3rd Person POV
Arto descended the narrow spiral staircase carved into the earth beneath the clubhouse, each step echoing softly in the cool, damp darkness. The air grew thicker the deeper he went—rich with the mineral scent of soil and stone, laced with the faint metallic tang of leyline mana brushing against his senses like invisible wind.
He had dug this shaft yesterday—alone, in silence—using precise mana-shaping spells to avoid disturbing the surface. Hundreds of meters straight down, past bedrock layers, past forgotten aquifers, until he reached the intersection point that had been mapped years ago: the nexus where three major leylines converged beneath Kuoh. A natural power junction, raw and untamed, pulsing with enough ambient mana to light a small city if harnessed correctly.
At the bottom, the shaft opened into a vast, empty chamber—perfectly spherical, walls smoothed to mirror finish by his own spells. No light existed here yet except the faint silver-blue glow emanating from his own hands. The ceiling arched high overhead, lost in shadow. The floor was bare stone, already etched with the preliminary foundation sigils he had inscribed yesterday—concentric circles, directional vectors, anchoring runes—all waiting for the final ignition.
He stepped into the center. The nexus point. Here, the leylines met like rivers pouring into a single sea. He could feel them—three massive currents of raw mana, each one thick enough to drown a lesser mage, brushing against his skin like warm oil. They hummed in perfect harmony, a low, subsonic thrum that vibrated in his bones.
Arto exhaled once—slow, centering. Then he began.
He knelt, pressing both palms flat against the cold stone at the exact convergence point. Silver-blue mana flared to life between his fingers—not wild, not uncontrolled, but precise as surgical steel. He channeled it downward first, feeding the Stabilizer matrix he had already embedded in the bedrock yesterday. The device—small, unassuming, no larger than a dinner plate—drank the leyline mana greedily, smoothing its chaotic flow into clean, stable power.
The air around him shimmered.
A soft, electric hum rose—steady, almost musical—as the Stabilizer began its work: converting raw, turbulent mana into pure, usable energy, then feeding it back into the leylines like a secondary current. No waste. No leakage. No signature that could be traced from the surface. To any external observer—magical or technological—the flow would appear unchanged. Just a slightly thicker current passing through the nexus. Nothing more.
Arto stood at the heart of the spherical chamber, the steady thrum of the leylines now a constant, comforting vibration beneath his feet. The Stabilizer matrix he had embedded earlier pulsed once—slow, satisfied—confirming that chaotic mana had been tamed into a clean, continuous current. No spikes. No turbulence. Just pure, filtered power flowing like blood through veins.
He nodded once—small, approving. Phase one complete. Now the real work began.
He lifted the rolled blueprint in his left hand—thick vellum marked with his own precise annotations, Gremory and Sitri certification stamps glowing faintly in the corners. With a flick of his right wrist, silver-blue mana flared along his fingertips. The spatial pocket at his side opened like a silent mouth, and materials began to teleport down in controlled sequence: pre-cut mana-attenuated graphene panels, beryllium-copper conduits, doped quartz lenses, oscillated bismuth lattice segments, high-density coolant pipes, and the three secondary Stabilizer cores—each one a smaller, perfectly calibrated twin to the primary unit.
He didn't summon them all at once. Precision mattered here. One wrong placement and the entire foundation could resonate out of phase.
First—the primary reactor core.
Arto stepped to the exact center of the chamber where the three leylines converged. He knelt, unrolled the blueprint across the stone, and pressed his palm to the nexus point again. Mana surged from his hand—not wild, but directed—feeding the primary Stabilizer node until it glowed steady white-gold.
Then he began to build. He raised both hands, fingers spread, and started shaping.
The formulas flowed live—no hesitation, no paper intermediary. Silver-blue lines ignited in the air, weaving themselves into a towering cylindrical framework around the nexus. Graphene panels materialized from the teleport stream and snapped into place, forming a seamless black cylinder twenty meters tall and ten wide. Beryllium-copper conduits threaded through the lattice like arteries, carrying stabilized mana from the primary node to secondary distribution rings. Quartz lenses—each one hand-tuned to refract leyline energy without loss—locked into alignment along the vertical axis.
Cooling came next.
Arto extended his left hand toward the chamber wall. Groundwater lines—already mapped and tapped yesterday—responded to his call. Pipes of reinforced mana-conductive alloy rose from the stone like living roots, threading upward and spiraling around the reactor core. Cooling spells etched themselves into the metal on the fly—automatic, self-regulating glyphs that would draw ambient groundwater, cycle it through Stabilizer-chilled channels, and return it cooler than it entered, dissipating heat without ever touching the surface.
He didn't stop there.
Three secondary reactors—smaller, satellite cores—began to take shape at equidistant points along the chamber's perimeter, each one bound directly to one of the three leylines. He teleported the remaining Stabilizer nodes into place, linked them to their parent leyline with resonance conduits, and watched as each one ignited in turn—smaller versions of the primary, but no less potent. Redundant power. Fail-safe redundancy. If one leyline weakened, the others would compensate. No single point of failure.
Finally—the defenses. Arto stood in the center once more and raised both arms skyward.
Silver-blue mana erupted outward in concentric waves. The chamber walls thickened—stone flowing like liquid before hardening again into denser, mana-infused composite. Internal bracing runes spun into existence: fractal patterns that would absorb and redistribute any impact from above. The dome ceiling lifted another ten meters, reinforced with oscillating bismuth latticework that would flex rather than crack under pressure. The entire structure became a self-healing organism—cracks would seal, stress points would redistribute, energy surges would be bled harmlessly back into the leylines.
When the last rune locked into place, the chamber exhaled. A deep, resonant thrum rolled through the stone—steady, alive, complete. The foundational power infrastructure was finished. Four reactors—primary and three secondary—humming in perfect sync. Cooling systems cycling silently. Defenses layered thick enough to shrug off tactical strikes from above. All of it drawing from the leylines, stabilized, recycled, undetectable from the surface.
Arto lowered his arms. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his breathing remained even. He looked up—hundreds of meters toward the clubhouse far above. The Simulation Room proper would come next.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto climbing up a dirt hole]
Arto hauled himself out of the shaft, dirt and stone dust clinging to his yukata, muscles aching from the long climb. The basement air felt almost warm compared to the deep chamber below. He rolled his shoulders once, blinking against the brighter light of the clubhouse interior.
Before he could even take a full step, a crimson blur launched itself at him.
Rias collided with his chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him, arms wrapping around his neck like iron bands. She buried her face against his shoulder, voice muffled but trembling. "Arto! Where did you go? We were so worried!"
He blinked—confused, still processing the sudden warmth and pressure—then instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to soothe the shaking in her frame. "I was building the Simulation Room," he said quietly, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back. "What happened?"
Rias pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes wide and shimmering, cheeks flushed with equal parts relief and lingering fear. "You were in there for a week, you know that, Darling?"
Akeno's voice came from the doorway—soft, but carrying that familiar teasing edge now softened by something rawer. She stepped inside, barefoot, hair slightly mussed like she hadn't slept properly in days. Without hesitation she moved to his other side and wrapped her arms around both of them, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. "It was so lonely without you around."
