"Well, now... this is a rare sight, Barakiel. I didn't expect you to still be here."
"I'm just doing a final check on tomorrow's training menu. Even with a set deadline, I cannot afford to be half-hearted as an instructor. Besides, the more I train them, the more interesting the results become."
In a room within the Grigori research facility, Azazel raised a hand in greeting as he found Barakiel operating a terminal. He couldn't help but smirk at his friend's earnest response. Compared to how Barakiel had initially struggled with how to handle a human child—rushing home to his family the second his shift ended—he seemed to have adjusted remarkably well.
Barakiel was naturally serious, but as a warrior, he possessed a dry, pragmatic streak that allowed him to perform even the most tedious tasks out of a sense of duty. Yet, seeing the faint hint of enjoyment as he calculated the training loads, it was clear he had taken a personal interest in the work. For years, Barakiel had avoided spending time on anyone outside his family, but he was now willingly dedicating hours to a boy he had met only days ago.
The sparring sessions between Souma and Barakiel had evolved through various stages. To ensure the human boy didn't actually die, Barakiel suppressed his lethality, but lately, he had stopped holding back on the speed of his lightning. It seemed Souma's evasion skills had reached a level where even the man known as theLightning had to acknowledge them. His body still struggled to keep up with the mental load, but he was reacting.
"'Them,' huh?" Azazel mused. "I never thought I'd hear a combat specialist like you use the word 'interesting' to describe a sparring session."
"I have seen many who move by instinct," Barakiel replied, "but never a case as unique as his. He literally entrusts his entire being to his Sacred Gear. Rather than following his own emotions or doubts, he acts on a fundamental belief that the Gear can do it."
"Yeah, the kid trusts his Gear more than himself. If his partner says it's impossible, he considers it impossible. He's got such a complex about fighting that he's leaned entirely into that dynamic."
In daily life, Souma moved of his own accord, with the Gear playing a silent, supportive role. But the moment malice or combat entered the picture—areas Souma felt fundamentally ill-equipped for—the Sacred Gear stepped to the front. Souma didn't just allow it; he requested it. It was a bizarre division of labor that would look like madness to an outsider.
Souma's crisis-detection ability was a standard trait for protecting a host, but in his case, it was exaggerated. His near-prophetic intuition worked perfectly in combat, and the accuracy had grown to the point where even Azazel and Barakiel found it formidable. Frankly, Souma moved significantly better when he let his partner take the wheel. The boy was fully aware of this.
While previous research into Sacred Gear detection had never yielded such results, Azazel found himself caring less and less about the lack of precedent. "Well, it's just Kanata," had become his internal mantra. It was a fascinating case for a researcher, but a frustrating one for a teacher who liked things to make sense.
"From your perspective as a master of lightning," Azazel asked, "how does that detection hold up in a real fight?"
"Initially, I perceived the Gear's detection as a precise machine. It calculated probabilities instantly and dictated the optimal movement pattern. It was a textbook answer. Because of that, a seasoned fighter could predict his actions easily. I could trap him without effort."
"...Initially?"
"After a while, to my surprise, the patterns became randomized. It began to take my own thought patterns and fighting style into account. It wasn't acting like a simple machine anymore; it was learning. It analyzed its own failures and adjusted to become the perfect counter. It grew visibly with every round, as if determined to live up to its host's trust."
"A sentient machine with the capacity for machine learning," Azazel murmured, stroking his chin. It was an insight only an instructor who had been in the trenches with the boy could have found. An emotional, easily swayed host paired with a cold, analytical partner that adapted specifically to meet that host's faith. They were a mismatch that functioned with terrifying synergy.
It wasn't like fighting someone with a "warrior's instinct." It was like fighting two people with entirely different thought processes sharing one body—a dual personality. Usually, a fighter reads an opponent's face and personality to predict the flow of battle. With Souma, the person controlling the flow was hidden inside, making it impossible to gauge his true strength from the outside.
