Thursday, 7:27 p.m.

Yubelluna wasn't looking for companionship. She found it by accident.

"Bro." "Bro." "Br-Oh, it's Yubelluna!"

Yubelluna wished the Lord might speak to her once, just to receive an explanation for why there were three of him now. They sat in line, this threesome, alike to cats down to the gimlet eyes, bewhiskered and plump and oh-so-taken with their captive bedevilry; as many magazines with women featured in flagrante delicto. Charming.

Such was fate, that a girl might turn a corner and regret every decision that led her there.

Yubelluna breezed past, stepping quickly through the aisle of riotous colors and provocative covers, to the far end of the store where people were going about their everyday lives, and felt an intense longing to be among them rather than anywhere near this aisle.

Perhaps that's unfair, she mused to herself as her heels clip-clopped on the thinly furnished flooring, thoughts already drifting to other concerns. People came to this aisle perhaps a little too healthy. Was it any lesser of a necessity than the man buying hemorrhoid cream?

Yes, she decided, earnest looks lighting up her backside like a physical heat as she moved past. Yes it was. Please have some shame.

Issei Hyoudou (for naturally, it was he) blinked puzzled eyes as he watched her pass wordlessly. The smell of raspberries seemed to linger where the girl moved, and it drew the other two from the world of stained pages like a magnet. They peeked up, blinking bleary eyes, to take in the scene.

"The hell was that?" Matsuda muttered, watching Issei lower his hand to his lips and begin chewing a nail.

"Y'know," Motohama made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, magazine slowly lowering. "I'm not sure."

"Oho, nice insight there idiot," Motohama snapped the magazine shut, tossing it back onto the rack impatiently.

"It was an observation." Motohama said defensively, closing his own salacious periodical. His finger remained placed on the page he'd read, as even unconsciously he knew where his priorities lay. "I'm intuiting stuff. Look at Issei, poor bastard, he looks like that racoon we pulled off a road sign. Poleaxed. There's an insight for you."

"Into what?"

"The mindset of a broken man."

"Poor bastard." There was nothing but mirth in Matsuda's voice. "Alright, if you're so good at this, why's he look like that?"

Motohama made a disparaging noise. "She shot him down, obviously." Matsuda thought about that, and found it a disturbingly good fit.

Huh. The thought was suddenly less funny, and a lot more irritating.

Had Issei...developed feelings for the girl he'd assured them (for surely it was she, there were only so many surly, attractive redheads in loose dresses in Japan, let alone just this city) was more trouble than she was worth? Perhaps, Matsuda mused, a seething irritation budding in his mind. Perhaps this slacker was finally leaving them behind. Motohama was thinking something similar, by the dark anticipation shadowing his face. They were almost bouncing on their heels, curiosity bubbling up.

They twisted to look at Issei as one, where he crouched, magazine held up in loose fingers, forgotten. "She didn't even look at me..." he said distantly. The plaintive note in his voice was pathetic, and the hot wash of fury came over the both of them as one.

Issei screamed as Motohama abruptly kicked him in the ass, and crouched as he was, he tipped right over, landing on his face and sprawling. He clambered to his knees, spinning around and shooting Motohama a confused and hurt look, but the other two were already standing and dusting off their knees.

"Get up," Matsuda said disgustedly, folding the magazine under his arm proudly. "I can't stand that look, so let's go figure this shit out."

"Figure what out?" Issei asked, bewildered, hand coming up and nursing the cheek he'd landed on. Little bits of grit and sand fell off his cheek as he absently rubbed at it.

Matsuda leaned over, casting shade as he came between Issei and the lights high above, and jabbed an accusing finger into his face. "Do you wanna speak to her or not?"

"I mean-"

"That's what I thought," he said relentlessly, leaning back and snapping his magazine at Issei like a crop. "So move."

And move he did, startled into motion, quickly scrabbling out of Matsuda's way. First to the side of the aisle, where his head was tickled by a hanging rack of plastic clips, so Matsuda couldn't snap the magazine at him again, and then backwards as they began walking forwards and threatened to continue right through him.

His shoes squeaked like a tide of mice as he fought for purchase on the slick flooring. Issei pushed himself to move faster and faster, crabwalking until his arms slipped and he slid the rest of the way out of the aisle. Matsuda and Motohama were laughing as they exited the racks, striding out and looking around for red hair and a bad attitude. Issei slowly rose to his feet behind them, an odd mixture of anticipation and trepidation keeping him as silent and obedient, as it seemed to buoy them.

"There!" Matsuda pointed out, at a swirl of red tresses rounding a rack of rice crackers into another aisle. They hurried forwards, absently shoving angry shoppers out of the way as they followed the trail of her hair, almost visible in the air where it had passed. It wove through the air, more sensation than sight, more presence than sense, and they tracked it like starving hounds across the store. They moved faster by the second, as she always seemed just out of sight, and soon they were simply shoving each other out of the way, trying to catch up, having nearly forgotten their reason in favor of the hunt.

It came crashing back when they finally spotted her. Their feet stilled and their breath slowed as they found her making her way leisurely down an aisle of large bottles, some dusty, some colorful. They paused there, watching her as she ran a hand along the colorful stickers. For a second the moment seemed timeless, her hands running down racks of red history, the sort of image you saw in magazines. Her clothing was suitably sensible and flowing, and she cut quite the figure.

A pungent breeze blew past them, reeking of brine and briefly mussing their hair, and their eyes cleared when they realized she was just looking for rice vinegar in some grannies' idea of sunday best. It lost some of the charm, after that. Truly, the eyes are the windows to the heart, and hearts are fickle indeed.

"Well?" Issei asked after a moment, as the boys made no further moves towards her.

Motohama swallowed sourly, finding words once more in his grasp. "This is where my plan ended." He admitted.

"Nice plan," Issei drawled, then wheezed as Matsuda jabbed him in the gut.

"Shut up," he grit out, ruddy to his brow. "Weren't you the one that wanted to talk to her?"

"Maybe," he said stubbornly.

"Then talk to her."

"Maybe not."

Matsuda grit his teeth. Issei was in a combative mood, and that meant he would be entirely impossible to work with. He eyed Motohama, who nodded back his permission soberly. Matsuda steeled his mind.

"Do it, or you're a bitch."

The reaction was instant. Issei's pupils dilated, his breath quickened, his cheeks flushed three colors, his nostrils flared, and he developed a pulsing twitch in his right eyebrow to the tune of Sway.

"How dare you," Issei hissed, face writhing like serpents crawled beneath his flesh.

Matsuds raised his chin challengingly, unashamed. His pose grew commanding, his bearing imperious. "Do. It."

Issei whirled to Motohama. "You're allowing this?!" He demanded.

Motohama refused to meet his eyes. "Maybe you're a bitch," he mumbled, lips twitching. Issei swelled like a bullfrog, outrage clear on his face.

"I am not a bitch!"

"Prove it." "Prove it bitch."

Issei's eyes watered, clearly outnumbered. He whined, "That's not fair. You can't invoke that here. You can't..."

"If you don't do it, would you forgive yourself?"

Issei went silent, fingers coming together and twiddling as he avoided their looks.

"Do you have something to say to her?"

"...yeah..."

"Then do it."

"Fine," he mumbled. "But only because you guys are assholes."

Motohama placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder, still fighting back laughter. "It's for your own good."

She sensed movement behind her a second before she felt the cloth of her outfit stretch.

A nervy voice sounded loudly in her ear, "Hey, are you still pissed off about-"

Reaching back, she delicately twined her fingers between the stubby digits clinging to her hem, before crushing them between her knuckles, lightly wrenching her shirt away when Issei squealed and loosened his grip. "No," she said firmly, whirling around to stare him down. "Hi Issei. How're you doing." She followed every comment with a sharp jab to the chest. "How's your day been. No, I'm not. Why would I be?" Issei stumbled back until he fell onto his back. She stopped there, leering down at him, leaning far enough over him that the ceiling lights cast her hair in flaming halo, where it curled about her chin and face. "That would be strange."

He hunched in on himself, discreetly blowing on his stinging fingers and avoiding her stare. "Sorry," he muttered, working himself back onto his feet as he softly worked out his fingers. "Hi Yubelluna. I'm good." He eyed her hands warily. It was a light motion, but she'd nearly splintered his fingers like dry spaghetti. "I'm, just y'know, sorry about th-about..." He mumbled, trailing off as he realized Yubelluna's eye's only grew flintier with every word from his mouth. "Not that I meant-" He said hastily, casting about for some change of topic that wouldn't irritate her further. Issei worked his jaw for a moment, realizing that nothing came to mind, an indecipherable look in his eyes. They continued to stare at each other, and he struggled to say what was on his mind. He opened his mouth, then shut it.

Yubelluna sighed. It was a thickset motion, a full-body action, like the weight she bore was far heavier than her own slim frame. It had a weight of its own, and a sound, a feeling, and an associated physiological flinch, all of it in service of convincing Issei that Yubelluna really did not feel up to dealing with his bullshit tonight. He braced his psychic defenses for emotional damage.

Instead, she turned and walked away. It hurt more than anything she could've said. Probably. She could be mean when she wanted to.

He continued watching until she left, finally turning as Motohama and Matsuda approached.

"Hanging steady there boys?" Issei finally asked, hands still lingering absently by his cheeks. "If you're intimidated by my ability to hold a conversation with a female, wait 'til she starts punching me in the-"

"What the fuck," Matsuda asked bluntly, "did you do."

Issei shut his mouth. After a moment, he said, "I'm not really sure. It was confusing?"

The boys spun around as a loud clatter sounded behind them in the aisle, cans and plastic bottles suddenly rattling and shifting in place. Quickly, the motion reached the front row, roughly shifting and sliding, until Yubelluna's manicured hands appeared between them, and cleared the rest of the shelf with a massive sweep and the sound of shattering glass. The hands retreated back into the shelf, and all was silent, except for the quiet drip of cracked plastic leaking fluid and glass spinning on the shelves.