Arto went still. "A week?" he repeated, slower this time, like he was tasting the word. "I was in there that long? Why did I feel nothing like hunger and thirst? I kept working…"
Rias's grip tightened again. "You were… glowing," she whispered. "Silver-blue light coming off you the whole time. We could feel the mana shifting under the house. We tried calling down to you, but you didn't answer. You just kept… building. Like you were in a trance."
Akeno nodded against his shoulder. "We were scared to pull you out. Robin said it might break the spellwork if we interrupted. But we stayed close. Watched the entrance. Made sure no one bothered you." Arto exhaled slowly—processing. "I think I have a theory for that."
Robin's voice came from the top of the basement stairs—calm, warm, carrying that familiar soothing cadence. She descended the last few steps gracefully, book tucked under one arm, dark eyes gentle as they met his.
She stopped a respectful distance away, giving the three of them space but close enough to be part of the moment. "You were drawing directly from the leylines through the Stabilizer nexus," she said. "Your body entered a state of mana-sustained homeostasis. The Stabilizer didn't just power the construction—it cycled clean mana through your meridians, filtering out fatigue toxins, replenishing glycogen, maintaining hydration at a cellular level. You didn't need food or water because the leyline itself was feeding you. It's… rare. Even among high-tier mages, almost no one can sustain it for more than a few hours without collapsing."
She smiled—small, almost proud. "You held it for seven days straight. That's not just skill, Arto. That's… something else." Robin's smile turned mischievous, her blue eyes glinting with sudden understanding. "Or…" she drawled, letting the word hang deliciously in the air, "Rias, Akeno—hold him in place. Nami, tear his shirt off. I think I know how he could last that long."
Arto's eyes widened a fraction—the first real crack in his calm since he'd climbed out of the shaft. "Wait—" Too late. Rias and Akeno moved like they'd rehearsed it. Rias stepped behind him, arms sliding around his waist in a deceptively gentle hug that locked his arms to his sides with surprising strength. Akeno flanked him on the right, one hand pressing firmly against his chest while the other gripped his shoulder—lightning dancing harmlessly along her fingertips, just enough to make his muscles twitch involuntarily.
"Hold still, darling~" Akeno purred, voice dripping honey and menace. "This is for science." Nami was already moving—grinning like a cat that had just spotted an unattended fish tank. She stepped in front, fingers hooking under the hem of his yukata. "With pleasure," she said cheerfully. In one smooth, practiced motion she yanked upward.
The fabric tore slightly at the seams—Arto's attempt to twist away thwarted by Rias and Akeno's combined grip—and the yukata slid up his back, exposing skin. There, centered between his shoulder blades, glowing with faint silver-blue light even in the dim basement: The sigil of the Stabilizer. Not drawn. Not painted. Tattooed.
Clean lines of interlocking runes spiraled outward from a central nexus point—the same pattern as the primary reactor core far below. It pulsed once in time with his heartbeat, then dimmed again, as though embarrassed to be seen.
The room went still. Robin stepped forward—slow, reverent—and traced one finger along the outermost ring of the tattoo. The sigil flared briefly at her touch, then settled. "I knew it," she said softly, almost tenderly. "So this thing was keeping you alive."
Arto exhaled—long, defeated—and stopped struggling. "Yeah," he muttered. "I put it me in case I was drawn into a battle, I would have had a way to last the battle if my enemies want to exhaust my human mana pool, but I've never heard about it could sustain my own life, that thing is new to me. Care to explain, Dr Robin?"
Robin's finger lingered a moment longer on the outermost rune—tracing its curve with the same careful precision she once used to map leyline flows or read micro-expressions in a crowded room. The sigil pulsed once more under her touch, silver-blue light rippling outward like a heartbeat, then dimmed back to a soft, steady glow.
She withdrew her hand slowly, eyes never leaving Arto's back.
"It's not entirely new," she said, voice low and thoughtful, the tone she used when dissecting something both beautiful and dangerous. "Just… rare. And usually fatal when it happens unintentionally."
She stepped around to face him fully—Rias and Akeno still flanking him like protective sentinels, though their grips had loosened into something softer, more worried than restraining.
"The Stabilizer was always meant to filter and recycle mana in external systems," Robin continued. "Clean the chaos, return purity to the leylines, sustain structures without collapse. But living tissue is a system too. When you pushed yourself—when you became the conduit for that much raw leyline power without pause—your body recognized the overload as a threat. So it did what any good survival mechanism does: it adapted."
She reached out again—this time resting her palm flat against the center of the sigil through the torn yukata. The tattoo flared brighter for a heartbeat, then settled into sync with Arto's breathing.
"The sigil didn't just buffer the mana. It integrated. It created a closed-loop micro-reactor inside you. Your meridians became secondary conduits. Your blood became the coolant. Your cells learned to draw ambient leyline energy directly, bypassing normal metabolic fatigue. Hunger, thirst, exhaustion—they're all downstream effects of mana depletion and waste buildup. The tattoo short-circuited the entire process. You weren't starving or dehydrating because your body was no longer running on food and water. It was running on the earth itself."
Akeno's grip on Arto's arm tightened—almost involuntarily. "So he could've… kept going forever?" she asked, voice hushed. Robin shook her head once—gentle but firm. "Not forever. The human body isn't designed to be a perpetual-motion machine. The sigil can sustain you indefinitely under normal conditions—sleep, light activity, even moderate combat. But push too hard for too long, and the feedback starts. Heat buildup in the core organs. Mana crystallization in the bloodstream. Neural overload. Eventually… the body burns itself out from the inside."
She met Arto's eyes—direct, unflinching. "That's why you felt nothing during those seven days. The tattoo was protecting you from yourself. But it was also quietly taxing you in ways you couldn't perceive. If you'd stayed down there another week… we might have had to dig you out in pieces."
Arto suddenly clutched his stomach, doubling over slightly with a low groan. "Ohh… now I'm feeling hungry. Greatly." He straightened slowly, rubbing his abdomen like it had just remembered it existed after a week-long vacation. "I think I need a buffet restaurant. Something massive. To replenish the nutrition I've apparently been ignoring."
His gaze landed on Nami—still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in amused disbelief. "Nami?" Nami stared at him for one long, incredulous second. Then she burst out laughing—head thrown back, hand slapping her thigh. "You're kidding me," she wheezed. "You turned your body into a walking leyline reactor, ran on pure mana for a week straight, and now you're telling me you're suddenly starving? Like a normal human who skipped breakfast?"
Arto gave her a flat look. "I'm post-human, not non-human. The tattoo kept me alive. It didn't keep me fed." Nami wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still grinning. "Unbelievable. Okay, okay—big spender mode activated." She pushed off the wall and cracked her knuckles. "Buffet. All-you-can-eat. Bottomless. I know just the place. There's a high-end shabu-shabu and yakiniku spot downtown—private rooms, premium A5 wagyu, fresh seafood flown in daily, and they don't bat an eye if one person clears three tables."
