Issei
Rest should have helped.
It did not.
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling of the room Buchou had shoved me into and came to the extremely fair and rational conclusion that mountain air was a scam.
It was clean. It was fresh.
Sure, the view from outside was great if you liked trees, cliffs, and the kind of dramatic nature that made this feel less like a spartan training camp and more like a club get-away.
But none of that changed the fact that my legs were already dead from the climb, my arms still felt like they were carrying half of the kitchen, and the schedule was less “vacation home” and more “Buchou has decided I personally offended the idea of improvement.”
I rolled onto one side with a groan.
Then immediately regretted that too because apparently climbing a mountain with luggage had introduced my body to at least three new forms of pain I hadn’t known it could experience at once.
From somewhere else in the house I could hear movement. Doors. Steps in the corridor. Faint voices carrying through the house. The estate was large, but not so large that the fact of everyone being there disappeared.
That, somehow, made the whole thing feel more real.
The Rating Game.
Ten days.
Riser’s face.
Mira flattening me so fast I’d barely had time to be angry about it before I was already on the floor.
I sat up.
Bad idea.
Still, I stayed up this time.
Lying down made it too easy to think.
If I thought too long, I started hearing Riser’s voice again. Started seeing Buchou sitting there in the clubroom while that bastard talked about her like her future was already his. Started remembering that he had an all-female peerage and somehow that only made me angrier because I could not even be jealous correctly while hating him.
I dragged both hands down my face.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
Then someone knocked.
“Issei–san?”
Asia.
“Yeah,” I called. “Come in.”
The door slid open carefully, and Asia stepped inside with the soft, polite hesitance she brought everywhere, even now. She was already changed out of her travel clothes, her expression gentler than the situation deserved.
“Buchou said we’re gathering soon,” she said.
Then, seeing my face a little more clearly, she tilted her head. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I said honestly.
Asia blinked, then gave me the kind of tiny sympathetic smile that made me want to feel guilty for being honest.
“That’s fair,” she said.
I snorted.
She stepped farther into the room. “You should probably stretch before training starts.”
“It starts now?”
Asia’s smile turned faintly apologetic. “After a short break, she said.”
Of course she did.
Of course Buchou gave us just enough time to sit down, remember what comfort was, and then rip it away again.
I stood anyway.
It took effort. Too much effort.
Asia noticed, because of course she did. “Do you want me to—”
“No.” Too fast.
I caught myself and rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean, I’m fine.”
That got me a look.
A soft one, but definitely a look.
Apparently I’m fine had already stopped working on some people around here.
That was probably Kusari-san’s fault.
Asia folded her hands in front of her. “All right.”
Then, because she was Asia and therefore incapable of leaving the room without improving it a little, she added, “But if you need help later, I’ll help.”
I looked away first.
“Yeah.”
She smiled again.
Then we headed out.
Buchou had already turned the main room into a war council by the time I got there.
But the furniture had been shifted, the central space cleared, and the whole atmosphere of the mountain estate had already changed from “large nice house” into “place where your weaknesses come to die.”
Akeno-san stood near the side table with a notebook in one hand like she was actually enjoying this. Koneko-chan sat on the edge of one of the cushions with the patience of someone who knew everyone else was about to suffer and saw no reason to interrupt that. Yuuto-san stood near the opened shoji with the same composed, ready posture she always had. Kusari-san was already there too, of course, standing near one side of the room with her usual careful stillness, looking as if rest had not touched her at all.
I was beginning to suspect she didn’t rest. She just powered down more elegantly than the rest of us.
Also, her ears and tails were out since we had arrived at the mountain.
It would take a moment to get used to always seeing them, but I wasn’t about to complain about the fox girl in the room.
Buchou looked over as Asia and I entered.
“Good,” she said. “Everyone is here.”
That wasn’t promising.
Akeno-san smiled. “My, my. The atmosphere is so serious.”
“You’re smiling too much for someone about to witness my death,” I muttered.
“Oh?” she said. “But I can smile more”
“Please don’t.”
Koneko-chan looked at me. “....Weak.”
“That’s becoming your favorite word.”
“...It’s true.”
I clutched my chest.
Buchou ignored all of us in the way only Buchou could.
“We begin now.”
No warm-up speech. No dramatic motivation. Just immediate execution.