No one spoke, but they traded looks, and slowly crouched and peeked through, where Yubelluna's tiny face was visible on the other side, slightly at an angle.

"Bullshit," she said. Issei flinched. "How could you not know?"

"Yeah Issei, how?" Motohama hissed from the corner of his mouth.

Yubelluna's eyes darted to the side, meeting Motohama and Matsuda's pearly whites. "Well," she said slowly. "What are you lot here for?"

"I ask myself that every day," Issei muttered.

"Moral support," Motohama said, baselessly confident as ever.

Her response was to snort and walk away.

Issei's heart lurched, and he looked up urgently, noting the crowd of people moving past the aisle. It was hard enough to catch up the first time. He bit his lip. They'd never be able to push through this crowd-

-Matsuda was swinging his arms behind them, having cleared a small path from shelf to shelf, and appeared to be pumping himself up-

"Holy SH-"

-he ran full-tilt at the small hole and dove, sliding through with a long steel-on-steel scream as he forced his body through to the other end with a wet thump.

"-IT!"

The other two crowded in and tried to peek through the hole. Matsuda gradually stood, a thumbs-up visible through the gap.

"Mind your head and watch the landing."

Issei blinked. Was he serious? What was this ape advice, was he supposed to take this chittering seriously?

He turned to commiserate, only to see Motohama already bouncing on his heels at the opposite shelf.

"You're joking."

"Move, bitch."

Motohama landed on the shelf much more heavily, failing to move smoothly through the hole as all his weight landed on his ribs. He let out a pained wheeze, and slowly crawled out, Issei and Matsuda forcing him through despite his obviously tender chest.

Then Issei. It took him a moment longer to psych himself up than the others, but their impatience weighed on him and he started pumping up.

He eyed the hole. Easy.

He dove and slammed his head into the top of the shelf.

Black

Issei came to, hazy, in a dark and tight place. It was warm, though firm, and squeezed him tightly.

And then he started moving. In pulses, he was forced onwards, away from that comfortable tightness, to a place where his arms were chilly and loose.

I've been reborn! Issei hazily exulted. At last, my springtime is here. I never knew it was so easy. He opened his eyes, as his whole body fell out wetly, falling, trembling, weak. He looked around at a world of hazy white light. Thank God those dirty bastards aren't here with me, I'm finally done with their shit.

He looked around for his new parents, hoping they weren't ugly.

Instead, two grinning faces met his.

"...Daddy?"

"Yeah fuckin' right, dumbass," said Matsuda, sounding rather like he was speaking through a goldfish bowl. "You wish it was that easy."

Issei felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes, as his forehead began throbbing, wave after wave of ache settling in. Was it too late to go back?

"Yes."

Was he saying this out loud?

"Yes!" Called Yubelluna from just out of sight. His hearing suddenly rushed back to full clarity, the sounds of the store once more erupting to life, along with a blinding pain from his forehead. He jerked up, and groaned, the pain instantly spiking. He was rubbing idly at his forehead, before a thought suddenly bubbled up into his mind. Feeling a sudden coil of dread, he slowly rose, and peeked through the hole.

3 blinking red lights met his eyes. Motohama burst into muffled snickers.

Issei began instantly, "I, Matsuda, will not stand for people recording the boils on my-"

"Ohkay!" Matsuda jumped in, sweeping the tins back into place so they couldn't film anymore. "Enough ha-ha, fuck you."

"Fuck you."

"Bitch, you botched it, don't get mad at me."

"I'll get mad at whoever I want!"

"Bitch."

"Bitch."

"Shut up." Party favors slammed into both their faces. "Well done on completing your particularly idiotic stunts."

Stumbling back, legs still shivery, Issei peeled the plastic packaging off his face, looking at the enclosed poppers with a sort of distant interest. "What's this?"

"Noisemakers," she said stiffly, standing on tiptoe as she reached for something on the top shelf. "For Riser's party. Not that you remembered me talking about it." She grunted slightly as she spun something heavy towards her by her fingertips, straining until she hefted a heavy bottle down. Huffing slightly, she twisted her arm to check the time, and pursed her lips slightly. "I'm here to shop, not play along with your shit." One of her long fingers caressed the surface of her watch, as though she might wind it back.

"Ah." Issei's eyes brightened in understanding. "No, I remember. I guess you haven't found a gift for the couple's shower y-"

Crunch

That was the sound of Issei's testicles being shattered, had she been holding them instead of her thin golden watch. Her abruptly murderous eyes made the threat very clear, as mangled gears dripped from her fingers. He let out a long, slow breath, simultaneously relieved she'd snapped into a communicative frame of mind, and terrified that the only thing being communicated was hostility. Issei Hyoudou had yet to beat his habit of saying uncomfortable things, unfortunately.

Issei swallowed. "Now, Yubelluna-"

"Do not patronize me." Her eyes were calm, and ever-so-dangerous. "I can find a gift on my own time, thank you. Or was that in question? I suppose you think you know better, again."

Issei stepped back, paling as Yubelluna stepped forwards to meet him. Dimly, he realized that the two goons had moved all the way behind him, and watched with rapt expressions. "Unless you're here to help, which I doubt." Her steps grew as long as his grew short.

"And I've already found a gift," she hissed. "Because I understand responsibility." She stepped twice and leaned in until he could feel her mint breath on his lips. They stood like that for a moment, and Issei felt his whole face begin tingling violently, like it'd gone numb. His lips were gone, gone, gone.

And yet.

The girl standing before them was a mere twenty years of age, yet see, her sunken eyes! Her rumpled clothing and dishevelled mien! The oily cast to her face and the ragged edge to her nails! She gave off a decrepit atmosphere, a sense of being someone far older than her own modest age.

Heartbreak is scary, Issei reflected silently. But isn't this a bit much?

She had a long haircut, and since she was slouched, it drifted down to her waist in long ringlets, curling and tangled the further down you looked. Up and down the aisle she began to pace, wearing a simple skirt and shirt despite her usual preference of something more complex, hair snagging carelessly on her outfit. The quiet passersby moved along quickly upon looking into their small corner of the world, even the nosiest of parkers parking themselves elsewhere despite clearly desiring to enter. Yubelluna had that kind of face, that kind of presence to her, the kind that made Issei and the boys press themselves to the wall and let her walk and express herself, though the other two couldn't tell whether she had anything to express at all.

Issei shifted himself off the rack of vibrating back massagers he was all but sitting upon, refusing to meet her eyes or look at her face; he had no face to compare with hers save the the girl that even now he hesitated to think about, the girl with dark hair who had eyes so terribly similar to Yubelluna it was a wonder they were as different as they were.

She, however, had no such issues, as she saw him for who he was, and decided-

"I do not need help."

Issei finally unfroze as she turned away, stumbling back and rubbing furiously at his face.

"I can make it up to y-ackkkkkkk!"

Yubelluna whipped around again, only to see Issei borne to the ground by his dopplegangers, who held his limbs down and his mouth shut.

"What the fuck was that?!" Matsuda hissed, kneeing him repeatedly in the kidneys. "What the fuck! What the fuck did you do?! Are you trying to kill me from shame?!" Issei let out muffled screams at the repeated blows, trying to wiggle free until Motohama sat heavily on his head.

The crack made his vision go white for a second, ringing in his ears as a terrible pressure bore his head down. He almost missed them speaking.

"Terribly sorry miss." Motohama bowed his head, and stomped on Issei's fingers when they went for his ankle. "He has tourettes. He'a a loony, a madman. He's a maniac, simply out of control! We'll make sure he never bothers you again and returns your panties-"

"He didn't take my panties." Yubelluna said.

"-your bra, then." He flawlessly adjusted.

"Still wearing it."

"Leggings? Top?"

"Not a chance."

Motohama sucked a cold breath in. "...socks?"

Yubelluna glared.

Motohama ducked his head under the force of her gaze. "Thank god," He muttered, fighting to balance on top of a writhing and somewhat teary Issei. Motohama's eyes grew cold and calculating, but when he looked back up at Yubelluna he was all smiles. "Well then, why don't we help with what he did do?"

A truly ugly expression crept onto Yubelluna's face, one that drew thick bands up her neck and chin. It set her eyes thin and her mouth broadly unhappy. It made them sweat a little. It made Motohama's ass sweat more, where it was positioned on Issei's neck. Truly, this was hell. Issei whimpered a little, and tried as hard as he could to just stop thinking at all.

"Oh really," Yubelluna said tightly.

"Yes," Motohama said smoothly, sweating through the back of his shirt. "Oh yes. We would love to help you."

Yubelluna's irritation stemmed from an event some time ago. And it wasn't, as Motohama had naively assumed, due to something as simple as stolen laundry. No, had it been so simple, Issei would have long since paid the piper.

Issei and her had begun spending time on the weekends relaxing, where their schedules permitted. Yubelluna was busy, sent about here and there at Riser's request, and scarce had time for frivolities. Issei never let on that he was any different, for fear she'd look at him as she did in the early days, dissatisfied. So it was that Issei found himself being productive, and that it was not as repugnant a way to live as he'd thought. His friends joined him, trailing along as he tried to make the best of his weeks, that he too would have a burden to unload over drinks and laughter.

This mostly took the shape of requests for Yuuto Kiba, who was himself occupied with a burden of his own undertaking. Now, Yuuto himself found his nights spent in pursuit of a foe that seemed just out of reach. He'd heard rumors of Freed Sellzen's talents, and the skill with which he led Kiba by the nose put no lie to those words. Never again did Freed confront Kiba head-on, content to taunt and, on rare occasions, leave carnage in his wake. Kiba's pursuit grew ever more feverish, and in the daytime, more worn than anyone had ever seen him. Rias Gremory, fearing for her dear knight's health, tried to ease the burden of his duties, leaving him more physical tasks he might accomplish more easily while she quietly began her own investigations. Kiba might have felt snubbed, had he the energy for it, but as it was he was merely grateful for the respite.

