3rd Person POV
Another normal day at Kuoh Academy, Arto is enjoying himself in the classroom, which has ironically turned into his relaxing spot due to the amount of work he has to carry outside school time, from designing Simulation Room, teaching and training 2 peerages, optimizing the materials to reduce the building cost of Simulation Room....
He has known everything this school has to offer aside from history and geography, yet there was a certain therapeutic quality to the boredom. While other students were frantically scribbling notes or whispering about the latest gossip, Arto existed in a state of calibrated detachment.
He sat at the back of the class, his posture relaxed, his mind completely empty of whatever he has to do next after returning to the clubhouse, the emails on his tablet have been forgotten completely. The sound of teacher speaking, of students taking notes and of the wind blowing in and out the class 'Ahhh...relaxation' he thought.
"You're really enjoying yourself, huh?" Rias said from the seat next to Arto, her voice a playful whisper that cut through the drone of the history lecture. She had noticed the glassy, distant look in his eyes—the specific expression of a man who had successfully convinced his brain to enter power-saving mode.
Arto didn't blink, his gaze still fixed on a particularly interesting dust mote dancing in a shaft of sunlight. "Rias, for the first time in weeks, I am experiencing the sensation of being a useless high school student. Please, let me savor it before the weight of the Gremory logistics department crashes back down on me."
Rias chuckled, leaning in closer. "Sure, sure, I'll let you off the leash, but you have to find your Financial Consultant soon, you can't ignore the R&D division emails forever. I saw the notifications popping up on your tablet earlier; the Sitri researchers are practically vibrating with impatience. I think Sitri side is starting to wonder if you're intentionally ghosting them for sport."
Arto finally shifted, his eyes returning to the present. "Hey, I explicitly said it last night, I will not be in any consultation session, technical assistance, or allow any of them to look into the magic-tech structure I built until I find myself a decent financial consultant, and mind you, the emails sent today most were from the Financial Department of 2 clans, not R&D. They've realized the potential value and are trying to get ahead of the curve," he whispered back.
Rias's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, the accountants are getting involved now? I thought you were the only one who saw the monetary value."
"Now you see why I said I might trust you and your parents, but those around them.... I can't and won't trust them when it comes to my personal property, because of that, I am changing my searching criteria," Arto whispered, his voice barely audible over the monotonous drone of the teacher's voice. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "The accountants aren't offering me a fair market value; they're offering me 'generous' grants and 'honorary' stipends. That's the classic move: tie the inventor to the house with a golden leash so the house owns the patent. They want to turn me into a pampered pet of the Gremory and Sitri estates."
Rias frowned, the realization sinking in. She had viewed the logistics and R&D requests as purely academic, but Arto was playing a game of high-stakes corporate warfare in a world where most devils only thought in terms of bloodlines and servitude. "I didn't realize it had become such a political tug-of-war. My father would never authorize such a predatory approach, but I suppose the administrative heads might be acting on their own initiative to 'secure' the assets for the clan."
"Exactly. Which is why I've decided to look outside the noble circles," Arto said, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "I just need a top-notch financier with as little knowledge of devilish nobility and connections with them as possible, just a pure money maker working for me while I take care of the political matters regarding my relationship with the clans' higher-ups."
Rias blinked, her expression shifting from concern to genuine curiosity. "Outside the noble circles? You mean... a human?"
"A human with a very specific set of skills," Arto replied, his gaze drifting back to the dust motes. "If I want to shield my intellectual property from the 'generosity' of the devil lords, I need someone who treats money like a weapon, not a family heirloom."
The bell finally rang, the shrill sound acting like a starting pistol for the rest of the class. As the students surged toward the door, Arto felt the familiar pull of his responsibilities returning. He stood up, stretching his limbs with a slow, rhythmic precision that hinted at the soldier beneath the student's blazer. Beside him, Rias watched with a smile, knowing that while he claimed to enjoy the boredom, he was most alive when he was outmaneuvering an opponent.
"You guys go back to the clubhouse first to do your homework, I'll buy some books so that I can read in my free time, I saw some good ones this morning when we went past the bookstore, especially this Dune one, seems interesting," Arto said, waving his hand dismissively as he watched Rias and Akeno begin to walk away.
"Are you sure?" Rias asked, pausing. "You're not just using the bookstore as a cover to hunt for your 'money shark,' are you?" Arto gave her a blink and a vague, innocent smile. "Who would do such a thing? Now go, before Akeno decides that homework means helping me sort through tax brackets."
Once the girls were out of sight, Arto sighed, Going back to the clubhouse now means a huge load of work will be dumped directly on my head, and who could guarantee those researchers aren't there ambushing me with more flattering emails? Heading down the school building as the sun is setting, Arto savored every moment of peace he has of the day before going to the grind to ensure himself a good life.
Stopping by a vending machine, Arto got himself a can of milk coffee, popping it open, he turned towards the horizon where the city of Kuoh blurred into a haze of orange and violet. A long exhale followed a sip of coffee; his time seemed to stop for him as his eyes landed on the setting sun It's beautiful.... A thought came and go like a wind.
To be able to see the Sun like this, to him, was a luxury, a person who lived his life under the endless bleak artificial sky of Lowest Ring of Hell, and endless nights of wars, conflicts, and loneliness, a chance to view the true Sun was a gift, to see its light fading slowly, its warmth still lingering in the air, and the sky turning from golden to orange and purple... he felt a deep, primal sense of relaxation.
That's when the grumpy voice cut through the stillness. "Hey, new guy." Arto opened his eyes, a bit annoyed by someone interrupting his moment of peace but tried to maintain his demeanor.
He turned slowly—and found himself facing Takeshi Hamuda, third year, built like a walking brick wall, arms crossed over a chest that strained the buttons of his uniform blazer. Behind him stood four of his usual hangers-on—broad-shouldered, sneering, the kind of guys who thought volume and size made up for brains.
Hamuda's eyes were narrowed, jaw set, the look of someone who had spent the entire day stewing over something he couldn't punch. Arto took another slow sip of coffee—then lowered the can. "How can I help you?" he asked politely, voice even, almost gentle.
"Cut the act," Hamuda spat, stepping forward into Arto's personal space. The air around him smelled of cheap cologne and aggression. "You've been floating around this school for a while now, acting like you're above everyone. You've got the Gremory princess and the Sitri girl practically following you around like lost puppies. Who do you think you are? Some kind of genius? A silver-tongued fraud?"
Arto turned his gaze sideway "Well, I must apologize if I accidentally took your spot on the school's newspaper's body-building section, it was never my intention, it was those nosy girls from Press Club taking pictures of me when I was playing basketball."
Hamuda's face flushed a deep, mottled purple, the vein in his temple pulsing. The mention of the newspaper—a recent issue where Arto had inadvertently become the "ideal specimen" of the athletic department—was a sore spot. To a man who spent four hours a day at the gym just to be noticed, Arto's effortless, lean musculature was a personal insult.
"You think you're funny, you arrogant prick," Hamuda growled, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, attempting to use his superior height to loom over Arto, causing Arto to take a step back—not out of fear, but to maintain the optimal distance for a counter-strike should the situation escalate. The four lackeys mirrored the movement, closing the circle, their sneers turning into predatory grins.
Arto looked at the coffee can in his hand, then back at the wall of muscle before him. In the grand hierarchy of his life, this was an infinitesimal conflict—a pebble in a landslide. "Listen, Hamuda-senpai, if you're feeling you're losing.....the gaze of girls, I can't help you reclaim them by being more ugly on my own. So how about it? I'll give that chance to you, beat me as much as you want, I won't fight back or pull any legal allegation against you. How does that sound?" Arto displayed a mischievous grin "Record my words"
Hamuda froze, his fist halfway to a clenched position. He had expected a plea, a stutter, or perhaps a desperate attempt to run. He hadn't expected a formal invitation to assault him, delivered with the casual tone of someone offering a piece of gum. The lackeys looked at one another, confused by the shift in power dynamics. Arto wasn't acting like a victim; he was acting like a scientist observing a particularly slow species of primate.
