Fairness. A concept that tells us that everyone should be equal, playing the same game, running the same race. It was a fairly common idea, what with all the standardized tests that each and every single student was required to take.

I wasn't one to disparage fairness in general, it was, after all, what allowed me to be as knowledgeable as I am before coming to this world. A fair chance, that was all that I needed. Much like how I only need a fair chance at finding a path back home.

However, the reality of it all is that nothing is fair. Everything that you, me, or anyone has done will never be fair. It could be random chance, bias, and even your efforts not being enough. The long and short of it is that, for all that I could rant and rage, I will forever be treated to unfair terms.

Not the last of the reasons why is standing right in front of me, grinning like a child who just realized the magnifying glass in his hand can set ants on fire.

That's where we are now. Here I am, just trying to survive, and there he is: the living embodiment of why this world is terrible. You'd think fate would at least give me a break and let the freak show focus on someone else for a change. But no. The Archbishop of Gluttony apparently decided that I, of all people, was worth his time.

And now here I stand, backed into a corner I never asked for, with those weird-ass eyes (the hypocrisy is not lost to me) pinning me down like a bug under glass.

There's something inherently unfair about being singled out, especially in a situation like this. Not that life was ever supposed to be fair - believing that is the kind of naive optimism that gets people killed. But still, there's a difference between knowing the game was rigged from the start and watching the dealer shuffle the deck with a grin that practically screams, "You're about to lose, sucker!".

And that's exactly what this feels like. I don't know why this lunatic is so fixated on me, but I can feel it. That predatory gaze, the kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and sends a cold twist of anxiety down your spine. It's like when the teacher calls on you in class, even though you've been doing everything short of casting a literal invisibility spell to avoid eye contact. Only this time, the stakes aren't just public humiliation. It's, you know, death.

Not that I'm scared or anything. Shut up, internal Karsten. Okay, maybe I'm a little scared. But it's a practical fear. A survival instinct. You don't walk into a tiger's cage and expect it to ignore you just because you're not carrying a slab of meat. And right now, I'm the steak. Or maybe the whole buffet.

Which means I need help. Because let's be honest, my contributions to this battle so far have been...less than stellar. Sure, I can open portals, but unless I figure out how to turn one into a black hole, that's not going to solve our problem.

Man, is this how Natsuki feels all the time? This must suck.

Enter Argyle: healer extraordinaire, resident pacifist, and someone I'm about 70% sure hates my guts. Perfect candidate for the role of, well, bait. Or, in this case, surprise projectile.

Look, desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Argyle." I whispered, the portal flickering open beside him like the first crack of bad judgment. His ears twitched, but he didn't immediately look at me, keeping his focus on the glowing battlefield ahead. Typical.

He sighed before I even said anything, which I found slightly offensive but also fair. "You've got that look again." He muttered, finally turning toward me. "What do you want this time?"

"I have a plan." I said, the words tumbling out like a confession, "And I need your help."

His tail swished, a slow, deliberate movement, "This plan wouldn't happen to involve me doing something life-threatening, would it?"

"Define life-threatening," I replied, shrugging. "I mean, there's risk, sure, but it's not that bad."

"Sure."

We were speaking too casually for the situation, joking almost. Both of us knew that this was just to help us calm down. Argyle from having to watch Karsten and Wilhelm without being able to help, and myself from being targeted by the Archbishop. Falling into old habits made us settle down, if only due to the familiarity of it.

"Fine." Argyle breathed out his nose, "What do you have in mind?"

…

"Hikiganya." It was a disbelieving Argyle that stared at me open-mouthed, "That is the stupidest plan I've ever heard."

"But it'll work." Probably. "And you already agreed."

"...If I die here, I'm coming back and kicking your ass." Despite his aired grievances, Argyle crouched down low as I strengthened my arms. It was entirely because he knew I was right, as always. Grabbing him by the scruff of his uniform, not unlike how a normal cat would be held, I aimed.

Then, I hurled the healer towards the Archbishop. Said Archbishop turned, and seeing the flying catboy towards him, was utterly confused. Same with Wilhelm and Natsuki, I'm guessing. Karsten didn't even bother with that, already moving towards Gluttony with impressive speed.

In the next moment, I used my earth magic to rip up the ground, sinking nearly the entire area into a pit. I quickly followed it by turning the ground soft as quicksand. Karsten was already stepping forward with her wind, almost floating above the pit.

Gluttony was just looking around in interest, both at what I was doing and at myself.

Perfect. That meant that Argyle's flight was covered up by the debris.

Karsten came through the smoke cloud, a blast of wind through the smoke. Wilhelm followed up. Both of them tried to strike at the Archbishop, only for the Cultist to dodge and weave between them. Still, he stayed within the pit, seemingly still wanting to see my plan.