She folded her arms. “The Rating Game is in ten days. You are all aware of the problem. The only way forward is improvement. That improvement will not happen by hoping for it.”
Her eyes landed on me first.
Bad sign.
“Issei, you are the most underprepared person in this room.”
There it was.
Asia made a tiny sympathetic sound. Akeno-san’s smile deepened. Yuuto-san did the polite thing and didn’t look amused. Koneko-chan didn’t bother pretending.
Buchou continued mercilessly, “You are physically behind. Your technique is poor. Your stamina is poor. Your judgment is emotional before it is tactical. That will change.”
I wanted to defend myself.
I also wanted to die.
Instead I stood there and nodded because, annoyingly, she wasn’t wrong.
“Asia,” Buchou said next, “your power is improving, but your confidence in it is weak. You will continue support training and magical control work.”
“Yes,” Asia said quickly.
“Akeno, large-area magical support and interference. Koneko-chan, close-combat suppression. Yuuto, sword work and direct combat instruction.”
Then Buchou’s gaze shifted to Kusari-san.
“Kusari.”
She straightened immediately. “Yes, Buchou.”
I still hated how fast she answered.
“Your perception and curse magic are valuable,” Buchou said. “But your current method of using them is inefficient.”
Kusari-san’s face did not change, her ears only twitched slightly, but something in the room tightened all the same.
“The spell you used on our last job was effective,” Buchou continued. “It was also excessive. You will find a way to use curse magic with less immediate drawback. Lighter application. Better pacing. I want a solution, not merely endurance.”
There was a pause.
Then Kusari-san bowed her head. “Yes, Buchou.”
Something about that exchange stuck in my head harder than the others.
Not just because Buchou had said it.
Because Kusari-san took it like an order and a challenge both.
Akeno-san tapped the end of her pen lightly against the notebook. “How strict. Buchou is in a frighteningly motivated mood.”
“I hope I survive it,” I muttered.
Everyone heard me.
Buchou gave me exactly one look.
That look meant training had just gotten worse for me personally.
“Issei-kun,” Yuuto-san said, very calm, “you’re with me first.”
That somehow sounded more threatening than if she’d shouted.
Akeno-san folded the notebook closed. “Asia and I will start magical control afterward.”
Koneko-chan said, “....And then I break him….”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Yes.”
The house really was cursed.
Buchou clapped once, sharply enough to cut through the room. “Move.”
And we did.
Yuuto-san took me outside.
Not far from the house, but far enough that the air changed. The mountain slope opened into a flatter clearing with packed dirt and enough room to move without crashing into a tree every second. The late afternoon sun came through the branches in strips. The breeze was cold enough to feel good at first and annoying after.
Yuuto-san tossed me a practice sword.
I nearly fumbled it, because apparently that was how my dignity wanted today to go.
She caught that too.
Of course she did.
“Good start,” she said.
“I hate this already.”
“You should. It means you’re paying attention.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Then she smiled very slightly, just enough that I couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not.
That was unfair.
We took position.
Yuuto-san held the wooden sword like it belonged there. I held mine like I was trying to remember everything I’d ever seen in manga about swords and failing.
She looked me over once and sighed softly.
“Your grip is wrong.”
I fixed it.
“Your stance is wrong.”
I adjusted.
“Your shoulders are tense.”
“I’m about to get hit with a stick!”
“That is not an excuse.”
I really missed being weak in peace.
She stepped in close enough to adjust my wrists herself, quick and practical and not at all awkward in the way my stupid brain tried to make it. Then she stepped back and nodded once.
“Again.”
The first few attempts were humiliating.
No, worse than humiliating. Educational.
That was always worse.
Yuuto-san didn’t beat me down for the sake of it. She corrected. Repositioned. Explained. Then struck the exact place my balance failed as if to prove she was right every single time.
Which she was.
By the time we moved into actual exchanges, I was sweating and irritated enough to stop pretending pride mattered more than listening.
That was probably progress.
“Don’t chase my blade,” Yuuto-san said after knocking mine aside for the fourth time. “Read my center.”
“You say that like I know what that means.”
“Then learn.”
“I am learning!”
“You’re reacting.”
“That’s basically the same thing!”
“It is not.”
She moved again.
I blocked high because it looked right.