No one would look at Souma—his personality, his aura, his appearance—and think he was a threat. A first-time opponent would almost certainly drop their guard. Are you really trying to be an assassin?Azazel thought with a distant gaze.
"Well, regardless of the oddities, at least he's gaining some real ground," Azazel said.
"He still has many flaws," Barakiel noted. "But his ability to forcibly regulate his own emotions is a strength. Those who use their emotions as weapons are powerful, but they often lose their cool and die for it. No matter how much I tried to shake his mental state during our bouts, he remained perfectly focused on his actions. That makes him incredibly tedious to deal with."
Souma was an opponent against whom the "standard moves" didn't work. While he could be defeated, any first encounter would result in confusion. The longer a fight lasted, the more he analyzed his opponent, eventually leading to a complete shut-down of their abilities. If he knew he couldn't win, he shifted entirely to gathering data before making a full-speed escape. With allies, he was the perfect support, providing cover from the most efficient position possible.
His partner's traits made him a natural counter to tricksters. To beat Souma, you either needed to be a worse person than him, move at a speed he couldn't physically react to, or simply use raw, overwhelming power that rendered his tricks meaningless.
Though, the odds of Souma engaging such an opponent in a "fair" fight were low. He had spent his time in the Underworld coming up with ways to handicap a Great Dragon or exploit an Exorcist's trauma. The fact that the hardest part of training him was getting him to fight a normal battle was a sign that something was very wrong with his development.
"Azazel," Barakiel said, his tone shifting. "As his instructor, I must ask: are you sure about this? I know you want peace, but he isn't officially an ally yet. If he grows this strong and we eventually end up as enemies, he will be more than just a nuisance."
"Yeah, I know. I've warned him about that," Azazel said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. He had to be cold as a leader, but his heart had already made a different choice. "But strangely, I find myself trusting his stupidity more than I fear his power. The Kanata Kuramoto I know would rather keep reaching out his hand than ever resolve himself to kill a friend. He's that kind of idiot."
"So the 'idiot' factor outweighs the 'danger' factor."
"He's an idiot who beat a Great Dragon. And I think the will inside him understands that. That's why it doesn't interfere beyond what its host desires."
Souma had claimed his Gear had a weak ego, but Azazel suspected the opposite. If the Gear were aggressive, they would have been far more wary. But the Gear had remained consistent: it simply answered Souma's trust.
When Souma had doubted himself on his first day at Grigori, the Gear had reached out to him. It seemed the consciousness within the spear cared more about losing Souma's trust than anything else. Their bond was built on the boy's doting faith and his carefree nature. The Gear protected that spirit from malice and went above and beyond to answer his absurd requests.
The one protecting Souma's skewed mental state was the very weapon that made him dangerous. Using his power to warp his personality was likely the last thing the Gear would ever do. Azazel's analysis made Barakiel nod in silent agreement.
"I see. ...Azazel, did you introduce me to this boy for the sake of Shuri and Akeno?"
"Yeah," Azazel admitted freely. "I figured I might be overstepping, but I did it anyway."
Barakiel thought back to Azazel's words during their New Year's mahjong game. Azazel had said he wanted him to meet someone. Initially, Barakiel thought it was just because the "Chairman's prize pupil" needed a high-level bodyguard, but the boy was far too unique for such a simple reason.
"He's a child near Akeno's age, a normal Japanese citizen with no ties to the Himejima family. He understands the hidden world, but he holds no prejudice against Fallen Angels and doesn't fear the Lightning. He's gentle and honest. Honestly, he was the one being considerate of me."
"He's surprisingly sensitive to those kinds of delicate issues," Azazel noted.
"He ate every meal Shuri made with such delight. Making lunch for him became a wonderful change of pace for her. When I told her his feedback, she smiled so brightly..."
The boy had finished every meal Shuri Himejima prepared, always offering polite thanks and detailed compliments. Barakiel had expected the boy to ask who was cooking, but he never pried. Azazel had explained that because Souma's own partner had a complicated background, he was naturally attuned to those boundaries.