It was here that the boys approached with their offer, coincidentally at the best time for such an offer to be accepted. Kiba was grateful for the aid, and saw fit to send the boys on small errands. He never let them meet customers, fearing that his contractors would let on more information than he wished them to know, but if something was needed or requested, then he'd let them fetch what he needed, and so forth.

It wasn't the poor boy's intent, for he intended to stifle their curiosity regarding his way of life entirely, such that they'd never bother prying deeper, but he made of them fine servants indeed.

What he knew of this Issei relayed, couched in stories and gripes, to Yubelluna's quiet amusement. Before he realized it, he was already comfortable enough to share his own thoughts, and in her own way, she did the same.

It was one such conversation, where trouble began.

"You know, when I first met Riser, I thinking, y'know, if he might tr-train me, right?"

"You wanted to ask Riser to train you?" Yubelluna blinked at him, sitting up in the cheap plastic chairs the mall offered as outside seating. Her sunglasses wobbled precariously atop her head, but she slapped her hand down on them. Issei swore he heard a crack as she crushed the slim frames with her gorilla strength. "Why?"

Issei licked his lips nervously. "I wanted to help Kiba. I owe him, but he, uh, he's not willing-that is, to say, he doesn't have the time to help me." He added probably in a quiet undertone before raising his voice once more. "Riser was the only other devil I'd ever met" He said honestly. "He was kinda my only option at the time."

"Really?" Yubelluna said, terribly interested in his answer. "The only one, you say? Well," She nibbled on her lips for a minute. "-okay, fair enough." She said finally. "The families here are fairly circumspect in their dealings. But to be entirely unaware...they may be better at this than I gave them credit for."

What a decidedly ominous statement. Issei unconsciously chose not to ponder the potential meanings of that statement, perhaps wisely fearing the answer.

"How many could there possibly be?"

No one had ever accused Issei of any particular intelligence, however.

"Enough," she said shortly. "Enough for Kuoh to be considered their town."

'Their'? That implied a degree of possession that Issei was previously entirely unaware of.

Issei reflexively looked around, wondering if anyone he made eye contact with might've been a devil. It was hard, he suddenly realized, to tell. Kiba stood out by dint of who he was, not necessarily what. They could be everywhere. There could be more of them than he'd even imagined. They could all be as popular as Kiba, without half his looks. Now, that would just be entirely unfair.

"Wow," Issei said, briefly stunned. "That's a scary thought. Maybe that's why there's so much weird shit happening, cause God's angry or something."

There was genuine anger, even offense, in the look she shot him, and Issei immediately backed off, wondering what exactly he'd said wrong.

"Devils aren't responsible for all crime, Issei," She said stiffly. "Hardly any of it, even. We can't interfere too much, without requests."

"That's never stopped Kiba," Issei complained. "And it's not like I'm worried about muggers or something. I was in some deep shit, like, twice."

"Twice," She repeated dully. "Wo-ow."

He pinked slightly. "It was scary at the time."

"I'm sure." She picked at her falafel moodily. "Really Issei, you ought be more careful about this sort of thing. I respect you not coming to devils for help for every issue, but you should really consider going to some kind of authority."

"I wanted to," Issei complained. "But those church bastards nearly killed me! They're half the issue! Like, you'd think they would be the helpful ones for hauntings and stuff, but no, they're some weird ass-"

"Church?" Yubelluna said, twigging onto a different word than Issei had expected. "Church bastards? What church bastards?"

"What?" Issei said. "Yeah, they nearly killed m-"

"No one cares." Yubelluna snapped. "Tell me about the church people."

Issei wilted into his seat, but monotonously explained his harrowing experiences, of which she cared not one whit save for his descriptions of-

"Exorcists!" Yubelluna hissed, erupting to her feet. "Here?!"

Issei, who had received the emotional trauma of six months of abandonment play in thirty seconds, was hardly in any fit form to explain. Yubelluna seemed to take this personally.

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I didn't think it was important!" Issei objected weakly, cowering at her inscenced expression. "I told Kiba, he said not to worry about it!"

"Oh, I'm worrying," She snapped, gathering her jacket and purse, and snatching up the last bite of her wrap. Shoving it into her mouth, she chewed furiously as she struggled out of the booth.

"C'mmn!" She ordered, muffled, pulling the coat on. "W' need t'-" she finished chewing and swallowed harshly. "We need to go investigate this. Take me there." She turned to the counter, who nodded, indicating that the bill had indeed been handled. "Let's try to-Issei?" She stopped, realizing the boy had not followed her. In fact, he had not stood at all. He remained seated, hands folded on his lap, fingers laced, worrying his lip and staring deep into his cup of greek yogurt.

"Issei?"

"D-" his voice cracked. "Do we have to?"

Yubelluna faltered, confusion entering her eyes. "I need to-yes." She said slowly. "I didn't receive any such report. And-" her fingers twitched. "I do trust you Issei. I don't think you'd lie about this. That's why I need to investigate, because I need to see-"

"Kiba said he'd handle it."

"I'm sure he will, your word isn't in question-"

"He said he'd handle it."

Yubelluna sighed, arms slumping to her side. "I'm sure he did." She said patiently. "But I need to know more about it to report. So, at least, tell me where to go."

He swallowed. "...I don't want you to. You shouldn't. Go, I mean. Please."

She stopped entirely. She didn't understand what he meant. And then, she did. He could tell the second she did. The outrage and fury crept into her eyes, and he knew she knew. Bad enough she knew he was scared. That he wouldn't help her. But worse, far, far worse, was that he didn't want her involved either.

He was trying to protect her, in his own clumsy sort of way. He didn't need to hear her speak to know she wouldn't forgive him for that.

The two, boy and girl, hadn't spoken in person for a month now, the girl having been missing entirely from the boy's life in that period.

It was the boy's fault. He knew that. He'd forgotten who she was, you see. How could he know that Yubelluna was obliged to report what he'd learned? Of the immediate uproar he'd caused with his simple words?

There were reasons for this, reasons he'd been alternately confided by Kiba in a hushed undertone between classes, and Yubelluna herself via broken calls at 3 a.m. and the occasional note calling him a bitch slipped into his backpack, at least half of which were confused for similar notes slipped into his slippers by Aika Kiryuu, though not for the notes calling him similar and worse by the swim team, the kendo team, the tennis team, the track team, the archery team, the student council('s treasurer), and his English teacher, all of which tended to accrue in his bag like so many flowers in the spring bouquet of his high school life.

For her part, she had so very little time these days to dedicate to miscellanea. There was far too much to think about, and she liked none of it. She would have preferred simply to finish her task and be on her way. Stop thinking entirely of what was going to happen. Riser. Issei. Church. Wedding. Gremory. Point after unacknowledged sore point. But the present seemed insistent. It fought to be noticed.

"But," Motohama said deliberately, "Why not handle both?"

Yubelluna stopped, expression going slack.

"Explain."

"We know where it is. And we'll help you."

Issei felt Yubelluna's eyes crawl briefly over his prone form. As soon as he felt the sticky heat of her glare, he tried his damndest, with all the slack he had, to slowly crawl backwards behind Motohama.

"Damn," He heard her mutter, and relaxed a little. "You will, will you?"

Motohama, sensing that something had passed, cautiously stood, dusting off his knees while also concealing the shake in them that prevented him from standing all the way up. Issei, still on the ground, slowly worked his jaw and tried to convince himself he'd been concussed and thus comatose for at least 4 minutes now. He wasn't sure he'd succeeded, but he did feel a headache develop 'twixt his ears.

"You'll do that, for me. Little me." He hazily heard Yubelluna say, from above him. The floor was cold, and uncomfortable, no matter how much he wished he could sink into it. He slowly allowed his hearing to sharpen.

Just in time to hear Motohama say, "Of course. Issei's the one who convinced us to do it, after all. He's real guilty."

What?

"Time," He said groggily. "Time, time out, time the fuck out, bzzzt stop the clock, get over here Glasses."

"Yeah, Glasses," Echoed Matsuda rebelliously. "When'd you learn to talk to attractive women?" He paused to wink outrageously at Yubelluna. "I wanted to be the one to tell her."

Issei aimed a sloppy kick at Matsuda's shins as he approached, and the baldie took great pleasure in repeatedly stomping on his poor feet like they owed him money.

The other one popped a squat beside Issei's fallen body; Yubelluna obligingly took a few steps away as Matsuda finally grew bored and joined the huddle.

"You're full of shit, and you have no idea what she's talking about. And I'm not telling her," Issei said quietly, bewildered, nursing his aching limbs. "And you can't make me."

Motohama stared at him, a chill impatience crawling across his face. "Shut the fuck up man, are you high? How are you so dense?"

Issei leaned back, stung.

Motohama shuffled a little closer, lowering his voice. "What the fuck is going on with you man? When did you turn into an authority? When the fuck did you start choosing that shit for people?"

"I-I'm not-"

"Then tell her," Motohama whispered fiercely, jabbing Issei painfully in the chest. "She's a big girl-" he broke off as his face went entirely slack for a moment, before he resumed with a faraway look in his eyes. "-a very big girl. Heh. She can make her own goddamn choices, and you can follow along. Shit," he added rubbing the top of his head ruefully. "It's all any of us should be doing."

"You're pathetic." Issei said disgustedly.

The two boys stared at him dubiously for a long minute, before Issei admitted, "Okay, so I'm not so much better. But it's dangerous man. Like, those guys are freaks. That place you're asking me to go is no joke. They have all kinds of weird-ass shit going on."

"Then she'll protect you," Matsuda said. "Or, you - get this - run away."

Issei was outraged. "And ditch her?!"

"She's not human Issei," he said, uncharacteristically gently. "Get it in your head. She's not fucking human. You're not protecting her idiot, you're in her way. We sure as hell aren't helping by sticking around. Get it? We're not helpful."

"Then why go?!"

"Who said we were going?" Motohama said, sounding surprised.

