvious.
CRACK!
Kalawarner hit the ground hard enough to leave web cracks.
She lay there for a moment, chest heaving, wings splayed out around her like a fallen angel in the most literal sense, and I decided that was probably enough morning exercise for everyone involved. I signaled to Sýr with a raised hand, and my familiar immediately disengaged, stepping back from her defeated opponent. She made no victory pose, just a simple acknowledgment that the sparring session had concluded and she'd won decisively.
My familiar extended her hand, holding the Gravebloom Restoration potion I'd given her earlier with its distinctive liquid catching the sunlight, and offered it to Kalawarner without a word. The gesture was almost gentle, completely at odds with the dismantling she'd just performed.
Kalawarner accepted the potion with shaking hands and downed it in one gulp.
The healing effects kicked in almost immediately, wounds knitting themselves closed, bruises fading from purple to nothing, and I watched as the fallen angel's breathing gradually returned to normal. She pushed herself upright slowly, wings folding against her back with visible effort, and the expression on her face suggested she was having a mild existential crisis about her place in the supernatural food chain.
I couldn't exactly blame her, getting demolished by what was technically my familiar had to sting in ways that went beyond physical damage, pride being the first casualty in any one-sided fight like that.
Sýr had moved on already, completely indifferent to the emotional aftermath of her victory.
She stood a few feet away, attention fixed on something fluttering near a tree branch with that characteristic head tilt that I was beginning to recognize as her version of curiosity, and I followed her gaze to see a butterfly drifting through the morning air.
Delicate wings painted in shades of orange and black caught the light as it danced between leaves, completely unaware of the supernatural carnage that had just concluded nearby, and for a moment I thought maybe my familiar was appreciating the simple beauty of nature or experiencing some kind of aesthetic awakening that would make her seem more human.
Then she extended her finger, the butterfly landed. How beautiful!
Chomp!
Guess I spoke too soon.
I made a mental note to add "basic table manners" and "things we don't eat in polite society" to the growing list of life lessons I apparently needed to teach my shadow familiar.
I shifted my attention back to Kalawarner, hoping she hadn't witnessed that particular moment of weirdness, but found her staring at her own feet with the kind of intensity that suggested she wasn't seeing them at all.
Her lips moved silently, words I couldn't quite hear from this distance, but the general vibe screamed "extended internal monologue about personal inadequacy" loud enough that I didn't need enhanced hearing to get the gist.
First she'd been defeated by me, a human and now a familiar had just demonstrated why fallen angels maybe weren't the terrifying powerhouses their reputation suggested. I could practically see the identity crisis forming in real-time, layers of supernatural superiority complex peeling away to reveal the uncomfortable truth that power levels were more variable than she'd been led to believe.
I sweatdropped, wondering if I'd somehow broken my own ally through a sparring session.
The last thing I needed was Kalawarner spiraling into depression because my familiar happened to be ridiculously overpowered in close combat, but she just kept muttering to herself with that thousand-yard stare, lost in whatever mental calculations she was running about her place in the world. I briefly considered offering some platitude about everyone having off days or how strength came in many forms, but the words felt hollow before they even left my mouth.
My gaze drifted to Sýr, who'd finished her butterfly appetizer and was now examining a flower with that same interest.
We have so much to learn.
Buzz
My phone vibrated in my pocket, I fished it out with my free hand while simultaneously wondering if the universe could give me five minutes of peace to process the morning's revelations. The screen displayed a message from Sona, exactly what I'd expect from someone who probably had her texts pre-drafted and edited for maximum efficiency.
[[ Report at the Student Council Room ]]
I blinked at the message, my thoughts immediately jumped to the ingredients I'd requested through her connection to Serafall, rare components from different realms that would let me craft higher-tier potions and maybe keep up with the escalating threats that seemed determined to make my life interesting.
Had they arrived already?
That seemed impossibly fast even by devil logistics standards, but then again Serafall was a Satan and possibly the only person in existence who could requisition items from multiple pantheons without triggering an international incident.
I pocketed my phone and looked at my team, if you could call this chaotic assembly a team.
