3rd Person POV
[Dressing room]
Arto exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound almost lost under the sudden wave of excited chatter that swept through the foyer. Millicas was already tugging at Grayfia's sleeve asking about yukata colors, while Nami had dragged Koneko toward the staircase again, declaring she'd "find something that makes shorty look illegally cute."
He raised his free hand—the one not still linked with Albedo's—and made a small, subtle gesture. Void mana rippled outward in a thin, invisible sheet, washing over his face like cool water. The scars receded beneath the familiar glamour: pale gray skin smoothed to warm tan, sunken eyes lifted and brightened, jagged lines vanished beneath flawless restoration. In seconds, the handsome face most of Kuoh Academy knew was back—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, calm half-smile, blue flames once again bright and contained.
Only those who had just seen the truth—Rias, Akeno, Nami, Koneko, Robin, Grayfia, Albedo, Millicas—knew the mask was on again. Millicas blinked up at him, tilting his head. "Uncle Arto… you changed back?" Arto ruffled the boy's hair gently. "Yeah, kid. Some things are easier for people to see this way. But you know the real me now, right?"
Millicas nodded vigorously. "Yup! Still cool either way!" Rias stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly along the now-smooth line of Arto's jaw. "You don't have to hide it from us," she murmured. "Ever."
"I know." He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "But tonight's about the festival. Not about… this. Let's keep it light." Akeno giggles as she looped her arm through his free one. "Then let's get you dressed up, beloved. I want to see how devastating you look in a kimono."
Nami was already halfway up the stairs, Koneko tucked under her arm like luggage. "Last one to pick a kimono has to carry Millicas the whole parade!"Millicas cheered—"I want to be carried!"—and bolted after them.
The group swept upstairs in a cheerful, chaotic tide—Rias and Akeno dragging Arto between them, Robin following with her notebook already open to sketch yukata variations, Kiba offering quiet commentary on historical patterns, Grayfia gliding ahead to open the doors to the guest suite turned temporary fitting room.
Inside, Venelana's promised selection waited: racks of summer yukata and lightweight furisode in every color imaginable—crimson, sapphire, emerald, gold, soft lavender, deep indigo, even bold orange and sunny yellow. Obi sashes lay folded in neat rainbows, accessories (hairpins, fans, geta sandals) arranged on low tables.
Nami herself steps in the center like a pleased conductor, already holding up a deep crimson yukata patterned with black cranes for Rias. "CFO's intuition," she said with a wink. "This one screams you." Rias laughed and took it immediately. Grayfia moved to the side rack—selecting a classic black yukata with silver moon-and-wave motifs for herself, then—after a brief, considering pause—pulled a pure white one with subtle gold phoenix embroidery for Albedo.
Albedo accepted it with a delighted smile. "I've never worn human festival clothing before. This will be… novel." Nami beamed. "You'll look stunning. Both of you. Now—everyone strip! No modesty in here tonight." A chorus of laughter and mock protests followed as yukata began flying off hangers.
Arto—already being manhandled by Rias and Akeno toward a dark navy yukata with silver hawk feathers embroidered along the hem—looked helplessly at Robin. "Help?" Robin's extra hands were already holding up three different obi for him to choose from. "No," she said serenely. "This is character development."
Nami—half-dressed in a vibrant orange yukata patterned with white waves—cackled from behind a changing screen. "Boss in a yukata? This is going on my private album." Koneko—already in a soft cream yukata with tiny black paw-print accents—sat cross-legged on a cushion, watching the chaos with faint amusement. "…Cute."
Millicas ran between legs in his half-finished dragon yukata, waving a fan like a sword. "Uncle Arto! You look like a cool samurai!" Arto—finally managing to tie his own obi with Robin's extra-hand guidance—looked down at himself: dark navy, silver hawks, tall and scarred and somehow still carrying that quiet, dangerous grace even in festival wear.
He caught his reflection in a full-length mirror. And—for once—didn't flinch from it. Albedo stepped out from behind her own screen—white yukata with golden phoenixes flowing like living flame, hair pinned up with simple jade combs. She looked every inch the baroness she now was: elegant, deadly, radiant.
She walked straight to Arto—took his hand—and twirled once under his arm. "Well, husband?" she asked, voice teasing but eyes soft. "Do I pass?" Arto's scarred lips curved into a rare, full smile. "You pass." Rias emerged next—crimson yukata with black cranes, hair piled high with red lacquer pins.
Akeno followed—violet with silver lightning patterns. Nami strutted out in orange-and-white, already posing for selfies. Koneko—cream and black—looked quietly pleased. Robin—deep indigo with subtle book-and-feather motifs—gave a small, satisfied nod. Grayfia—black with silver moons—stood beside them all, somehow making the entire room feel more elegant just by existing.
Nami clapped her hands once—delighted. "Perfect. All of you. Now—festival awaits. Lanterns. Floats. Candy. Dancing. And one very special boy riding on his uncle's shoulders." Millicas cheered—already climbing up Arto's back again. "Yay! Let's go!"
[TImeskip: Brought to you by Millicas riding on Arto's shoulder]
By late afternoon, the mansion had become a whirlwind of silk, laughter, and last-minute adjustments. Everyone was dressed—kimono tied, obi knotted, geta sandals clicking on the wooden floors as people tested their balance. Millicas had chosen a tiny black yukata with fierce red dragons coiling up the sleeves; he kept flexing his arms like he was summoning fire. The adults had settled on coordinated but not identical looks—dark blues and silvers for the older generation, bolder reds and golds for the younger ones, with Albedo and Grayfia in matching midnight accents that subtly echoed the Atreides hawk crest.
Rias clapped her hands once—sharp, decisive. "Groups are set for maximum fun. No arguing." Group 1: Arto, Nami, Millicas Group 2: Robin, Albedo, Grayfia Group 3: Rias, Akeno, Kiba, Koneko Nami had already claimed Arto's arm again, grinning like she'd won a war. "Boss is mine for the night. No take-backs."
