Keima Katsuragi, Capturing God, sat in a potent after-sleep haze as he watched the steam rise from the mug of tea. He had prepared the tea hastily for himself when a certain she-devil had so rudely awakened him, and he'd dragged his groggy steps downstairs (taking care to tiptoe around his mother's room), and back up with a tray of wake-me-ups.
Why was this the case, when Keima'd known himself to be a self-centered God who only acted nice for his mother or people who had his very life at the palm of their hands? It was mostly the latter, Keima supposed, for Hakua had, so unusually for her, activated the collar on Keima's neck when he'd cried foul for her intruesion, and the pain was thus sufficient to get him moving. He might have protested this cruel, Hellish treatment, but then he'd still been disoriented from the dream that he saw no impetus to do so.
The high-strung tension that had engulfed Hakua, however, had now seemingly dissipated, and Keima found it appropriate to shift the balance back into his favor. So thinking, he opened his mouth and asked, "Now remind me again, why did you decide to disturb a god's sleep in the middle of the night, Hakua? I thought your kind was civilized, rational as you've claimed before. Now I am forced to add this event to the 'hatred' bar that this one Keima Katsuragi has for you and your kind. Speak quickly!"
"In a moment, deluded commoner," Hakua held up a hand as she pressed her other to the skull ornament perched on her purple-haired head. "Beings of greater power than you are conversing, and it would do you good to not insult the person who can decimate your existence a thousand times over."
Keima snorted as he took a tentative sip of the tea. Too sweet. "In my experience, your so-called magics has done nothing but destroy everything around me, devil. What kind of useful magic is that, huh?"
"Sshh! Katsuragi, I'm receiving important information here!"
"Well then, would it be so hard to conduct your mission briefing . . . somewhere else? In my current form, this human shell still needs to sleep, even though my spirit knows and agonizes over the routes I've yet to complete . . . "
Hakua shot the Capturing God a murderous look, to which Keima started in a surprised manner; before she waved her arms around and a familiar red dome wove itself into existence and enclosed her.
Keima sat gaping at the devil's actions. Realizing it would be pointless to go back to sleep without being rudely awoken a second time, he instead turned to his desktop computer terminal and turned it on. His eyes swept wistfully at the various, cloth-covered and unused game machines that sat patiently on the floor before the multitude of screens, and then he readied his hands over the keyboard and typed.
His mind, woken up by a brash she-devil and powered up by bitter-tasting tea, now raced with the possibilities that this event brought. In his infinite wisdom, the Capturing God thought only in game terms, and thus did he view this unwarranted intrusion and uncharecterisitc behavior of the she-devil's.
Keima started typing furiously, while his thoughts dictated the content. It was simple, a scenaro like this, involving a supernatural being who has forced circumstances on the protagonist, there can only be a few guesses as to the girl's intent, considering the context, it has something to do with runaway spirits, but looking back on her previous behavior, it must have probably been a high profile event to have made her this way, perhaps an emergency . . .
The Capturing God's glasses flashed against the lights as he watched the catalogues of completed games flash across his screen. He clicked on "Genre: Supernatural".
Many names scrolled past his eyes, and he regarded each with a critical, objective eye. Consider the flags, although she is not a route (no Real girl is), there are constants to be considered, presupposing that the runaway spirit event is of some magnitude, perhaps a powerful spirit, what could have sparked this emergency-like atmosphere, branch one: superpowered spirit appearing in her area, so she is concerned with my capability, but I have nothing to contribute in that case, I only capture, branch two: the target is a high-profile person, and it is likely that some high-level magics of hers need to be done to fool reality, yet to reach this point, it must be something that more than a few people would notice . . .
"Onii~ You are the demons . . . " Keima frowned at a few typographical errors on the page. Many branches, many possibilites leading to thrice as many routes, and at the end . . . Consider, then, sub-branch two: should it be someone like a politician's or famous man's daughter, or some other of similar circumstances, what should I do, to narrow down, Aoyama Mio-like backgrounds are tricky, but if it is that high-profile, a misstep would spell disaster and might lead, as the devil must have assumed, to exposure . . .
Whatever the route opens up here, Keima, will you do everything in your power to help the she-devil, no matter what troublesome things come about? He steepled his fingers before him, leaning his elbows on table. The troublesome Real. Unpredictable, capricious, unreliable . . .