Wrong answer.
She turned her wrist, redirected, and tapped me in the ribs hard enough to make me fold.
I coughed.
“That’s what I mean,” she said.
I straightened with all the dignity of a kicked dog. “Could you explain less like you’re already better than me?”
Yuuto-san actually blinked at that.
Then she gave me one of those tiny smiles she did when she thought I was being ridiculous but not entirely unworthy of response.
“Issei-kun,” she said, “I am better than you.”
I stared at her.
Then, because she wasn’t even being arrogant, just factual, I made a strangled noise and attacked again.
That went about as well as expected.
By the time Yuuto-san released me into Akeno-san’s care, I was sweaty, bruised, and already offended by the concept of demonic power control.
Asia, somehow, still looked hopeful.
That was either courage or madness.
“That’s not it. You gather the demonic-power by drifting the aura that covers your body. You have to concentrate and feel the power.”
I can’t even gather demonic-power into my hand at all, especially if Akeno-san wearing a black jersey is the one teaching.
I need to concentrate hard! I have to gather the demonic-power in my hand while imagining of creating something!
“I did it!”
Asia has gathered a mass of demonic-power in her hands. A light green coloured demonic-power.
“Ara ara. So Asia-chan has talent in using demonic-powers after all.”
Asia’s cheeks flushed after Akeno-san gave her a compliment.
I on the other hand is the complete opposite. No matter what, I can't do it. I somehow made a really small sphere of demonic-power, it’s the size of a grain of rice.
............Well, if Asia can get stronger then that’s fine.
I-I have my Sacred Gear anyway.
“Now let's change your demonic-power into fire, water and lightning. You can make this by imagining it, however, it will be easier for beginners to actually move fire and water using their demonic-power.”
Akeno-san sends her demonic-power into the water inside the water bottle.
The water formed into a spike and ripped the water bottle from the inside.
Incredible.
“Asia-chan, I want you to copy what I just did next. Ise-kun, I want you to continue concentrating on your demonic-powers. The source of demonic-power is imagination. Anyway it’s important to materialize what you imagined.”
Hmm. Imagining huh. To materialize what you imagine in your head......
“It may be easier to materialize what you are good at and what you always imagine more quickly.”
That’s what you say, Akeno-san. It's not like I--
Hmm? I see. Something I always think about huh. Ah, then does that mean that wild idea of mine is also possible?
“Akeno-san, do you have a minute?”
If I can make something I always think about into reality......
I think this idea of mine is great!
Akeno-san’s face goes blank after she hears my idea. Then she smiles at me while saying, "Ufufu, that sure is something you would come up with, Ise-kun”.
Oh! It may be possible.
Akeno-san went back to the mansion. She brings something and puts it in front of me.
--She brought loads of onions, carrots, and potatoes.
They are the ingredients for our dinner.
“Now then, Ise-kun. During our stay here, I want you to strip all of these off with your demonic-power.”
Ah, I understand what Akeno-san is trying to say and what she wants me to do.
This may take a while….
Not far away, in another cleared section of the estate grounds, Koneko-chan was waiting for me when Akeno-san finally declared that I had humiliated enough produce for one day.
She stepped forward the moment I approached.
No greeting.
No smile.
Just a small, brutal person with fists and judgment.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
Then she hit me.
Training with Koneko-chan was less “martial instruction” and more “discovering in ever more creative ways how many directions a human-shaped body can be knocked from.” She was efficient, merciless, and so much faster than her size should have allowed that after the first five exchanges I stopped thinking in full sentences and started thinking in survival.
Somewhere in the distance, I was dimly aware of Buchou supervising intervals of everything like a queen of suffering.
Across the yard, I caught sight of Kusari-san once.
She wasn’t with us.
She was off to one side with Buchou and Akeno-san at different points, working through smaller, quieter things. No big flashy spells. No dramatic attacks. Just repeated, precise magical attempts that seemed to frustrate her more the more controlled they were.
Buchou said something to her once.
Kusari-san nodded at once.
Again: too fast.
Then she lifted one hand, focused on a point in the air, and tried something that looked strange appeared in the air.
The magic flashed wrong and dissipated.
Kusari-san’s expression didn’t change, but her ears flattened slightly and one hand rose very briefly toward her temple before she forced it back down.