Rias rolled her eyes but didn't protest—her own plan was clearly already in motion. Arto knelt slightly so Millicas could scramble up onto his shoulders. The boy squealed in delight, tiny hands gripping Arto's hair like reins. "Ready, Uncle Arto?" Arto chuckled—low and warm—and stood smoothly, steadying the child with scarred hands on his ankles. "Ready, little knight."
Robin opened a portal—clean, violet-edged, stable. On the other side: the rooftop of a tall building in Akita city, overlooking the heart of the Kanto Matsuri. Lanterns already glowed in long swaying lines below, floats in the shape of massive paper lanterns bobbed through crowded streets, taiko drums thundered in rhythmic waves, and the air carried the mingled scents of grilled squid, sweet red-bean mochi, and summer night.
Millicas's eyes went enormous the moment they stepped through. "Wooooow!" He leaned so far forward Arto had to tighten his grip to keep him from toppling. "Look! The lanterns are huge! Like floating houses! And the drums—boom boom boom! Uncle Arto, can we go down there right now? Please?!"
Arto smiled—small, real—and adjusted Millicas so the boy had a better view. "Soon. Let's watch the first procession from up here first. Then we'll go down and join the crowd." Nami snapped a photo of the two of them—Arto in his dark charcoal yukata, Millicas perched high like a triumphant prince. "Perfect shot. This is going in the family album."
She linked arms with Arto again—possessive, triumphant. "Group 1 supremacy."
From the portal behind them, Robin, Albedo, and Grayfia stepped through—each in their chosen yukata, moving with quiet grace. Robin's navy komon was practical yet elegant; Albedo's crimson phoenix pattern seemed to flicker with inner fire; Grayfia's silver-moon black was understated power personified.
Robin glanced at the festival below—notebook already open. "Crowd density looks manageable. Good visibility from the main street." Albedo leaned on the rooftop railing beside Arto—golden eyes bright with curiosity. "Human festivals are… lively. I've never seen one like this."
Grayfia stood a step behind—watching Millicas with soft fondness. "The boy is glowing brighter than the lanterns." Rias's group emerged last—Rias in crimson phoenix furisode, Akeno in violet lightning silk, Kiba in simple black with silver trim, Koneko in blue cat-paw cotton.
Rias immediately took Millicas's waving hand. "Ready to see the real thing up close, little guy?" Millicas nodded so fast he nearly lost his balance on Arto's shoulders. "Yay! Lanterns! Floats! Candy!" Arto steadied him with one hand, then looked around at everyone—kimono-clad, laughing, ready. "Let's go."
He opened a second portal—this one at street level, hidden in a quiet alley just off the main festival route. One by one they stepped through—into the roar of taiko drums, the sway of paper lanterns, the smell of street food and summer sweat, the press of excited crowds.
Millicas squealed from Arto's shoulders—pointing everywhere at once. "Look! That float has a dragon! And that one's a castle! Uncle Arto—can we get cotton candy? And yakitori? And mochi? And—" Arto laughed—full and warm—and started walking, Nami still latched to his free arm, Millicas bouncing with every step. "Anything you want, kid."
Behind them, the others fanned out—Rias and Akeno already dragging Kiba and Koneko toward a food stall, Robin quietly sketching the lantern designs, Albedo and Grayfia walking close to Arto like silent guardians. The festival swallowed them whole—lantern light, drumbeats, laughter, color.
[Group 1]
The festival lights pulsed brighter as night fully settled over Akita, the streets now a living river of color and sound. Lanterns swayed in long, glowing chains above the crowds, casting warm pools of red and gold across faces, yukata hems, and the occasional drifting paper streamer. Taiko drums rolled in the distance like a heartbeat, while vendors called out their wares—takoyaki, yakisoba, candied apples—adding layers of savory and sweet to the air.
Millicas—still riding high on Arto's shoulders—suddenly went rigid, little hands gripping Arto's hair like reins. "Uncle Arto! Look! Look look look!" Arto followed the boy's pointing finger.
A cleared circle in one of the side plazas had been roped off with red-and-white tape. Local instructors—middle-aged men and women in simple happi coats—were guiding a group of children through the traditional Kanto pole-balancing game. Tall, slender bamboo poles (kanto) were topped with tiers of glowing paper lanterns, and the kids were learning to balance them on palms, shoulders, foreheads, even the crowns of their heads. Laughter and encouraging shouts rose every time a pole wobbled and was caught just in time.
Millicas bounced so hard Arto had to tighten his grip. "Can we do it? Please? I wanna try!" Arto glanced at Nami—orange yukata fluttering as she already had her phone out, camera ready. She grinned. "Boss, your nephew just issued a royal decree. You gonna say no to that face?"
Arto chuckled—low, warm—and adjusted Millicas so the boy could slide down. "Wouldn't dream of it." Millicas hit the ground running—tiny dragon yukata flapping—straight toward the nearest instructor, a sturdy middle-aged man with a kind face and a happi coat embroidered with the festival crest. The man—name tag reading Yoshida—looked down in surprise as a small red-haired boy skidded to a stop in front of him.
"Excuse me, mister! Can you teach me how to balance the pole? Please?" Yoshida laughed—gentle, delighted—and knelt to Millicas's level. "Well now, that's some enthusiasm! Of course, young man. Let's start with the basics."
Arto and Nami found a spot just outside the roped area—close enough to watch, far enough not to crowd. Nami immediately switched her phone to video mode. "Recording for posterity," she whispered. "And blackmail material later."