By never crossing those lines, Souma had managed to build a genuine rapport with Barakiel. The awkwardness had vanished, replaced by a genuine sense of camaraderie. Barakiel finally understood why Azazel had assigned him this specific task.
His wife and daughter lived in a very small world. Because of Shuri's lineage as a Himejima and Akeno being a half-fallen child, the number of people they could safely meet was tiny. Finding someone who could treat them with natural ease was nearly impossible.
To the supernatural world, they were a liability or a target for vengeance against Barakiel. To the human world, they were a danger. The Japanese organizations, obsessed with purging "stains" on their bloodlines, would likely execute anyone who even befriended Akeno.
Barakiel lived with a constant sense of guilt for the suffocating life they led. But Souma was the perfect candidate to break that stagnation. He was a member of a wizard association led by Mephisto, Azazel's friend, and his own origin was being kept a secret by powerful entities. He had the flexibility to bridge the gap.
Barakiel knew he couldn't keep his family locked away forever. As Akeno grew, she would have to face the world. He feared she would grow to hate her own heritage or live in terror of others. The need for her to interact with someone outside the family—someone with a different perspective—was something Barakiel had agonized over.
"If that was your plan, you could have told me from the start," Barakiel grumbled.
"If I had, you would have spent the whole time worrying about whether he was 'worthy' to meet them," Azazel countered.
"...True."
Azazel had read his friend perfectly. If Barakiel had been judging Souma as a potential friend for his daughter from the start, his natural pressure would have likely scared the boy off. It was only by meeting as instructor and student that they had found a common ground.
Azazel knew that if Barakiel had refused, the matter would have ended there. He had risked placing an extra burden on his student to help a friend.
"But is it really safe?" Barakiel asked. "The Five Principal Clans are vigilant. And while they are close in age... is it wise to introduce her to an older boy?"
"Mephisto might grumble, but he usually respects the kid's wishes. As for your daughter's love life... that's one headache I'm not touching."
"But Akeno is cute. Incredibly cute. What if he falls in love at first sight and asks for her hand?!"
"The kid has spent a year living and sleeping in the same room as a world-class blonde beauty, and he's made a vow to stay with her forever—yet there isn't a single romantic bone in his body. If that dunderhead actually manages to fall in love, I'll be the one throwing the celebration party."
Azazel gave him a deadpan look. Souma treated Lavinia, who was a year younger, like a little sister. Anyone younger than that was simply a child to be protected. He seemed to have a mental block regarding romance, focusing entirely on survival and his doting Gear.
However, Azazel suspected Souma might have a secret preference for older women. He was too "easy" when it came to pushy, older-sister types. He'd probably be devoured in seconds. I should definitely never introduce him to Roygun Belphegor, Azazel thought, matching an earlier consensus between Diehauser and Rudiger.
Azazel, a man whose fall was famously caused by a fascination with the feminine form, looked at his student's romantic prospects and fell silent. The kid only knows older men. He has zero immunity to women. He made a mental note to add a lecture on "The Arts of the Flesh" to their next training session—strictly for educational purposes, of course.
"So, what do you want to do? I can talk to Kanata for you if you're ready."
"No... this is a family matter. I have already caused you enough trouble. I will speak to him myself when the time is right."
"Suit yourself. Just don't wait forever. I'll keep dropping hints to smooth things over on his end."
"Thank you, Azazel."
Azazel shrugged off the gratitude. He had already risked quite a bit to help Souma's friends in the past; it was only fair to ask for a little help for his own. He hoped that by bringing Souma into the Himejima family's small circle, he could provide the spark Akeno needed for her future. He could already imagine Barakiel pacing nervously when Akeno grew up to be a beauty like her mother.
Perhaps, once she was old enough, he could even enroll her in the Nefilim academy so she could meet others her age. By then, maybe the peace treaty would be signed, and they could open a dialogue with the Japanese organizations.
