The amber hue of the setting sun filtered through the slatted windows, casting long, trembling streaks of gold upon the wooden floor.

It bathed Issei in golden hues from the back as he watched, but his friend remained in the shadowed part of the dojo. And, frankly, call it a sign from above or what have you, but Issei was pretty sure that meant his friend was a demon.

Sure, call it ironic. Kōsetsu was a church boy, all nice and sweet to people, but he knew better. He knew better, alright? Trust him on that. No human was that much of a sadist.

"Kuoh Brownie." Pssh, yeah, right. They didn't know what he knew.

Shirou stood poised, his kendogi loose yet tidy, his stance as fluid as a stream yet solid as could be. His shinai—weathered from years of practice —rested lightly in his hands, though the casualness of his grip belied the precision with which he moved. His fierce golden eyes, half-lidded with focus, glimmered with an unnamed emotion.

In contrast, Issei faced him, nervous energy rolling off him in waves, gripping his shinai as though it were his last lifeline.

"Your grip's too tight," Shirou murmured, doing that thing he did sometimes where his head would tilt slightly in consideration. "Relax. The shinai isn't your enemy—it's an extension of you. If you fight it, you'll fight yourself."

Normally, Hyōdō Issei would call his friend out on talking like an ancient master. But, you know. Shirou had been kicking his ass relentlessly with that shinai of his for close to two hours, now, and even a novice like him could now see the depth of the younger boy's experience. It was some weird ass anime shit, honestly. No wonder he sounded so much like Sasuke fucking Uchiha, the bastard little prodigy.

Still, Issei exhaled sharply, nodding, though it was evident the words settled uneasily on him. The boy shifted his stance once more, shoulders tight beneath the weight of his concentration. Focus. Yeah, this was, hard, but —

— He thought aboutto Shirou's lapse, and sharpened his focus. This meant something, he figured;. He just didn't know what.

He'd find out, though.

(Plus, swords were cool. Sue him.)

Shirou observed in silence, his expression unreadable, neither harsh nor indulgent.

"Again." Shirou's voice was low but commanding, like the brush of steel on silk.

With a grunt of effort, Issei lunged forward, his shinai swinging in an arc meant to imitate the perfect strike. But the moment his strike began, it was already too late. Shirou's body shifted in a blur—an effortless sidestep, the heel of his leading foot grazing the floor with a whisper-soft sound. The flat of his shinai tapped Issei's ribs before the younger boy could even realise what had happened.

— Thwack.

Issei staggered, breath catching in his throat, and stumbled to maintain his footing.

"I told you this before. You're too eager to land the hit." Shirou's voice was calm, not unkind. "It's not about attacking, it's about finding the opening. Rushing just leaves you wide open." He gestured lightly with his shinai, like a painter guiding a brush through the air. "You need to read me. Every breath, every step—it's all there if you pay attention."

Issei straightened, gritting his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his skin. There the bastard went again with his weird Sharingan stuff. "How am I supposed to read you if you're faster than me?" he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his kendogi.

"It's not about speed," The other boy said, softly. "Speed comes after control, you know. And control starts with patience." Then, an easy chuckle. "Anastasia taught me that when I was younger. You know, between bouts of kicking my ass in this very place."

Issei had met Anastasia before. He tried to imagine it.

"That nice old lady? She doesn't seem like —" and then, after a pause, "No, nevermind, she totally does look like she'd do that."

The two faced each other once more. Issei raised his shinai again, his muscles taut, and Shirou mirrored him—though his stance was effortless, as natural as breathing.

A best of silence.

Then Shirou moved—an imperceptible shift of weight, a slight opening in his guard that felt deliberate. The bait was clear, yet alluring. Issei's eyes locked onto it, and without a second thought, he lunged.

This time, however, his movements were more measured.

His shinai swept forward, aiming for the opening with newfound precision—closer, surer. But just before the tip reached its mark, Shirou turned his wrist ever so slightly, catching the strike mid-air with a deft parry. Their shinais clashed with a resonant crack, and for a heartbeat, they stood locked in place, wood against wood.

"Better," Shirou whispered through the narrow space between them, a warmth of approval in his tone. "But not quite enough."

With a sudden pivot, Shirou disengaged, his shinai moving like flowing water, slipping past Issei's defense with shocking precision. The flat edge tapped against Issei's headguard with a soft, decisive thwack.

Issei exhaled, his shoulders slumping, both exhausted and exhilarated.