Arto huffed a laugh but didn't argue. Yoshida handed Millicas a child-sized pole—three tiers of small paper lanterns glowing softly orange. He showed the boy how to grip it first—palm flat, fingers spread for balance—then demonstrated the slow lift. "Keep your eyes on the top lantern," Yoshida instructed. "Feel the weight shift. Breathe. Don't fight it—guide it."
Millicas listened with fierce concentration—tongue poking out slightly between his lips. First attempt: the pole wobbled wildly at knee height. Yoshida caught it gently. "Again. Slower this time." Second attempt: steadier—up to waist height before tipping. Third: shoulder height. Fourth: forehead.
By the fifth try, Millicas had it balanced on his palm—arm straight, pole steady, lanterns glowing like a tiny tower of fire above him. Yoshida clapped once—genuine surprise in his voice. "Excellent! Most kids take half the night to reach that. You've got natural balance, son."
Millicas beamed—proud, flushed—and immediately tried to transfer the pole to his shoulder. Then to his forehead. Then—cheekily—to the crown of his head. The other children around him—some older, some younger—stopped what they were doing to watch. A few clapped. One little girl whispered to her friend: "He's so cool…"
Millicas—now the center of attention—didn't hesitate. He hopped down from the instructor's small demonstration platform and started helping. "Here—hold your hand flatter," he told a boy struggling at waist height. "Eyes up, not down," he coached a girl whose pole kept tipping sideways. "Like this—slow breath," he demonstrated to a shy younger child.
Yoshida watched with open amusement and pride. "This one's a natural teacher too," he said to Arto and Nami. "You've got a good kid there." Nami leaned against Arto's side—phone still recording—voice soft. "He's not even ours and I'm about to cry from cuteness overload."
Arto watched Millicas move from child to child—patient, encouraging, completely unafraid to show off what he'd just learned—then pass the knowledge on without a hint of ego. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
Millicas caught them watching and ran back—pole still balanced perfectly on his open palm. "Look! I did it! And I helped everyone else too!" Arto knelt—bringing himself to the boy's level. "You did amazing, little knight. And you helped everyone else shine brighter. That's the best part."
Millicas's grin was blinding. "Can we keep going? I wanna try with two poles!" Nami laughed—already waving Yoshida over. "Double poles? Let's see it, kid." The instructor grinned—clearly charmed—and fetched two more child-sized poles.
[TImeskip: Brought to you by chibi Millicas balancing 3 lantern poles]
The festival clearing pulsed with energy—drums thundering, flutes soaring, vendors shouting, lanterns swaying on their towering poles like glowing constellations. But in the small roped-off training zone, a pocket of focused calm had formed around Millicas.
The red-haired boy—still in his dragon-pattern yukata—was currently crouched beside a pretty blonde girl about his age. She wore a soft pink yukata with white cherry blossoms, her golden hair tied up in a simple ponytail that bounced every time she wobbled. The bamboo pole trembled on her open palm; she bit her lip in concentration.
Millicas—patient, serious, every inch the tiny gentleman—gently adjusted her wrist. "Keep it loose here," he said, voice clear and earnest. "And look straight ahead, not at the pole. It helps. Like this." He demonstrated again—pole perfectly vertical on his own palm, steady as stone.
The girl tried once more. Wobble… Wobble… Steady. Her eyes went wide. "I did it!" Millicas beamed—bright, proud, no trace of smugness. "See? You're super good at it!"
From the edge of the zone—leaning against a wooden barrier—Nami nudged Arto's shoulder hard enough to make him grunt. "Boss," she hissed, voice dripping with mock outrage, "what the hell did you teach that kid? He's out here rizzing girls like it's his day job."
Arto blinked—then immediately went into full protest mode. "I didn't teach him anything like that! I don't even know how to 'rizz' girls! I'm the last person qualified to teach pickup lines!" Nami pointed—dramatic, accusatory—straight at Millicas.
"Look at him! Guiding her wrist so gently. Looking at her like she hung the moon. Bowing when he talks. That's exactly how you treat girls. Knightly. Noble. 'My lady, allow me to assist.' You're dying inside right now and you know it."
Arto opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "That's not rizzing," he said, voice rising in desperate defense. "That's manners! Etiquette! Any decent man should have it! I don't want Millicas growing up into some douchebag flexing power like Riser Phenex. That kid has potential no one can even imagine—his mother's ice magic, his father's Power of Destruction, and who knows? Maybe he even inherited Gremory's Future Vision. If he's going to have that much strength, he needs to learn how to use it right. Respect. Kindness. Helping without expecting anything. That's all I taught him."
Nami's grin turned positively evil. "Uh-huh. And look at him now—guiding her carefully, smiling like a little prince, being all knightly and noble. That's exactly what you do. You're rizzing without knowing you're rizzing, and you taught him how to do the same."
Arto pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not— I don't— That's not—" Inside the zone, Millicas had just helped the blonde girl lower her pole safely. She beamed at him—cheeks pink. "Thank you so much! You're really good at this. Is there… anything I can do to pay you back?"
Millicas blinked—then bowed slightly at the waist, polite and perfect, just like Arto had once shown him. "You don't have to pay me back," he said earnestly. "But… if it's okay, may I know your name? That would be more than enough."
Arto—watching from the barrier—felt his soul leave his body. Nami burst out laughing so hard she had to brace herself against his shoulder, phone already recording. "Oh my gods—boss, he's you! Word for word! Look at him bowing! Look at her blushing! He's eleven and already smoother than you'll ever be!" Arto groaned—face burning. "I didn't teach him to flirt. I taught him manners."
"Same difference when you're that cute," Nami wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "He's out here collecting hearts and he doesn't even know it." The blonde girl blushed deeper—golden hair catching lantern light—then smiled shyly. "My name is Kunou."
Millicas beamed—bright, innocent, proud. "Nice to meet you, Kunou! I'm Millicas!" Kunou giggled—soft, delighted—and gave a little curtsy in return. Arto buried his face in his hands. Nami—still recording—leaned against him, shaking with laughter. "Boss… your nephew is going to be unstoppable. You created a monster."