Kalawarner was still having her moment of introspective crisis, staring at nothing while presumably recalculating her entire understanding of power dynamics, and Sýr had moved on from flowers to inspecting a beetle with that same unsettling focus that suggested it might become her next snack. Neither of them looked particularly ready for public interaction, and honestly I couldn't blame them.
---
[ The Student Council Room ]
I settled into the offered chair across from Sona's desk, accepting the cup that Tsubaki had poured. Sona sat behind her desk with perfect posture, hands folded in front of her like she was preparing to deliver a performance review, while Tsubaki stood slightly to the side in her classic secretary position.
I took another sip, buying time, and decided to break the ice with the person I'd nearly died alongside less than twenty-four hours ago.
"How you doin?"
Tsubaki startled slightly at the casual address, her composure cracking for just a fraction of a second before years of discipline reasserted itself and smoothed her expression back into professional neutrality.
"I am fully recovered, thank you for your concern" She paused, then executed a perfect bow that would've made etiquette instructors weep with pride "And I must express my gratitude for your actions last night. You saved my life, Motohama san"
I waved off her thanks with my free hand while trying to figure out how to deflect credit without sounding like I was fishing for more compliments.
"I'm not the one you should be thanking" I said, gesturing vaguely in Sona's direction with my teacup "It was the President who showed up in time. She's the one who actually saved both of us from our doom"
Sona adjusted her glasses, she really had that motion down to an art form and I braced myself for whatever she'd prepared to deliver for this exact moment in the conversation.
"That reminds me" Her tone shifted into something more pointed, like a lawyer who'd just remembered a crucial piece of evidence "Did you acquire the sword he dropped during your engagement?"
I felt my casual demeanor freeze as my brain scrambled to come up with a plausible deflection that wouldn't technically be lying.
"Let's not get into the incident anymore, President" I aimed for a tone somewhere between exhausted and eager to move on, hoping she'd interpret it as trauma avoidance rather than suspicious evasion "I'm trying to forget all that, you know?"
Sona regarded me with those sharp eyes that suggested she could see through bullshit from far away, and for several seconds I was absolutely certain she was going to call me out, demand a full inventory of anything I might have taken from the scene, maybe even threaten to search my room using her authority as the ruler of territory.
The silence stretched between us, and I maintained eye contact purely out of stubbornness because backing down now would confirm her suspicions faster than anything I could say.
Then she sighed, actual genuine exasperation that suggested she'd decided this particular battle wasn't worth fighting.
"You can keep it" The words came out with the kind of resignation that suggested she'd already war-gamed every possible outcome and decided letting me have a demon sword was less problematic than the alternatives "After all, it was you who succeeded in severing his arm. Consider it appropriate compensation for your efforts"
My eyebrow raised at the unexpected concession, but I wisely chose not to question it further.
I took another sip of tea instead, letting the warm liquid buy me a few seconds to process this development while appearing thoughtful rather than confused, and waited for Sona to continue whatever agenda she'd actually summoned me here to discuss. The sword couldn't be the main reason for this meeting—she'd have led with that if it was her primary concern, which meant something else was coming, something probably more complicated and definitely less convenient than a simple debriefing about last night's combat encounter.
Sona's expression shifted into what I'd started mentally categorizing as her "delivering serious news" face.
"Last night, after the incident concluded, I contacted my sister and informed her about your situation with the Hero Faction" She paused, letting that information settle, and I felt my grip tighten slightly on the teacup as my brain immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios involving Serafall's particular brand of helpful intervention "Given the circumstances and the explicit threat posed by their recruitment attempt, we discussed appropriate security measures"
I didn't interrupt, just nodded slowly to indicate I was listening.
"We have decided to assign an Ultimate-Class devil to serve for your protection. You don't have any objection to this arrangement, do you?"
My eyes widened despite my best efforts to maintain a neutral expression, and I felt my brain slam on the emergency brakes as it processed the implications of having an Ultimate Class devil someone on par with Grayfia fucking Lucifuge assigned as my personal bodyguard.
On the surface it sounded perfect. Ultimate-Class meant genuine power, someone who could legitimately stand up to Hero Faction members and not get immediately demolished, the kind of supernatural muscle that would make most threats reconsider their life choices before engaging. It screamed "high-value asset protection" and "we're taking your safety seriously," and if I was a normal person in this situation I'd be thanking whatever gods were listening for this kind of support.