"What?" Issei stilled. "You just-what?"

"Why would I go?" Motohama repeated. "I don't know her. I doubt she really cares if I'm there at all. I mean, I might go anyway, maybe, but maybe not."

"You're a lying piece of shit. I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"Who cares. Not like she's gonna call me on it. Besides, it's like, dangerous, dude."

"Then why would I go?!"

Motohama stared at him. "Cause it's cool."

Issei struggled with that thought for a moment, but eventually blew out a long breath; he was forced to admit what he already knew. That, of course, Motohama was right. It was, in fact, very cool. Thrilling, even.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "But we'll discuss this later. What's the plan."

"You tell us, idiot," Motohama said impatiently. "We don't know where it is."

"The old church, on the hill."

"Gross. When?"

Issei bit his lip, turned to Matsuda. "Oi, beanhead, pick a time."

Beanhead turned to Motohama. "Oi, Glasses, pick a time."

Motohama was already turning to Yubelluna with a guileless smile. "Issei says we go as soon as possible."

Yubelluna half-turned to them, and calmly flipped her phone shut, dropping it onto the ground.

It bounced once, twice, before it was pinned like a butterfly by a long stiletto heel.

And then she began stomping.

"I'm glad-" she muttered, huffing between stomps. "We-set-tled-that!" Blowing her hair impatiently out of her face, she shook off the shattered electronics from her shoes. "7 p.m. on the dot. Friday."

"Friday, tomorrow Friday?" Issei said, horrified.

"Better sooner than later. Also, it's the day of the bridal shower, and I will take literally any distraction."

She crossed her arms and nodded like it was a settled thing. She also, Issei noted sourly, looked terribly pleased with herself.

"What was your plan if we didn't go for it?" Issei asked.

"I hear pachinko is a good time-waster." Said Yubelluna confidently. "And I have half a bottle of Kraken left. That's a good time and a half."

Three heads whipped away. Wuoh! The aura of a hopeless adult radiating off her was simply too dazzling. What a dreamy thing to say!

She snorted, and turned away. The three scrambled after her as she made her way out of the aisle, and were almost immediately hit with the noisy realization that the store actually grew more crowded away from the public shaming gallery. The few people who had been bold enough to even glance into the restricted section recoiled from them in recognition, so they had a bit of room to maneuver after Yubelluna, who held an intangible distance from humanity, visualized through the three foot distance between her and every other shopper wherever she walked.

"Where-" Issei began, but just as promptly cut himself off as something flew at him. He caught it, and nearly fumbled it immediately, the unexpected weight slipping through his hands like slicked steel. He managed to twitch his thighs inward, catch it between his knees, before he put his hands on it.

Once secure, he finally breathed easy, holding what he now recognized as a large glass bottle full of something that looked like, but probably wasn't, water.

"Holy shit woman!" He exclaimed in as quiet a scream as could still convey his racing heart rate. "What the hell are you doing?! You can't go tossing around bottles of-" he paused to read the label on the bottle again, "-shl-sl-slivo"

"Slivovica," Yubelluna called back absently, standing on tiptoe to reach for a bottle higher up on the shelf. "I used to mix a little in with something lighter. I have no idea why this store stocks it but I've been slowly emptying their reserve." Grappling with a second bottle, she brought it down, a flask of something yellow in the other hand. "Pass it over."

Obediently Issei handed her the bottle, where she nestled it under her chin beside the bottle of presumably rice vinegar, before putting his freed hands on his hips. "Messed up."

Yubelluna rolled her eyes and ignored him, stalking off to the next aisle. "If pachinko is so objectionable, I've always wanted to learn Mahjong!" she called back, already turning the corner. She vanished behind a stack of rice bags, as the three fought to catch up. Her voice remained audible, cutting through the undercurrent of conversation, instantly recognizable. "It always seemed terribly interesting."

"It's overhyped!" Matsuda called back, shoving an abandoned cart to the side of the aisle so they could squeeze through.

"Go?" Her voice sounded like it was coming precisely opposite them from the other aisle.

"Solved game," Motohama grunted, pushing through the crowd. "Seems a bit pointless after that."

The sound of her heels on linoleum echoed. "Then give me something."

"Why not Pachinko?"

"The parlors stink." She sighed, rounding the corner. She was empty-handed. She tilted her head, an odd half-smile on her face as she looked the three of them over. "Well," she mused. "I suppose you'll have to show me a good time some other way."

Openmouthed, they stopped walking, simply following her with their eyes as she turned with a laugh, and walked away, rear swaying under her skirt.

"She's doing that on purpose right?" Motohama asked lowly. Issei barely caught the flash of white as her face tilted slightly towards them before turning back, but they all caught the deliberate flick of her skirt as it bared her thighs for a moment.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Matsuda said solemnly.

"She's taken," Issei muttered absently, as though he'd forgotten.

The other two sighed in disappointment, as he passed, airy disappointment egging on a thought he'd never fully formed. He began moving forwards again, faster this time, trying to catch up to her retreating form, a question he'd hardly put together in his mind already burning a hole in his tongue.

Now, Issei Hyoudou was very much an odd person. But he was no recluse. He liked people, and like any boy his age, he wanted the people he liked to like him back.

This was impossible, of course, in many circumstances, so he tended to settle for a well-tempered dislike.

So much so, that Issei was something of a bloodhound to specific frequencies of disdain, well versed in the acceptable gradients of loathing. He plugged in his desire to speak to her, versus how fucking terrible of an idea that was. Weighing his chances, he currently gave it well over an 80% chance she wouldn't enjoy speaking to him. Working odds, those.

"H-hey! Hold on!"

"Yubelluna!" He called out, slowing down and panting as he approached her. She turned and raised a brow, at most only half-surprised.

"Hm?"

"I-" He stopped, hands on his knees, and panted slightly, more from nerves than exhaustion. "If I did ask, for you to train me. When we first met." Issei struggled with the words, keeping his head down. "Would you-would you have done it? Trained me?"

Did you forgive me? For trying to protect you?

She didn't look at him - she'd already stopped looking at him.

But she laughed, as carefree as a spring breeze.

"Naturally, didn't Riser say?" She said. "I would have killed you on the spot."

No.

Issei didn't know if it was the truth - but unlike every other time, he knew Yubelluna truly wished for it to be.

Friday, 10:45 a.m.

Irina Shidou squinted, hand upraised to shield her eyes. "No, it doesn't seem to be any different?"

"It's lower," Xenovia Quarta insisted. "It's lower in the sky. That's why it's colder, right now, and it'll be warmer later as it goes up higher." She wasn't even bothering to look at the sky as she said that, Irina noted sourly.

Irina looked back up and squinted harder, shifting her position occasionally. It was hard to see through the sun's corona but...

"No...I mean, no, you're wrong, I'm nearly certain that's not how it works. But also," She said, "No, it's the same height. That's as high as it's gonna get Bia."

"It isn't."

She sighed. "Bia..." she said sadly. "We have to get on this train, it's not going to get any warmer! This is as high as the sun gets!" Her hands nervously wrung together, the thought of walking to Tokyo with all of their luggage...

"It's warm enough that we can get there before we freeze to death," Xenovia muttered pensively, to Irina's building fear. "We dedicated the lion's share of our savings to the Lord. Walking saves us money, and the likelihood of hypothermia decreases if you consider that we're young women, which, even in the event that our fingers begin falling off, improves the odds that someone takes pity on us and rescues us. Plus, you don't need fingers to hold an image of the Lord, just palms if you brace it correctly. There's literally no reason not to walk."

Fearing that she'd continue saying terrifying things, Irina cut in. "We can't." Irina folded her arms. "This isn't like Naples, Bia! People might rob us! And it's freezing cold in some parts of Japan!" She swallowed at the rebellious glint in the girls eyes. "An-and the cops are gonna run us off if they see us hiking on the highway! And-wait, is that why you didn't want Mr. Oscar coming with us?"

"Families with grown children are statistically less likely to receive help."

Irina chewed her lip, marring its pink surface with the tiniest smear of blood. Worryingly, that sounded like a real statistic. Irina silently prayed for Mr. Oscar's fate. Hopefully he made it back to Italy with the larger sculptures they'd bought. Surely it wouldn't be too difficult carrying them to the airport...?

"But we-"

"It's fine." Xenovia said, toad-like eyes fixed not on her, or the people impatiently waiting in line for the ticket machine, but on the change counter reading 8000 yen. "If necessary we can just tell people we're on a mission from God and co-opt their vehicl-"

Irina reached past her, and slammed the purchase button. Xenovia shrieked as the credit tab immediately zeroed out, reaching out and rattling the machine while their tickets began printing.

"My lunch!"

"We have more money!" Irina pleaded, seizing handfuls of her cloak and pulling her away from the machine. "Don't break it! We still need the receipt!"

"I can hear them! My coins are still in the machine!"

"That's fraud Bia! No-"

Friday, 12:08 p.m.

Hana-sensei scanned a page and flipped to the next, running a finger down the side of her clipboard before pausing at a name and rapping it twice. "Rokujou. Thesis."

"I baked this cake in memory of my dead father," Rokujou used a slim spoon to carefully adjust a bit of his wilting pastry. "I hope it can bring succor to his restless soul." The edge of delicate frosting fought his gentle touch, spilling over his spoon and drooping precariously over the tiled countertop. His neighbor kindly slid him a wide knife that he could hold back the sugary tide with as he fought to fix his decorations.

Sensei didn't seem to give much of a shit about his struggle, leaning over the poor boy to ram a finger into the center of the cake. To his appalled gaze, she scooped up a large dollop, and began licking it clean.

"Too much pepper," she advised, flicking her finger clean and seizing a part of his apron to finish wiping upon. "Your father will weep from the afterlife. Get it right, next time."

The boy nodded fervently and jotted some notes as Hana-sensei stalked over to her next presentation.

Issei, watching from a safe distance, turned away with a grimace. "She's in a bad mood. We're screwed."