Arto peeked through his fingers—watching Millicas help another kid balance her pole, Kunou standing close, smiling up at him like he'd hung the moon. "…Yeah," he muttered. "I think I did." Millicas tilted his head up at Kunou, still balancing the lantern pole on his palm with impressive focus for an eleven-year-old. "Who'd you come here with?" he asked, voice bright and curious.
Kunou's cheeks went a little pinker under the lantern glow.
"My mother," she answered shyly. "She's over there—near the big red float."
Millicas's eyes followed where she pointed—then lit up.
"I'm here with my uncle and aunty! Come on, I'll introduce you!"
Before Kunou could protest, he carefully lowered his pole, took her hand, and tugged her gently toward the edge of the training zone. Arto and Nami—watching from the barrier—automatically started walking after them, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to intervene if needed.
Nami's steps slowed first. Then stopped completely. Her face drained of color so fast Arto actually felt the shift in her grip on his arm. "Nami?" he asked, frowning. "What's wrong?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were locked on the elegant blonde woman standing near the red float—long golden hair flowing down her back, fox ears twitching faintly above her head, nine fluffy tails swaying behind her in a slow, graceful fan. She wore a traditional kimono in deep crimson and gold, the kind reserved for nobility, and her presence radiated quiet, regal power even from this distance.
Nami's voice came out small—almost a whisper. "I thought… I thought this was a different blonde little youkai named Kunou." She swallowed. "But no. It's the blonde little youkai Kunou." Arto blinked. "Youkai?"
Nami's grip on his arm tightened to the point of pain. "Boss. That's Yasaka. The Yasaka. Leader of the youkai faction in Kyoto. Nine-tailed fox. One of the most powerful beings in the supernatural world outside the biblical factions. And Millicas is currently holding hands with her daughter."
Arto's eyes snapped forward. Millicas—oblivious—had already reached Yasaka. He released Kunou's hand long enough to execute a perfect, courtly bow—exactly the way Arto had once shown him: back straight, head lowered respectfully, voice dropping to a lower, more formal register. "Good evening, ma'am. My name is Millicas Gremory. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Yasaka's golden eyes widened for a fraction of a second—then softened into warm amusement. She reached down, gentle fingers patting Millicas's red hair. "What lovely manners," she said, voice rich and melodic. "You're the very image of your father, yet somehow even cuter. Sirzechs was always charming, but never this charming." Millicas blinked up at her—surprised. "You know my daddy?"
Yasaka smiled—warm, knowing. "We've met a few times. He was lovely. But you, little prince… you're even lovelier." She straightened, tails swaying gently behind her. "I'm Yasaka. Kunou's mother. And I'm delighted to see my daughter has already made such a fine new friend on her first visit here."
Kunou's face went scarlet. She waved her hands frantically. "M-Mama! It's not like that! We were just balancing poles!" Millicas—unfazed—reached out and took Kunou's hand again. "Do you wanna be friends?" he asked simply.
Kunou stared at their joined hands—then at Millicas's earnest face—then nodded shyly. "…Yes. I'd like that."
Millicas tugged Kunou's hand excitedly, pulling her straight toward Arto and Nami with the unstoppable momentum only an eleven-year-old on a sugar high can muster. "Uncle Arto! Aunty Nami! This is Kunou!" he announced proudly, as though he'd personally discovered her in the crowd.
Kunou—golden ponytail bouncing—stopped a step behind Millicas, suddenly shy under the attention. She clasped her hands in front of her pink yukata and gave the tiniest, most adorable bow imaginable, cheeks flushing the same soft color as her cherry-blossom pattern. "H-hello… Millicas's uncle… and aunty…" she mumbled, barely audible over the festival drums, eyes fixed on her own geta sandals.
Nami's eyes instantly turned into sparkling hearts. "Oh my gods," she whispered, clutching Arto's sleeve so hard he winced. "New favorite. New favorite right now. Move over, Koneko-chan—there's a new queen on the cute-creatures list." Arto—ever the gentleman—returned Kunou's bow with a respectful nod, scarred hands loose at his sides. "Thank you for keeping Millicas company tonight," he said gently. "It means a lot to him—and to us."
Kunou peeked up at him through her lashes, blush deepening, then nodded rapidly. Before anyone could say more, Millicas's nose twitched. "Takoyaki!" he cried, pointing across the lane at a stall where steam rose in fragrant clouds from sizzling iron griddles. "I haven't had any yet! Kunou, do you want some?!"
Kunou's eyes lit up. "Y-yes please!" Millicas grabbed her hand again and they were off—two tiny yukata-clad missiles darting toward the stall. Arto and Nami exchanged one look—then hurried after them. The crowd parted naturally around Yasaka.
Even with her nine tails hidden and her fox ears glamoured away, the air around her still carried weight—like gravity had decided to pay special attention to this one spot. Her crimson-and-gold kimono moved with her like liquid flame; her golden eyes were calm, regal, and far too knowing for someone standing beside a takoyaki stall.
Behind her—half a step back and to the right—stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark, modernized kimono jacket. Long black hair tied back in a low ponytail, two swords crossed at his hip, face calm but radiating the kind of quiet lethality that made nearby festival-goers instinctively give him a wider berth.
Arto felt the shift in pressure the moment they got within five meters—like walking into a room where someone had just drawn a blade. His shoulders stiffened instinctively; his hand twitched toward the void before he forced it still.
Nami's face had gone from lovestruck-aunt mode to pale-as-paper in under two seconds. She grabbed Arto's sleeve again—hard. "Boss," she hissed, voice barely audible. "That's Yasaka. The Yasaka. Kyoto youkai leader. Nine-tails. The real deal."