"You're mocking me," Hamuda hissed, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and bewilderment.
"Not at all," Arto replied, taking another leisurely sip of his coffee. He stepped slightly to the left, a movement so subtle it was almost invisible, but it shifted his center of gravity and opened a gap in the circle. "I'm merely compensating for your loss due to my existence, so come on, hit me. Do it quickly, before the school guards finish their rounds."
Hamuda didn't need to be told twice. With a guttural roar that sounded more like a wounded ox than a human being, the third-year lunged forward. He swung a massive, clumsy right hook aimed squarely at Arto's jaw—a punch backed by sheer mass and an ego that had been bruised for weeks. To the onlookers, it looked like a landslide of muscle; to Arto, it was a sequence of slow, predictable vectors.
Arto didn't even step back. He simply tilted his upper body—minimal movement, barely a sway—and the fist whistled past his cheek, close enough to ruffle his hair. Hamuda stumbled forward from the momentum, off-balance. Arto's voice came from right beside his ear like a coach correcting form during sparring. "Your footing is unstable. Stand your ground firmly. Plant your back foot. Otherwise you're just punching air and hoping."
Hamuda whirled around—furious, humiliated—chest heaving. "You—!" Hamuda angrily cements his footwork and throws another punch, but it was dodged again "Don't just use your arm, use your whole upper body as well, the momentum would knock your enemy out"
And again, somehow, the big bully follows the instruction and try again, but failed like the last 2 times. But Arto was smiling wider "Congrat! You have finally been able to throw a proper punch. Now, it's time to work on accuracy, let's see if you can hit the right target" Arto taunts him with a playful wink.
Hamuda's face reddened, blinded by rage of the humiliation of being taught how to punch by a kouhai who looked like he'd blow away in a stiff breeze. But that didn't keep him from following Arto's instruction and threw a punch that...knocked one of his goons out cold, leaving the other 3 stunned with widened eye seeing their gym bro laying on the ground with a broken nose, they immediately stepped back away from Arto and Hamuda, leaving the big guy staring at his fist with a mixture of horror and confusion.
"Over here, senpai, don't get distracted by wind, your target is here" a taunt caused Hamuda to throw another muscular punch, his body twisted towards the sound which rang behind him POW another one of his goons was defeated with Arto standing right in front of that unfortunate dude, his head leaned to a side.
The remaining two lackeys didn't wait for the third lesson. They scrambled backward, their faces pale, as the realization hit them that Hamuda was no longer fighting Arto—he was being used as a human wrecking ball to clear the area. "Wow, a knock-out, you can be a decent boxer with that fist" Arto praised, clapping his hands to capture the raging bull's attention and redirecting his attention once more towards the red cape.
The other two have ran for their lives seeing their leader having lost all his senses to rage as the bull lunged at its target. Arto's movement like a frog, one jump after anoter backward, keeping Hamuda at a range close enough to reach, but far enough to miss, the chase continued on as Arto led the raging bull towards a place.
That was when the sound hit. Distant at first—then rapidly closer. Sharp kiai yells slicing through the air. The unmistakable thunder of twenty pairs of zori sandals pounding wood and concrete in perfect unison. And beneath it all, the unmistakable panicked shrieking of three very familiar voices:
"RUN FASTER, MATSUDA!"
"THEY'RE GAINING ON US —!"
"ISSEI, YOUR PANTS ARE FALLING AGAIN—!"
Arto's smile turned positively wicked. 'Right on schedule, time to make the bully the hero, hope this would get him a girlfriend and get him away from me.'
He kept retreating—slow, deliberate—drawing Hamuda deeper into the narrow corridor like a fisherman playing a particularly angry marlin. Every time Hamuda lunged, Arto slipped aside just enough to keep the bully off-balance, momentum carrying the bigger boy forward... forward... toward the place where the perverts are heading to.
The kendo girls rounded the corner first—twenty of them, shinai raised like spears, faces flushed with righteous fury, uniforms fluttering like battle flags. At their head was the club captain—tall, ponytail swinging, eyes blazing murder.
Arto leaped back one final time—light on his feet, almost playful—landing just in front of Issei, Matsuda, and Motohama right as the Perverted Trio skidded to a halt, panting and wild-eyed.
Issei, pants still half-down, waved his arms frantically. "Hey, get out of the way! Don't you see we're in a hu—!" The sentence died as Hamuda—red-faced, roaring, completely tunnel-visioned—threw the wildest haymaker yet. Arto tilted his head a fraction; the fist whistled past his ear, close enough to stir his hair... and slammed directly into Issei's cheek with a meaty CRACK.
Issei's eyes rolled back mid-word. He dropped like a sack of bricks—pants finally giving up and sliding to his ankles as he hit the ground face-first. Matsuda and Motohama froze—mouths open in identical horrified O's.
Before either could scream, Hamuda—still off-balance from the missed swing—stumbled forward and threw two more sloppy hooks out of sheer momentum.
Thwack. Motohama''s glasses flew off in a perfect arc. He crumpled backward, out cold before he hit the pavement.
Thump. Matsuda's head snapped sideways. He folded like cheap cardboard, joining his friends in a heap of unconscious limbs and shame.
The courtyard went dead silent for half a heartbeat. Then the thunder of twenty pairs of zori sandals arrived. The kendo girls poured into the corridor like a black-and-white tidal wave—shinai raised, kiai yells splitting the air, ponytail captain at the front with murder in her eyes.
"THERE THEY ARE!" she bellowed. "THE PERVERTED TRIO—AND HAMUDA TOO?!"
Hamuda finally registered what he'd done. He looked down at the three unconscious perverts sprawled at his feet—Issei's pants around his ankles, Matsuda's stolen bra still clutched in one hand like a sad trophy, Motohama's cracked glasses glinting in the sun.
Then he looked up at twenty furious kendo girls charging straight at him. Then he looked back at where Arto had been standing. Arto was already gone—leaping lightly onto a low wall and vanishing around the corner toward the clubhouse, coffee can still in hand, a wide, wicked smirk on his face.
The courtyard had become a battlefield of bamboo and bruised egos. Twenty kendo girls formed a perfect semicircle around the fallen Perverted Trio—shinai held at the ready, faces flushed with righteous fury. Issei lay face-down in his own drool, pants around his ankles like a tragic flag of surrender.
Matsuda was curled fetal around the stolen sports bra as if it could shield him from the coming storm. Motohama's cracked glasses glinted pathetically in the sun, one lens completely spiderwebbed.
And standing in the middle of it all—chest heaving, fists still clenched—was Takeshi Hamuda, third-year terror of Kuoh Academy, suddenly looking like a man who had just realized he'd walked into the wrong room at the wrong time.
The kendo captain—Chiyoko Kawata—strode forward from the line of girls. Tall, ponytail swinging like a metronome of doom, eyes narrowed to slits. She stopped in front of Hamuda, shinai resting on her shoulder like a judge's gavel.
For one terrifying second, everyone thought she was about to swing. Then her expression... softened. "Hamuda," she said, voice carrying genuine gratitude, "thank you so much for stopping them. They've really gotten out of line this time." Hamuda blinked. Once. Twice. Brain still rebooting. "Huh—?"
Chiyoko turned to her club members—voice snapping back to steel. "Girls, yank them back to the dojo. We need to personally deliver judgment before bringing them to the school board. No mercy. They've been warned." A chorus of fierce "Yes, Captain!" rang out.