Joke's on him, I'm not the one doing shit. I'm just a distraction.

Argyle's form finally reached through the smoke. Where Karsten and Wilhelm failed to even hit Gluttony, Argyle was now practically hugging him. Judging by the flabbergasted look on just about everyone's faces, nobody had expected it. I gave a grim smirk.

Once upon a time, I was curious about the extent of combat prowess in this world. I had investigated the abilities of many different figures in history. Be they previous Sword Saints, infamous criminals, or even veterans from the Demi-Human War.

I came to the easy conclusion that they were just altogether strong. The lingering question though, was why. Why were they stronger here? Was it just because of the inherent nature of mana in the air? I wanted to find out, to know if I could be as strong as them.

And I did.

From birth, their bodies were infused with this mana, subtly strengthening them. Magic and Spirit Arts users benefited the most from this, as by training their bodies to accept the mana in the air, and the Od already inside their bodies, this made it so that everyone was stronger in this world.

This ties in to one other factor that many didn't know about. A lot of people know this as their 'instinct'. The propensity to know when danger was in the air, when an attack was aimed at them. A stereotypical trope in fiction wherein it manifests as some sort of danger sense.

Here though, it was very much real. Most would need time and effort to effectively sense danger. It was why it was only really known that stronger individuals had this ability. And yes, I admit, I was one of those at first.

At first.

Through rigorous trial and effort, and no small help from Rom and Felt, I managed to figure out what people were really sensing. That is to say, they were sensing a combination of mana and Od. Every person had Od, and used Od to generate a reserve of internal mana. This mana is then pushed outwards, and is the same source of physical and magical power that people use. Much like the way breathing and blinking were unconscious actions, everyone did this.

Other than me.

I had Od. In general, Od was just lifeforce incarnate, and by being alive, even from another world, I was able to use it. Except, I didn't know, at the time, how to let it generate mana. I needed to learn at a time where I should already have known how, according to this world at large.

What I'm saying is, I had a good bit of amusement at seeing a blindfolded Felt, who could dodge magical blasts of all kinds without trouble, fail to dodge a slow punch cause she couldn't sense the mana I was supposed to be generating.

To me, this all became obvious. To them, though? To Astrea, Felt, Rom, even Argyle and Karsten? This was entirely foreign. They couldn't wrap their heads around it, since they couldn't imagine trying to stop their Od from generating mana. I was the anomaly, and now I suppose Natsuki as well, in that I was essentially a ghost to their mana-senses.

Moreover, the reason that they could never figure out what they were sensing was that they were always suffused in mana itself. Trying to block out, filter, or even lower the amount of mana in the air in order to create a vacuum would be catastrophic, and so, they quite literally never knew what a complete absence of mana felt like.

They couldn't sense what they couldn't sense.

And yet, in that time of research, I also found another, interesting bit. Water magic was inherently a healing magic that very few specialized in. Those that did were more or less relegated to healing and nothing but healing. That is to say, they couldn't cast any other form of magic. That meant that the mana that flowed from them was just pure water mana.

Moreover, due to the nature of water mana traditionally being unable to harm a person, with Argyle himself being the only one I knew that could use his magic somewhat offensively by cutting off something like their internal bodily systems, most individuals were unable to perceive it as a threat.

Now, you may be wondering, 'Hachiman, you just said that people can sense mana from people because they keep unconsciously using it', and you'd be right. A sufficiently combat oriented person would be able to sense a normal water mage no matter what.

Argyle was not just your average water mage. He was the Blue, an individual so entwined with water mana that there has been no greater healer out there. So much was his affinity for water mana that I wouldn't be surprised if he really could come back to life and kill me if he did somehow die.

It also meant that he was so suffused with water mana that he just felt like said mana to anyone that tried to sense him. Ergo, he wasn't a threat, wasn't worth noticing because water mana only healed.

It was the reason why Argyle could sneak up on anyone, bar Astrea. He quite literally made everyone's guard go down by his mere presence.

It's also the reason why the Archbishop of Gluttony didn't see it coming.

One second, he's grinning like a cat with a canary in its claws. The next, his head snaps forward with the force of Argyle's forearm locking around his throat like an iron bar. No slow realization. No witty retort. Just the sharp, breathless choke of someone suddenly and thoroughly outmaneuvered.

The grin vanishes. His eyes go wide, then narrow, wild and searching, flicking side to side like a trapped animal looking for an exit.

"Hey there." Argyle says, voice low and steady as a ticking clock. There's no venom, no bark of bravado. Just calm certainty. The kind that cuts deeper than any insult. "Didn't see me coming, huh?"