The present was difficult, but the future held hope. That was why he acted. He was an optimist in a dying world, building a foundation for those who would come after.
"I'll discuss it with Shuri," Barakiel said.
"Good. Don't overthink it."
The two friends shared a small smile. Once summer ended, these quiet moments would be gone, replaced by the relentless grind of their duties. For now, they allowed themselves this brief respite as the night deepened over the Fallen Angel headquarters.
+++
Mephisto Pheles, the Chairman of the Grey Wizards, was a man who almost never let his smile slip. Having lived for over ten thousand years, the Great Devil was a master of the mask. But today, his expression was a bit more strained than usual.
"What is your answer, Chairman Pheles?"
"Hmm. I understand your request, Rudiger. The collateral you've offered makes your sincerity very clear."
Rudiger Rosenkreutz stared at the projection from the Underworld, his usual confidence gone. As a reincarnated devil, he had clawed his way to the top through merit; he would never normally show such weakness to a third party. But he was desperate.
He knew Mephisto stayed out of Underworld politics, which made it easier to be honest. Mephisto was a doting guardian, but he was also a devil who respected a contract. If you were honest with him, he was fair. If you tried to cheat him, he'd take your head with interest. For Rudiger, bowing his head was the right tactical move.
Moreover, Rudiger was someone Souma liked. Mephisto was using his private line—the one he used for "Souma's family business"—rather than his official association line. He had no reason to bully Rudiger, especially given the nature of the crisis.
"A cure for Sacred Gear Resistance... I'm afraid I'm not an expert in that field," Mephisto said. "Some of our wizards study the Gear system, but I've never seen a paper that claimed to have found a cure."
"I've checked the Rosicrucian archives, and nothing. The Devils have almost no data. The Demon Kings are helping, but we've found no leads."
"Sirzechs and the others are involved?"
"...Diehauser's doing. The moment he heard, he contacted them all. I'm grateful for his initiative, but... yes."
Rudiger's voice was strained. He felt guilty for dragging the top of the Underworld into his personal tragedy. Mephisto's eyes grew distant as he realized whose influence had caused the Emperor to become so "proactive." The "Second Kanata" of the Underworld was already causing chaos with his pure-hearted meddling.
"I see. So you came to me to find a lead elsewhere."
"Yes."
Mephisto coughed to clear the air and began to think. This was a messy problem. Rudiger was right to suspect Mephisto had other connections—the Chairman was friends with the Fallen Governor and had back-channel deals with the Church.
Normally, Mephisto wouldn't dream of revealing those ties to an outsider. There was no profit in exposing his hand for Rudiger's son. In a standard trade, he would have simply said "I have no leads" and ended the call.
But this was different. Rudiger and Souma were close. And more importantly, this was a life being unfairly stolen away. Souma was currently at Grigori; he wouldn't find out about Liebe until he returned, but once he did, he would act. Mephisto knew exactly how dangerous that boy's initiative was.
If Souma saw a friend suffering, he would move. He would beg Azazel for research data and throw himself into the fire. Since the Fallen were the leading experts in Gear research, their data was the first step. If Liebe could be saved, Mephisto could tie Rudiger to him as a permanent debtor—a very valuable asset.
"Kanata's kindness... it creates powerful currents, but it also invites the most troublesome problems," Mephisto whispered to himself.
He knew Rudiger wasn't just here because he was desperate; he was here because he knew Souma was Mephisto's weak point. It was a subtle, desperate bit of manipulation from a master strategist.
"...You're a cunning man, Rudiger. Using the boy like this is a bit low, don't you think?"
"I know. I am aware I am exploiting his goodness. But I have no other options left."
"Fine. But don't make a habit of it. Even I can't predict what that boy will do once he sets his mind to something."
Mephisto decided to take the deal. He knew Souma's Concept Deletion might actually be the key. Souma could potentially erase the aura causing the "allergic" reaction in Liebe. But that would require Souma to be by the boy's side constantly—effectively sacrificing his own life to act as a living filter for the child. Mephisto could not allow that.