"Coulda fooled me," Matsuda said, slumping onto his table, forearms precariously close to the side of his cake.

Motohama thumped his shoulder from behind, and he hurriedly straightened up at his workstation before Hana-sensei accused him of slacking. It was hard not to doze off; the home ec room was crowded and stiflingly warm with so many cooling ovens. Technically, this should've also meant that it wouldn't be easy to spot him and the boys from the side of the room Hana-sensei was on.

Yet, somehow, her eyes seemed to track them unerringly regardless of things like convenience and vision cones.

Please use that radar to find someone to date, instead of wasting it on us.

Fortunately, they had some leeway, at least. The classroom was fairly large, one of those idiosyncratic splurges Kuoh was so fond of; a Home Ec room that could fit three classes, outfitted with multiple full-range kitchens and a fleet of workstations, each also equipped with sink, tools, burner, and cutting surface. The classroom was also split in two, each half facing the other, which naturally loaned itself to outrageous cheating, to generally any adult's dismay.

Hana-sensei, fortunately, was the easygoing sort. She just curved everyone down to a D average instead.

"You should be nicer to the teacher, you know?" Kiba leaned over and whispered. Issei's shoulder reflexively jumped up and rubbed against his ear. "Dude," Issei complained, half-turning to face the blonde boy. "Come on, not cool. You know I have sensitive ears."

Kiba shrugged unapologetically, leaning back to fiddle with the coupler on his piping bag. "Hana's a good teacher," he said, dusting off the bag. "She cares about your future, you know?"

"Dude," Matsuda whispered to Motohama, elbowing him. "Dude, he calls her 'Hana'."

"What a creep."

Kiba's ears went sterling pink, but he wisely pretended to deafness.

"Bet he gets offers like that all the time. 'Oooh, Kiba-chan, help me with moving my furniture!' 'Oh my, Kiba-chan, my groceries are sooooo heavy!' 'Oh nooo, Kiba-kun, won't you help me move my laaaaaundry?'"

"I know everything you described just now is basic menial labor, but I'm still jealous, man."

Issei, observing a trembling Kiba with a deep apathy, mentally applauded his restraint. He also noted the indents Kiba left on the stainless steel workstation, and moved slightly further away.

"It's not my fault," Kiba mumbled. "They ask. They always ask. What am I supposed to do? Say no? How can I?"

"Oh yeah, you were helping some old guy with his lumbago or something, right?" Issei jerked his chin across the room at Hana-sensei slapping a cake across a table. "You got some weird-ass permit to ditch school?"

The student whose cake now serviced as edible upholstery broke down in tears. People began edging away.

"It wasn't lumbago," Kiba muttered, watching the show. "But I had to miss a class. Hana-sensei was nice enough to let me make it up with her."

"Heh." "Heh-heh"

"Oh shut up." Kiba said crossly, twisting to face them and glaring. They backed off, recoiling and whistling.

"Yooo, he's angry." "He said shuuuut uuuuuup." "Oooh, gonna punch us pretty-boy? Smack us around a bit?" "He might man, don't taunt him-" "-gonna mess us up-" "-right up, like João, like João man-" "-damn, you saw that shit? Shit was crazy-" "-he's getting wild man, they gotta kick him from the team-"

Kiba squinted a bit, staring their teflon grins down as they continued chattering rapid-fire, already having forgotten the object of their torment.

Resigned, Kiba shrugged hopelessly and turned away. "I preferred it when you were scared of me," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he returned to adjusting the trim of his cake. He thus missed the goons stopping and dropping their grins to high-five behind his back, and addressed Issei instead. "It was an actual job, you know?"

"What, lumbago-man? You get the weirdest requests." Issei planted his elbow down and leaned against it. "Well, go on. Tell us about it."

"These are supposed to be confidential, you know?"

"Whatever. Spill."

Wednesday, 12:58 a.m.

"Beg pardon." Kiba said tiredly, rubbing at his forehead. "I'll need to hear that again."

"I was born in another world," the old man said slowly. "I can't remember it anymore, but I held onto a few things. A memory, my eighth birthday with my original family. The tooth fairy. I remember it. I want to go back."

Kiba felt the sharp throbbing in the back of his head redouble. It was always him. They always left him the strange ones. He was certain Akeno thought she was doing him a favor with some of the requests she sent his way, but he'd really rather spend time doing something productive.

"We have the tooth fairy too." Kiba said, smothering his exhaustion. "It's just a western thing though, you won't see it in Japan-"

"Oh yeah, I used to be American."

Kiba stifled a groan. Was this a punishment? Akeno knew he hated this sort of thing, Gasper was much better suited. Or even, god forbid, leaving a contract aside for once. Sona could handle this sort of thing.

"We're in Japan." He said tiredly. "How do you even know that-"

"It is different. I can tell."

Of course.

Kiba resisted the urge to sit down. The stained floors looked like the last good days they'd seen were prior to the turn of the century. A heavy scent of rot hung in the air, as new life bred in the darkened corners of the room.

New, powerful, life. Kiba swore the beating core of the growth was pulsing in Morse code, and quietly began memorizing the patterns.

Kiba frowned, rubbed his eyes, and sighed.

Okay

"Okay. First of all, do you need help?"

"Yes." The man said confidently. "Obviously. Can't you tell that much?!" He swept his hand across the room. "Look at me!"

Ignoring the obvious bait, Kiba persevered. "How?" He asked plaintively. "I'm limited in what I can do, and your circumstances are somewhat...unique. Are there..." Kiba searched for the words. "Any distinguishing features? Any reason why you're confident you're from another world?"

"Well." The man said thoughtfully. "There was none of your sort." He waved a hand loosely over Kiba, who looked down and plucked at his starched shirt self-consciously.

"Devils?"

"No, obvious protagonists," the man said wistfully. "Usually I could use those looks and that expression to pinpoint who was an asshole. You just seem troubled in an unsettlingly attractive way."

"..."

- ... .. ... -.. ..- -.. . .. ... -.-. .-. .- -.. -.- -..- -.- - ..- -. - - - .- -. . - - . - ..- - - ..-. ... . .-. . said a fungal bloom, rippling in a nonexistent breeze, from the lightless ceiling.

I'll see what I can swing.

"You've been quiet for a while," said the man, conversationally. "Something up?"

"I'm just..." Kiba kept his eyes moving, unfocused, waiting for motion to snap his eyes too. "...taken aback by your circumstances. Really, I don't know what to say. Is...is that all?"

"Well, no devils either. Or magic," the man grinned pinkly. "None of that sort."

Kiba finally put word to what was bugging him about this story. "How would you know?"

The man blinked. "Well, it would have come up."

Kiba slowly shut his eyes. "Sir, when did you learn to cast magic."

"Oh, five years or so hence."

"Sir, you are eighty years old. It's already a wonder that you can apparently remember some kind of past life at all. Are you certain-"

"Positive!" The man spat angrily. "You won't cheat me of my isekai life, you little shit. My harem life begins now!"

Kiba began dialling Rias's emergency backup line behind his back as the old man began waving his cane in increasingly violent motions. "Sir," he said soothingly. "That-that's fine. I understand this is actually a fairly common thing. Let me just-" he began slowly backing away, looking about the room cautiously. "Please-please don't-!"

He started forwards, startled, as the old man hopped onto legs far more limber than his infirm state seemed to convey, and dashed to his balcony. Heart suddenly pounding painfully, Kiba dashed outwards, prepared to pull him back, only to be confronted with the old man stripping to his waist, and beating a tattoo beat on his chest.

"MY ONLY CRIME WAS BEING THIRSTIER THAN YOU INTENDED!" The old man howled at an exceedingly judgemental sky.

The sky thundered at him warningly, to perhaps reconsider his life choices and get a real fucking job you worthless layabout.

"FUCK OFF!"

The sky rumbled back disapprovingly.

The old man growled and looked askance at the deeply frightened boy beside him. "You see what I have to deal with?!"

"No." Kiba said frankly. "What was that?"

"I was cursing out God, you know?" He smiled grimly as Kiba winced. "He knew what he did when he brought me here. But he cheated me, didn't he? Never taught me how to use my magic."

"You met God?" Kiba was deeply skeptical.

"Sure did."

I looked the man over, from his stylish accoutrements to his expensive robes. He was blonde, with brow-length blonde locks and sad eyes. He seemed insufferable, though I was perfectly used to that sort. He wanted something from me, they all did.

"You are, I'm afraid, dead." He said, likely testing the waters of my patience. Unfortunately for him, my patience is an ocean, and I betrayed nothing of my thoughts. "I can only offer my sincerest apologies, in person, as it was one of my angels who-"

"You can't have it." I snapped. It was important to have the upper hand in this discussion, to dictate the terms. Even if it didn't necessarily make sense. Men like him didn't respect people that couldn't dictate terms, and there were few tracks better for putting someone on the back foot than an accusation.

My hand went up to my mustache - I had a fine one, in my previous life. Rich, luscious, it rippled like the sun-dappled hide of a stag in full moonlight atop my lip.

I'd shaved it, twenty years ago, before the chemicals would have made it prune like a fig on the leaf. I licked it, for good luck of course; I had the feeling I would need it soon. It still held the full-bodied flavor I remembered, like the taste of my mothers cooking. Unforgettable, even when lost.

So, truly I was dead. And so what?

The man before me was regaining his wits; not as quickly as I, of course, but respectably so. I launched into a series of short accounts regarding my prior adventures in the urban jungles of Manhattan, and fought to keep him off balance. He seemed uncomfortable with my descriptions of poverty, something I noted with my razor wit, so I shifted location to Detroit to really get under his skin. I had no shortage of tales, having lived a thoroughly full life even the first time, so I kept it going as I attempted to puzzle out what was going on.

This man was obviously God, I decided. No one else would have been worthy of accompanying my sojourn in this purgatory. Thus, I need only convey to him the depths of his mistake.