"I say we do not!" A long-haired, muscular Keima appeared, challenging the multitude that were arrayed in front of him. "We cannot let the Real that intrudes so harshly into our lives interfere with us any longer. If it truly becomes important to avoid exposure, then we must make the devil see our point!" Long-haired Keima flexed his very visible biceps and frowned. A few of the assembled Keimas nodded amongst themselves, seeing the wisdom apparent.
"Objection!" A Keima in the crowd shouted. He was just as muscular as the speaker Keima, and wore a beret on his head that he patted down as he spoke. "Our lives are infinitely more important than anything. We cannot capture anymore virtual girls if we end up getting decapitated! Pride means nothing in the face of oblivion!"
"What would you suggest then, fool?" The first Keima pointed an accusing finger at the second. "That we willingly submit ourselves to this fallacy? There are always ways to be free of tyrannies, Keima! Ensign Keima!" he shouted at a Keima in a cybernetic suit. "Show this man his folly with your projected data!"
"Ack, s-so pleathed thoo acquiethe yer requeth yer majethty . . ." The called Keima pulled out a gigantic screen out of nowhere. "Ath you all can thee genthlemen, the many methods we can uthe to beg off thith duthy are then-thouthand fold . . ." There was a general muttering among the assembly. "And abouth a thouthand can be counthed ath complethely thafe . . . cathe in pointh, if we were thoo thuggeth thath there ith a fourtheen pointh four nine nine chanth of thucceth (repeathing of courthe), then they devil will have no choith but to pathth it on!"
"And recent data suggests that the prideful demon will never be accepting anything less than 100%!" a Keima shouted from the back. There was a great cheer that arose from this. The long-haired Keima nodded in approval. "You see," he said triumphantly to the dissenting Keima. "The power of human logic and reason trumps any supernatural factor in the Real route. There are some times where we do not bend, when we shall not compromise our principles is that not right my comrades!" He pumped his fist in the air, and a lot of Keimas hooraed in response.
"Are all you gathered here blind? You cannot simply turn your eyes away from the unknown supernatural beings we have somehow entangeld ourselves here!" The dissenter walked towards the first, his eyes scanning the rest of the Keima's. "This is not some route in a magical-themed game where we, as the Third Eye, can just sit back and let events take their routeful course! This is the hated Real! The same circumstances which has forced us to give up fireman-volunteer duty and cleaning-and-playing-at-the-same-time have now set before us another obstacle, and this time the obstacle is an unknown factor, a volatile factor. Who ever knew that magic would really exist, in the form of troublesome beings like that devil? This has added a whole new factor to our dealings with the Real, and I tell you gentlemen," this Keima took a deep breath, accentuating the bulges of muscles underneath his clothes, "we cannot take it lightly."
There was a general chorus of shouts, booes and cheers as two dissenting sides emerged among the Keimas. Each shouted against the other, each taking different forms, different costumes. Within the center of it all stood those two, who only stared at each other with cold, adversarial eyes.
"You fools!" A gravelly voice boomed out, silencing the bickering multitude. Everyone froze and all eyes turned to see the source. An elderly Keima, his wrinkled face belying his age, his white beard reaching down to his knees sat perched on a rock, holding a great, wooden staff with him. Presently, after making sure he was at the center of attention, he stood, walking sagely to where the two were.
"Have you all forgotten your purpose, Keima?" he demanded of them all. "That dread claim that, that thing held on us, forcing us to do its will? We bent then, for we all knew at some point that it was the only way to survive." He glared at the first. "And have all of you forgotten our pride as the Capturing God?" He now looked at the other half of the dissenters. "To be prideful is to gain a measure of courage, even for a while. And the Capturing God will never willingly bow to anything of the Real.
"We are struggling with a foolish junction. Just weeks ago, you were all agreed to help out Ms. Helmium in our capacity as the Capturing God! You youngsters, you will never learn to discard your foolish beliefs as you face the present; always wanting to force others to see your point. Useless! This meeting, is adjourned!" He slammed his staff on the ground. "Go back to your domains. There is no real argument here." With that, the elder Keima disappeared in a cloud of dust.
A ringing silence followed, as each Keima stared at the other. Some shrugged, and disappeared, yet there were many who remained, still glaring daggers at the other. It was the first speaker who broke the silence. "I agree with the old man. It is useless to exchange words with fools. I will silence your dissent, with my own power." With that, he flexed his arms, and everything slowed down . . . and stilled.