Arto swallowed once—then stepped forward. He stopped three respectful paces away and bowed—deep, courtly, exactly the way he'd taught Millicas. "Lady Yasaka," he said, voice steady despite the sudden tightness in his chest. "I'm Aruto Abyga. It's an honor." He kept his eyes lowered just enough—polite, non-challenging.
Yasaka regarded him for a long moment—golden gaze sweeping from his face to the boy now tugging her daughter toward the takoyaki line, then back again. Then she smiled—warm, amused, faintly approving. "Aruto Abyga," she echoed softly. "Millicas speaks highly of his uncle."
She inclined her head in return—shallow but genuine. "I am Yasaka. And this is my bodyguard, Shimotsuki Ryuma." Ryuma gave the barest nod—silent, watchful, hand resting lightly on one sword hilt. Arto straightened slowly. "I apologize if Millicas was too forward. He's… enthusiastic."
Yasaka laughed—a rich, melodic sound that somehow made the surrounding festival noise fade for a second. "Not at all. Kunou has been lonely lately. She rarely leaves the castle grounds. Seeing her make a friend so quickly… it warms this mother's heart."
Behind the two children happily munching takoyaki—Millicas with sauce smeared across his cheek, Kunou giggling as she carefully blew on her bite—Arto and Nami exchanged a single, loaded glance. The air around Yasaka had thickened the moment she noticed their attention. Her golden eyes—calm, ancient, unreadable—locked onto them with the quiet certainty of someone who had already seen through every possible lie they might tell.
She tilted her head slightly, nine tails hidden but their phantom weight pressing against the atmosphere. "You know what I want to ask, don't you?" Her voice was soft, almost polite, but the question carried steel beneath silk. Arto took a slow, deep breath—chest rising and falling visibly—before answering. "I don't think I do, my lady."
Yasaka's smile never reached her eyes. "Your involvement with the Gremory clan," she said, tone even but unyielding. "You must hold a certain position to be this close to Millicas. To take him into the human world. To have his parents—Sirzechs Lucifer and Yelena Lucifuge—place full faith in two humans of all people."
The words landed like stones in still water. Nami's fingers tightened on Arto's sleeve. Arto felt the faint tremor in her grip—then the subtle shift as she straightened her spine. Shimotsuki Ryuma—silent until now—moved half a step closer to Yasaka's shoulder. His hand rested on the hilt of one sword. Not threatening. Yet. But the message was unmistakable: liars would not leave this conversation upright.
Nami spoke first—voice steady despite the slight pallor still clinging to her cheeks. "About your question, my lady," she began, dipping her head in a respectful half-bow. "Aruto and I are senior staff of the Gremory clan. I handle finance—investments, cash flow, generational wealth planning. He works in R&D—innovation, magic-tech integration, the kind of things that keep the clan ahead of the curve."
She met Yasaka's gaze directly—calm, unflinching. "Our families made pacts generations ago. We sold our souls for power, protection, opportunity. We've completed several high-tier missions for the clan—sensitive ones. The kind that earn trust from the Lord and Lady themselves. Enough trust that when Millicas wants to visit the human world… they allow us to accompany him."
Arto stepped forward half a pace—placing himself slightly between Nami and Ryuma's swords. "We're still human," he continued quietly. "But we received the ageless method from the Gremory clan as a reward for our service. It maintains our youth so we can continue serving without the limitations of mortality. That's all."
Yasaka studied them both—long and silent. Her golden eyes flicked to Millicas—still feeding Kunou another takoyaki bite, both children oblivious to the conversation—and back again. Then she smiled—small, almost approving. "A reasonable answer," she said. "And one that aligns with what little I've heard of the Gremory clan's inner workings."
She glanced at Ryuma. The swordsman relaxed—hand falling away from his hilt. Yasaka turned her gaze back to Arto. "You carry yourself like someone who has seen more than most humans ever will. And yet you bow like a courtier. Interesting." Arto inclined his head again—deeper this time. "I serve the Gremory clan. Courtesy is part of the position."
Yasaka laughed softly—warm, genuine. "Indeed." She looked at Kunou once more—her daughter now laughing as Millicas tried (and failed) to balance a takoyaki stick on his nose. "My daughter has made a friend tonight," she said quietly. "A rare thing for her. I would like them to keep in touch—if Millicas's guardians permit it."
Arto didn't hesitate. "They'll be friends as long as they want to be," he said simply. "Millicas doesn't make friends lightly. When he does… they last." Yasaka's smile warmed. "Then we have an understanding."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Yasaka holding chibi Kunou in her arms]
The festival streets were alive with color and sound—lanterns swaying overhead, vendors calling out prizes, children laughing as they darted between stalls. Millicas and Kunou—still holding hands—suddenly stopped dead in front of a ring-toss booth.
A massive red dragon plushie hung from the top prize rack—plump, sparkly-eyed, clearly the star attraction. The stall owner, a wiry man with a practiced grin, leaned on the counter. "Three rings for a hundred yen! Knock over the bottles, win the prize!"
Millicas's eyes went huge. "Uncle! Aunty! I want that dragon!" Nami was already reaching for her wallet before Arto could even blink. "On me, kids," she said with a grin. "Go nuts. Play until your arms fall off."
Millicas cheered and bounded forward—Kunou trailing shyly behind him. The stall owner handed Millicas three wooden rings with a wink. "Easy game, easy win. Just knock the bottles over!" Arto and Nami exchanged a look. Nami leaned close to Arto and muttered: "Rigged. The bottles are weighted at the bottom. Most kids can't even knock one over."
Arto watched Millicas line up his first throw—small tongue poking out in concentration. "He's strong. And smart. He'll figure it out." First ring—Millicas threw too softly. It bounced harmlessly off the top bottle. Second ring—he adjusted his stance, watched the way the previous ring had bounced, then threw again. This time it clipped the neck of the center bottle. The bottle wobbled… wobbled… then toppled.