"I'm afraid it really isn't." He protested, having finally grasped a crumb to stand himself upon. I internalized my snort; such necessities were the breeding of a weaker man. Obviously, God had been starved of intellectual company and really let himself go.

Instead, I conveyed my disagreement.

Well, to cut a long conversation short, we disagreed. He claimed I was dead, I vocally disagreed. More importantly, I prevented him from remembering that, being God, he both knew better than I, and could likely do as he pleased anyway. Make note of that boy, it'll come in handy someday.

Eventually, God was called away, and an intern took his place. I knew then, that victory was in my youthful grasp.

As the intern kept a watchful eye on the door nervously, I took action of my own.

"Pardon." I said, sniffing haughtily just the right amount. Pissboy interns know disrespect like the back of their hands, and sure enough, he reared up like my Aunt Shelley's prize mare.

"Excuse me?!" He squawked, awful parrot-like.

Being a gentleman, however, I had no business with his excuses, and instead made my own intentions clear. "I wish to leave." I said clearly, and made off towards the door.

The intern quickly moved in front of me, something like insolence on his face. "You can't go," he said.

"And why not?!" I thundered, all of a sudden, looming like Jupiter's cloudhead, stormy and booming. The boy jumped a clear three feet into the air. Once more, I congratulated myself, I had seized the impetus of the moment. "Why can I not leave? Did you not see who I was speaking to?!"

The boy quailed before my thunderous baritone, the rich fruit of my favorite cigars lending my tones a baron's growl. "I-I was told-"

"By whom?!" I shouted down. "Who speaks for me?!"

"N-n-n-n-n-"

"Open the door!"

He backed up, sweating and bowing, and slowly pushed open the doors. I pushed past, shoving him aside (for even the slightest courtesy might send this fiction tumbling to pieces), and into the hallway where I moved at the brisk stride my wealth had afforded me in the mortal world. Even here, however, bureaucrats seemed to have the run of the place. People carrying stacks and stacks of pages hurried past.

I did not conceal my contempt any longer. Vermin. A gentleman, of course, needs no paperwork, only signed writ from God to do what was necessary. I, of course, possessed one better, in the form of my regained youth. I accosted some cunt in tweed in a corner, knowing his compatriots would not bother coming back for him. Self-serving to a fault, these 'office workers'. I made sure to remind him I was his superior in every way before demanding a route for my escape.

"What then?" Kiba asked, intrigued despite himself. Something about God's appearance jogged a memory from long ago...but he lost it. He was sitting down, before he realized it, head propped up on an arm as he listened with rapt interest.

"I escaped." the old man shrugged. "And then...another 53 years passed in this new world...or something. Whatever."

Kiba's arm went limp, and he nearly slid off the chair. "What did you spend it doing?!"

"Trying to do magic," the old man thought deeply for a moment. "I had to fly to Japan. Since I was isekai'd, obviously I couldn't stay in the States. Everyone knows Japan is where it's happening."

"Didn't you have family?"

"Well, they were a different family, of course. They looked the same, but they were a parallel family. Not mine. Besides they got in the way." He blinked at Kiba's expression, and explained, "Of my magic, I mean. Same for the new one actually, while they lasted. Ingrates."

"Did...did you actually accomplish anything since then...?"

The old man clicked his tongue, brought his hands together, laced his fingers, cracked his knuckles, then spun his fist back in and withdrew his hands, and now one of them was holding a little card. "Hey, presto! How about that?"

"Why are you like this?" Kiba asked, amazed. What had happened to the daring adventurer from the story? Kiba felt a little sad, now.

The old man sneered and tossed him the card. "People will love it. How else am I gonna keep my harem entertained?" He turned back to the sky, facing it with a stormy look he probably thought looked intimidating.

All that time, all that thoughtfulness, and the best he could come up with was parlor tricks?!

Then again, if he was capable of communication, it wouldn't have taken him 80 years - he would have walked out his front door and someone would have been able to put him in a padded room years ago.

Kiba stared blankly at the man's back, before looking down at the card.

[Please give me money]

"How do I keep finding these people?!"

Friday 12:10 p.m.

"So that's what happened." Kiba finished.

"Hang on," Motohama said thoughtfully, tossing a bit of pocky aside. "Go back to the part where you're on speaking terms with Rias Gremory."

Kiba realized he'd slipped, and began sweating hard under his shirt. "That's irrelevant Motohama-kun." He dismissed tersely. "Please focus on-"

"No wait, that's definitely not irrelevant," Matsuda cut in impatiently. "You saw her up close? Is it true she uses makeup to cover her huge nose pores? Are her tits actually big enough to-"

"Matsuda." Issei spoke calmly, but the bald boy went silent. "You're losing track of the thread here."

Kiba sighed in relief. "Thank you Ise-kun, like I was saying-"

"Go back to the part where you're on speaking terms with Rias Gremory," Issei demanded. Matsuda and Motohama cheered and shot Kiba dirty looks.

"More importantly," Kiba stressed impatiently. "What do you think about-"

"-wait, hold on. Why're you asking us?" Matsuda gave him a dubious look. "We just wanted a funny story. You're losing the thread of your character, Kiba. You're supposed to look down on us and never lose your cool."

He frowned. "Who decided that?"

"There." Matsuda slapped his desk in satisfaction. "Better. Now hold that expression and never change it again for the rest of your life."

Kiba rolled his eyes. "Certainly." Issei briefly felt his antipadar go off, twigging some latent hostility off Kiba. He'd been getting uppity of late, Issei noted. He decisively reached over and slapped the piping bag out of Kiba's hands. Just to put him in his place.

Kiba glared at him, but obediently bent down to recover the loose bag of frosting from where it jiggled loosely on the floor. "I simply wanted alternative perspectives on the matter." he grumbled, straightening. "I'm not particularly happy with how it ended myself."

"How did it end?"

"He had a heart attack."

"He's dead?!" Issei cried.

"He said he'd rather die than pay the ambulance fee. Somehow, he pulled through."

"Some wizard," Motohama muttered. "Shoulda conjured a tax exemption."

Kiba sighed. "He couldn't even conjure the courage to call his family."

"What a depressing bastard," Issei muttered. "How scary."

The three boys traded inscrutable looks, before turning to Kiba.

"He was a true man," Issei said piously, the stooges nodding soberly behind his back.

Kiba felt that blow reel him back.

"He gave up on his life, to wish for a harem at some point in the future," Issei said, clasping his hands in prayer. "What a legend."

Matsuda twined his fingers wistfully. "Impossible dreams are the most romantic, you know? Even if you look like an idiot and everyone laughs at you and calls you an idiot or a tool, won't guys look back on your life story and go 'he may have been retarded, but damn was he cool'?"

"Not really," Kiba answered honestly.

Motohama wrapped an arm around Matsuda's neck, and physically held him back from hurling himself at Kiba. "It's not worth it!" Motohama half-squealed.

Issei grinned mockingly as Matsuda thrashed, turning puce, nearly in tears of anger. "Besides," He said offhand, turning back to Kiba. "You aren't one to talk about pointless endeavors, weren't you the one saying things like 'I don't care if the whole world is my enemy' and 'I won't rest until I've carved out that darkness deep inside me!', mm?"

"This and that are entirely different." Kiba said self-righteously.

"How so?"

"For one," he said piously. "I'm actually getting somewhere."

Issei burst into laughter, and Motohama whistled lowly, Matsuda going limp in his arms and slowly turning purple.

"Damn, that's cold."

Kiba shrugged unapologetically.

Friday, 2:18 p.m.

"Why did you lie to the police?!"

"Because they were asking questions about Destruction," Xenovia said, cooling her heels on Irina's lap. It bounced as the train smoothly sped around a corner, painfully jostling her knees.

Irina's lips thinned and she shoved them off, responding to Xenovia's startled look with a prim glare. "They were well within their rights to fine us," she said archly. "What were you thinking?"

Xenovia looked unrepentant. "Robbing a starving maiden of her lunch money is certainly a sin. Even the Lord wouldn't take exception if I followed His example and began beating those dirty cr-"

"You can't!"

"Okay."

Irina sighed, and slumped into her seat. "Honestly, Bia," she mumbled. "You should be letting me lead! I used to live here, you know?"

"You can barely read the signs," Xenovia said blandly, kicking her legs back up on Irina's lap. "You nearly sent us to Nagano. Do you want to borrow my phrasebook?"

"They have nice apples there!" Irina insisted, working herself up.

"But no holy swords."

"Right." Irina slumped back down. "No holy swords."

"They do have a lovely 6/8' model of the Lord though."

"Oh my god, we'll go back for it-"

"I'm just saying-"

"We'll go back for it!" Irina cried, and Xenovia finally subsided. Irina settled back in her seat, ears burning red and chewing the inside of her cheek. Her hand went down to play with her bracelet, and she couldn't help but ask,

"Bia, d'you think they'll actually help us? The devils I mean?"

It had been eating at her for the whole trip over. The necessity of asking for help. She knew Mother Quarta likely had her reasons, but to Irina, it seemed painfully obvious that exposing further weakness to their other enemies was just a very poor idea in general. And yet, they were expected to help?

Xenovia was quiet for a long moment. Her head lolled to the side, and propped up on a hand, she looked oddly at peace as she stared out the window, despite her habitually blank face. She didn't speak for so long Irina considered shaking her awake, but eventually an eye slid back to Irina thoughtfully.

"What're you thinking?"

"Do we..." Irina fiddled with her bracelet, tugging on the links. "Should we even bother?"

Xenovia blinked, long and slow, but her other eye joined the first in staring at Irina.

"They didn't notice the thieves in their territory," Irina mumbled lowly, avoiding Xenovia's piercing look. "Who's to say they'll notice us? We can just solve it, without their help. Without letting them know."

"And if we get caught?"

Irina didn't say anything. She didn't need to. They both knew they had the perfect excuse.

This time, Xenovia slid her legs to the floor on her own, arms coming together under her chin. She worked her jaw a bit, head bobbing, but her eyes remained fixed on Irina.