He'd lost count of how many times this had happened. He'd be mad, except… It was kind of fun, in a bit of a masochistic way. He felt like he was improving, goddamn it, and that felt good. It was a bit like a Boss Fight in Dark Souls, only the Boss is just as unpredictable as you. Which, he guessed, made it not at all like a Boss Fight in Dark Souls. But the vibe was similar.

Read the move, predict the move, and do something about it. Also, the enemy is faster, stronger, and shoots laserslaser from their eyes or something like that. Losing was fucking frustrating, yeah, but — kinda fun, still, because the game is fun to play.

Shirou lowered his shinai, tilting his head slightly as if to say, Again?

And Issei, catching his breath, grinned despite himself. The frustration in his chest melted away.

"Again," Issei said, and Shirou's quiet smile returned, beyond the world's edge.

He recalled a lesson given unto him by Samiya.

— The Energy of the World is called Mana.

It is the breath of the planet, the will of existence itself, fueling and being fueled by life — a ceaseless flow that punctures the world and gives it life.

All living things in the world interact with it. All living things in the world draw it in. All living things in the world produce it. Mana is as much a natural rule as the energy in cells, as much a core part of the world as food or sunlight.

What Magicians do is — through magic, through spells and calculations and willpower — draw this Mana, the ambient magical energy that surrounds and suffuses the world, into themselves, and then transform it back into the world. Through this process, the miracles and processes called "Magic" are made possible.

This is the only form of self-reliant, isolated "Magic" allowed to human beings — creatures without the biological means to produce their own magical energy to use, nor the innate ability to manipulate it. Creatures that had to learn to mimic the abilities of devils through formulae so complicated that to fathom hurts the brain. Creatures that had to breach the endless expanse between themselves and the Supernatural with nothing but their genius and their wit.

— Which is why.

" —!"

Shirou's shinai blurred, slamming into Issei's roughly. The force of the direct overhead strike pushed the auburn-haired boy back a few inches, with his eyes widening from the sudden assault. A little more and he'd have pushed himself beyond the limits of what is believable.

But he wasn't thinking about that.

— There.

At the edge of his senses. A prickling in the back of his mind. A faint smell that's as offensive as it is familiar.

Magical Energy.

The kind he can feel. The kind he can almost taste. At once impossibly weak and impossibly dense, disguised most likely by the overflowing demonic energy within Kuoh Academy – and it was coming from Issei.

A sidestep – about as quick as it was simple. As Issei's shinai swung through the space he'd been previously occupying only a second's fraction ago, twin golden eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He twitched, firing a quick slash with his own wooden implement at Issei's chest, only for the auburn-haired boy to manage to, through the skin of his teeth, block the hit with a turn of his own weapon and a muttered curse under his breath.

His movements were normal. He stumbled a bit, with poor footwork and coordination – expected of a newbie. Nothing at all indicated any amount of holding back, like he knew for a matter of fact would need to be present for a supernatural entity of any kind to be performing at this level. Issei's face twisted the same way, eyes still lighting up with his signature mix of cocky satisfaction and frustration and a number of other less palpable things – all the things that made Shirou's friend be who he was.

So, then, why –

He parried a blow from Issei, having been momentarily distracted by his thoughts. It didn't matter much; experience made his wrist move just enough to push the sword back and then swing around it, arching back over his shoulder to slam into Issei's arm lightly. The resistance, too, was normal; his flesh was just as soft as he'd have expected from a boy who didn't work out that much. Well, maybe the muscles in his biceps were a bit more developed than those on the rest of his body, but Shirou instantly decided not to think about that, for the sake of his own mental health.

"Ah, damn– You got me again, huh?"

Issei didn't react as poorly anymore. With every loss, he got a little faster, a little better. He was, if nothing else, a moderately quick learner – talented, surprisingly enough. More convenient than that was his good nature; competitive though he was, once he got into his head that he wasn't beating Shirou any time soon, the boy's resentment at each defeat slowly started to erode away.

The frustration remained, but it was nice to see – there was something about seeing his friend apply the same determination he applied to video games to the sport Shirou had been raised on that made the golden-eyes boy feel a twinge of pride.

Maybe he could look into teaching…? He seemed to enjoy it, anyway. It hadn't been something he'd considered before, but…

… No, wait, that was a matter for another time.

Shirou rested his shinai on his shoulder, leaning back slightly and relaxing his posture. He was tired, believe it or not – his conditioning was better than Issei's, for sure, but extensive training was never not going to be physically taxing.

"Say, Ise –" He started, using his friend's preferred nickname. A bit manipulative of him, but… Samiya had taught him well. "What do you think about Rias?"

No flinch. No indication of concern, worry, or secret knowledge. Just a furrowing of the brows.