Rias immediately perked up, releasing Arto just enough to clap her hands together. "Yakiniku buffet? I'm in. I want wagyu. And scallops. And those garlic butter mushrooms." Akeno's eyes sparkled. "And mochi ice cream at the end. And maybe some sushi rolls. And—"
Robin closed her book with a soft snap. "I'll come," she said calmly. "I could use a proper meal after watching you all panic for a week. And I want to see how much damage a leyline-powered stomach can actually do." Nami slung an arm around Arto's shoulders—casual, confident, already steering him toward the stairs. "Come on, boss. Your body just remembered it's mortal. Let's remind it what real food tastes like."
Arto let himself be pulled along—Rias and Akeno falling in on either side, Robin bringing up the rear with her usual quiet grace. He glanced sideways at Nami. "You're paying?" She flashed him that trademark smirk. "First meal's on me. Consider it a signing bonus for your new CFO."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto cleaning the table full of food]
The private room at the upscale yakiniku buffet had become a battlefield of empty plates and half-demolished platters. Wagyu slabs, grilled scallops, enoki mushrooms wrapped in bacon, garlic butter shrimp, assorted offal, kimchi, cold soba, mochi ice cream towers—everything the place offered had been systematically annihilated.
And Arto was still going.
He tore into another thick slice of A5 ribeye like it personally owed him money, chewed twice, swallowed, then immediately reached for the next piece while simultaneously pouring himself another glass of iced barley tea. His chopsticks moved with mechanical precision; his jaw worked like a well-oiled piston. The table groaned under the weight of stacked dishes.
Nami watched with the detached fascination of someone witnessing a force of nature. "Slow down, you," she said, reaching over to tap his forehead with two knuckles. "The staff are freaking out. They keep peeking through the sliding door like they're witnessing a live mukbang record attempt."
Arto paused mid-bite—cheek bulging slightly—then swallowed with visible effort. "I haven't eaten in a week," he said, voice muffled around the remaining meat. "My body just remembered it exists. Let it live."
Rias, sitting to his right, had given up trying to keep pace three platters ago. She now rested her chin in her palm, watching him with a mix of awe and mild horror. "Darling… your stomach is going to revolt." Akeno—perched on his other side—leaned in and poked his cheek gently with a chopstick. "He's like a black hole in human form right now. Look at him go~"
Robin—seated across from him with impeccable posture—had finished her own modest portion long ago and was now calmly sipping green tea while observing the carnage with academic interest.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "The tattoo must have suppressed his ghrelin production entirely during the construction phase. Now that his metabolism has caught up… it's trying to make up for lost time. I estimate he'll need another 8,000–10,000 kcal before homeostasis returns."
Nami snorted, stealing a piece of grilled enoki from Arto's plate before he could claim it. "Translation: he's going to bankrupt this place before he feels full."
Arto finally paused—only because the current platter was empty. He looked up, cheeks still faintly puffed, eyes slightly glassy from sheer focus. "…More wagyu?" he asked the room at large, voice hoarse.
The sliding door cracked open. A nervous server poked his head in, tray trembling slightly. "Uh… sir? We're… out of the premium A5 ribeye. And the sirloin. And the chuck flap. And… most of the beef, actually. We're bringing more from the freezer, but it'll take fifteen minutes to thaw and slice…"
Arto blinked slowly. "…I'll take pork belly in the meantime." The server nodded frantically and disappeared. Nami dropped her head into her hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "You're a menace," she wheezed. "A beautiful, terrifying menace."
Rias reached over and wiped a smudge of sauce from Arto's cheek with her thumb—gentle, affectionate. "We're never taking you to an all-you-can-eat place again," she said fondly. "They'll have to rename it 'all-you-can-eat-until-Arto-shows-up'." Akeno leaned against his shoulder, grinning. "I think it's romantic. He's making up for lost time… by devouring everything in sight."
Robin sipped her tea—serene as ever. "His body is recalibrating. Give him another hour. He'll stabilize." Nami looked at the growing tower of empty plates, then back at Aruto—who was already eyeing the next incoming tray like a predator. She sighed—dramatic, fond—and pushed another plate of grilled pork belly toward him. "Eat, you absolute disaster," she said. "But if you throw up later, I'm not holding your hair." Arto accepted the plate with a grateful nod.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by plates of food being devoured endlessly]
Arto finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, satisfied breath as he set down his chopsticks. The mountain of plates around him had shrunk from catastrophic to merely impressive—though the staff still hovered nervously near the doorway, clearly debating whether to bring out another round or quietly call for reinforcements.
He rubbed his stomach once, eyes half-lidded, the manic hunger finally ebbing into something closer to normal human satiation.
Rias watched him carefully, then leaned forward with both elbows on the table, chin resting on laced fingers. "Arto," she said softly, voice carrying the quiet authority she used when speaking for her family, "how far have you gone on the process of building the Simulation Room? My parents keep asking. They want to know the progress—officially."
Arto met her gaze—steady, unhurried—and gave a small nod. "I've finished building the power generator," he answered plainly. "The primary reactor core is online, along with the three secondary leylines-bound units. The Stabilizer nodes are fully integrated. Clean power draw, no detectable surface signature, infinite redundancy. That part's done."
He took a slow sip of barley tea before continuing.
"What's left:
The simulation generator itself—intention-to-reality mapping arrays, adaptive monster logic, environmental randomization engines. Spatial manipulation mechanics for multiple sectors and dynamic spacing inside each one. Sector 1's dream-projecting mechanics with the Dream Mirror as the anchor. The Git system for sector version control—branching, merging, rollbacks, conflict resolution on physical reality changes. Database and server infrastructure for persistent world states, user profiles, progress tracking. The AI assistant—monitoring, optimizing, flagging anomalies, suggesting improvements. Surface-level presentation and security mechanics—illusion arrays, anti-scrying wards, access authentication, intrusion countermeasures."
He set the teacup down with a soft clink. "That seems to be about it," he concluded. "Mostly coding now. Integration testing. Fine-tuning. Give me three more weeks and everything will be done—fully operational, ready for beta users." The table went quiet for a moment—each of them processing the sheer scale of what he'd just casually laid out. Rias exhaled slowly, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips.
"Three weeks," she repeated softly. "My parents will be… very pleased. And very impatient." Akeno leaned her cheek against her hand, eyes sparkling. "Three weeks until we can all play in your personal nightmare playground. I'm booking the first slot." Nami—still idly twirling a chopstick between her fingers—let out a low whistle.
"That's not a room you're building. That's a country. A private, infinite, monetizable country." She grinned at him. "I'm already calculating how much we can charge per sector-hour once it's live. We're going to need a whole new pricing department."
Robin sipped her tea—calm, unruffled, but her eyes shone with quiet fascination. "The Git integration alone is revolutionary," she murmured. "Version control for physical reality… rollback capabilities for catastrophic failures… branching timelines for safe experimentation. You're not just creating a tool. You're creating a new paradigm of existence."