"I control the button and the mouse. Time is stilled by my hand, for I am God. And here, I control time." With that, he snapped his fingers, and every Keima who hadn't disappeared yet poofed out of existence. He chuckled smugly to himself, before he was interrupted by a voice behind him.
"Since when were you under the impression," the dissenter smiled grimly, "that you were the only one who could control time? We are all Gods in our domains." With that he punched the first full on the face.
The first recovered, licking his lips in anticipation. "Fool! I have achieved greater mastery than you! Watch!" He stilled time again, and this time, the other Keima was frozen. He walked over, clucking his tongue. "To think you were brazen enough to challenge me." He prepared to smash his hand into the other's chest. He stopped, shocked, when the other stopped his attack with ease. "I told you to lose your illusion."
The first was blown away, and this time he was visibly angry. "How is this possible! It is I who have mastered this art more than anyone! It is I who have watched scenes blur and stop before my eyes! I am the God! I am-"
A force of will emanated from each, and they clashed against each other like hated enemies. The second one spoke, "You talk too much."
"And you shall fall! Uselesss!"
"Oraaaaaahhhhh!"
They lashed out, fists first, as a bright light engulfed everything and-
"You useless commoner! How dare you fall asleep!"
Whack!
OoOoOoOo
Me? Take on that task? Impossible!
For once, his inner Keimas agreed.
He peered out across the horizon, down at Majima High sprawled below him, with their bustling students in shades of red. Thankfully, the rooftop had been deserted, allowing Keima the perfect place to reflect and get away from that domineering devil with a route in one hand and a determined fist in the other..
There were many rules in captures (in his games). Some were objective rules that was the norm everywhere for gamers such as he. The others were the few subjective preferences he reserved for himself.
Objective rules included: that the first, obvious girl who catches your attention would always be the first capture before the new game, that it is necessary to save before every choice (though Keima thought it ideal to have only as few, efficient saves as possible), that one should never skip the closing credits – among others. Keima understood all that, in his capacity as the Capturing God.
And there were some other rules that the God thought up for himself. Some of these were about giving his dear Yokkyun a replaying of her route every week, or that characters with traits like "cleaning-inept" were prioritized last, or that the smuttier scenes, when they came, would be skipped without mercy (owing to their negligible purpose in the overall story). One of these, of course, was that
-I have no patience for idols!-
True, there had been games where a singing idol had been introduced as one of the capturable girls, so Keima had to try his very best not to vomit when capturing them. And there had been games where "idoling" had been the main focus. A number of them were, shamefully, still in his backlog.
Why did he hate the character of these starlets? Keima had already given some of his reasons last night to the she-devil, when she'd informed him to his utter horror that the next capture target was the popular idol, Nakagawa Kanon.
Even thinking about that name sent his back shivering. Nakagawa was the prime example of what was inherently wrong with the idol industry. A rising star that came out of left-field, purely because of some charm within her that made her appealing, even if she had no redeeming qualities as a girl on her own! Yet the dupeable masses still loved her, lapping everything she put out, oh that disgusts me so much . . . That had been the problem with the idol girls he had been forced to capture before (in his games). So shallow in depth, so brittle the mask!
He heard a noise of cutting wind behind him, and the familiar burning of his amulet announced the arrival of his fated devil. Keima glanced morosely behind him at Hakua, who stared at him with a set expression on her face. He sighed, before saving his game in reluctance.
"The answer is still no, she-devil." His tormentor quirked an eyebrow in response. "No amount of begging, cajoling, or outright threats to my worldy and otherworldy existence can make me reithink almost two decades of principles. This isn't just about me refusing as Keima; you're looking at the whole essence of the Capturing God rejecting the very idea of having to woo over a, a real life idol!"
"Not even when I say that the whole world might rest on your shoulders?" Hakua challenged.
"No, I know it can never come to that. You devils will think of something. Besides, shouldn't you just give her an illusion of . . . oh, I don't know, more fame, power, riches, more fans to glorify her name than to use me as the catalyst?"
"We can certainly try other avenuse, but then it would result in a failure on both our parts to fulfill our contract, ending in our mutually bound souls being grinded to oblivion somewhere down in Hell." she pointed out.