"Gremory-senpai…?" A pause. His eyes widened comically. "...Oy. Don't tell me you're…"

… Oh.

Oh, no.

Shirou shook his head quickly, trying to kill this idea in the other boy's head before the pervert took it anywhere he really didn't want it to go.

"No, no, no, that's not it at all –"

But.

A lecherous grin blossomed in Issei's face like a flower of absolute evil, and Shirou knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn't be living this down anytime soon. Issei would take this little snippet he'd inadvertently given him and run with it, the bastard.

"Is our little Kōsetsu finally showing an interest in women…?" He questioned, grin widening. "I guess you're just as hopeless as the rest of us at the end of the day, eh -– Eh? Eh?! Wait, wait, wait!"

… Shirou only felt a little bad for hitting his friend in the face with a wooden sword.

He did, too. Honestly!

The Mystery of Issei's magical signature gnawed at him long after he and the boy parted ways for the time being.

But he told no one about it. In part, it was selfish of him, and he knew that — knew that he wasn't capable of protecting Issei all on his own, if it came down to it.

Too much was happening in Kuoh all at once. (He felt a strange sense of Deja Vu rise in the back of his throat at that thought, quick like a viper on legs.) Between the recent communication with Magicians, his ongoing assignment from the Church, and the Devil presence within Kuoh Academy —

— It really was no use.

Shirou wasn't a tactician, nor was he good at playing people like (she) was. He wasn't a proper Exorcist, nor a proper Magician.

The presence of Magical Energy in a human could mean nothing. It could mean he was just of a strange lineage — Shirou didn't know. However…

If — and it was a big if — if it did mean something. If it did put his childhood friend on the game board…How? Why?

Why had no one noticed it before?

Who could he trust to help him protect Issei without drawing the boy into the supernatural?

How could he protect his friend from the horrors he knew lurked about?

… Damn it.

— Shirou scowled, in the privacy of his improvised workshop.

He was meant to be working on his abilities. It was yet another part of his training from Anastasia, though here she had very little input to offer aside from encouraging him to familiarise himself with God's gift to him. They compared it to "Blade Blacksmith" — though his ability differed from the Sacred Gear in ways no one could really explain.

… it was hard to concentrate on his training when his heart was hammering in his chest, however. Concern flooded his veins. His sweat felt cold.

— Damn it all. Why Issei, of all people?

Why now?

If he had noticed it, perhaps others had, too. And if they hadn't, they might soon. How could he help him? How could he stop them? Shirou wasn't a plotter. And he didn't know how to intervene without exposing Issei directly.

It was one thing for him to be lost in the supernatural. Shirou could defend himself. Shirou could fight. Shirou knew what he was getting into. But for Issei to be in this position —

Damn it. If only Rin was —

— blue lights flooded the room with the sound of a loud explosion. The pipe he had been working on shattered with a violent shudder in his hands, sending violent shrapnel flying in just about every direction. Shirou's [circuits] blazed with terrible pain.

He felt himself tremble, but not from exertion.

"What… was that?"

— His mouth formed those words without his meaning to.

Rin. The name clung to him like a poison. It tasted like bittersweet nothings. Rin. Rin, with azure eyes. Rin, clad in crimson. Clever, ruthless, blazing Rin.

The girl whom Luviagelita reminded him of. Someone who burned with responsibility and intent. Someone no one could ever ignore. [Her] sister.

Her name was Tohsaka Rin.

— Once, she had been in a position similar to his own. Faced with an idiot boy who didn't know what he was getting into. That boy was him. 'She would have known what to do.' That's what he'd been about to say. He knew that as certainly as he knew his own name, now.

Rin was —

He —

There was an image in his mind. Black ribbons. Blue eyes. A red gemstone — what a troublesome master — and it burned itself into his heart with gusto.

… hah.

Shirou couldn't help but chuckle to himself, even as he grabbed at his head in pain. A few droplets of blood trickled down from his nose as static filled his head like lead and a murder of crows. Absolution was not offered. The guilt remained, coming with the pain in waves. But —

— It was so like her to spook her way back into his heart when least convenient. Honestly.

… The memories had been coming steadily more as he grew. Flashes were more common. They bled less into his daily life and more into his dreams. Sometimes, though — sometimes, it was enough for him to wonder if he was going insane.

Or if he'd gone insane long before now. (Long before he was born). These ghosts had been with him for as long as he'd been alive. However, even so —

— He had new friends now. New people.

Maybe they should work with him for once.

He didn't remember her fully. He didn't remember her properly. But he knew just enough to ask himself;

"So — what would Rin have done?"

It didn't feel like forgiveness. But it was close.