Arto shrugged one shoulder—almost modest. "It's just infrastructure," he said. "The real work starts when people begin using it. That's when we find out what it can actually do. But before we all go excited about what I'm building, I want to know something"
He pointed his chopsticks at Rias, the motion casual but pointed. "How was the training of you and your peerage going? I do hope you all are not slacking off when I'm gone. Are you still holding on well with the regimen I gave you and Koneko on hand-to-hand combat? Akeno with naginata training with Tsubaki? And Kiba with sword art and alchemy?"
Rias set her teacup down with a soft clink, smiling faintly but with a glint of pride in her eyes. "No slacking," she answered promptly. "We kept the schedule exactly as you left it. Koneko and I still run the full hand-to-hand circuit every morning—your 'Abyssgard special forces' drills. She's starting to chain combos faster than I can react sometimes. I've had to up my pace just to keep her from landing clean hits on me every round."
She glanced toward the empty seat where Koneko usually sat if she joined them for lunch. "Akeno's naginata work with Tsubaki is progressing beautifully. Tsubaki says Akeno's footwork has reached 'artistic' level. She even started incorporating lightning arcs into the blade path without losing balance—small, controlled bursts. It's terrifyingly pretty."
Akeno beamed, twirling a chopstick between her fingers like it was a miniature polearm. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Rias-chan~ But yes, Tsubaki is a strict taskmaster. I love it."
Arto's chopsticks shifted—now pointing at Akeno. "And Kiba?" Akeno's expression softened with genuine respect. "Kiba's sword art has reached another level. He's been drilling the Abyssgard forms you taught him—especially the flowing counters and the silent-step variants. He's also been spending nights in the alchemy lab he set up in his own apartment. Last week he successfully transmuted a low-grade mana crystal into a stable healing salve that works on both demonic and human tissue. He's… obsessed, in the best way."
Arto nodded once—small, satisfied—then shifted the chopsticks again, this time aiming them at Robin. "Then you," he said. "I want to know how far you've taught them on Spellcrafting Formulas, and how Sona's peerage has been catching up with the main class. Are they studying together now, or separately?"
Robin set her teacup down with perfect poise, folding her hands in her lap. "I've taken the upstairs group through Chapter 9—Resonance Forgery and basic multi-signature overlays. They're starting to chain simple formulas live now, though Koneko still prefers brute-force application over elegant scaffolding. Rias and Akeno are both at the point where they can improvise mid-combat without paper. Very promising."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting. "As for Sona's peerage—they've been catching up remarkably fast. Sona herself is already at Chapter 7; she's methodical, almost surgical. Tsubaki is close behind. The rest are scattered between Chapters 4 and 6. They're studying separately for now—Sona insists on mastering each concept before moving forward—but we've scheduled joint practical sessions three times a week starting next week. They'll merge fully once everyone reaches Chapter 10. I'm keeping the pace aggressive but safe."
Arto listened without interrupting—chopsticks resting against his bowl now, expression calm but attentive. When Robin finished, he gave a single nod. "Good," he said quietly. "No shortcuts. No rushing past the foundations. They'll need every layer when the real tests come." He glanced around the table—meeting each set of eyes in turn.
Rias—fierce, determined. Akeno—playful but deadly serious underneath. Nami—sharp, calculating, already thinking three moves ahead. Robin—quiet, watchful, the weight of centuries in her gaze. He exhaled once—slow, centering. "Then we keep going," he said. "Three weeks until the Simulation Room is online. Until then—training doesn't stop. Lessons don't stop. We don't stop."
He picked up his chopsticks again, but this time more slowly. "Now finish your food. We have work to do."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto conducting tests for his students]
The empty classroom on the third floor of Kuoh Academy felt unusually vast under the dim glow of a single row of overhead lights. Desks had been pushed against the walls, leaving a wide open space in the center. Sixteen chairs were arranged in a loose semicircle facing a low platform where Arto stood, arms crossed, expression calm but carrying that quiet, unyielding authority that always made even the most restless student sit up straighter.
Rias's peerage occupied one side of the semicircle: Rias at the front, Akeno beside her, Kiba and Koneko behind them—Koneko's legs swinging slightly, not quite reaching the floor.
Sona's peerage sat opposite: Sona herself at the head, Tsubaki to her right, Momo, Tomoe, Reya, and Tsubasa filling out the row—notebooks open, postures perfect, though a few were visibly nervous.
Nami sat slightly apart from both groups—legs crossed, chin propped on her hand, looking more amused than concerned. She'd already doodled a quick profit-loss graph in the margin of her blank test paper.
Arto let the silence stretch just long enough to make it feel deliberate. "Okay, everyone," he said, voice low but carrying effortlessly to every corner of the room. "The past week was my absence from class, so I haven't gotten a clear sense of how much you're understanding what Robin taught you. That's why we're here tonight—for a test."
He gestured toward the stack of sealed envelopes on the table beside him—each one marked with a different name in silver-blue ink. "I've tailored each test to match exactly where you are in the book. Different questions, different difficulty curves, different focus areas. Don't even think about cheating. The formulas will know. And so will I."
A soft ripple of nervous laughter and shifting chairs passed through the group. "You have 120 minutes," Arto continued. "No phones. No notes. No talking. Robin-sensei will proctor from the back. When you finish, place your envelope on the table and leave quietly. She'll grade them overnight and use the results to plan individualized paths forward."
He paused—eyes moving slowly across every face. "I won't be able to teach you personally for the next three weeks. A project both the Sitri and Gremory clans are investing in is entering its final phase. My focus has to be there. But that doesn't mean progress stops. Robin will handle the main lessons. She's already mastered the entire book and has my full certification to teach. You'll also get practical sessions with me once the project stabilizes—hands-on, small-group, high-intensity. Until then… show me you can keep moving forward without me holding your hand."
He picked up the envelopes and began walking the semicircle, placing each one in front of its owner.
Rias received hers first—thickest packet, highest chapter depth.
Akeno's was next—focus on combat applications.
Kiba's emphasized alchemy-formula integration.
Koneko's was shorter but brutally precise—testing raw intention control.
Sona's packet was almost as thick as Rias's—methodical, layered questions.
Tsubaki's leaned toward defensive arrays.
Momo, Tomoe, Reya, and Tsubasa each got progressively customized stacks.
Nami's envelope was last—thinner than most, but the rune on the front pulsed brighter than anyone else's.
She raised an eyebrow as she took it."Special treatment, boss?" Aruto met her gaze evenly. "You started late and jumped straight to advanced theory. I want to see how far your intuition carries you before the foundations catch up." Nami smirked—sharp, delighted—and cracked the seal without hesitation.
Robin—seated at the back near the door—opened her own proctor's copy of the master answer key. She didn't speak; she simply nodded once to Arto. He stepped back to the front. "Pens up. Eyes on your own paper. Begin." The room filled with the soft rustle of pages turning, pens scratching, quiet exhales of concentration.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by a clock ticking]
Later that night, the clubhouse living room was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of Arto's pen. The single floor lamp cast a warm pool of light over the low table where he sat cross-legged, surrounded by sixteen graded test booklets—each one meticulously annotated in his precise silver-blue ink.