Twenty pairs of hands descended on the unconscious perverts—dragging them by collars, ankles, whatever was handy. Issei's pants finally gave up the ghost and were left behind like a sad white flag on the pavement. Matsuda whimpered once in his sleep. Motohama's broken glasses were picked up and tucked into a girl's pocket like evidence.
Chiyoko watched them go—then turned back to Hamuda. Her face softened again—almost gentle. "You did good," she said quietly. "We've been chasing those idiots for weeks. You just saved us a lot of trouble." Hamuda stood there—sweaty, red-faced, knuckles bruised—looking like a man who had just been handed a medal for accidentally winning the lottery. "I... uh..."
He didn't have the words. He had spent the last ten minutes trying to murder a underclassman, only to be rebranded as a chivalrous guardian of the school's morality. The cognitive dissonance was staggering. He looked at his bruised knuckles, then back at the fading silhouette of Arto, who was now strolling leisurely toward the school gates, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a victory march.
For the first time in his life, Hamuda felt the crushing weight of his own stupidity, but it was eclipsed by a sudden, sharp realization: the "new guy" hadn't just dodged him; he had choreographed the entire scene. Arto had played him like a cheap instrument, turning a potential brawl into a public service.
"I'm... not that kind of guy!" Hamuda finally bellowed, though it sounded more like a plea than a protest. Chiyoko gave him a small, appreciative smile—the kind of smile that makes a teenage boy's brain short-circuit—and stepped closer.
"Well, 'that kind of guy' is exactly what we need more of around here. Maybe you could help us with some of the heavy equipment moving at the dojo this weekend? If you're free?" Hamuda's chest swelled, the bruise on his ego instantly healing under the gaze of the kendo captain. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm free. Totally free."
She gave him a small, genuine smile. "Thanks again, Hamuda." Then she turned on her heel and marched after her club—ponytail swinging, shinai tapping against her thigh like a metronome of victory. The courtyard slowly emptied. Hamuda stood alone in the middle of it—chest still heaving, fists slowly unclenching—staring at the spot where Chiyoko had disappeared.
Slowly—very slowly—his face turned from rage-red to something softer. Something almost... hopeful. He looked down at his bruised knuckles. Then at the abandoned pants on the ground. Then at the direction the kendo girls had gone. A tiny, disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "...Huh?"
Back near the vending machines, Arto watched the whole scene unfold from around the corner—coffee can still in hand, expression perfectly neutral. He took one last sip. Crushed the empty can. Tossed it into the recycling bin without looking. And started walking toward school gate to head to the bookstore with a smile "Let's see how good that book Dune was"
Because sometimes the best way to deal with a bully... was to let him accidentally become the hero of someone else's story. And sometimes the best reward... was watching a third-year terror discover he might not be a monster after all.
[Bookstore]
Stepping among the shelves of books felt like entering a sanctuary. The bookstore was a quiet, cedar-scented haven that smelled of old paper and ink, a sharp contrast to the chaotic energy of the school courtyard. Arto moved through the aisles with a slow, rhythmic grace, his eyes scanning the spines of novels and technical manuals. For a moment, he wasn't a mercenary, a strategist, or a magical anomaly; he was simply a reader searching for a story.
He found the copy of Dune nestled between a collection of philosophy and a thick volume on planetary geology. As he pulled it from the shelf, his fingers brushed against the spine, and he felt a strange kinship with the narrative of a displaced man navigating the treacherous political sands of a foreign world. He chuckled softly to himself. The irony wasn't lost on him—he was currently playing the same game of survival and influence in the Underworld, just with more demons and fewer giant sandworms.
As he walked toward the checkout counter, his eyes laid on the new released book being displayed as somekind of highlight of the store, 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix', released on Jun 21, 2003, almost 2 years ago. Arto paused, tilting his head. The concept of a hidden world of wizards existing parallel to a mundane society was a trope he found amusingly quaint, considering he was currently living it—though in his case, the "hidden world" involved high-stakes nobility and molecular disassembly rather than owls and wands.
Flipping a few pages, Arto noticed he can read and understand this language, along with that one he learned at school, the one called Japanese, "And this one is....." Arto checked the book to find a word English Edition "So I can understand English, that's.....legit" he murmurred, now that question popped up in his head, 'How the hell can I understand these languages, shouldn't they be like....foreign to me?'
Standing idly in the store for a while, no answer came for how he could understand what these books here and what his friends are talking about, 'Maybe it was a miracle...or....' Arto shook his head, 'It can't be that'. Pushing the thought into the back of his mind, he moved towards the checkout counter with 2 new books in his hand.
The clerk, a middle-aged man with thick glasses, barely looked up as he scanned the barcodes. "Just these two?" He asked Arto while looking at the books he bought "What do you mean?" the buyer asked back. "There are many parts of these 2 series, you know that?" Arto tilted his head "There are?"
"Well, yeah," the clerk sighed, finally looking up and adjusting his glasses. "The boy wizard one is a phenomenon. Most people buy them in sets. And Dune is a classic epic—there are several sequels if you're actually planning to read the story and not just use it as a prop for your aesthetic."
Hearing that, Arto's eyes brightened "Do your store have them?" The clerk gave a slow, knowing nod and gestured with a thumb toward the back of the store, where a larger, more organized section of hardcover classics and popular series resided. "Right over there. Though, fair warning, the Dune sequels get pretty dense."
Arto chuckled, the sound soft and genuine. He stepped back into the aisles, his curiosity piqued. For a man who had led his legion through countless political crisis over 1000 years, a book dense in world building, political dynamics, hidden schemes and currents are something he was never unfamiliar with.
He spent the next twenty minutes meticulously selecting the rest of the Dune series and a handful of the Harry Potter books, feeling a strange, childish excitement. Along the way, he 'unintentionally' picked up the trilogy of Lord of the Rings, as if he were subconsciously building a library of exiled kings and fallen empires.
He paid the clerk with a polite nod, the heavy bag of books pulling at his shoulder—a physical weight that felt grounding and honest compared to the ethereal pressures of demonic politics.
As he stepped back out into the cooling evening air, the golden hour had shifted into a deep, bruised purple. The streetlights of Kuoh were flickering to life, casting long, amber shadows across the pavement. Arto began the walk back toward the clubhouse of ORC with a thick book stack, he might have over bought, but he didn't regret it.
[ORC Clubhouse]
The heavy oak doors of the clubhouse creaked open, admitting a draft of evening air and the smell of old paper. Arto entered not with the usual silent grace of a predator, but with the clumsy, concentrated effort of a man lugging a small library. He navigated the living room, carefully depositing the stack of novels onto the coffee table with a satisfying, heavy *thud*.
"My, you certainly didn't come back empty-handed," a melodic voice teased. Akeno was doing her homework on the sofa with the rest of the peerage, but she had already set her pen aside to inspect the mountain of paper. Rias, sitting beside her, tilted her head with a curious smile. "A bookstore trip, Arto? You've been gone quite a while. I was starting to think you'd found a secret society or a very exclusive financial advisor."
Arto let out a soft huff of laughter, rubbing the strap of his shoulder where the heavy bag had dug in. "Neither. Just a very persuasive clerk who convinced me that reading only the first book of a series is a cardinal sin," he replied, gesturing to the eclectic pile. "I think I may have overbought. My knowledge of human literature is apparently quite lacking."
Kiba leaned in, his interest piqued by the spines. "Lord of the Rings? Dune? You have a taste for the classics." He looked at Arto with a genuine sense of admiration. While they all knew Arto as a strategist and a teacher, these small, human hobbies made him feel more approachable. It was a reminder that despite his vast experience and alien origins, he was genuinely trying to find a place within their world.