The Kendo Club had quite a few recurring members. The most notable ones were a pair of girls the same age as Issei and in their class — Murayama and Katase. They admired Rias Gremory-senpai as was standard in Kuoh Academy, and were overall well-liked by the general students. They had a few less interesting friends; Arika, Setsuna, and Ryoko.

Overall, the Kendo Club consisted predominantly of women, and they consisted of all its "recurring" memberships. But there were a few outliers, too; people who weren't members of the club, but practiced the sport enough to be counted in its numbers, and sometimes show up to its events.

Like Yuuto Kiba.

Yuuto was the definition of popular. Even Shirou could tell why that was; a handsome face, shining blue eyes, and a perfect demeanor. Just about everything about him seemed to be considered 'dreamy'; his attitude was kind, he was talented, associated with popular people, treated everyone well, helped when help was requested, and was just aloof enough to invite mystery. The perfect bishounen archetype, frankly.

— Unfortunately, the popular people he associated with were Rias Gremory's peerage.

Because Yuuto Kiba was a Devil. And Shirou still remembered the way he'd been glared at by those bright blue eyes, when they'd first met.

Everything in his training told him that Kiba was capital-D Dangerous. His posture was too practiced, his steps too confident. His gaze was sharper than a razor's edge, and unlike Rias' and Akeno's strange curiosity, the blond's had a definite hint of genuine, wholehearted animosity that sometimes peered through, like lights shining through the gaps in heavy clouds. Most of the time, Kiba managed to keep up his perfect posture when they met in the hallways — but then, sometimes…

— Well.

As "luck" would have it, Kiba was also set to participate in the Kendo-club tryouts in a few days. He'd done his best to prepare Issei in the time they'd had — and frankly, he thought he'd done a spectacular job beating the essentials of both Kendo and Combat into the Auburn-haired boy's thick head — but there was nothing he could do to prepare him to face Kiba.

And then — given the energy he'd felt off of Issei…

… So.

He couldn't explain the situation to Issei, meaning he'd be exposing himself a little regardless of what Shirou did. They'd be competing in a form of martial arts swordsmanship against a genuine Devil. And that Devil happened to have it out for Shirou specifically, as far as he could tell.

Sure, he could manufacture a way for Issei to be excused from the tryouts. Wouldn't be difficult, he didn't think. Except — that could still draw attention to him. Shirou wasn't really known for his stealth, social or otherwise. If Rias figured out his involvement in whatever kept Issei from competing, she'd look into him — and he still didn't really know if he could trust her.

— Furthermore.

Kōsetsu had always been a remarkably blunt person.

"Hey, Kiba-san."

He approached the boy himself.

He could tell that the blond was surprised at his approach.

They were alone. The school day was still ongoing, but he'd managed to tell Kiba would be alone when he'd walk through a specific hallway during recess. It was a reckless move, frankly — firstly because of all the people that could suddenly walk in on them, and second because Kiba was an unknown factor.

When the boy turned to face him,his sharp eyes shone with something between caution, distaste and genuine concern — but it was gone in the blink of an eye, like it'd never been there. In an instant, Yuuto had replaced that look with his usual kind-eyes persona.

"Yes, Kōsetsu -san? Can I help you?"

Honestly, it was pretty impressive. Everyone in Rias' Peerage seemed to be pretty good at playing pretend — though their strategies differed. Their being Devils didn't even factor into it; their reputations were all genuinely earned, and through no small effort, Shirou was sure. They were masters of the social game they played.

Rin had been, too, he thought. But she'd always been remarkably bold, when the situation called for it. And she'd really liked cornering people at school!

"Ise doesn't have anything to do with me or the Church or anything like that. He's a normal boy. We're just friends. If you have problems with me, that's fine, but take it out on me, got it?"

He didn't let himself sound angry, offended, upset, or worried. His words were spoken plainly, bluntly like a mace.

— but they cut through the facade like only a sword could.

"—!"

A small sound of surprise from Yuuto Kiba. His eyes widened. Inadvertently, he almost took a step back — almost. Then, his eyes narrowed.

"...I don't know what you think we are, but we don't go after innocents like Strays." He murmured. "And I don't know what you're thinking, talking about this out in the open, but —"

"I care about my friends," Shirou cut him off, immediately. He didn't care being open about this. "And Ise's my friend. It's got nothing to do with Devils — I just noticed the way you glare at me. Anyway, have a good day, Kiba-san."

With that — Kōsetsu Shirou turned his back on the devil and walked away, feeling the blond's incredulousness radiate from him.

God above, and he didn't even care about calling the Lord's name in vain right then, he really hoped that worked.