But I wasn't normal, not anymore.
The system that governed my existence operated on specific rules, and one of those rules was that I needed to actively participate in combat to trigger gacha quests. Having an Ultimate-Class devil intervene in my battles would rob me of those opportunities, turning every potential fight into a spectator sport where I stood on the sidelines while my overpowered babysitter handled everything. No combat participation meant no quest triggers, which meant no rewards, which meant no progression, which meant I might as well have stayed a normal human for all the good my abilities would do me.
And my teammates? They were actually in decent shape for their current tier.
Asia was well-protected by Sýr, who'd just demonstrated this morning that she could absolutely demolish mid-tier threats without breaking a sweat. Kalawarner had access to my entire potion catalog—healing potions, enhancement draughts, tactical consumables that could turn a losing fight into a survivable stalemate and she'd grown strong enough to hold her own against Hero Faction members for at least the time it would take me to arrive. As for me personally? I had a summoning flyer with a literal Satan's signature on it, the ultimate emergency button that could bring overwhelming force to any situation within minutes.
We didn't need an Ultimate-Class babysitter. We needed room to grow through even if it's a unreasonable decision on my side.
I set down my teacup with deliberate care, the porcelain meeting the saucer with a soft clink that seemed louder than it should in the quiet room, and met Sona's gaze with the kind of calm I absolutely didn't feel but had learned to project through sheer necessity.
"I appreciate your concern, President" The words came out measured, professional, completely at odds with my usual casual demeanor but appropriate for rejecting what was essentially a Satan's direct protection offer.
"But I refuse"
Surprise flickered across both Sona's and Tsubaki's faces, I pressed on before they could interrupt with logical counterarguments about my apparent death wish.
"I think you're taking this too seriously" I leaned forward slightly, hands folding in front of me "I was nearly defeated by that swordsman, yes. But only because I wasn't prepared. I'm sure it won't happen again"
"Oh? Is that so?"
I turned toward the unfamiliar familiar female voice, my body moving on pure instinct while my brain tried to catch up with the fact that there was someone else in the room who I absolutely had not sensed until they decided to announce their presence, and found myself staring at a woman leaning against the wall near the corner with a smirk that suggested she found this entire situation hilarious.
Short black hair framed her face in a bob cut that somehow managed to look both professional and dangerous. Striking violet eyes regarded me with open amusement like I was a particularly entertaining piece of performance art, and that faint knowing smirk suggested she'd been watching this entire interaction play out and had opinions about my life choices.
Her outfit screamed "modern elegance with aggressive confidence"—a sleek off-shoulder black top that hugged her form in ways that made certain things very obvious, paired with fitted jeans and heels that added unnecessary height to someone who clearly didn't need help being imposing. Gold hoop earrings caught the light as she tilted her head, and the overall impression was of someone who commanded attention without trying and knew exactly what effect she had on people.
I couldn't sense her presence at all. Not a whisper of magical energy, not a hint of supernatural pressure, nothing.
Who was she?
That was terrifying in ways I didn't have time to fully process right now, but my survival instincts were screaming that this woman was dangerous on levels that made my recent encounter with Siegfried look like amateur hour. She just stood there, leaning casually radiating an aura of dominance mixed with playful teasing that made it impossible to look away even when basic self-preservation suggested that might be the smart move.
Before I could formulate any kind of response, Sona's voice cut through my mental static with a sigh that carried years of resigned frustration.
"Motohama san, That is my mother"
My brain briefly went offline trying to reconcile those words with reality.
Sona's mother? I'd never seen her make an appearance in canon, not once, not even in passing, which meant I was operating completely blind regarding her personality, power level, or what the hell she was doing here right now.
I forced my body into motion, standing and executing what I hoped was an appropriately respectful greeting for someone who was both a high-ranking devil and the parent of my current employer.
"It's an honor to meet you, Lady Sitri" I said, keeping my tone formal.
She pushed off from the wall and crossed the room toward me with slow steps. When she reached in front of me at a fair distance, she pulled out an envelope from somewhere I couldn't identify and extended it toward me with that same amused smirk still playing at her lips.