Robin sat beside him on the tatami, knees tucked to the side, her own copy of the master answer key open on her lap. She had already finished her initial review; now she simply watched Arto work, chin resting lightly on her palm, a small, contented smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Arto closed the last booklet—Nami's—with a soft thump and leaned back on his hands, exhaling through his nose.
"You're a good teacher, Robin," he said quietly, almost grudgingly. "I'll give you that. A surprise test after only a week of your lessons, and their results are surprisingly good. They've grasped the core concepts well. The spells they constructed worked—perfectly in most cases. Precision was high across the board. Mistakes here and there, yes—mostly in chaining speed and intention indexing—but those are minor. Surface-level. Improvement won't take long."
Robin tilted her head, smile widening just a fraction. "I had excellent material to work with," she replied softly. "They're motivated. Hungry for it. Even the ones who started behind—Sona's peerage especially—pushed themselves hard. Sona herself scored near-perfect on the resonance-forgery section. She's methodical to a fault. Tsubaki's defensive arrays were elegant. Momo surprised me with her intuition on multi-signature overlays. And Nami…"
She glanced at the booklet still resting under Aruto's hand. "Nami treated the test like a profit-and-loss statement. She answered every question correctly, then added three pages of marginal notes suggesting optimizations to the formulas themselves. Some of them were… genuinely insightful. She's already thinking like a creator, not just a student."
Arto huffed a quiet laugh—more breath than sound. "She's dangerous when she's bored. Give her a system and she'll start looking for arbitrage opportunities inside it." Robin's eyes sparkled. "I like her. She reminds me of me… before I learned to be careful."
Arto's expression softened—just a fraction—as he looked at the stack of tests. "They did well," he said again, quieter this time. "Better than I expected after only a week without me. That's on you." Robin shook her head once—gentle refusal. "It's on them. I only gave them the map. They chose to walk the path."
She closed her answer key and set it aside. "They're ready for more," she continued. "The foundations are solid. Next phase should be practical application—live casting under pressure, chaining in combat scenarios, intention stress-testing. I can handle the theory escalation, but the physical drills… that's your domain."
Arto nodded slowly. "I'll take over the practicals in three weeks—once the Simulation Room is stable. Until then, keep pushing them. Small-group sparring with formula constraints. Intention duels. Let them fail fast and fail forward."
Robin's smile turned faintly proud. "Already planned. First joint session is tomorrow night. Sona's peerage versus Rias's—controlled, supervised, no lethal force. They'll learn more from losing to each other than from winning against dummies."
Arto exhaled—long, steady—and allowed himself one small, genuine smile. "Good. By the way, have Rias and peerage gone to bed?" Robin accesses her intel network for a moment before answering him "Yes, they are all sleeping like logs, tiresome day they had"
Arto nodded once, satisfied, then glanced at the old wall clock above the mantel. Its hands showed just past 11:40 p.m. "Okay," he said, voice dropping into the low, decisive register he used when planning drills. "Wake them up early for me tomorrow. Rias first—at 6:00 sharp. Then the rest, staggered by half an hour each. Akeno at 6:30, Kiba 7:00, Koneko 7:30. I want to spar with them individually—light contact, full regimen review. I need to confirm the efficiency before I go back underground for the next phase."
Robin tilted her head slightly, smile turning faintly amused. "Brutal wake-up calls and dawn beatings. Romantic." Arto snorted—quiet, tired. "They'll thank me when they're not dead next time someone tries to kill them." Robin stood smoothly, tucking her book under one arm.
"I'll set silent mana-pings in their rooms—gentle at first, escalating if they ignore it. Rias will probably sense the first one and wake instantly. Koneko might hiss and try to murder the alarm clock." She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back at him. "Will you sleep at all tonight?" Arto glanced toward the basement door—then back at her. "I will, I'm still human, not monster"
Robin's expression softened—just a fraction. "Then rest. We'll handle the morning reveille."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by the reactor of Simulation Room flaring up]
Rias's eyes snapped open the instant Robin's soft, calm voice brushed against her mind—gentle mana ping, not loud, but impossible to ignore.
"Rias. Yard. Now. Arto's waiting for you. Hand-to-hand. No holding back."
She was out of bed before the last syllable faded.
No grogginess. No complaints. Just decisive, military efficiency.
She pulled on a simple black sports bra and compression shorts—nothing fancy, nothing that would snag or restrict. Hair tied back in a tight, no-nonsense ponytail. Bare feet. No jewelry. No hesitation.
Down the stairs. Through the quiet clubhouse. Out the back door.
The yard was still half-shrouded in pre-dawn gray. Dew clung to the grass. The air smelled of wet earth and coming rain.
Arto stood in the center—shirtless, barefoot, sweatpants low on his hips. His right hand was already raised: middle and ring fingers extended straight, thumb and other fingers folded—the mark of the challenger. Steady. Unwavering. Directed right at her.
Rias stopped three paces away...Met his eyes...No words...She raised her own right hand—middle and ring fingers straight, the rest folded—palm facing him. Consent given.
The moment their signs aligned, something shifted in the air between them. Arto launched. No wind-up. No warning. Just monstrous, explosive power—human body moving faster and harder than any human should. His right fist drove forward in a straight, piston-like strike aimed at her solar plexus.
Rias didn't dodge. She met him. Feet planted. Hips rotated. Core locked. Muscles coiling like steel cables under her skin. She threw her own punch—open palm, elbow tucked, shoulder driving forward—meeting his fist head-on.
Their knuckles collided with a sound like a gunshot. The shockwave rolled outward—grass flattening in a perfect circle, dew exploding into mist, windows rattling in the clubhouse behind them. Upstairs, Akeno's eyes snapped open mid-dream. Nami bolted upright in her room, orange hair wild, already reaching for a knife that wasn't there.
Down in the yard, neither fighter flinched. Arto didn't hesitate. Rias was no longer his princess in this moment. She was his warrior. His soldier. His legionnaire.
He stepped inside her guard—left hook whipping toward her ribs, right knee rising to meet her descending elbow. Rias twisted—absorbing the hook on her forearm, countering with a vicious upward elbow aimed at his chin. Arto leaned back just enough for it to graze his jaw, then retaliated with a brutal palm strike to her chest that sent her skidding back three meters across wet grass.
She caught herself—low stance, fingers digging into the earth for balance—then exploded forward again. They clashed like thunder rolling over the yard. Fist to fist. Elbow to knee. Palm to shoulder. Every impact a detonation. Every block a tremor through the ground.
Rias fought with controlled ferocity—every move drilled into muscle memory by weeks of Arto's regimen. She was faster than before. Stronger. More precise. But Arto was still Arto—three thousand years of battlefield instinct layered over inhuman strength and perfect technique.