"It's about political maneuvering, and even though I don't like it, I still found it quite interesting to read, you know, like an expert fact-checking fictional work," Arto joked, sliding a copy of Dune toward the center of the table. He sank into a nearby armchair, the tension of the day finally evaporating. "And the other one is just for a change of pace. Magic that requires a stick and a specific word? It's an incredibly inefficient system, but the storytelling seems to be charming."
He picked up the first Lord of the Ring: Fellowship of the Ring book "I don't know about this one, never read it before, but from the look of it, I knew I would have a great time diving into the world built by this.... Tolkien, because, you might not believe it, but in my mother-tongue, 'tolkein' or 'tolkien' means 'companionship' or 'shared journey'." his fingers brushing the title of the book.
Rias paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him. "A shared journey," she repeated quietly. "That seems fitting for us, doesn't it?" There was a warmth in her voice that had nothing to do with the nobility of her house and everything to do with the quiet intimacy of the clubhouse. She reached out, her fingers grazing the cover of the book beside his hand, acknowledging the invisible thread that had pulled them together from such vastly different origins.
"Yeah, towards a better life, and that simple goal seems to stumble upon quite some rocks, from devil clans' politics, to prying eyes, and occasionally... kendo clubs," Arto added, his voice carrying a hint of a smirk as he remembered the chaos in the courtyard.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto reading books]
Arto stepped out of the bathroom, steam still curling from his skin, towel slung low around his hips. The hallway light was dim, the clubhouse quiet save for the faint hum of the fridge downstairs and the occasional creak of settling wood. He rubbed a hand through his damp hair, already mentally running through the next three layers of the Simulation Room schematics he planned to finalize tonight.
He pushed open the door to his room. And stopped. Rias stood near the foot of the bed in a thin silk nightgown the color of fresh blood—almost translucent in the lamplight, clinging softly to every curve. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders like molten crimson. She held her phone to her ear, free hand resting on her hip.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his the moment he entered. She didn't smile. She didn't speak to him. Instead, into the receiver, she said something Arto didn't understand: "Alla koruis" And with his wolf ear, Arto can hear what the other side was saying, though quietly "Ava dolaeris" like a secret code.
Rias nodded and turned to Arto, striding towards him with, handing him the phone before wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek on his chest. The scent of roses and old parchment clung to her, a comforting domesticity that contrasted sharply with the sudden, alien tension of those words.
"Joseph from Procurement Department, final update on materials gathering and the intel about the Dream Anchoring Artifact you're looking for" Rias spoke in a language Arto could understand, but based on how her mouth moved, Arto can't help but felt strange.
"What was that language, Rias? And how could I understand you?" Rias pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression a mixture of mischief and genuine affection. "It's a spell I made after reading Spellcrafting Formulas, still a little scrappy, but it allows me to help a person I chose to understand when I speak the ancient tongue of Gremory clan. You taught me a lot about intel protection, and this was my attempt of doing so. It's essentially an encrypted vocal channel."
Arto blinked, glancing at the phone still in his hand. "You developed a linguistic encryption spell just so you could take procurement calls in front of me?" He let out a soft, genuine laugh, shaking his head. "Your dedication to secrecy is starting to rub off on you. I'm flattered, and about those 'Alla koruis' and 'Ava dolaeris'? Are they some kind of secret codes to spot impostors, or just a fancy way of saying 'hello' and 'goodbye'?"
Rias giggled, a sound that felt far too light for a girl who had just effectively built a private communication line for her family's business. "'Alla koruis' means 'The blood is true,' and 'Ava dolaeris' is the response, 'The lineage endures.' It's a traditional greeting for the Gremory household, though usually, we only use it during formal clan gatherings. I figured if I was going to use a spell to encrypt my voice, I might as well use the words that actually hold the power of my heritage."
She leaned back, her eyes shimmering with a hint of pride. "And as for the procurement, you might want to hear it directly from Joseph, I'll hug you to keep the spell on because he will be talking in our ancient tongue, and.... for my own comfort~"
"Sir," came the crisp reply from the other end—Gremory Procurement Department, senior field agent. "We've secured everything on the material requisition list you sent. All items are in secure storage at the secondary site in the Underworld. The beryllium-copper, the doped quartz, the graphene composites—everything except the one outlier, what you called Noctus Veilstone"
Arto felt the slight vibration of Rias's chest against his as she squeezed him tighter, maintaining the physical link required for her makeshift translation spell. He shifted his gaze to the phone, his mind already calculating the logistics. "I see, do you have any leads to it?"
There was a pause on the line, the sound of shuffling papers audible in the background. "We can confirm the existence of an equivalence of Noctus Veilstone, that an artifact called Dream Mirror, a prism made of a special quartz that allows it to project dreams into reality," Joseph replied, his voice strained with professional caution. "But its location is currently beyond our reach. We've search everywhere but it couldn't be found.... until...." His voice trailed off
"Until what?" Arto asked, his voice cutting through the silence with the precision of a blade. He didn't move, consciously maintaining the stillness that allowed Rias to remain anchored against him. He could feel her heartbeat accelerating slightly, her curiosity mirroring his own.
"Until Sitri's crew suggested us to reach out to an intel broker to search for it, The Spy" Arto felt the air in the room shift, the one who has been trying to breach the wall of his knowledge to seize his secrets, the one who started Sitri's involvement into his work, and his ironic magic defense tester these few weeks "And does she know anything about Dream Mirror?"
"She doesn't just know of it, sir," Joseph replied, his voice dropping an octave. "She claims to know exactly where it is. However, she isn't asking for money. She wanted to negotiate the location of the Mirror with you.... personally."
Arto felt a flicker of amusement, now the Spy is getting more direct in her approach after many failed attempts in breaching Arto's walls, she has already known the need of the dream anchoring artifact from eavesdropping Arto's room the other day, and just waiting for the clans to call to maintain her position as the giver to state the price to her desire.
"Personally, huh?" Arto murmured, his voice vibrating in his chest where Rias still clung to him. "I see, did she specify anything about what she wants and where the meeting is?" A sigh came from the other side "No, sir, she just said that you've already known where to find her and what she wants"
Arto handed the phone back to Rias, who ended the call with a thoughtful expression. He stepped back, the cool air of the room hitting his skin as he finally broke the physical contact of the translation spell. He looked toward the window, where the moonlight filtered through the curtains in silver strips.
Her claim said she has already known his attempt of spying back on her via the mana threads he sent into each eye, ear and mouth of hers whenever they had a conversation and might have purged them all. Arto casted a spell to call those threads back, but none of them returned. He let out a low, amused whistle. "She knew that I know her location, meaning it was not an invitation, it was a war declaration in the form of a dinner invitation."
Rias tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "Where does she want you to go, Arto? If the meeting is in the human world, I'll accompany you. If it's in the Underworld, we'll need a full escort." Arto's smile didn't waver as he hugged Rias gently "There is no need, Rias, she said she wanted to meet me personally, having more people would only make her more defensive"
Picking Rias up, Arto moved to the bed with her in his arms "I'll go to meet her by tomorrow's morning, meaning I will be absent from school, can you make an excuse for me?" Putting Rias down, he looked at her with a playful glint in his eyes. "I'll try to finish my talk with her as soon as possible so that I can come back to teaching you magic."
Rias sighed, her expression shifting from concern to a reluctant smile. "Fine. I'll tell the teachers you're dealing with a family emergency. But Arto," she paused, her gaze becoming serious, "where exactly is she and what does she want from you? This isn't just about a piece of quartz, is it?"