"From Grigori" she said simply, like that explained everything and I should just accept mysterious letters from fallen angel organizations without question.
My brain stumbled over the word. Grigori? The fallen angel governing body led by Azazel, dedicated to researching Sacred Gears and generally staying out of the three-faction politics until Kokabiel fuck up?
Before I could voice any of those questions, Lady Sitri demonstrated why personal space was a social construct she didn't acknowledge by draping an arm around my shoulders like we were old drinking buddies catching up after years apart.
"Sera asked me to pass this to you when she requested that I be assigned for your protection" Her face was suddenly very close to mine, close enough that I could smell whatever expensive perfume she wore, and I felt my social processing capabilities struggling to keep up with this rapid escalation of boundary violations "Wasn't that sweet of her?"
I glanced toward Sona, desperately hoping for some kind of intervention or at least an explanation for why her mother was currently treating me like a particularly amusing toy, but found the Student Council President massaging her temple with both hands in a gesture that screamed "this is normal behavior and I've given up trying to change it"
Tsubaki stood frozen nearby, her expression carefully blank in that way that suggested she was witnessing something she wished she could unsee but professionalism demanded she maintain composure.
Focus.
I needed to focus on the actual important information here rather than the fact that a Satan's mother was currently invading my personal space.
"I appreciate that, Lady Sitri," I said, trying to sound polite rather than confused "but I have to ask, and please don't take this as rude, why would someone of your status be assigned for my protection?"
The question hung in the air for approximately half a second before Lady Sitri responded with the kind of cheerful honesty that suggested she'd been waiting for someone to ask.
"Because I'm boreeeeed!" She released me and stepped back, throwing her hands up in a gesture that somehow managed to be both dramatic and genuine "And also my husband is busy with his other wife. You know, harem bullshit?!"
"Mom!"
And just like that, mother and daughter launched into what appeared to be a well-worn playful argument that probably dated back years. Lady Sitri made sweeping gestures about freedom and personal choice, while Sona countered with something about maintaining dignity and appropriate professional boundaries, and I recognized my cue to exit stage left before I got dragged into whatever family drama were playing out here.
I slipped toward the door with the envelope clutched in my hand, moving with the kind of careful stealth that came from years of avoiding awkward social situations, and neither Sitri noticed my departure because they were too busy with their playful banter that felt equal parts affection and exasperation. The door closed behind me with a soft click, muffling their voices, and I finally allowed myself to breathe normally again.
I examined the envelope in my hands, plain, unmarked except for what looked like an official Grigori seal pressed into the wax and felt curiosity war with caution in my head.
Opening it seemed like the obvious next step, but standing in the school hallway probably wasn't the best location for reading mysterious correspondence from fallen angel organizations, so I found a quiet corner near the stairs and carefully broke the seal. Inside was a single piece of paper with surprisingly minimal content given the elaborate delivery method.
A hotel name : The Crimson Pearl
Room number : 69.
Because apparently whoever organised this and chose this room had a sense of humor or was sending a very specific message.
Time : 9 PM tonight.
No signature, no additional context, no explanation for why I was being summoned to a hotel room by Grigori representatives or what they wanted to discuss. Just bare minimum information presented in a way that suggested this was either extremely important or some kind of trap, but since it was passed by Serafall, I doubt it being a trap.
I reread the note three times, hoping additional details would manifest through sheer force of will, but the words remained stubbornly unchanged. Someone from Grigori wanted to meet me tonight at a hotel, in a room with a number that was either coincidentally suggestive or deliberately chosen to mess with me, and I had approximately eight hours to decide whether walking into this situation was brilliant tactical networking or the dumbest decision I'd make all week.
The envelope went into my pocket as I headed toward the exit, my mind already running through ways this could go catastrophically wrong. I'd need to prepare, maybe bring some combat potions just in case, definitely inform Kalawarner about where I was going.
---
Night had fallen over Kuoh with the quiet that made every sound feel amplified, and I stood in my living room adjusting my suit while trying to project confidence I didn't entirely feel.
Kalawarner watched me from the couch with an expression that managed to combine concern with resignation, her arms crossed in a way that suggested she wanted to argue but knew it wouldn't change anything. Sýr perched on the back of the furniture like her crow form, her human body somehow balanced in a position that should've been uncomfortable but apparently wasn't, those glowing blue eyes tracking my movements with the usual tilt of her head.