A thin smile slid across her face.

"I like it."

Irina blew out a long breath, sweating a little. She wasn't one for this kind of thing, but if she did interact with the devils, then not only would it tarnish the church, but she absolutely could not risk visiting-

"I have a friend there," Irina's traitorous mouth said absently. "We can ask to stay with him."

Xenovia stopped working her jaw, eyebrows clambering up her brow until they vanished beneath the curve of her widow's peak. "Him?"

Irina felt the red seep from her ears and dye her whole face a burning, ruddy red. Her throat tightened as Xenovia's smile widened, and she felt herself babble, "I-I-I-"

"Visit, huh?"

"I-uh-we can-"

"Mind if I joined you? I'm just saying, you don't mind sharing, right?"

"Yes. NO. BIA!"

Friday, 3:52 p.m.

An ankle, long and thin and slightly hairy, shot up. The foot atop it rotated once, twice, before snapping back down. The leg, trembling now, slowly folded back and twisted, so that the ankle was parallel to the ground. The other foot, flat on the ground, rose inch by inch, until it, too, stood on tiptoe.

"Uh!"

The whole body snapped out straight like a jackknife, sweat exploding off the motion in a cloud.

It held, like that, victorious.

And like a summer breeze, Matsuda collapsed away, wilting to the ground, sinuously winding atop himself until he was a small pile. The dark mass held, seemingly solid, save for a curious hand, darting out cautiously atop fingertip, peering about. It skittered out of his collapsed mass, trailing wrist and arm behind, until it pulled the rest of him as well, slithering as a unified mass under Mitsuri-chan's desk and halting right below her skirt.

"HENTAI!"

The classroom burst into enthusiastic applause as Mitsuri began kicking the shit out of the star of today's performance.

"Lovely battu, Mitsuri!" Hana-sensei called out, already chain-smoking.

Slowly ceasing his applause, Issei placed a hand under his chin, still nodding. As he watched, Matsuda continued to forget what he'd set out to do, instead beginning his impromptu ballet performance anew with Mitsuri as unwilling Cavalier.

"He's really giving it his all." Issei mused. A thoughtful slurp punctuated his words, open lunch gently steaming in front of him as he chewed on a mouthful of rice.

Motohama reached over and snatched up a bit of sausage with a toothpick, popping it into his mouth before Issei could swat him away.

"Mat-chin's as super-S-class at everything that he doesn't care about as ever, ah?" Motohama commented idly, dodging stabs from Issei's chopsticks as he went in for a second bite.

"Honestly, it's scary," Issei grunted, refining his stabbing technique with every strike. "Imagine what he could do if he ever wanted to do something he was good at." Every time he moved, Motohama's eyes unerringly tracked his movements. What if he hid one chopstick in the shadow of another...?

He went in, concealing his hidden implement in the line of his index, thrusting at Motohama's face. Not missing a beat, Motohama flicked the lead chopstick to the side, sending it clattering out of his fingers, and wrapped his ring and middle fingers around the hidden one. Deftly twisting it out of Issei's hand, he stabbed into a third sausage and kicked his seat out of Issei's reach. Still snatching at air, Issei hissed in frustration, and helplessly grabbed the fallen chopstick, resigning himself to making do. He snapped it in half, working the now two very short chopsticks, and allowed his attention to return to the show.

The performance continued on. Round and round the two went. This was interpretive art, bordering on experimental expressionism; the actual blood dripping from Matsuda's features did a lot to push its artistic integrity. Issei had no choice but to respect his commitment, considering his shins looked like aubergines and he still went for a cabriole.

Even if this was, in fact, originally intended as a dramatic reenactment of his first date with Yubelluna.

Matsuda went for her skirt, but she snapped out at his hand. Three gentle brisé volé were performed in succession as he beat a hasty retreat, and the final one landed on his ankle with a nasty crack.

The classroom erupted into genteel applause, and Hana-sensei slapped a gold star on his forehead for 'dedication to the craft'. Issei quietly shut Matsuda's empty lunchbox, and prayed to every deity that the bastard starved.

Friday, 4:49 p.m.

"Just a cut!"

"Bia no!"

"One slice! Just o-getoffme!"

"No!"

Irina bodily hauled Xenovia into an alleyway. Xenovia stumbled slightly, regaining her balance but not moving. Both girls were panting slightly. It stunk in the small passage, small bags of garbage lingering in dark corners.

"God, I'm hungry," Xenovia muttered, almost plaintive.

Irina wilted. "I know, but-" She twisted side to side, eyes looking for listeners before she turned back to Xenovia and leaned in. "You can't rob someone!"

Xenovia stiffened. "I wasn't going to rob him."

"You drew Destruction!"

Xenovia licked her lips, but her eyes were like still water. "He had the meat hanging up. I was just going to take a slice. He wouldn't have even noticed."

"I guess...b-but it's still a crime..."

"I was going to leave him with a bill," Xenovia explained, pinking slightly.

"To what?"

"To who. The Gremory, obviously. They should be taking responsibility. There's a severe lack of almsgiving among these people."

Irina blinked, brows furrowing into deep channels. "But...we're not even in Kuoh yet...?"

"Worth a shot..." Xenovia whispered, eyes focusing on the wealthy businessmen crossing the street behind them. This seemed to jolt Irina back.

"No! Excalibur is a holy object!" She stamped her feet to dispel the lingering demons in her mind. "We can't use it for-for material gain! It wouldn't be right!"

Xenovia frowned. And sighed. And began rewrapping the blade.

"We'll find a way to eat!" Irina tried as Xenovia studiously avoided her eyes. "We're almost to Kuoh!"

Xenovia grunted assent. "If we ever had intentions of working with the Kuoh devils, I can safely say that's gone now. I refuse to let them see me like this."

The first hints of rain began to pepper their faces. Traces of moisture appeared around them, the air growing heavy. Finally, the first drops began striking the thin overhang over their heads, dripping down loudly onto the pavement. The rank smell in the air intensified.

"I was thinking," Irina said slowly, carefully. "It might be risky to try contacting my friend before we get back Excalibur. If the devils find us before, they might be able to stall us, or shut down our investigation, or get him in trouble. If we already have Excalibur, they wouldn't dare."

"They'd like that, I bet," Xenovia grunted in assent, and Irina sagged with relief. She walked back into the alley, where past the overflowing trash, the locale seemed more like an art gallery than a side path. People who had merely been walking by stood open-mouthed at the tarp-shaded fixtures of the Lord. Paintings, busts, ceramic mugs, statues, statuettes, figurines, plastic glow-in-the-dark mobiles, keychains, every image of the Lord they could get ahold of and transport safely stood in attendance.

"What do we do until then?" Xenovia mused, walking beside her past their unintended guests. "We still need to eat, and now we can't count on his generosity until after we succeed."

"I just don't know." Irina fretted, wiping at her face as the rain slowly increased in volume. They took cover in one of the tarp overhangs, surrounded by familiar imagery. "We'll need to make money somehow."

"I just-hm?" Someone tapped Xenovia's shoulder, and she turned around with a deep frown. "Yes?"

An elderly man stood there, dressed like a painter and bearing more wrinkles than an aging oak tree had rings, with his hands clasped together. "Is this an art exhibit?" He asked eagerly. "I simply must know, some of these are lovely!"

"No-no," Xenovia said distractedly. "No it's not an art exhibit, this is simply the providence of the Lord and the Church."

"Ah." He nodded wisely. "Yes, I have been seeing more of that lately, indeed. May I donate to the cause?"

Xenovia put up a firm hand. "Not to us, sir, please donate to your local church. We do not accept donations."

The old man nodded his thanks, standing and chatting with the girls a bit longer before he took off, head half-covered with the lapel of his button-up.

"So, what was I saying?" Xenovia shook her head clear. "Yeah, no, I just don't know how we're gonna make money Irina."

Irina folded her arms, frustrated. "We'll have to figure out something."

"Or starve."

"We'll just have to find Excalibur before that!" She put her arms together, fists up, and pumped them vigorously. "And then Issei can feed us! His mom makes great food!"

"Yeah," Xenovia responded dubiously. "He'd better. If you can even find the guy. When was the last time you saw him again?"

"Something like six years ago, why?"

"What?!"

Friday, 5:41 p.m.

Aika Kiryuu was 147th in line at the brand new pray-for-fortune stall, located between Lin 47th and Butcher street, on the premises of a small unnamed shrine. It was a mere 20 by 20 plaza wedged between a chicken seller and a candy store, hardly enough for the sort of traffic it was seeing. Nevertheless, today, that shrine saw more prayers than it likely had in a century.

The crowd was bustling, heads bobbing up and down as people attempted to peer over the mass towards their goal, a pop-up tent placed before the shrine. It was a large tent, canvas, with the entrance flapping slightly loose in the heavy wind. A larger structure stood behind it, leading into the entrance of the small shrine itself, presumably holding any accoutrements they might need. Aika was almost impressed by the gall to occupy the space. It certainly took work to set up those two structures.

People came by to see the furor, salarymen on coffee breaks, interns on coffee runs, managers, and bookies, crowding around the area and bloating the line to an amorphous mass. The chatter was deafening, making it impossible for Aika to listen in to what was going on. Thus, she passed the time idly, checking her phone and shuffling forwards. Eventually, she found herself at the front of the line, holding back the tide of curiosity with her own diminutive form. People craning over her shoulders, bumping her back, trying to peer into the depths of the lightless tent.

Finally, someone emerged, shaking their heads free, a salaryman who seemed rather tired by some unseen ordeal.

Behind him, the shadows rippled. The darkness at the mouth of the tent shifted, resolving into the form of a small, veiled figure, draped in layer after layer of gossamer satin, wound all about their form.

"Next!"

Aika stepped forwards, parting the flaps of the tent, and moved quickly inside with short, hopping steps to avoid the flaps coming down on her head. The interior was deceptively spacious, more so than she'd expected, more than enough to stand in place.