Arto let out a soft hum, his mind already mapping the coordinates. "The location is in a close by city, Akita, inside a public library, she is already there, only waiting for me to come. About what she wants, you know it Rias" Arto got on the bed and immediately pull his princess into a cuddle, his voice becoming a bit more serious they closed their distance again.
"She wants your knowledge, Stabilizer and Systematic Magic?" Rias murmured, her voice muffled against his chest. "She has been trying to break into his clubhouse for the past weeks to decipher your knowledge, right?
Arto tightened his hold on her, his chin resting atop her crimson hair. "That's right, she wanted the core structure of Stabilizer, well, everyone wants that core structure, who wouldn't want the gateway towards endless energy, right? But she has already known from our meeting with Sitri clan, Stabilizer will just be a huge fuel tank without Systematic Magic to use it meaningfully. So either she has other thing to trade for that spell-crafting knowledge or...." Arto's voice trailed off, his face turned to a worried state.
"Or what?" Rias asked, her voice laced with curiosity. She shifted her position, looking up at him with a gaze that was both protective and questioning.
"Or she will pull the card she has been pulling against the foundations, the governments, the elites, the nobles, selling her silence," Arto answered, his voice dropping into a low, contemplative register. "She can just announce that Gremory and Sitri are possessing a technology that renders the current Underworld power hierarchy obsolete. She doesn't need to know anything about it, she just needs to give them a cause, and the political currents will do the rest, crushing the ones in the center to death"
A sigh followed "She is wielding her credibility of the most efficient intel broker in the world like a gun, where her bullet hit, that place will become the center of the storm, and that gun is being held against our head," Arto added, his voice barely a whisper. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling, imagining the ripples of chaos that would ensue if the other Pillar clans discovered that Rias and Sona were hiding a revolutionary energy source.
"Don't scare me like that, Arto, you only said that make me hug you tighter, right? You only say this when you already had cards in your hand to play against her right?" Rias hugged Arto closer to her, pressing her face deeper into his chest, he can feel her shaking slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the political pressure he just described.
Arto smiled, the tension in his shoulders bleeding away as he felt her warmth. "I do. The Spy might hold many power cards, but it's not like I don't have mine, do you remember our first lesson when I talked about a certain mana flow construct that works perfectly for data storing and processing?"
Rias looked up, her eyes blinking. "The one created the server for ManaNet?" Arto nodded "That's right, I planted a few threads of that kind of mana into the eyes, ears and mouths Spy used to spy on us and talk to me, and over the weeks, I've been lurking inside her network, and I've found quite some things about the Spy's business relationships, her location and of course....her true name."
Rias let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, a small, triumphant smile forming on her lips. "So that's how you know her location and why she seemed upset when asking to talk to you personally. You didn't just find her; you infiltrated her. But, aside from her true name, what other card do you have now that she has purged all your connections?"
Arto shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up around them both as he looked toward the ceiling. "There is, I've recorded plenty of businesses she made....between 2 opposing sides, she was playing double agent, providing for both sides while eating from both of them, there are many cases like that and she did it with such a grace that no one ever suspected."
He let out a small, contemplative hum. "If one case like this slipped, if they know she was exploiting them both, her credibility—the very gun she's holding against us—pointed back at her own head. Information is only valuable as long as it is exclusive. Once it becomes common knowledge that the broker is a double-dealer, her price drops to zero."
Rias shifted, her head resting on his shoulder as she processed the strategic depth of his move. "But would this mean in this standoff, whoever fires first....." Arto nodded "...wins. If I exposed her, she's dead, if she did the same, I'm in the same fate, but it would render the negotiation value of us both to zero, meaning we are both holding a nuclear trigger at each other's head, and whoever pulls it first destroys the other, but it doesn't mean being benefited from that victory, that's why she hasn't pressed it, and so have I"
Seeing Rias' worried face, Arto placed a kiss on her forehead "Don't worry, my princess, I'm not planning on pulling the trigger. That would be a waste of a perfectly good asset." He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "The goal isn't to destroy the Spy; it's to convince her that being an ally to us is significantly more profitable than being a parasite. If she can't steal the knowledge, she'll eventually realize that the only way to keep her 'exclusive' access to our technology is to become the official gatekeeper of it. I'm not going to a library to fight; I'm going to offer her a job, no, a seat at the table"
He pulled a blanket over them both "Last chance, Rias, sleep here with me and you're on for a long exhausting battle inside Dark Arena with me, or you can return to you room and have a nice sleep without any mind straining war inside my dreamscape. Quickly, I need my sleep for tomorrow's bargain."
Rias groaned, the sound muffled by his chest, but she didn't move an inch. "You are a monster, Arto. A strategic, manipulative monster," she murmured, though she tightened her hold on him, her breathing slowing as the warmth of the room and the rhythmic thrum of his heart lulled her toward sleep.
"And you're a stubborn, hardheaded princess, knowing it's all pain, exhaustion and war sleeping with me, yet you still braced yourself against the Arena every single night," Arto whispered, his voice thick with a fond, sleepy amusement. He felt Rias's small, rhythmic breaths against his skin, the tension of the "nuclear trigger" conversation dissolving into the soft silence of the bedroom. He closed his eyes
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Rias clinging to chibi Arto, making him suffocated]
Arto woke up with a long yawn as he opened his eyes, the battle last night in the Dark Arena was intense, the adaptability of his own consciousness was staggering, he had hoped it would make Rias a bit more hesitant to sleep with him seeing what she trained so hard to achieve being dismantle in seconds by his murderous dreamscape.
But... it didn't happen. 'I trained a monster' Arto thought to himself as he realized how much muscle Rias had developed since she started training in his Abyssgard Regimen. The girl fought like a true warrior, she was an unstoppable force of nature with destructive fist and unpenetrable armor all made of her Power of Destruction, along with refined mana control, 'I can't imagine myself being the target for those punches, those unfortunate monsters' Arto shivered slightly, remembering the feeling of a giant being defeated by her with one punch.
The girl in his embrace stirred, her crimson hair a chaotic nest across the pillows. Rias blinked awake, her expression not one of exhaustion, but of a predatory sort of satisfaction. She stretched, her muscles rippling with a newfound vitality that Arto could practically feel radiating from her. She didn't look like a princess who had just survived a nightmare; she looked like a general who had just conquered a province.
"I was able to keep up with you last night without being exhausted too early, praise me, Arto," Rias whispered, her voice thick with a playful, triumphant smugness. She pressed her face into his shoulder, nipping at his skin with a sudden, sharp energy. "I don't know what you're worrying about when always warning me about the danger of Dark Arena, I'm doing just fine here."
Arto let out a low groan, staring at the ceiling. The mental fatigue of the simulation was real, but the physical aftermath of Rias's newfound strength was more immediate. Her grip on his waist was no longer just a hug; it was a clamp of refined muscle and power. He felt like a stress ball in the hands of a very affectionate, very dangerous predator.
"You did well, I will praise you, but pursuing power isn't everything in life, Rias, I know you train like crazy when no one noticed to gain this much muscle" Arto touched Rias' defined biceps, feeling the latent energy humming beneath her skin. "I know it feels good to grow and seeing the result this clearly is rewarding, but I miss that softness, you know, it's much better to hug a princess than a general."
Rias let out a soft, melodic laugh, her expression softening as she shifted from a warrior's posture back into the affectionate partner. "Oh? Are you saying you're intimidated by me now? Where is that cold, calculating trainer who trained me with iron fists, hmmm~?" She leaned in, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of mischief and warmth, though she didn't loosen her grip.
Arto sighed, though a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. He turned his body and now Rias be right below him, their faces centimeters from each other "I meant the balance, Rias, not the strength. You've become a whirlwind of destruction, and while that's impressive, I'm the one who has to make sure you don't accidentally demolish the clubhouse when you sneeze."