A headache, maybe.
Or backlash.
Something about that stuck too.
Then Koneko-chan swept my legs out from under me and I rejoined the immediate suffering of my own existence.
“Focus,” she said.
“I am focusing!”
“Not enough.”
“You’re hitting me while saying that!”
“Yes.”
The peerage had no mercy.
Absolutely none.
By the time the sun had dropped lower and the first block of training finally eased, my whole body felt like it belonged to someone else and that someone hated me.
The main room of the house had turned into a temporary recovery zone. Towels. Water. Bruised dignity. Asia moving between people with quiet concern. Akeno-san looking far too refreshed for someone who had spent the afternoon encouraging my imagination. Yuuto-san drinking tea like she hadn’t dismantled my self-respect in the open air. Koneko-chan sitting as though she had not just beaten years off my life.
And Kusari-san sat a little apart, one hand lightly pressed beneath one eye as if trying to hide it by making the motion small enough not to count.
I watched her for a second too long.
Then she noticed.
Of course she did.
Her hand dropped at once.
I frowned. “Headache?”
The room did not stop exactly.
But I felt a few small shifts.
Asia glanced over immediately. Akeno-san’s eyes slid sideways. Koneko-chan’s gaze lifted from her cup. Yuuto-san looked at Kusari-san without making it obvious.
Kusari-san’s expression stayed exactly the same.
“Nothing significant,” she said.
Wrong answer.
I was learning to tell.
Before I could say that aloud, Buchou did it for me.
“That is not what he asked.”
Silence.
Kusari-san lowered her eyes. “...My eyes ache.”
That was the first time she’d admitted something that directly without dressing it up as utility.
And because it was so small, it hit harder.
Buchou set her cup down. “Veil’s Sight.”
“Yes, Buchou.”
“Explain.”
Kusari-san hesitated.
Then, slowly, “Using it too deeply causes pressure behind the eyes. If I push longer, it becomes a headache. Worse if I try to maintain it while casting.”
Akeno-san hummed softly. “A ugly price for a wonderful gift.”
Kusari-san did not respond to that.
Buchou folded her hands. “Then learn to choose when to use it. You are not allowed the luxury of wasting your own sight.”
“Yes, Buchou.”
There it was again.
That quick, practiced compliance.
Still, something had changed.
This time she had answered first.
Honestly.
Even if Buchou had to drag it out by force of expectation.
I looked away before anyone could notice I was thinking too hard about that.
Bad enough to get destroyed all day.
Worse to start caring how the weird fox girl talked about her own pain.
This training trip was doing something horrible to all of us.
The rest interval did not last long.
Of course it didn’t.
Buchou gathered us again before dinner and laid out the evening review: what had gone badly, what had gone worse, and which of my failures deserved their own category.
It was, somehow, more exhausting than being punched.
But by the time she was done, the shape of the training had become clearer.
This wasn’t just “get stronger.”
It was:
stop panicking
stop wasting movement
stop wasting power
stop pretending emotional intensity counted as readiness
learn what your role actually is
That made it worse.
Because it meant I couldn’t even resent it properly.
It all made sense.
Dinner came after that.
Thank God.
And while everyone settled, talked, and breathed like people who had survived the first day of a planned execution, I looked around the table and realized something weird had happened without me noticing when.
The mountain house didn’t feel like a place we had arrived at anymore.
It felt like a place we were already being shaped inside.
Buchou at the head of the table, no longer cornered, but directing.
Akeno-san beside her, smiling and dangerous.
Koneko-chan silent and exact.
Yuuto-san composed.
Asia gentle and trying.
Kusari-san pale, quiet, watching everything, one hand resting too carefully near her cup.
And me—
Bruised, humiliated, hungry, furious, and still not even close to ready.
Ten days.
That was what kept circling back.
Ten days to become enough.
I looked down at my food.
Then across the table.
Kusari-san was listening to Buchou talk through tomorrow’s schedule with that same intent -‘; cutting stillness she always had. Her ears still and attentive, tail calmly draped off her chain.
She didn't seem detached.
Not exactly.
The way she still tensed bothered me for reasons I couldn’t fully name.
Then Akeno-san caught me looking and smiled in a way that promised tomorrow’s training would be even worse.
Yeah.
I was doomed.