Or to come face-to-face with Motohama in a dirty black bed sheet.

"Oh." said he.

He wore a black spread tied about his form like a toga, upon which he'd been placing a banner, sash-like, decorated in calligraphy.

Blessed of Avalokiteshwara, Bringer of Good Fortune

She almost didn't catch his arms darting up and snatching one of the larger objects on the side table as she walked in. By the time she'd finished lifting the tent flaps aside and setting them back, he'd slid it...somewhere beneath his table. It clattered and rattled long after he'd deposited it beneath the gently swaying tablecloth, and Kiryuu eyed it suspiciously.

"Oh, this explains a lot." said Aika, grinning into the incense-shaded indoors. "And yet - somehow, I have nothing but questions."

Motohama paused for a second, panic and worse flashing across his face. Then, face smoothening to stillness, implacably raised his hands once more. "Approach!" He intoned, lean form taking a stern cast in the dim lighting. The whole interior of the tent had a mustard-yellow tint as the sun forced what meagre light it could into the interior. There, it caught the pale white smoke threading up from every corner, and cast it all into a murky fog, from which Motohama and his props appeared like shadowy glaciers on a misty night. Joss sticks, lit and burning in the corners, bore the monumental burden of preserving the fiction and ensuring Aika's lungs continued operating at quarter capacity.

"Seriously." Aika was unimpressed, waving impatiently at the pungent smoke.

"Approach!" Motohama insisted, voice booming. "Approach the holy altar!"

Aika hesitated, looking around for the camera. If she was being recorded, they were being subtle about it, for once. "Do I have to?"

He stared at her wordlessly, and eventually she moved forwards slightly, taking the three steps to approach the surface he'd painted to look igneous. The whole edifice was seemingly as stable as the firma itself, but she'd already seen him sweep it aside, and thus forewarned that it was just a clever bit of cloth trickery, suspected this room was full of similar tricks.

He put out a hand as she approached. She almost took it, thinking it to be a handshake, before he snapped it back and put it forth once more, snapping his fingers impatiently.

"200 Yen."

She paused, hand still half-outstretched, disbelief clear on her face. "Are you joking?"

He looked utterly serious. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes flashing as he stared her down. Slowly, he puffed his chest out. "Provide offering to the gods!"

Her eyes narrowed, curling her fingers back into a fist. "Let's not, and say I did."

He was unbowed. "No."

"I'm telling your parents."

At last, the charade broke; his nerves revealed the truth of his nerviness. His voice dropped down to its usual nasal pitch. "They won't care."

"They're in line."

"Ah." He looked dumbstruck. Aika bared her teeth and laughed silently

He immediately swept his hand across the table, sending his props to the floor. Something shook beneath the table as things crashed down, crunching and shattering filling the still air as neither boy nor girl dared look away from each other.

Motohama lost first, eyes darting down to observe the chaos. His eyes widened and he moved faster than Kiryuu could take in what happened, hastily kicking a loose corner of his clothing over a particular part of the mess. "Any cops?" He said, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

Kiryuu folded her arms over her chest, growing irrepressibly curious. "A couple. They're gonna start investigating the crowd any minute."

"How much not to spill?"

"3000 yen."

He paused, face souring, but he knew he'd already given too much away. "Fine. Tomorrow. You'll have to leave now."

"Do I still get my fortune told, you fraud?"

"What?"

Aika tapped her foot impatiently, feigned irritation belying the grin on her face. "I waited like an hour to get in here, I'm not leaving without a fortune."

Motohama reached under the table and swept out a potato sack. "Buy a cookie," he grumbled, bending down and dropping things into it.

"I'm allergic."

"Go away!"

She leaned forward. "No. Now tell me my fortune monkey-boy, or your parents get this part in transcript."

"Moto!" The beaded backdrop began rustling, slowly coming apart. Issei's head poked through, looking irritated. "The hell's going on man, where's the sign-" he spotted Aika and his eyes bugged out. "Oh fuck!" His head whipped back behind the curtain.

Motohama coughed awkwardly as muffled conversation continued to penetrate the 'holy sanctum'.

"Dude Matsuda, fucking Kiryuu's here!"

"Oh fuck, is she gonna shake us down again?!"

"I dunno man, but we should leave Motohama to die-"

"I can hear you, jackoffs." Aika called out.

Brief silence.

Vigorous rustling as Matsuda fought through the drapery to emerge into the chamber. "Well," he panted, "how're you, Aika."

"I should be asking that." She said, amused. "At it again, boys?"

Issei's head poked out of the beads. "We need the money."

"Yeah?"

"Friend of a friend is getting married."

"You invited?"

"Nah, gotta do my part though."

"What happened to the porn money?"

Motohama snorted. "Porn. Obviously."

Issei cut off her disdainful look, by waving the blackout curtain in her face. "Look, we actually do need the money this time."

"You need the money." Matsuda piped up.

"Shut up, you're coming." Issei grumbled. "I don't have the guts to do this alone."

"It really is a wonder you haven't been arrested," Aika cut in drily. "With balls like that, why, who'd dare."

The boys puffed themselves up, seeming proud and irritated in equal measure.

"You think bad conmen can buy as much porn as we do?!" Matsuda tilted his nose up arrogantly. "We're experts!"

"You're charging less money than canned coffee." Aika pointed out, brow raised.

"All the better to ensure no one comes hunting for us," Issei said greasily. "The money adds up, anyway."

She was unmoved. "I'll be sure to mention that on my police testimony."

"I was just copying Matsuda," said Issei immediately. "He said it. It was his idea."

Matsuda's head whipped around at Issei, then back to Aika's cheshire amusement. "I don't have ideas!" said Matsuda hurriedly. The guilt in his expression proved Issei truthful. "I just stand here! As if I ever have ideas?!"

"And yet," said Kiba lowly, stepping over the lip of the tent's entrance to inch inside. "No shortage of opinions. Incredible." Hopping over a broken bit of something that ended in a sharp edge, he made his way to the table.

Aika actually looked genuinely surprised. "Kiba-san? You're here?"

Kiba had decency to look somewhat ashamed. "Er..."

Issei started loudly snickering, and Aika felt herself be genuinely taken aback by the dark expression that flashed across Kiba's face, as he glared at Issei. Issei, however, started laughing harder.

Motohama slid around the table and sidled over beside Aika, leaning in without making eye contact. "He's ducking work." He quietly explained.

"Wow."

"It's my day off!" Kiba said in protest, whirling about with an injured look. "I'm not ducking anything!" He noticed the respect slowly draining from Aika's expression, and realized that it was too late.

'Have I changed?' Wondered Kiba absently, as he gave up convincing her he had good reasons for being here. He was certain that, before a point in his life, he'd simply never been in this sort of circumstance. For the life of him, he couldn't pinpoint where it was, or what had changed.

"We needed him as backup, anyway." Issei continued explaining. "We're going legit."

"What? Legi-you're running a scam."

"Not so!" Matsuda said smugly. "You see, we've moved past that. You think we'd set up on a shrine if we didn't have an ace?" He nodded his chin at Motohama, who feigned blushing. "Moto-chin unlocked his true magical potential."

"He's a seer?" Aika raised a brow and took in the boy twisting his hands mockingly together beside her.

Still disappointing, somehow.

"An augur, actually," Motohama said, looking somewhat hurt by the dismissal naked on her face.

"Isn't that..." Aika racked her memories. "...entrail reading?"

Kina coughed guiltily. "Only sometimes. It's mostly the observation of natural phenomena."

"How'd you figure that."

"Isn't it obvious?" Issei said. "He observed a natural phenomena that unlocked his latent magical powers through traumatic release."

She turned to Matsuda. "Translate, baldie."

"He walked in on his parents fucking."

"I saw the end of the world writ large on their gyrating forms," Motohama said distantly, eyes clouding over, hands growing still. "Storms fit to cover the world in the movement of his thrusting."

Kiba, looking up from a notepad he'd flipped open, raising a pencil in question. "How long do the storms last?"

"He had a 2-inch pecker."

"Not. Long." Kiba mouthed, scribbling it down. "Every time, we learn a little more."

"You see what you did, Kiryuu," Issei said plaintively. "Took us an hour to snap him out of it after school. First thing he sees when he gets home, the poor bastard. This is therapy, T-H-E-R-A-P-Y."

Aika opened her mouth to point out that she'd said nothing at all, but stopped when she realized the two boys were just staring at Motohama and laughing. She sighed and said instead, "How the hell is forcing him to release that memory helping at all."

"Hey!" Matsuda complained. "We'd never do that! We came up with a better solution ages ago."

The table rattled slightly.

"Oh Jesus." Aika ducked down in a flash, before Issei could voice protest, and raised the curtain on the table. A small furry creature lay on a stool underneath, twitching occasionally.

Motohama shifted uncomfortably, eyes clearing to blank-faced horror.

"Oh God," said Aika.

"Don't be that way," Kiba urged, more than a little guiltily. "This is a noble and traditional art."

"Also." Issei added. "We tranquilized it before we fed it laxatives. Completely humane."

"You read fortune off hamster turds?"

"Squirrel," Matsuda grunted.

Her eyes darted back, squinting a little as she observed the tiny form. "Where's its tail?"

"What?" Issei ducked down, taking in the fallen critter. "Holy shit, where's it's tail?"

"I think I might know." Said Motohama hollowly. "But I also don't want to look."

Kiryuu paused, eyes darting back down to the portion of the floor that Motohama had hurriedly covered earlier.

"Well." Said Matsuda gamely, eyes also darting to the bottom of Motohama's robes. "Glad we handled that. We'll just be more careful next time."

"Next time?" Aika felt her ears twitch, and her voice raised unconsciously. "You have more?"

Something in the back, behind the curtains, responded to her tone with a loud buck-buckawwwk!

The boys fell deathly silent.

"You're not convincing me that calling the cops is a bad idea," said Aika drily.

"I really needed the cash," said Issei.