The stall owner's grin slipped. Third ring—Millicas tilted his head, studied the remaining bottles like they were a puzzle, then threw with perfect control. It hit the base of the last bottle at just the right angle. The bottle rocked, teetered, and fell.
The stall owner stared. The small crowd of kids and parents around the booth burst into cheers. Millicas pumped both fists. "I did it! I got the dragon!" The stall owner—looking mildly shell-shocked—unhooked the massive plushie and handed it over. "Kid… you're a natural. Take it. You earned it."
Millicas hugged the dragon—almost as big as he was—then turned and held it out to Kunou. "Here," he said simply. "I want you to have this. So you can remember me and today we became friends." Kunou's eyes went wide. "But… but you won it…"
Millicas smiled—bright, earnest, completely without guile. "I can win another one next time. But this one is special. It's from tonight. When we met. And when we played together." Kunou stared at the dragon—then at Millicas—then slowly reached out and took it. She hugged it tight against her chest—cheeks flaming red. "Thank you, Millicas…"
She looked around frantically—eyes scanning stalls—then spotted something. "Wait here!" She darted off—still clutching the dragon—toward a nearby plushie claw machine. Arto and Nami watched her go. Nami leaned against Arto's shoulder—voice soft. "Your nephew just rizzed a nine-tailed fox princess with a stuffed dragon. I'm framing this memory."
Kunou returned moments later—clutching a yellow fox plushie almost as big as she was. Its fur was soft golden, eyes big and round, tiny red ribbon tied around its neck. She held it out to Millicas—shy, hopeful. "This… this is for you. So you can remember me too." Millicas's face lit up brighter than the lanterns. "It's a fox! Like you!" He took it carefully—hugged it tight—then looked up at Kunou with pure, uncomplicated joy. "Thank you! I love it!"
Kunou blushed harder—if that was even possible—and hid half her face behind her new dragon plushie. Arto and Nami watched the exchange—both smiling helplessly. Nami leaned closer to Arto, whispering just loud enough for him to hear over the festival noise. "My boy… you've officially earned my love, Millicas. This little relationship could turn a few shipments of mana-stabilizing machines into a full market."
Arto turned to her—genuinely surprised. "Wait… Kyoto ordered magic-tech… from us?" Nami's grin turned positively predatory. "Yes. How do you think I know Lady Yasaka's existence? You should know mana flows in Kyoto are extremely unstable—so much so that Lady Yasaka must remain in her castle almost all the time to stabilize the entire energy flow of the city… until us."
Yasaka—standing a respectful distance away but clearly within earshot—turned her head slightly. Her golden eyes met Arto's and Nami's with calm amusement. "Now that you mention it," she said, voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd noise, "I still need to thank you properly for those machines. It's the reason I could be here with Kunou today."
She inclined her head—graceful, regal, but genuine. "The mana stabilizers you provided have allowed me to leave the castle for the first time in decades without risking a city-wide surge. Kunou has never seen a human festival before tonight. She's been… very happy."
Kunou peeked out from behind her dragon plushie—still blushing, but nodding vigorously. "It's true! Thank you, Millicas's uncle! And aunty!" Millicas puffed out his chest. "Uncle Arto makes the best machines! He's super smart!" Arto rubbed the back of his neck—awkward under the sudden attention. "That's the effort of the entire R&D division, I'm merely a scientist, there is nothing much to talk about when it's me alone" Arto gestures silently to Millicas to stop praising him because the boy might risk saying out loud classified information.
Millicas puffed out his chest even further, clearly proud to be the nephew of someone so impressive, but Arto's subtle gesture—two quick fingers pressed to his own lips—registered instantly. The boy's eyes flicked to his uncle's face, then widened in sudden understanding.
He clamped his mouth shut mid-sentence. Then—without missing a beat—he pivoted like a tiny diplomat. "But it's not just Uncle Arto! The whole R&D division is super cool! They have big rooms full of glowing screens and machines that go bzzzzt and whirr and sometimes boom—but only the good kind of boom! They make things that help everyone, like… like magic tools that keep bad stuff from happening! And they're all really smart and nice and they let me visit sometimes and draw on the whiteboards when no one's looking!"
Kunou's eyes went huge—sparkling with pure, childlike wonder. "Really? Machines that go boom? The good kind?" Millicas nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Uncle Arto says the good booms are the ones that help people. Like… fireworks! But science fireworks!"
Yasaka's lips curved into a soft, amused smile as she watched her daughter hang on Millicas's every word. "It seems Kyoto's mana stabilizers are not the only impressive things coming out of that division," she said, voice warm but carrying just enough weight to remind everyone she was still listening. "Perhaps I should arrange a formal tour one day… for diplomatic purposes, of course."
Arto bowed his head slightly—respectful, cautious. "We would be honored, Lady Yasaka. I'll talk to the leader about that matter"
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto making a machine explode by typing a few settings]
The festival streets continued their lively pulse—lanterns swinging, vendors calling, children laughing—but Arto deliberately slowed his pace. Millicas and Kunou were several steps ahead, still chattering about cotton candy flavors and which float they wanted to see first. Nami stayed close to Arto, one arm linked with his, but her attention was split between the kids and the tall, silent figure walking just behind Yasaka.
Shimotsuki Ryuma.
Arto had felt it the moment they started walking together: the sword at Ryuma's hip wasn't just metal. It breathed. A low, living aura rolled off it—patient, predatory, like a beast curled in wait. Not hostile toward him… yet. But awake. Aware.
Arto matched Ryuma's stride—dropping back half a step until they walked side by side, Nami still on his arm but now quiet, sensing the shift. "Your sword," Arto said—voice low enough to stay between them. "It has a presence. I've never felt one quite like it."
Ryuma didn't turn his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Most don't notice. Fewer still speak of it." He rested one hand lightly on the black-wrapped hilt—almost a caress.