So, he would strike first. He would provide the leads and ensure Rudiger never tried to use Souma's kindness again.
"I can offer you two leads. You must choose."
"Can I have both?"
"Don't be greedy. Choice one: a lead that has a high probability of providing accurate data, safely. Choice two: a lead that is dangerous, with no guarantee of results."
"...So one is a sure thing, and the other is a gamble?"
The "sure thing" was the Fallen Angel research data. Azazel would happily trade research on a half-devil child for future political favors. It was part of his peace initiative, anyway. But the second choice was something even Mephisto hesitated to recommend. It was a gamble that could get Rudiger killed.
However, there was one more organization that studied Sacred Gears—one even Azazel couldn't reach easily. If they had a cure, it would be because they were closest to the original System.
"What is your choice?"
"Both. If there is even a fragment of hope, I will take it."
"...I thought you might say that. I will arrange the first lead when Kanata returns to the human world. As for the second... I will give you a phone number. You must negotiate yourself."
"A... cell phone number?"
"Don't underestimate human technology. For those of us steeped in magic, common communication methods are the best camouflage. There are barriers to detect magical comms, but no one checks for cell signals."
"I find it hard to believe a high-ranking expert would use a commercial cell phone..."
"Apparently, he's recently become addicted to mobile games. He keeps it on him to play during his downtime. He keeps it off during 'work,' but otherwise, he usually answers."
Rudiger felt a bead of sweat. Who is this eccentric? But he knew anyone Mephisto called a "lead" had to be powerful.
"And who is this person, Chairman?"
"...A warrior of the Church. He and I go back quite a long way."
"The Church?!"
Rudiger was stunned. The Church was notoriously tech-phobic. In an age of rice cookers, they were the kind of people who still used wood-fired kilns. In the original stories, Church girls were shown being terrified by the "magic" of a simple bread maker.
"He is a man with no prejudice against new technology," Mephisto said with a strained smile. "He absorbs everything and makes it his own. His spirit and his drive for improvement are enough to strike terror into anyone who meets him."
"Chairman Pheles?"
"He is known as 'The Church's Engine of Violence.' Devils call him the 'True Devil,' but as long as you aren't his enemy, you can talk to him. He's a destroyer who breaks everything with raw strength—magic included. He's a devout believer, but he's the only one left in the Church with whom negotiation is actually possible."
Rudiger's blood ran cold. A man of the Church called a "Devil" by Devils. A manifestation of pure, refined violence.
"Does this man... live in the Vatican? Does he carry a holy sword?"
"Yes. He's actually quite doting. He quietly looks after believers who have been unfairly exiled from the Church—that's how we met, negotiating the treatment of some of my associates. And since he loves new techniques, he reads my research papers on magic just to find better ways to counter them. It's absurd, really."
Mephisto kept saying "absurd," and Rudiger found himself agreeing. He realized why it was so dangerous. Even as an Ultimate Devil, Rudiger would likely be vaporized if things went south. But if this man had the highest status in the Church and an open mind, he would know their deepest secrets regarding Sacred Gears.
"His most famous title," Mephisto concluded, "is Mister Durandal."
"Cardinal Priest... the Number Three of the Vatican. Vasco Strada."
"I will say it again: I cannot guarantee you will get information. I am only providing the connection. The Grey Wizards will have no part in this. But in my experience, he is the only one in the Church who holds the answers you seek and is willing to talk to a Devil."
Rudiger exhaled slowly. To find a key within a man who had spent his life slaying monsters... it was a bitter irony. But he would take it. For his son, for Liebe, he would walk into the lion's den.
The gears of the world shifted again. Had Souma not gone to the Underworld, had Mephisto not hidden the boy's power, or had Azazel spoken sooner—perhaps the path would have been different. But the connections Souma had forged were now creating a story that surpassed any original script. The flow of history began to carve a new, uncertain path.
***
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