Irina…
how do I say this…?
I just wanted someone to talk to.
You know how dangerous our mission is.
Xenovia shoved her palm flat on the table and laughed a little too loudly.
She charged into fights like a bull, but she knew the odds.
Even with a Holy Sword at her side, the name written in scripture could still undo her.
She was young; the thought of carrying that weight for years made her chest ache.
Her fearless front against devils was only a mask.
There was no time to relax—especially after their partner had been tricked and their money wasted on a fake painting of Saint Peter.
Still, talking with Rafsan made the weight on her shoulders feel a little lighter.
He wasn’t soft with his words; he’d scolded her once or twice.
But he spoke as if he were an older brother.
Somehow, she found herself relaxing around him.
“Xenovia…” Irina whispered, and a tear slipped free.
The smile slipped from Xenovia’s face.
She was afraid too—of dying before she could marry, before she could have children, before she could be ordinary.
“You…
why are you crying?” Xenovia asked.
“You are the one crying!” Irina shot back.
“No, I’m not!” “Your eyes are red.
Look at yourself!” “I said I’m not crying!” They jabbed at each other, their voices high and ridiculous.
Rafsan leaned back and watched, letting the noise run its course.
“Do you feel better now?” he asked after a while.
“…A little,” Xenovia admitted.
Irina sniffed and offered him a small, grateful smile.
“Thank you for the parfait.
Sorry for troubling you.” “Then help me pray to the Lord so I’ll become rich,” Rafsan said, deadpan.
It was such an ordinary wish that Irina almost forgot he was a devil.
“We will,” they said together, nodding.
With nothing urgent to do, they talked.
The girls did most of the talking while Rafsan answered only when they asked him something.
“So you’re on an important mission from the Church to recover Excalibur—the Holy Sword that was stolen?” “Yes.” “Only the two of you?
No adults?” “No.” “Just us.” Were they trusted, or disposable?
Rafsan swallowed and watched the way their hands tightened around their cups.
To him, they looked like children the Church had sent to fight.
Still, they understood the danger and kept stepping forward.
He tapped his empty cup and steered the conversation.
“Do you two have parents?” “Parents?” they echoed.
Irina nodded.
“I do.” Xenovia shook her head.
“No.
I’m an orphan.
The Church raised me.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Xenovia said.
“What about you?” Rafsan pictured Rias for a moment.
“I have a wife.
We’re newlyweds,” he said simply.
“She’ll be sad if I don’t come back.” He glanced at Xenovia.
“You may be an orphan, but people care about you.
Shidou-san, for one.
So don’t give up.” His gaze moved between them.
“And don’t die.” Irina gave a small nod.
That was enough.
“…Thanks,” Xenovia murmured.
Rafsan blew out a short breath.
“Oh well…
I’m too nice for my own good.” He drew a folded paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table.
“For you.
Quarta.” “Huh?” Xenovia unfolded it; confusion sharpened into shock.
Irina’s hand flew to her mouth.
It was a Devil’s Summoning flier, stamped with the Gremory crest.
The man who had bought them parfaits, listened to their fears, and bickered with them was a devil.
Their jaws went slack.
A small smile tugged at Rafsan’s lips.
“I suppose I should introduce myself properly.
Rafsan Barbatos.
Heir to House Barbatos…
and husband of Rias Gremory.
I’m also the overseer assigned to this town.” “…Barbatos…
Gremory…” they repeated.
They knew the names—two of the prestigious houses among the Seventy-Two Pillars.
Rafsan looked at Xenovia once more.
“If you ever feel abandoned by your Lord…
summon me.” “I’ll do everything I can to help,” she said.
He paid the bill and stood.
“Wait!” Xenovia called, clutching the flier.
“Why…
why would you help us?” Rafsan paused.
For just a second, his usual indifference faded.
“I help people who’ve been deceived,” he said quietly, a faint, self-mocking twist at the corner of his mouth.
“Now I’ll be going.” “I hope we never meet again.” He raised a hand and left without looking back.
Irina couldn’t believe the gentle man they’d been talking to was a devil.
Xenovia traced the Gremory seal with her thumb, then folded the flier and slipped it into her pocket.