He gave her a playful peck on the nose before sliding out of the bed, the suddenness of the movement breaking the cozy bubble of the morning. "Go take a shower and wake Akeno up, I'll cook breakfast for you two before heading out to meet the Spy" Rias giggled, placing a kiss on his cheek before heading out of his room "If you want to share a shower, I don't mind~"
Arto chuckled, shaking his head as the door clicked shut. He didn't let the lingering warmth of the morning slow him down; standing with a T-shirt on, Arto moved to the kitchen with a clear goal in his mind, feed his girls before moving to the most important talk in this new life.
Opening the cookbook of Lady Venelana, his eyes landed on a simple and warm breakfast of Japanese culture, steamed rice, miso soup with seaweed and tofu, grilled salmon and of cource, tamagoyaki. He moved with a practiced, rhythmic efficiency, the sounds of the kitchen—the sizzle of the salmon and the gentle bubbling of the miso—filling the silence of the morning.
A few minutes later, the scent of toasted sesame and salty fish lured Rias and Akeno into the kitchen. Rias was now dressed in her school uniform, though her eyes still carried that glimmer of predatory satisfaction from her dream-battle. Akeno came in from the entrance of the clubhouse, it seems she didn't sleep here the night before.
"Good morning, Darling~" Akeno hugged Arto from behind, her voice a sultry purr that contrasted with the domestic serenity of the kitchen. She rested her chin on his shoulder, glancing at the spread of food with an appreciative hum. "You're certainly in a productive mood today. Is it a big day or what?"
"I'm heading to Akita city to talk to the Spy about the location of Dream Mirror, so I'll be absent from school for at least one morning. Anyway, where were you last night?" Arto asked while flipping the egg with practiced ease.
"Missing my warmth already, didn't Buchou sleep with you last night?" she pressed her face further into his back "Or have you lifted your standard to requiring to sources of soft warmth on both sides for a good night sleep~?"
Arto let out a soft chuckle, deftly plating the tamagoyaki. "To be honest, I did miss you, Akeno, it's only when I didn't get to hear your voice I found myself longing for it, but you didn't answer my question."
Akeno giggled, her breath warm against his neck as she finally released him to slide into a chair. "I was at my home, what do you expect? I don't live here, you know~ I stayed here only because you're here, Darling~" She beamed at him, her eyes curving into crescent moons. "Let me tell you a secret~I was packing my stuffs to move in, all so I can live with my Arto~"
"Hey!" Rias came down from upstairs with her hair being dried by a towel "What's the big idea of living in here? Do you know how hard it is to secure that entire Shinto temple just for you? And now you're saying you're gonna ditch that place to live here? And here I heard this place is not your type"
Akeno let out a playful hum, leaning back in her chair as she watched Rias with a glimmer of amusement. "My type changes, Buchou. Besides, the shrine is wonderful for meditation, but it's terribly lonely when the only person who understands the nuances of my lightning is currently occupied with your 'training' sessions in the Dark Arena."
She beamed at Arto, her eyes curving into crescent moons. "Besides, who's going to make sure Arto doesn't overwork himself into an early grave if I'm not here to distract him with something... more pleasant?"
Arto chuckled, setting the plates of steaming rice and grilled salmon in the center of the table. "Since we've established that the clubhouse is becoming a full-time residence for everyone, can we please eat before the food gets cold? I have a train to catch."
Both girls sat down, still arguing about their living spaces until Arto placed the dishes before them, steamed rice with miso soup, grilled salmon and tamagoyaki, the aromatic steam filling the air. The atmosphere shifted from playful banter to a quiet, domestic warmth as they began to eat.
"So good~" Rias cupped her cheeks, the image of the warrior princess disappeared as she enjoyed her victory meal after an intense battle in Dark Arena. Akeno also "To think that you evolved from an amateur who applied fire until food stop being raw to a perfect house husband after a month. Truly, your growth is the most terrifying thing about you, Darling."
Arto quickly finished his meal before standing up to gather stuffs before heading out "I'll be back as soon as possible attend afternoon class or when my magic class starts, even so, expect online learning via the tablets" And so he marched out in the goodbye sounds of Rias and Akeno following him.
[Kuoh Train Station]
Arto headed into the train station of Kuoh town with the knowledge of a lost tourist when it comes to roads, paths and of course, procedures. While zooming towards Akita city at Mach speed is much cooler, the problem is that Arto doesn't know where Akita is make that jump, so to maintain the punctuality and attention avoidance, he will have to take the train.
Holding the small manual Rias wrote for him on "How to Navigate Public Transit," Arto felt more out of place than he ever had during his time in the Void. The train station was a chaotic symphony of rhythmic clicks, sliding doors, and the low hum of a thousand morning commutes.
I should have taken Rias with me his hand reached the phone in his pocket, but the embarrassment of a man being led around by his girl friend like a mother taking care of her overgrown child was a price too high to pay. He stared at the ticket machine, the glowing screen presenting him with a labyrinth of options that felt more complex than the mana-circuitry of a high-level spell.
"Do you need any help, big bro?" A small, high-pitched voice came from behind Arto's elbow. He looked down to see a young boy, perhaps seven years old, clutching a plastic dinosaur and staring up at him with an expression of profound pity. Arto blinked, glancing back at the ticket machine, then back to the child.
"The... Akita City," Arto muttered, pointing at the screen "I want to go there, how do I do that?" The boy stared at him for a long moment, then looked at the ticket machine, then back at Arto. With a sigh that seemed far too heavy for a seven-year-old, the boy reached up and pressed a sequence of buttons. "You press the 'Local' button first, then you select the orange line, then you pick the third stop. Do you always forget how the machines work, or are you just from the mountains?"
Arto felt a rare flush of sheepishness. "Thank you so much, little guide" Arto left that question unanswered because he is too embarrased to say anything else, quickly following the boy's directions and securing his ticket. He watched the child wander off, the plastic dinosaur bobbing in the boy's hand, and couldn't help but chuckle 'I swear, if they see me like this....'
The ride to Akita was a blur of sliding landscapes and the rhythmic *clack-clack* of the rails. Arto is sitting alone, his heading running back and forth on the coming confrontation with the Spy, about the leverages they are holding against each other, he can destroy her, she can destroy him, both are holding a loaded gun against each other head, the only reason they are not firing is because it would make the other lose the bargaining value they are looking for, he loses the location of Dream Mirror, she lost the knowledge she has been craving.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto drawing a gun in his notebook]
Arto stepped onto the platform at Akita Station, the cold northern air hitting him like a slap after the warm, recycled atmosphere of the Shinkansen. The station is still buzzing with people, but the coldness Arto is feeling wasn't from the spring sun or the air conditioners, it's the feeling of being intensely gazed by someone 'The Spy' Arto thought as he headed out of the train, into the forest of eyes planted to greet him.
Akita City felt like a living museum, a blend of traditional Edo-era architecture and modern glass structures that looked like they had been dropped from the sky. Arto didn't need a map; he could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of a mana-frequency crystal acting as a beacon, humming at a wavelength only someone with his particular sensitivity—and a penchant for infiltrating networks—could detect. He walked with a steady, unhurried pace, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestone streets, until he reached the Akita Central Library.
The library was a massive, monolithic building of grey stone and stained glass, smelling of old parchment and quiet desperation. It was the kind of place where secrets went to be forgotten, which made it the perfect neutral ground. As Arto pushed through the heavy oak doors, the silence of the hall swallowed him whole.