"Ah, it always comes back to the contract . . . " Keima wrung his hands. "And you mentioned your soul being part of the deal. I sincerely doubt those contracts of yours would really end in Hell's disposal of one of their most skilled members . . . "
"Commoner," Hakua breathed, articulating her next words as if speaking to a chilld. "Contracts with Hell are not matters you can just shrug off! Hasn't it been drilled into your brain somewhere about how certain devil personas made deals with humans, and somehow it always ends up with the human's defeat and subsequent obliteration? I mean, it's not as if I care about your human soul a whit, but I care about my existence, and I don't want it to end so abruptly because some damned stubborn mortal didn't want to face his fears and own up. Contracts in Hell are particularly taxing on the devil's side, I wonder how many mortals know about that . . . "
"'Face his fears'?" Keima repeated incredulously. "What, you think I have some sort of complex with idols, devil?"
"You must have! It's the only reason why you'd accept the other two missions, but not this! In our Human Behavior classes, I remember how it is so easy for humans to be affected by good or adverse events in their past, so I can only assume that you either had some issues with the so-called 'idols' that you don't want to face, or some other bizarre explanation that sheds light on your apparent hatred with those types of mortals."
"Naive of you to think that humans can be so simplistic as that . . . " Keima seethed. "Well, let me set your records straight devil. I have never been wronged by an idol, I have never even crossed paths with an idol, never in my past have I ever encountered any 'idol'-like being, and I have also not been affected indirectly by any idol-related actions. So no, devil, nothing had induced me explicitly to hate idols . . . "
"Well we come back to the start of this annoyingly cyclical problem. What do you hate about idols?"
"My reasons devil, are they still not enough?"
The two of them took a deep breath, putting the conversation on hold for a few seconds. Hakua absentmindedly fingered her raiment between her hands, and Keima watched the strands loop of their own accord around the devil's smooth skin.
"If not for the idol herself," Hakua restarted the argument. "then at least do it for the mortals who are currently being affected by the Runaway Spirit inside her." Keima watched her nod to herself as if reaching some conclusion in her mind, before another one of her magical screens appeared out of nowhere to display some strange dancing symbols. "This particular spirit is unique. It has the capability of unleashing some of its powers while it is still in its dormant state, allowing it to convert its own energy to power its latent magics.
"We- well, my superiors have determined that this has led to the host being made into a transmitting node for the spirit inside, sending out passive magical waves of energy that affect any who are in close proximity." Hakua took the chance to clear her throat.
"And this affected them, how?"
"For this particular case, the powers of mind manipulation manifested themselves, causing any who were within distance to have a variable reaction to the host."
"Variable reaction?" The gears started churning.
"For devils, hoodwinking humans isn't that hard to accomplish." Keima quirked an eyebrow, but quickly let it go. "The human's own weaknesses can be used against them, facilitating quick manipulation. In some cases, however, it might be necessary to manipulate several humans at once, so charming spells are used to directly influence the mortal's thought processes – resulting in an intense devotion and attraction. In this case, many humans who were affected have been ensnared and started to exhibit unnatural devotional behavior to this, Kanon."
"Wait wait, so you're telling me that the spirit's the reason she's an idol or something?" The gears sped up. Keima went through a five-second stage of smirking, then outright grinning, then a full-blown chuckle. "I see! I see! I was right! They truly do not have their own charms! So it is all explained! All idols have runaway spirits inside them! What a breakthrough! It's too bad I won't be able to reveal this, eh Hakua?" He winked at Hakua, who stood dumbfounded.
"Um . . . it doesn't necessarily follow that all humans similar to her also have spirits-"
"Yes! I shall capture it, Hakua!"
"Eh?"
"I have here before me an ultimate breakthrough! A chance to finally prove that real idols are truly the fake, manipulative figures they are! That their fans are really only mind-controlled slaves of a manipulative facade! But now, now they shall finally fall! And you, Nakagawa Kanon, shall be the first to fall! Cast down their images, behold your True God!" With a maniacal glint in his eyes, Keima sped away, slamming through the roof door and giggling all the while.
OoOoOoOo
Though he'd said yes, he still had no idea how to approach this problem. Keima sat on the stairwell leading to the rooftop, using a route to set his inner Keimas to rest (the ones who protested). The roof was currently . . . occupied.
"Bunch of starved rabbits, the lot of them . . . "
He stood, determinedly keeping his eyes on the screen as he let his feet carry him somewhere else.