The line—”I help people who’ve been deceived.”—stayed with her long after he had gone.
Xenovia rested a hand on the folded flier in her pocket and said nothing.
After leaving those two, Rafsan headed to a shopping mall to buy some everyday clothes.
He wandered from store to store, casually browsing the racks.
People began whispering the moment they noticed him.
“Look at him…
he’s so handsome.
Is he an actor?” “Maybe a supermodel?” Rafsan sighed.
Damn…
this is why I hate crowded places.
He raised a hand to cover part of his face.
I’d better buy what I need and leave.
Nearby, a commercial film crew was filming an advertisement.
“You can’t be serious!” the director snapped.
“You’re his manager, and you can’t even make him show up?
I hate people who don’t take their work seriously.” “I-I’m sorry!” the manager said nervously.
His phone suddenly rang.
“Hello?…
Ah, he already left home?…
He’s on his way?…
Fine.” The manager lowered his phone.
“He says he’ll be here soon.” The director sighed in frustration.
“The commercial’s theme is a couple enjoying a date in a fashionable district.
If he doesn’t show up, we’ll have to find a replacement.” A beautiful young actress stepped closer.
“Director, did you call me?” “No, Shubham,” the director replied.
“Just wait a little longer.” Meanwhile, inside another clothing store, Rafsan compared several shirts.
Two girls approached him with bright smiles.
“Excuse me…
are you free?” “No,” Rafsan answered without looking at them.
“I’m busy.
And I’m married.” The girls exchanged embarrassed looks before hurrying away.
What a hassle, Rafsan thought, and he returned to choosing his shirt.
Rafsan paid for his clothes and left the store carrying several shopping bags.
The moment he stepped outside, someone shouted, “There he is!” A middle-aged man hurried toward him.
“Hello, young man.
I’m Keko Takamura, a director from Skyforge Films’ Japan branch.
Would you be interested in appearing in our commercial?” Rafsan blinked.
Skyforge Films?
That’s my company.
I know their headquarters are in America.
Looks like the Japan branch is doing well.
“Not interested,” Rafsan replied flatly.
Director Takamura froze.
“W-Wait…
at least hear me out—” “Director.” A woman’s voice cut him off.
Both men turned toward the speaker.
Shubham walked over.
“Oh, perfect timing,” Takamura said.
“Help me convince him.
Surely he won’t refuse a beautiful girl.” Rafsan stayed silent.
My wife is far more beautiful than her, he thought.
Before anyone could continue, another voice echoed across the mall.
“So…
are we ready to shoot now?” The crowd erupted.
“No way!” “That’s Hasashi Tokimura!” “The famous actor!” Hasashi walked over with a smug grin.
“So you’re the substitute?” he asked, looking Rafsan up and down.
“You’re handsome…
I’ll give you that.
But you’ll never be me.” Shubham stepped forward.
“Mr.
Tokimura, please don’t say things like that.” “Did I ask for your opinion?” Hasashi shot back.
“You’re just a nobody who got lucky acting with me.” He stepped forward and reached for Rafsan’s collar.
The instant his hand came close—Bang.
Rafsan’s punch landed squarely on Hasashi’s face.
Hasashi crashed to the floor.
Silence filled the mall.
Rafsan walked over and planted his foot on Hasashi’s face.
“You should’ve kept your hands to yourself.” He took out his phone and made a call.
The line connected immediately.
“Boss?” “Are you at headquarters?” Rafsan asked.
“Yes, boss.” “I want Hasashi Tokimura blacklisted from the entertainment industry.” “…Understood.” Then he looked back at Shubham, who had stood up for him.
“And there’s an actress named Shubham.
Promote her.
Make her the number-one actress in Japan if she has the talent.” “Understood.
I’ll contact the Japanese branch immediately.” The call ended.
Hasashi’s face turned pale.
Shubham stared at Rafsan in disbelief.
Director Takamura stood frozen.
Boss…?
The owner of Skyforge Films…?
Rafsan looked at Shubham and gave her a light pat on the shoulder.
“Keep working hard.” Without another word, he picked up his shopping bags and walked away, leaving behind a crowd too stunned to say a single word.
It really helps the story reach more readers.