"Shusui," he said. "Heirloom of the Shimotsuki clan. Passed down through generations of warriors sworn to protect Kyoto. It has tasted the blood of invaders, youkai, devils, humans… whatever threatened the city or its lady. Now it is mine—to wield, and to keep the duty alive."
Arto's gaze lingered on the blade—still sheathed, yet somehow radiating intent. "It feels… hungry." Ryuma chuckled—low, rough, approving. "Perceptive. Shusui is alive in its own way. It remembers every battle. Every life it took. It chooses its wielder as much as the wielder chooses it."
He glanced sideways at Arto—eyes sharp, assessing. "You carry a blade too. I feel it. Not on your hip. Not in a sheath. Somewhere… else." Arto's lips curved—just a fraction. "Observant."
Without warning—without telegraphing—Ryuma's hand blurred. Shusui left its scabbard in a silver arc so fast the motion was invisible. Only the sound arrived first: a high, ringing clang that cut through festival noise like a guillotine.
Arto's own blade materialized in the same instant—half-pulled from a sudden tear in reality, void-black portal flickering open at his hip. The two swords met in perfect alignment—Shusui's edge biting deep into Arto's summoned steel, carving a visible gash along its length before stopping cold, held dead still by Arto's unmoving grip.
The entire motion had taken less than half a second. Nami spun around—face pale. Yasaka turned more slowly—calm, unsurprised. Millicas and Kunou—several meters ahead—didn't even notice, too busy debating whether chocolate or strawberry sauce was superior.
Ryuma stared down the length of his blade into Arto's calm blue eyes. Then he laughed—deep, genuine, rolling laughter that shook his broad shoulders. "I knew it," he said, voice rich with satisfaction. "You're no mere scientist."
He withdrew Shusui in a smooth, respectful arc—sheathed it with a soft click. "A warrior knows another warrior. And you… you're always ready. The way you summoned your blade—half-formed from nothing, no wasted motion. Unconventional. Effective. Beautiful, even."
Arto let his own sword dissolve back into the void—portal winking shut without a trace. "I prefer not to draw unless I have to," he said quietly. Ryuma's grin widened—sharp, approving. "Spoken like a true blade. Most men swing first and think later. You think first… and swing only when there is no other choice. Respect."
He stepped back—hand leaving his hilt completely. "But mark my words, Aruto Abyga… or whatever name you truly carry… Shusui remembers you now. If we ever cross blades in earnest, it will be a fight worth having." Arto inclined his head—respect returned. "I'd rather we never need to find out."
Ryuma laughed again—shorter this time. "Spoken like a wise man. Let us hope the world stays peaceful enough for that."
[TImeskip: Brought to you by Ryuma fighting Arto]
The fireworks were moments away from bursting across the night sky when Millicas and Kunou finally ran out of steam. The two children—cheeks flushed from sugar, excitement, and running between stalls—had collapsed into the arms of the nearest adults. Millicas was half-asleep on Arto's shoulder, cheek squished against the fabric of his yukata, tiny hands still clutching the yellow fox plushie like a lifeline. Kunou curled into an even tighter ball in Yasaka's arms, golden ponytail spilling over her mother's crimson sleeve, dragon plushie hugged to her chest.
The festival crowd had thinned slightly near the edges—most people drifting toward the best viewing spots for the finale—but the air still thrummed with anticipation. Arto shifted Millicas's weight gently, one hand supporting the boy's back. Nami walked beside him, her own arms free now that Koneko had rejoined Rias's group earlier.
Then the air changed. A subtle pressure—old, deep, amused—rolled over the street like fog off a river. Arto felt it first. His shoulders tensed instinctively. Nami felt it a half-second later—her playful expression vanishing as she grabbed the back of his neck and yanked his head down into a deep, reflexive bow.
"Boss," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Bow." Arto groaned low in his throat—half complaint, half resignation—but obeyed immediately.
Before them stood two figures. The first was tall, lean, radiating effortless menace wrapped in casual elegance. Long hair protruded outward from the back of his head in wild spikes—goldish-white at the top, fading to deep black at the bottom. A red cloak draped over a black kimono, zōri sandals on his feet. His face was young—almost boyish—but his eyes were ancient, amused, and far too sharp.
Behind him—half a step and to the right—stood another man: short, curly hair, fox ears twitching faintly, aura as heavy and lethal as Shimotsuki Ryuma's. Another bodyguard, another blade waiting to be drawn.
Nurarihyon tilted his head, red cloak shifting as he looked down at the bowed humans and the sleeping children. "Well now," he said, voice light but carrying the weight of centuries. "This is unexpected." His gaze settled on Yasaka. "Yasaka. You're here. In Kanto. At my festival." Yasaka met his eyes calmly—Kunou still asleep in her arms. "Surprised, old man?"
Nurarihyon's smile widened—sharp, fanged. "Concerned, more like. Kyoto's energy flow is a nightmare. You shouldn't be able to leave that castle for more than an hour without risking blackouts across half the city. And yet… here you are. With your daughter. Watching fireworks like any other mother."
He glanced at Millicas—curled against Arto's shoulder—then back at Yasaka. "You're leaving your people's safety… in the hand of him?" Yasaka's smile was small, serene. "Not anymore." She adjusted Kunou's weight slightly. "The instability is gone. Thanks to advancements from the Gremory clan."
Nurarihyon's eyes narrowed—then flicked toward Arto and Nami for the first time. He inhaled once—slow, deliberate—then exhaled through his nose. "Ah," he said softly. "The Gremory factor, I've heard of it, haven't had a chance to use it"
Arto remained bowed—head lowered, voice steady. "Aruto Abyga, my lord. Senior staff of the Gremory clan. R&D division." Nami—still gripping Arto's neck—managed a shaky bow of her own. "Nami. Finance. Same clan." Nurarihyon studied them both—long, unhurried. Then he laughed—low, rolling, genuinely amused. "Humans. Serving Gremory. Carrying the prince of Hell on one shoulder and walking beside the daughter of Kyoto's ruler on the other. And Yasaka herself calls your work 'advancements' instead of 'toys.'"