First off, he would have to gather information about the idol, Nakagawa. Hating a person didn't always make one know everything about him or her, as Keima discovered to his horror. While it was true that he could consult Hakua, the she-devil would doubtless offer something that only a distant observer could accomplish.
No, he looked for juicy tidbits, glimpses of Kanon's personality through other eyes, and other relevant information, meticulously compiled by the charmed underlings who called themselves fans. And he would find that in their publications they called their magazines – though he did not want to have to actually spend money to get it.
No, there was always their very own library.
Keima glanced around at the nearly empty room. Rows and shelves filled with books were lined up all around him, creating a mazework of published work that, to any other person, would amaze them at the wealth of information that could be had. To Keima, it was somewhat of a waste of space; hadn't the school wised up to the electronic age already?
He walked briskly between the student tables, studiously ignoring the stares he was getting for his footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floor. He entered the maze, though he did not know what he was looking for.
Of all the times to need that virtual catalogue . . . Keima thought grimly to himself. He remembered some months ago, when he was looking up a book for a request, he had been looking for a quick easy search through an electronic catalogue; before he was informed that there was no such thing, just the classic. He had fumed then, and expressed his view in such a manner.
He walked amidst the various smells, remembering one particular librarian standing up and glaring at him with peculiar intensity, as if her gaze would burn him down where he stood. Well, he'd certainly stood his ground, though that reinforced his view of the other's eccentricity, as she hadn't said anything at all and had left shortly thereafter.
A silent girl, well it certainly fit the librarian type . . . The kind you would find spending every breaktime in the library, poring over one new book after another. They were generally easy captures, and sometimes included some obscure reference to a contemporary piece of literature to make it titillating. Keima just found it informative.
And that girl . . . was now glaring at him presently. Keima started, and looked with surprise at the girl who made the same burning, resentful eyes at him from behind a gap of books on the other side of the shelf. He tilted his head quizzically, and looked behind him, thinking it might not be him, and it truly wasn't. His eyes narrowed in disgust as he shook his head and continued on his way through the mazework.
He'd forgotten to mention to the she-devil that the library was another popular hangout, almost as good as the rooftop because of the many ways two could hide themselves behind tall shelves and rows of books. This school! What a rut-house!
Keima settled himself on a particular row, where the publications were gathered. It took some time for him to extract what he needed.
He emerged some time later, head filled with useless information, but again taken aback upon seeing the girl still standing between the shelves, glaring intensely at that scene. It was as if she hadn't moved at all since he had left her. Keima recalled the vulgar adage, "It's always the quiet ones." He rolled his eyes and pulled out his ever-handy PFP. Coincidentally, it was the route of the librarian- er . . . "loremaster". (He was clearing his fantasy backlog)
"You know it's no use being so hung-up over it." Keima whispered, sidling close.
The librarian girl exploded in so silent a manner, making him turn his head and look at the way steam seemed to be coming out her ears, and of the angry red that now sufficiently suffused her puffed-out cheeks, yet with naught a sound but that akin to a pent-up kettlepot. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak, yet she continued to be frozen in that heated expression - this time directed at him – and her arms started doing windmills.
He turned back to his game. Coincidentally, it was one of those H scenes too – in the library, no less. "You already know this school has that problem, as a librarian you should just be . . . quiet about it. They certainly are trying to be."
He heard a ringing sound in his ears after he said that, so loud was the silence that followed. He kept his eyes on the screen, but consciously aware of the girl doing something next to him, without making a single sound.
"It's . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . library . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "
Keima snorted, and chuckled silently. He shook his head, turning to the girl, who now glared at him for brushing her off. "Well, if you're that bothered by it, why don't you go on ahead and say something to those two? Just standing there glaring makes you like on of those voyeurs . . . though that might just be good – for both parties" he added the last part silently to himself.
". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "
The Capturing God made one last look at the still-quiet librarian, before shrugging his shoulders and whispering, "Okay. Good day to you."
Putting his PFP back into his pocket, Keima left the library, his mind brewing strategems against the false idols. He whistled a catching tune from one of his favorite Yokkyun spin-offs. How did it go? Papara~ papapaparapaparapaparapa~
A minute later, he met the she-devil, who panted as if she'd just run the marathon. A moment later, she pointed to her beeping skull ornament, and again at the general direction behind him.
Keima turned creaking head towards his back like a wooden doll as he stared off in the direction of the place he'd just left. His jaw had never dropped so low before.
"But th-that's . . . forbidden!"