Walking inside, Arto can feel the intense gaze on him has been lifted, instead is was the subtle coziness of the place. The sunlight filter through the stained glass windows, casting hues of deep red and blue over the endless rows of bookshelves. It was too quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
Arto continued with journey into the grand library through the shelves, looking for someone who is hiding behind a test. Stopping before the shelf of book of history, Arto walked inside casually like he has known the path that no one could see. He kept walking, and walking until he stopped by a book about what's called Soviet Union.
Taking the book from the shelf, Arto gently opened it until he came by a page and he said it in a voice laced with respect and a hint of amusement. "Белые призрачные ангелы". White Ghostly Angels. Didn't understand a bit of what he said, but he just knew....it was the password.
The shelves around him parted way, revealing some what a private reading chamber where the golden light coated the room in a dreamy and nostalgic shade, 2 chairs were place neatly opposite to each other, and one is already occupied by a woman in black dress covering her whole perfect body, rightly curved around her form, her raven hair flowed like a river of ink down her back.
But her face is obscured behind a jetblack mask, no a single flicker of light came out, no any could come in, a black hole of curiosity that made her both seductive and mystery. Settling down the book she was reading, the woman, the infamous Spy turned her face to look at Arto and the book shelved behind him locked them in a private chamber that was no longer just a library room, but a stage.
"Punctual, precise, and surprisingly... unassuming," the Spy spoke, her voice a silken melody that carried the weight of a thousand secrets. She didn't stand, instead leaning back with a grace that suggested she was more a predator in repose than a businesswoman. "People come to me when they want to know something, or to hide something. You're not different, Arto, what different is that you came with something to trade that is not money, or more like, can't be weighed by money"
Arto said nothing as he sat down the chair opposite to her, displaying a posture of no less arrogance of a man who is the closest to really threatening her, a man who came not to pay, but to trade, the man who knows about her more than she knew about him, a rare case where the Spy truly felt that lost sensation of curiosity.
Leaning against the softness of the chair, Arto maintained the eye contact with the black mask Spy was wearing, pinning where he knows her eyes are "Indeed," he said in an unhurried pace. "so, shouldn't we go directly into business, Spy?"
He looked around, ensuring the place is completely sealed from outside prying attempt before "What exactly do you want from this bargain? I've already known your initial bargain, Stabilizer for Dream Mirror, and Systematic Magic for prolonged silence, but.....I can already see the conditions have shifted regarding.... what I know"
Arto's words hung in the air between them, quiet but deliberate. He had not raised his voice, had not leaned forward, yet the atmosphere in the sealed chamber shifted as if the temperature had dropped several degrees.
One gloved finger traced the edge of the book she had set aside, a slow, thoughtful motion. Behind the featureless black mask, it was impossible to read her expression, but the slight tilt of her head suggested she was re-evaluating him in real time. "You speak as if you've already won something," she said at last.
Her voice remained silken, almost lazy, yet there was a new edge beneath it — the sound of someone who had just discovered a knife at her own throat and was deciding whether to admire the craftsmanship or resent the hand that placed it there. "Most people who learn a few inconvenient truths about me either try to blackmail me immediately... or they run. You did neither. You came to the table and placed your cards face-up. That is either extreme confidence... or extreme stupidity."
Arto's posture did not change. He rested one elbow on the armrest, fingers loosely steepled.
"I don't deal in blackmail as a first resort," he replied evenly. "It's inefficient. Once you fire the weapon, its value drops to zero. I prefer tools that remain useful after the conversation ends. You understand that better than most."
"You speak as if you've already won something," she said at last. Her voice remained silken, almost lazy, yet there was a new edge beneath it — the sound of someone who had just discovered a knife at her own throat and was deciding whether to admire the craftsmanship or resent the hand that placed it there.
A soft, almost inaudible chuckle escaped the mask. "Flattery from the man who has been planting threads inside my network for weeks. How charming." She leaned back further into her chair, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate elegance.
"Very well. Let us dispense with the preliminary theater. Yes — the conditions have changed. You know more than you should. That forces me to adjust the price."
She raised one hand and made a small, graceful gesture. A faint ripple of mana passed through the chamber, reinforcing the seals already in place. Only then did she continue. "The Dream Mirror is real. I know exactly where it is, and I can place it in your hands within forty-eight hours. In exchange, I no longer want the full core architecture of the Stabilizer.
That was the opening offer — the one I made when I still believed you were simply a talented anomaly with useful toys." Her masked face turned fully toward him. "Now I want something narrower... and far more dangerous."
Arto waited, saying nothing. "I want limited, controlled access to Systematic Magic," the Spy said. "Not the complete system. Not the root book. I want a sealed teaching channel — one that allows me to create and modify formulas within a restricted domain of my choosing. The tools of my trade, refined through your science instead of the clumsy, intuitive methods I have used for decades."
She paused, letting the weight of the request settle. "In return, you receive the Dream Mirror. You also receive my continued silence regarding Gremory, Sitri, and the existence of your work. And—" her voice dropped into something almost intimate, "—you receive a permanent non-aggression pact. I stop trying to breach your walls. You stop trying to map mine. We become... professional acquaintances who happen to know enough to destroy each other, and therefore choose not to."
He leaned forward slightly for the first time, resting his forearms on his knees. "If I were to consider such a channel," he said, "it would come with absolute constraints. Domain-locked. No self-modification of the teaching structure. No ability to expand the permitted formula space without my direct authorization. And every formula you create would leave a signature I can recognize. If I ever detect one of your creations being used against me, against Gremory, against Sitri, or against anyone under my protection... the non-aggression pact ends the same hour, and I release everything I have."
The Spy inclined her head a fraction. "Acceptable," she said. "I expected no less. You are not the type to hand over a knife without keeping your hand on the hilt." A beat of silence passed. Then she added, almost lightly: "There is one more condition." Arto's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Speak."
The Spy reached up and, for the first time, touched the edge of her mask with two fingers — not removing it, merely resting them there as if reminding him of its presence.
"I want the channel to be taught by you personally," she said. "Not through a proxy. Not through a book. You. In person. Limited sessions. Neutral ground. I have spent too many years dealing with second-hand knowledge and incomplete translations. If I am going to rewrite the way I work... I will learn it from the source."
He studied the black mask for a long moment, weighing variables only he could see. Finally, he spoke. "You know what, Nico Robin? I can give you all that, even more than that, are you willing to hear my proposal?"
The name landed in the sealed chamber like a dropped blade. For the first time since Arto had entered the room, the Spy went completely still. Not the controlled stillness of a predator at rest — the absolute, frozen stillness of someone who had just been struck in a place she believed unreachable.
The black mask remained expressionless, but the air around her tightened. Mana that had been flowing in calm, elegant patterns suddenly condensed, sharp and reactive. The temperature in the private reading chamber dropped several degrees. "...Repeat that," she said. Her voice had lost every trace of silken amusement. It was quiet, precise, and cold enough to frost glass.
Arto did not look away from the mask. "Nico Robin," he said again, evenly. "That is the name you buried so thoroughly that even most of the people who have paid you fortunes for decades never learned it. The name attached to a very old, very quiet trail of disappearances, falsified records, and carefully erased bloodlines. I found it the same way I mapped the rest of your network."
A long silence stretched between them. Then the Spy exhaled — a slow, controlled breath that sounded almost like a laugh, if a laugh could be made of sharpened glass. "You really are troublesome," she murmured. "I spent years ensuring that name no longer existed in any living archive. And yet here you sit, speaking it as casually as if you were ordering tea."
She leaned back again, but the earlier languid elegance was gone. Every line of her body now carried a coiled, dangerous tension.
"You have my attention, Arto Abyssgard. Speak your proposal. And choose your next words carefully. You have just demonstrated that you can hurt me. I am deciding whether that makes you valuable... or whether it makes you something I should remove from the board entirely."