He didn't toy with her. He didn't hold back. He treated her like an enemy who could kill him if she landed clean. And she loved it. A grin split her face between breaths—wild, exhilarated. She ducked under a straight punch, drove her shoulder into his midsection, tried to lift and throw him. Arto twisted mid-air—impossible for a normal human—landed on one hand, swept her legs out from under her with his own, then rolled to his feet before she hit the ground.
She kipped up instantly—hair whipping, eyes blazing. They circled once—predators sizing each other up—then crashed together again. Upstairs windows cracked open. Akeno leaned out, hair a mess, grinning like a madwoman. "Get her, Rias! Break his ribs!"
Nami appeared at another window—half-asleep, orange hair sticking up in every direction, but eyes sharp. "Ten thousand yen says she lands a clean hit to the face in the next thirty seconds." Robin—leaning on the railing beside her—smiled faintly. "I'll take that bet." Down below, fists continued to fly.
Boom. Crack. Thud.
Grass tore under their feet. Dew turned to mist with every impact. And Arto—smiling now, small and fierce—finally spoke through a blocked strike. "That's it," he growled. "That's my warrior." Rias answered with a roar—pure, joyous fury—and threw herself at him again.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Rias dropping on top of chibi Arto]
The spar with Rias ended on a high note, both of them bruised and breathing hard.
Rias was swaying on her feet, knees buckling as the last exchange drained the final reserves from her legs. Arto caught her before she hit the grass—strong arms looping around her waist, pulling her against his chest in a steady, grounding hold. His own breathing was heavier than usual, sweat tracing rivulets down his bare torso, but the exhaustion in his frame was quiet, controlled.
He looked down at her—eyes soft in a way they rarely were during combat. "We can work on endurance later," he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. "But you did incredibly well, princess. Three weeks in and you fought like a monster."
Rias managed a tired, triumphant grin, head lolling against his shoulder. "Felt… like one," she rasped. Arto pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead—lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth of his lips against her sweat-damp skin. "Now go get Robin to heal you while I test Akeno, okay?"
He eased her upright, steadying her until she found her balance, then gave her a small push toward the clubhouse door where Robin was already waiting—first-aid kit in hand, faint silver-blue glow already gathering at her fingertips. Rias stumbled forward, throwing one last look over her shoulder—half-exhausted, half-proud—before disappearing inside.
Arto turned. Akeno was already approaching the battle ring—slow, deliberate, naginata of pure crackling mana manifesting in her hands. Violet lightning danced along the blade's edge, arcing in controlled, beautiful fury. Her school gym clothes clung to her from the morning's earlier drills, hair loose and wild, eyes bright with anticipation.
She twirled the weapon once—sparks trailing in perfect spirals—then planted the butt end in the torn grass. "Ready when you are, darling~" Arto reached behind his back. A flick of his wrist. A soft metallic shing—and the sword at his hip lengthened, the hilt extending smoothly into a full glaive shaft. The blade gleamed silver-blue in the morning light, runes along the edge pulsing faintly in time with his heartbeat.
He spun it once—casual, almost lazy—then leveled the point at her. "Then come." Akeno's grin turned feral. She exploded forward—naginata sweeping in a wide, lightning-charged arc aimed to take his head off at the shoulders. Arto met it. Glaive shaft clashed against mana blade—sparks erupting in a violent violet-white burst. The shockwave flattened grass in a perfect circle around them. Akeno didn't stop; she flowed into the next strike—blade spinning, lightning trailing like comet tails—each swing faster, each arc tighter.
Arto parried, countered, deflected—every movement economical, precise, brutal. He didn't speak. Didn't taunt. He simply fought—treating her exactly as he had treated Rias...Like a soldier...Like a legionnaire...Like someone who could kill him if she landed clean.
Akeno laughed—bright, exhilarated—between strikes. "You're not holding back~!" Arto's glaive whipped forward—tip grazing her collarbone, drawing the faintest line of red before she twisted away. "Neither are you," he growled. Another clash—thunder rolling across the yard. Lightning arced toward him; he sidestepped, blade slicing through the bolt like it was water, redirecting it harmlessly into the ground where it scorched a black starburst.
Akeno spun—naginata reversing direction—aiming for his ribs. Arto caught the shaft with his off-hand—bare palm against crackling mana—then yanked her forward into a brutal knee strike she barely blocked with her forearm. They broke apart—both breathing hard, both grinning. Upstairs windows cracked open again. Rias—already patched up by Robin—leaned out beside Nami, watching with fierce pride.
Nami—orange hair a wild halo in the morning light—leaned beside her, smirking. "Think she'll break him?" Rias laughed breathlessly. "Not a chance. But she'll make him work for it." Down in the yard, glaive and naginata met again—sparks flying, grass burning, dawn light painting their duel in gold and violet.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Akeno joining the pile made by Rias and Arto by dropping on both of them]
The spar with Akeno ended in a glorious burst of violet lightning and ringing steel.
Her naginata blade—still crackling with residual electricity—swept in a final, theatrical arc aimed to take Arto's head clean off. He parried with the flat of his glaive, the impact sending a shockwave that scorched the grass in a perfect ring around them. Akeno used the momentum to spin out of range, then—deliberately—let her legs give way as though the last strike had drained her completely.
She fell backward. Straight into his waiting arms. Arto shifted his weight in an instant—glaive vanishing back into its compact sword form with a metallic shing—and caught her mid-collapse. One arm hooked under her knees, the other cradling her shoulders. He dipped her low in a perfect romantic dip—her long black hair spilling like ink over his forearm, her face tilted up toward his, lips parted in exaggerated exhaustion.
Akeno's eyes sparkled with mischief even as she panted. Arto leaned in—close enough that his breath brushed her cheek—and purred, voice low and velvet-sweet: "Such flair~ My beautiful dancer~"
Akeno's giggle bubbled up immediately—bright, delighted, utterly unashamed. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer until their foreheads touched. "You always catch me so perfectly," she teased, voice husky from exertion and laughter. "One might think you practice for this moment."
Arto's lips curved—just a fraction—into the rare, genuine smile he saved only for her and Rias. "Only because you fall so dramatically," he murmured back, still holding her in that effortless, romantic dip. "You could've landed on your feet. You chose theatrics."
Akeno batted her lashes up at him. "Can you blame me? The view from down here is excellent~" From the clubhouse porch, Rias watched with her arms crossed—smiling softly, one eyebrow raised in fond exasperation. "Get a room, you two," she called, though her tone carried zero actual annoyance.
Nami—leaning against the railing beside Rias—snorted. "They already have one. It's called the entire yard." Robin, standing a few steps behind them, simply smiled—quiet, indulgent—and sipped her tea. Arto finally straightened, bringing Akeno upright with him in one smooth motion. She kept her arms looped around his neck for a second longer than necessary, then finally let go—stepping back with a playful curtsy.
"Ten out of ten for the catch, darling," she purred. "Full points for style." Arto huffed a quiet laugh and sheathed his sword completely. "You're impossible."
"And you love it." He didn't deny it. Instead he glanced toward the porch—where Rias, Nami, and Robin were watching with varying degrees of amusement—and jerked his head toward the house. "Inside. Robin, check her over. Make sure she didn't overdraw her mana channels with all that lightning flair."