Gluttony thrashed in place, but Argyle held firm, even as the Archbishop was now rolling on the ground. Karsten and Wilhelm leapt back into the fray, but couldn't find a way to intervene without hurting the healer. I stayed in place as I watched with a critical eye.

One second. Two, then the Archbishop collapses without any visible injuries. I knew better though. One other benefit of water mana is that people don't really resist it. Why would you, when you were just going to get healed?

Of course, I also knew that Argyle trying to shut down the bodies of anyone would still be considered an attack and trigger the body's instinctive reaction to being attacked. That's why I told Argyle to do the complete opposite. He wasn't to harm the Archbishop. Rather, the healer should heal the Cultist until they were back in peak shape.

Then keep going.

Rapid regeneration of cells, not that Argyle or anyone else other than Natsuki knew about those. Even if we couldn't see the effects, I knew exactly what I had told Argyle to do. Some may see it as a horrifying realization. I considered it just another evolution of magical combat.

Who knew giving someone instant cancer would be so effective?

…

"Alright." Argyle mutters, brushing off his sleeves with sharp, deliberate flicks. The motion is as much for him as it is for me. He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling like a bellows, eyes sharp but steady. His once-pristine uniform is a mess. Dirt-smeared, the hem of his coat frayed like it's been chewed by wild dogs. There's a tear across his left sleeve, and I spot faint scratches along his exposed arm.

He glances at me, eyebrows raised, his tail giving a sharp flick of agitation. "You owe me a new uniform, Hikiganya."

"Yeah, yeah." I huff, still panting. The exhaustion was now getting just a bit heavier on my frame. Being up for so long was finally taking its toll. "I'll get right on that. Hand-stitched and everything. Custom embroidery, maybe a monogram."

His eyes narrow, unimpressed. "If you so much as try to stitch anything by hand, I'll drown you in ankle-deep water."

"Rude," I mutter, wiping the sweat off my brow. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving behind that hollowed-out ache of post-battle exhaustion. But the fight's over. We won. Somehow.

Karsten approaches, her steps crisp and sharp like every footfall carries purpose. She's still gripping her sword, though the edge is lowered. The air around her is tense, like a gathering storm that hasn't quite decided if it's done raining. Her eyes flick to Argyle, then to me, then to the prone form of Gluttony still lying in the churned-up dirt. Her gaze stays there for a second too long.

"You did good, Hachiman, Ferris." She says, her voice calm but firm, "But I swear, you do anything like that again, and I'll make sure you regret it. That goes for both of you."

Argyle looked sheepish. I rolled my eyes. Even then, I didn't talk back to her. She deserved to be worried considering I just threw a decidedly non-combatant into the fire like that.

"Noted." I mutter, waving her off with as much energy as I can muster. "Next time, I'll send a letter of intent three weeks in advance."

"Try it, and I'll sign it in your blood." Karsten replies, sharp as ever, but I can hear the undertone of relief. Her eyes shift toward Argyle's torn uniform, then back to me. "Still, you pulled it off. You earned that win."

I hear a thump. Natuski collapsed on his back, deep breaths taken in as everyone finally settled down. A laugh bubbled in his throat, one filled with relief. One I couldn't help but mirror with a snort. Nor could Argyle, followed by a smile from Wilhelm, and a smirk from Karsten.

Still, one last thing needed to be done.

We all turn to look at Gluttony's crumpled form.

He's still lying there, facedown in the dirt like a puppet with its strings cut. His body is unnervingly still, not a twitch, not a shiver. His face is pressed halfway into the churned earth, his grin hidden, his eyes obscured. For a moment, just a moment, it almost looks like it's over.

Wilhelm steps forward first, his sword hanging loose in his grip. But I know better. That's not a 'lowered guard' stance. That's the stance of a hunter approaching an injured beast, blade tilted for a clean kill.

"You want me to do it now?" Wilhelm's voice is calm, quiet. Like he's discussing the weather.

I glance at Argyle. His face is blank, but his tail is twitching in that subtle, agitated way he gets when he's holding something in. I glance at Karsten. She's staring back at me, a question unsaid. I nodded back at her with a grimace. She casts her eyes to Wilhelm, equally quiet.

There was no taking an Archbishop as prisoner, unless there were extenuating circumstances, like say, a Great Spirit. There was just nowhere to keep someone as strong as that imprisoned. The only viable solution was…execution.

Wilhelm nods once. No hesitation. He walks forward, step by step, boots crunching the loose dirt beneath him. His eyes never leave Gluttony. He lifts his sword.

The moment stretches.

The moment breaks.

He moves.

Gluttony surges off the ground like a coiled spring snapping loose, his body twisting unnaturally fast. His head turns first, his grin wide and jagged like a broken crescent moon. His eyes lock on me. Not Wilhelm. Not Karsten. Not Argyle. Not Natsuki. Me.