"You have my attention, Arto Abyssgard. Speak your proposal. And choose your next words carefully. You have just demonstrated that you can hurt me. I am deciding whether that makes you valuable... or whether it makes you something I should remove from the board entirely."
Arto rested his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely interlaced. He showed no sign of being intimidated by the shift in atmosphere. "Let us form an alliance, having our benefits tied together would disarm both of our guns, without any supervision or proof, because we all are aware that we are both lie really well, and intel can never truly be deleted if it only contains a few sentences"
The he spoke with one finger raised "The alliance is simple, you come to work with me, me, not the clans so that you can maintain neutrality of your work as an intel broker, because I know once your clients know you've chosen a side, we are in no less danger than them know what Sitri and Gremory are holding"
Another finger "You will turn your surveillance system outwards while we protect you from behind, that way you will never have to look over your shoulder for any assassination. You can still work with your clients even if they are enemies of Stri and Gremory, but you will give us head ups if they are moving against the clans, that way you will maintain your protection and benefits"
His other hand is raised "That's your duty, but what about the perks? Working with me means you get to learn Systematic Magic from its only master. You get to use Stabilizer for your own gain, and finally, you get to delve into magic-tech, the core of the next industrial revolution"
Arto lowered his hands and rested them loosely on his knees, waiting. The silence that followed was long and deliberate. Behind the featureless black mask, the Spy was clearly turning the proposal over with the same cold precision she applied to every piece of high-value intelligence that crossed her desk.
When she finally spoke, her voice had regained some of its earlier smoothness, though the underlying wariness remained. "An alliance tied to you personally rather than to the houses," she repeated. "That is... cleaner than I expected."
She tilted her head slightly. "You understand the value of perceived neutrality. That alone makes this conversation more interesting."
A gloved finger tapped once against the armrest. "However. You are asking me to accept protection from a man who, only minutes ago, demonstrated that he already holds enough material to end my current existence as a free operator. You are also asking me to voluntarily turn my primary weapon — my surveillance network — outward, while trusting that the people standing behind me will not one day decide I have become inconvenient."
She leaned forward a fraction. The black dress whispered against the chair. "Trust is not a currency I spend lightly, Arto Abyssgard. Especially not with someone who has already proven he can reach into places I believed unreachable."
Arto did not interrupt. He simply watched the mask and waited. The Spy continued, her tone measured. "The benefits you offer are substantial. Systematic Magic taught at the source. Access to Stabilizer. Entry into whatever industrial transformation this 'magic-tech' of yours is about to create. Those are not small incentives. They are the kind of advantages that could let me rewrite the way information moves through the entire supernatural world within a decade."
She paused. "But the structure still contains a critical asymmetry. You retain the ability to destroy me. I would be accepting a position where my continued survival depends on your continued goodwill and calculation. That is not an alliance of equals. That is a high-value asset accepting a very comfortable leash."
Her masked face remained fixed on him. "So I will ask you directly. In this alliance you are proposing — what prevents you from deciding, five years from now, that Nico Robin has outlived her usefulness? What concrete mechanisms exist to ensure that the guns we both currently hold remain pointed outward... and never back at each other?"
To answer that, Arto stood up from his seat and walked closer to the Spy, she looked at him warily as she can feel this deathly aura coming from Arto, her hand found something on the armrest, something that has not been there, a gun.
And like an instinct when noticing a slightest movement of Arto's body, Robin raised the gun at his head as he pointed his gun at her head, the tension in the chamber spiked as their eyes met with the mask in between.
"I never asked you to point the gun outwards, Robin, I never wanted to disarm you off your gun, I want you to hold on to it and keep it at my head. That's my definition of a partner and the reason why I chose you out of all people" Arto said, his gun still tightened in his grip.
"I needed not an employee, or a spy, I needed a mind sharp enough to stand on equal ground with me, to question my vision, to advice my choices, to see my flaws, a true partner. And you, one of the smartest people alive, one that can see it all, are the fittest choice" he said, his finger still resting on the trigger, ready to fire.
The two guns remained perfectly steady. The black mask tilted a fraction of a degree. Behind it, Nico Robin's breathing had slowed to something almost unnaturally calm. The barrel of her weapon did not waver from the center of Arto's forehead. His own gun remained equally motionless, the muzzle aligned with the place where her left eye would be beneath the mask.
For several long seconds, neither of them spoke. The sealed chamber felt smaller, the golden light from the stained glass suddenly too bright, too exposed.
Then Robin's voice came, quiet and precise. "You are asking me to keep a loaded weapon pointed at the head of the only person offering me the greatest leap in capability I have seen in decades."
Arto's expression did not change. The deathly aura she had felt earlier had not vanished; it had simply settled into something colder and more controlled, like a blade that had already decided it did not need to be swung yet.
"I am not interested in the kind of partner who needs to be disarmed before she can be trusted. That kind of arrangement only works until the day the leash-holder becomes complacent or the leashed party finds a sharper knife. I have lived through enough of those endings."
He took one slow step closer. The barrels of both guns adjusted by the smallest margins, tracking each other with mechanical precision.
"I want the version of you that is still dangerous," Arto continued. "The version that will look at one of my plans and tell me it is flawed without first calculating whether the truth will cost her protection. The version that will keep her finger near the trigger because she understands that mutual vulnerability is the only stable foundation between two people who lie as well as we do."
Robin's gloved finger rested lightly against the trigger guard. She had not yet moved to the trigger itself. "And if one day I decide that your vision has become a threat to more than just your enemies?" she asked. "If I conclude that the safest course is to end the anomaly named Arto Abyssgard before he rewrites too much of the board?"
Arto's answer came without hesitation. "Then you pull the trigger." A long breath left the black mask. Slowly — very slowly — Robin's posture shifted. The gun remained raised, but the lethal readiness in her shoulders eased by a fraction. Not trust. Recognition.
"You are either the most reckless strategist I have ever met," she said, "or the only one who has actually understood the problem of working with someone like me." Arto did not lower his weapon. "Both can be true."
Another silence stretched. The two of them stood in the center of the private chamber like opposing pieces that had finally acknowledged they belonged on the same board. At last, Robin spoke again. Her voice had recovered a thin thread of its earlier silken quality, though the steel underneath remained.
"If I accept this... the guns stay. Both of them. No ceremony of putting them away. No pretense that the threat has been resolved. We simply agree that the barrels remain pointed, and that neither of us will be the first to pretend otherwise."
"Yes." He nodded "And the teaching? The Stabilizer access? The magic-tech?" She asked
"All of it," Arto said. "Under terms we will define together. You will have real input, not just permission. In return, your network turns outward. Early warning. Material acquisition when conventional channels fail. And when necessary... the kind of information work that only someone of your caliber can perform."
Robin was silent for several heartbeats. Then, with deliberate care, she adjusted her grip on the gun — not lowering it, merely settling into a stance that could be maintained for a long time.
"Very well, Arto Abyssgard," she said. "I will not give you an answer in this room while adrenaline is still rewriting both of our calculations. But I will give you this much: the proposal is no longer rejected on principle."
She tilted her head. "Sit back down. We will outline the first-year structure, the verification methods, and the exact boundaries of what I am permitted to learn. If the architecture holds under scrutiny... then Nico Robin may consider stepping out of her own grave."
Arto studied the mask for a moment longer. Then, just as slowly as she had, he eased his own posture — the gun remaining raised, the aim steady.... only for a moment before they dissolved into thin air, mana "Now you've known my attitude about our relationship, we both have a way out ready, and gun loaded, but now using it is the way we ensure our growth, let us sit down and..... discuss" He pulled out from his backpack 2 books and one tablet "Shall we, my lady?"