Akeno pouted dramatically. "Spoilsport." But she obeyed—sauntering toward the porch with an exaggerated sway in her hips, blowing Arto a kiss over her shoulder. Rias met her halfway, looping an arm around her waist. "Come on, show-off. Let Robin fix whatever you broke this time."
Arto spun his glaive once more before the weapon collapsed back into its compact sword form with a soft metallic shing. He sheathed it at his hip in one fluid motion, then turned to face the third combatant of the morning.
Kiba stood at the edge of the scorched ring—already in full battle stance, sword summoned in his right hand. The blade shimmered with a faint dual aura: crimson demonic energy twining around pale light, the two forces perfectly balanced and contained. In his left hand hovered a small, glowing transmutation circle—Edward Elric's alchemical notation already active, ready to reshape reality at a thought.
Arto gave him a single, firm nod. "Arm your sword with whatever you've learned, Kiba," he said, voice low and even. "Because I'm not holding back." He drew his own blade again. Runes along the fuller flared to life—silver-blue lines crawling up the steel like living veins. The air around the weapon thickened, mana pressure rising until the grass at his feet bent away from him. "Let's see how much knowledge from Edward Elric's book you can apply in battle."
Kiba's lips curved into a small, determined smile. He answered by action. His left hand snapped forward—transmutation circle blazing bright. The ground beneath Arto's feet rippled like water. Stone spears erupted upward in a deadly crescent—each one razor-sharp, aimed to skewer or force him to leap. Arto didn't leap.
He stepped through. His body flickered—half-there, half-elsewhere—and the spears passed harmlessly through the space he had occupied a fraction of a second earlier. He re-materialized inside Kiba's guard, sword already slashing in a tight horizontal arc toward the knight's ribs. Kiba parried—blade meeting blade in a shower of sparks. The impact rang like a struck bell. Demonic energy clashed against Arto's runed steel; neither gave ground.
Kiba's left hand moved again—another transmutation circle blooming beneath his feet. The grass around him twisted, hardened, then launched forward as dozens of needle-thin blades of reinforced chlorophyll and stone. Arto twisted—glaive form flashing back into existence mid-spin—and swept them aside in a single, brutal arc. The deflected projectiles embedded themselves in the clubhouse wall like a hail of green-black darts.
Kiba didn't hesitate. He lunged—sword trailing twin ribbons of red and white fire—aiming a diagonal cut that would have split Arto from shoulder to hip. Arto met it head-on. Their blades locked—steel screaming against steel, mana screaming against mana. Arto leaned in close, close enough for Kiba to see the faint silver-blue glow in his own eyes. "Not bad," he said quietly. "But you're still thinking in straight lines."
He shoved—hard. Kiba staggered back three steps, boots digging furrows in the dirt. Then Arto moved. A series of short, brutal cuts—each one forcing Kiba to parry high, low, high again—each parry costing him a fraction more balance. Arto didn't chase. He herded. Pushed Kiba toward the edge of the ring, toward the scorched patches left by Akeno's lightning.
Kiba recognized the trap—spun out of the pattern, transmutation circle flaring once more. The ground beneath Arto's feet turned to quicksand—soft, sucking, designed to trap and immobilize. Arto didn't panic. His boot found purchase on empty air—mana coalescing into an invisible platform beneath his foot. He walked upward—three impossible steps—then dropped back down behind Kiba, sword already sweeping low toward the back of his knees.
Kiba blocked—barely—then countered with a spinning backfist wrapped in flame. Arto ducked under it. Drove his shoulder into Kiba's solar plexus. The knight exhaled sharply—air driven from his lungs—and staggered. But he didn't fall. He twisted mid-stagger, transmutation circle blooming on his palm. The air itself hardened into a crystalline shield just in time to block Arto's follow-up thrust.
The blade clanged off the sudden barrier—sparks flying. Kiba grinned through gritted teeth. "You're not the only one who can improvise." Arto's eyes narrowed—approval flickering in their depths. "Then show me."
They clashed again—sword against sword, alchemy against runecraft, knight against legionnaire. The yard rang with steel and thunder.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Kiba joining the pile from air]
The spar with Kiba ended in a clash of steel and alchemy that left scorch marks on the grass and faint ozone in the air.
Kiba's knees buckled first—sword still raised, grip white-knuckled, chest heaving—but his eyes burned with that quiet, unyielding fire Arto recognized all too well. He hadn't dropped his blade. Not once.
Arto exhaled softly—once—then clapped his hands once, sharp and clear. "Exquisite display, Kiba," he said, voice carrying genuine weight. "I'm impressed by how fast you thought and executed those thoughts. Ed would be proud. I'll vouch for you to be his apprentice when the time comes."
Kiba's eyes widened—only for a heartbeat—then softened with something close to gratitude. Arto stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You've earned my respect. Now go to Robin. She'll fix whatever bruises I left."
Kiba bowed—short, respectful—then sheathed his sword and walked off toward the clubhouse, steps steady despite the exhaustion. Arto turned. The last combatant of the morning was already approaching.
Koneko. She walked slowly—deliberately—white hair catching the rising sun, gym clothes simple and loose. Her expression was calm, almost sleepy, but her eyes were sharp. Focused. Ready. Arto sheathed his sword completely—letting the weapon vanish into its compact form and disappear into his spatial pocket.
Koneko stopped three paces away. Arto raised his right hand—middle and ring fingers extended straight, the rest folded. The mark of the challenger. Koneko mirrored it instantly—small hand steady, gaze never wavering...Consent given.
The moment their signs aligned, Koneko exhaled once—sharp, controlled—and released the gravity spell that had been weighing on her since she stepped into the yard. A low thrum rolled through the ground. The grass flattened outward in a perfect circle as 1.5 tons of invisible force suddenly vanished from her body.
Her knees bent slightly—then straightened. Her tail flicked once—sharp, excited. And then she moved. Mach speed. Not metaphor. Literal. The air cracked around her. One heartbeat she was standing still. The next she was a white-and-black blur crossing the ring. Her small fist drove straight into Arto's stomach—perfect form, perfect timing, perfect power.
The impact was cataclysmic. A sonic boom rolled outward—grass shredding, dew exploding into mist, windows rattling in the clubhouse. Arto was lifted clean off his feet—sent flying backward ten meters—boots skidding across dirt before he slammed into the ground, rolling once, twice, then coming to a stop on one knee.
Silence. Then—slowly—Arto stood. He straightened. Wiped a thin line of blood from the corner of his mouth. And grinned. Koneko landed lightly on the balls of her feet—fist still extended, tail lashing, ears perked forward. She didn't gloat. She just waited. Arto cracked his neck once—slow, deliberate—then raised both hands in loose guard. "Not bad, kitten," he said, voice rough with approval. "Not bad at all."