I'd changed into something slightly more formal than my usual school uniform, basically the best approximation of "meeting with faction representative" attire I could pull from my limited wardrobe.
"I have to meet someone from Grigori" I announced, breaking the silence with information I probably should've led with earlier "It's probably rendezvous stuff, they want to discuss about the past incident"
Kalawarner's frown deepened, but she didn't immediately object, which I took as tacit approval or at least acknowledgment that I was going regardless of her opinion. Sýr just continued staring, and I still couldn't tell if she understood the implications or was just observing human behavior for future reference.
I pulled out a small pouch from my jacket pocket, the leather container holding a selection of potions I'd prepared specifically for tonight, if it takes a wrong turn.
"Be vigilant while I'm gone" I directed at Kalawarner, then included Sýr with a glance "Take care of Asia and keep an eye out for anything unusual. If Hero Faction shows up or anything remotely threatening happens, you contact me immediately"
Kalawarner nodded slowly, her expression suggesting she'd taken my warning seriously, and I chose to interpret Sýr's continued staring as agreement rather than the total lack of comprehension it might actually represent.
I headed for the door, checking my phone one more time to confirm the address, and stepped out into the night air with determination and dread competing for dominance in my chest.
The walk to The Crimson Pearl took longer than expected, the hotel situated in a quieter district of Kuoh that I rarely visited. When the building finally came into view my first impression was "Wow", the establishment catered to people who valued privacy and had money to spare for it. Warm lighting spilled from elegant windows, and the entrance suggested refined taste.
I pushed through the main doors and made my way to the elevator, ignoring the front desk staff who were trained to not ask questions about guests. The ride up to the sixth floor felt longer than physics should allow, giving me plenty of time to second-guess every decision for coming here all alone.
Room 69 waited at the end of a carpeted hallway that smelled faintly of expensive cleaning products and secrets of rich fellows.
I stood in front of the door, hand raised to knock, and hesitated for just a second before pressing the doorbell. The chime echoed inside, pleasant and normal, and I waited for someone to answer or acknowledge my presence.
Nothing.
No footsteps approaching, no voice calling out, no indication that anyone was on the other side. I frowned, pressing the bell again with the same result, and my instincts started screaming that something was wrong with this setup. Either I'd been given bad information, or whoever was supposed to meet me had changed their plans without bothering to inform me, or this was a trap and I was walking directly into it like an idiot.
I reached for the door handle, intending to just peek inside to see if anyone had left a note or some explanation, and found it unlocked.
The door swung open smoothly, well-oiled hinges making no sound, and I stepped into what appeared to be a standard hotel suite entrance. Soft lighting, generic artwork on the walls, a small table with a vase of flowers that looked professionally arranged. Everything seemed normal, almost aggressively normal, and that's when my warning systems ramped up to maximum alert.
I moved deeper into the suite, following the short hallway that opened into what should've been a lavish living area.
Should've been.
The carpet was painted in red. Deep, saturated red that looked wrong even in the dim lighting, and it took my brain a full second to process that this wasn't the carpet's original color. Liquid had soaked deep into it, spreading in patterns that suggested it had been spilled from somewhere else, and trails led across the floor toward the far side of the room like someone had dragged something heavy through the mess.
My hand went to the potion pouch automatically, fingers finding the Hell Claw Surge vial while my eyes scanned for threats.
Blood. That was blood on the carpet. Fresh enough to still be wet, pooled in quantities that suggested the one behind this enjoyed it thoroughly, and the trails disappeared around a corner where I couldn't see what had created them. Every instinct I'd developed over the past month screamed at me to turn around and leave, to call for backup, to do literally anything except walk further into what was obviously a crime scene or a trap.
But I'd come this far. And whoever had summoned me here had done so through Serafall's connections, and getting blamed for murder of representative of Grigori wasn't on my wishlist.
I moved forward carefully, gulping the hell claw surge potion already, every sense straining to detect any movement or presence in the suite.
The trails led around the corner, and I steeled myself for whatever I was about to find.
. . .
A/N : Throw powerstones for faster updates!
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