No. No. NO.

Before I can so much as think, he's already on me.

"HAHAHAHAHA! HIKIGANYA!" he howls with unhinged glee, his voice like nails on glass. The sound scrapes against my eardrums, and for a second, everything moves in slow motion.

I see Wilhelm twist, too far away to intervene. Karsten's eyes go wide, her lips forming my name in a shout that won't come fast enough. Argyle's tail flicks with sudden alarm, but he's too slow, they're all too slow.

The Archbishop's hand snatches my throat like a steel trap. Cold, hard fingers dig into my skin, lifting me off the ground like I'm a stray kitten. My breath catches in my throat, a broken gasp forcing itself out of me as I'm yanked upward. My feet dangle just inches above the dirt, and I know, at that moment, I'm not getting out of this by struggling.

"Got you now." Gluttony breathes, eyes wild, his grin so wide it looks like it's about to crack his face in half. His eyes are those of a predator playing with its food. His breath is hot, sharp, the stench of something long decayed.

My hands shoot up, clawing at his grip on my neck, but I may as well be scratching at stone. My lungs burn, chest heaving in short, frantic gasps that aren't enough. Too strong. Too fast. Too late.

His gaze pierces mine, wild with something more than hunger. It's the look of someone who's won. Someone who's already decided the story's over.

His free hand rises slowly, with all the weight of a king lifting his scepter. The fingers curve in like talons. I see it coming. I know what he's about to do. But knowing doesn't mean I can stop it.

"You've been a real thorn, Hikiganya." His tongue flicks over his lips like a snake tasting the air. "But I win now. I always win."

His eyes narrow, locked on me with that unbearable, suffocating intensity. Swirling madness as I feel it. The telltale resonance of an Authority being used. A feeling I only knew due to the veritable singing my own Authority was echoing. His breath hisses between his teeth, and then-

He licks his palm. The singing is a chorus. An orchestra in my head.

"I declare you MINE!" he roars, his eyes rolling back in his skull as he calls out, loud and triumphant like the climax of some grand performance. "HACHIMAN HIKIGANYA!"

He's grinning. Grinning so wide his cheeks look like they'll split open.

And then-

The chorus changes. A wrong note. A single mistake, vibrating outwards.

It happens.

The grin shatters.

His eyes go wide, too wide, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His mouth parts in shock, like he just bit into something rotten. His whole body spasms once, twice, like he's choking on something he can't spit out.

"...urghhh…" His face twists in disgust, his jaw opening wide as he lets out a wretched gagging sound. His tongue darts out as if he's trying to scrape the taste off his tongue. "No... no, NO! What is this taste?!" His breath comes in ragged gasps, wild and shallow, his eyes darting around in disbelief.

He staggers, almost dropping me in the process, his grip faltering for the first time. I'm still dangling by my neck, but it's looser now. Enough for me to choke out a sharp, painful gasp for air. My lungs seize it like it's the first drink of water after a desert.

"You…" He looks at me, his eyes filled with raw confusion now. "You...you liar! YOU LIED TO ME!" He releases me, flinging me backward like I'm something unclean.

I hit the dirt hard, rolling twice before coming to a stop. My head spins. My hands claw at my throat, sucking in sharp, shallow breaths that burn on the way down. I cough, my chest heaving with every frantic inhale. My whole body feels like it's vibrating.

But I'm alive.

I'm alive.

I hear him again. Gluttony's gagging is sharper now, like he's choking on something solid. He's holding his chest, fingers digging into his own skin like he's trying to pull something out of himself.

His eyes lock on me. No longer triumphant. No longer the predator. He looks sick. His lips curl back, his teeth bared in something that's not a grin anymore. It's pure, unfiltered revulsion.

"Yeah." I rasp, voice barely above a whisper, "Not my name, genius."

His face twists in rage, his teeth grinding together as his eyes dart around, calculating, desperate.

Before anyone can move, before I can move, he grabs me by the arm with one final burst of fury. His face is inches from mine, wild with something between rage and desperation.

With a violent twist, he hurls me like a sack of trash. My world spins into a whirl of dirt, sky, and shouts. My back slams into something solid, Karsten, and she grunts as she catches me, stumbling slightly but staying upright.

Her arms brace me, and I hear her snarl. "Coward!" She yells, her voice sharp with fury. Her grip tightens as she steadies me on my feet. I glance up to see her face twisted in cold, focused rage. "Wilhelm! Don't let him escape!"

But he's gone.

There's no slow retreat. No last taunt. No warning.

Just the sound of air being split apart, a sharp, sudden crack of displaced air.

And then? Silence.

...

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: FireRogueWolf25, Tassimo and Grant Walker.