He beckoned with two fingers. "Come again." Koneko's eyes flashed—golden, feral. She launched once more. The yard became a storm of white fur, black shorts, and silver-blue runes. Fists met fists. Kicks met blocks. Every impact a detonation. Every dodge a whisper of air. Up on the porch, Rias leaned against the railing—watching with fierce, loving pride. Akeno—still flushed from her own spar—grinned beside her. "She's gotten faster," Akeno murmured.
Rias nodded. "He's pushing her. And she's pushing back." Nami—arms crossed, smirking—leaned beside them. "Bet she lands another clean hit before he pins her." Robin—quietly observing from the doorway—smiled. "She will." Down in the ring, Arto and Koneko circled—bruised, breathing hard, grinning.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Koneko joining the pile from air]
Arto stood in the center of the scarred yard, sweat cooling on his skin as the morning sun climbed higher. His breathing was steady now, the last echoes of combat fading into the quiet rustle of leaves. Around him, Rias's peerage—Rias, Akeno, Kiba, Koneko—stood or leaned against the porch railing, bruised and flushed but glowing with the fierce satisfaction of people who had just proven something to themselves.
He looked at each of them in turn.
Rias—still catching her breath, a fresh bruise blooming across her forearm but eyes bright with pride.
Akeno—hair wild, lightning scars faintly visible on her palms, grinning like she'd just won a war.
Kiba—sword sheathed, posture straight despite the ache in his ribs, quiet confidence radiating from him.
Koneko—small fists clenched but mouth curved in the tiniest, rarest of smiles.
"You've all improved," Arto said, voice low but carrying clearly. "A lot. More than I expected in a single week without me. The regimens are working. The discipline is there. The hunger is there." He reached into his spatial pocket and withdrew a slim, leather-bound notebook—black, unmarked, edges worn from years of use. "The new regimens for each of you are in here," he continued. "Abyssgard Legion standard—full progression paths, conditioning cycles, sparring protocols, recovery methods. All tailored to where you are now and where you need to be in three weeks when I surface again. Robin has a copy. She'll guide you while I'm underground."
He handed the notebook to Rias. "Keep advancing," he said simply. "Don't plateau. Don't coast. I'll know if you do." Rias took it with both hands, bowing her head slightly. "We won't let you down." Arto gave a single nod—then turned toward the clubhouse.
Before he could take more than two steps, Nami stepped forward from the porch—holding a large, insulated wooden box wrapped in dark cloth. She thrust it into his arms with a smirk. "Here," she said. "Food. Enough for two weeks if you ration it. Rias cooked the rice and miso soup. Akeno handled the grilled meats and pickled vegetables. Robin made the bread and some kind of herbal stew that apparently 'stabilizes mana while nourishing the body.' I… supervised the desserts. Don't eat them first or you'll regret it."
She tapped the cloth. "Akeno enchanted the box. Preservation spell—keeps everything fresh, hot or cold as needed, no spoilage, no bacteria. You won't starve down there unless you're stupid about it." Arto accepted the box—surprised, but not ungrateful. Then Nami reached into her pocket and produced three small, folded pieces of paper—each marked with a different rune.
She handed them over one by one.
"First—Rias's. Cleaning spell. Activate it once a day; it'll scrub your body, clothes, even your hair. No soap needed. No smell. No dirt."
"Second—mine. Bed-spawning circle. Lay it flat, channel a tiny bit of mana, instant mattress, pillow, blanket. Fold it back up when you're done. Lightweight, reusable."
"Third—Robin's." Nami's smirk turned faintly wicked. "Waste management. You'll figure it out. She said it's 'discreet and efficient.' Only she knows the full mechanics. Don't ask me how it works—I don't want to know."
Arto looked down at the three circles—then up at Nami. Then at Rias, Akeno, and Robin, who had stepped out onto the porch to watch. Rias smiled—soft, warm. "We didn't want you to suffer down there," she said. "Not even a little." Akeno winked. "Consider it our way of saying 'come back to us in one piece.'" Robin simply inclined her head. "Use them. Rest when you can. We'll be waiting."
Arto looked at the box of food in his arms. At the three folded spells in his hand. At the four women standing on the porch—watching him with the same quiet, fierce certainty he felt in his own chest. He exhaled—once, slow. Then he bowed—shallow but sincere. "Thank you." No more words were needed. He turned. And descended into the basement once again.
When Arto's footsteps faded down the basement stairs, the clubhouse door closing with its familiar soft click, Robin turned smoothly back to Rias's peerage. She was still in her teacher's attire—blazer draped over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled to her elbows—but the calm authority in her posture made it clear she hadn't switched out of "sensei" mode just because class was over. "Okay, everyone," she said, voice carrying that same soothing yet unignorable timbre that had silenced the entire canteen earlier. "Prepare for school. Uniforms, bags, breakfast if you haven't eaten. This week's regimen shifts focus: less individual training, more teamwork."
She paused, letting the words settle. "You will start training with Sona's peerage in joint operations. Combined drills, coordinated spellcasting, shared intention exercises. I will handle strategy oversight; Nami will manage equipment—upgrades, maintenance, custom loadouts. But Sona and Rias—" her blue eyes moved to each heiress in turn "—you two begin taking active roles in strategizing. Under our watch, of course. Especially stray-hunting tasks. You'll plan the approach, assign roles, anticipate variables. We'll correct, guide, and push. By the end of the week, you should be running full operations with us only as safety observers."
Nami pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against, arms still crossed, smirk sharp.
"I've already made first contacts with Gremory and Sitri's Stray Hunting Agencies," she added, voice carrying the casual confidence of someone who'd already closed several deals before breakfast. "We've got three low-to-mid-threat missions lined up this week—scattered reports of rogue familiars and a couple of minor territory encroachments. We'll start with full oversight: me and Robin handling scouting intel, you two planning the strike, Aruto's regimen dictating combat roles. After each mission, we pull back a little more. Less hand-holding. More responsibility. By the last one, we're consultants at best—you're the main force executing clan-sanctioned tasks."
She glanced at Rias and Sona, eyes glinting. "Consider it your first real test as future leaders. Agencies are watching. Failures get noted. Successes get remembered. No pressure." Rias straightened—smile small but fierce. "We won't disappoint."
Robin nodded once—small, satisfied. "Then move. Breakfast in ten. Departure in thirty. And remember—" her voice dropped, carrying just enough weight to silence the room again "—every spell you cast, every plan you make, every stray you hunt… it's practice for what comes after the Simulation Room goes live. The world won't wait for you to be ready. So be ready now."
The group dispersed—quiet, purposeful.
Koneko darted upstairs first (probably to grab her taiyaki stash).
Kiba followed at a measured pace, already mentally reviewing yesterday's alchemy notes.
Akeno looped an arm through Rias's, whispering something that made the redhead laugh softly.
Nami lingered a moment longer—watching Robin. "You really think they're ready for live missions this soon?" she asked quietly. Robin's smile was small—almost wistful. "They have to be. Arto's building something that will change everything. When it's ready, the world will come knocking—some to beg, some to steal, some to destroy. The sooner they learn to stand together under pressure… the better chance they have of surviving what comes next."