He shook his head. "The world really is changing." Yasaka inclined her head slightly. "The mana stabilizers have allowed me to leave the castle without consequence. Kunou has never seen a human festival before tonight. She's been… very happy."
Nurarihyon's gaze softened—just a fraction—as he looked at the sleeping children. "Children should have nights like this," he murmured. "Not all of us were so lucky." He turned back to Arto. "You. Scientist. You built those stabilizers?"
Arto kept his head lowered. "My division did. I contributed." Nurarihyon snorted. "Modest. I like that." He stepped closer—cloak whispering across the pavement. "Tell your Lord Gremory…I will send my representatives soon to talk about this...magic-tech soon, because this thing seems interesting to look into. Souichirou, make sure to add this to my schedule" The man behind him nods courtly "Yes, my Lord"
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat. Arto's eyes brightened—sharp, alert. Nami's face lit up like she'd just spotted a zero-interest loan in a sea of bad credit. Arto nudged her ribs with his elbow—subtle, urgent. Nami didn't need to be told twice.
She straightened instantly, slipping into full CFO mode—professional smile snapping into place, posture shifting from "awestruck tourist" to "predatory dealmaker" in under a second.
"Lord Nurarihyon," she said smoothly, dipping into a perfect half-bow without losing eye contact. "On behalf of the Gremory-Sitri joint R&D division, we'd be honored to host your representatives at the earliest convenience. We can prepare a full demonstration package—mana flow data from Kyoto's pre- and post-stabilizer periods, scalability projections, customization options for youkai-specific leyline interference, even trial units for select Kyoto districts at no upfront cost."
She paused—just long enough to let the offer land—then added with perfect timing: "We've already seen how transformative the technology has been for Lady Yasaka's domain. Extending similar stability to Kanto's youkai population… could open entirely new possibilities. Diplomatic, economic, defensive. Whatever your people need."
Nurarihyon studied her—then Arto—for a long moment. His smile widened—fanged, approving. "Sharp tongue. Sharper mind. You speak like someone who's counted more coins than most humans see in ten lifetimes."
He glanced at Yasaka—amused. "Your new allies are… persuasive." Yasaka inclined her head—small, regal. "They have proven reliable." Nurarihyon turned back to Arto and Nami. "Very well. My people will contact your people. Soon."
He stepped back—cloak swirling once more. "Enjoy the fireworks. And tell your Lord Gremory… Kanto does not forget favors. Or debts." With that, he vanished into the crowd—red cloak blending seamlessly with the festival lanterns until he was gone. Ryuma followed without a sound.
The air lightened instantly. Nami exhaled hard—then turned to Arto with a grin that could have cut diamonds. "Boss… we just landed Kanto youkai faction as a potential client..." she then turns to Yasaka and bows "My Lady, I am deeply gratitude for you vouching for us, and helping us advertise our products"
Yasaka shrugged one elegant shoulder—crimson kimono shifting like liquid flame. "Don't mention it, you two. Me being here is the proof of the quality of your products. I haven't received a single warning from home the entire night—no energy surges, no leyline tremors. That alone is worth more than any advertisement."
She looked down at Kunou—now fully asleep against her chest, golden ponytail spilling over Yasaka's arm, dragon plushie still clutched tight. "Now… where should we watch the fireworks? Kunou is getting harder and harder to wake up."
Yasaka smiled down at her daughter—soft, maternal, the regal aura around her easing into something warmer, more human. "Kunou, sweetheart… the finale is starting. You don't want to miss this." Kunou rubbed her eyes with one small fist, then looked up at the sky—already filling with anticipation. "Really…?"
Nami—still buzzing from the surreal encounter with Nurarihyon—did the same with Millicas. She gently shook the boy's shoulder where he rested against Arto. "Hey, little prince… wake up. Fireworks time. You've been waiting all night for this."
Millicas mumbled something incoherent, then lifted his head—cheek still creased from Arto's shoulder, eyes bleary but brightening instantly at the word "fireworks." "Fireworks…? Yay…"
Nami straightened—already scanning the crowd. "We can go back to the building top where our journey started, that place has a nice view." She turns to Arto like asking for permission. And he nods "Yeah, that place is great."
He then turns to Yasaka "What do you think, my lady?" Yasaka gave a small, regal nod—her crimson kimono shifting like liquid flame under the lantern light. "Very well. The rooftop will do nicely." She adjusted Kunou in her arms—the little girl now blinking sleepily, golden ponytail swaying as she rubbed one eye with a tiny fist.
Arto glanced at Nami, who was already moving—phone in one hand, mana signature flaring subtly at her fingertips as she prepared the portal spell they'd used earlier. "Everyone," Arto said into his own comm charm—voice calm but carrying clearly to the other groups scattered through the festival—"gather at our starting point on the rooftop. We have special guests joining us for the finale. Best behavior. Manners on full display."
A chorus of acknowledgments came back—Rias's excited "On our way!", Akeno's playful "We'll be perfect angels~", Kiba's quiet "Understood," and Koneko's single, solemn "Got it." Nami finished the portal weave—a vertical ripple of soft blue light opening right beside them, framing the familiar tiled rooftop they'd arrived on earlier. She gestured toward it with a flourish—professional smile firmly in place.
"After you, Yasaka-sama. We still have about ten minutes before the performance begins." Yasaka inclined her head—gracious, unhurried—and stepped through first. Ryuma followed half a heartbeat later—silent shadow at her back. Arto went next—Millicas now drowsily clinging to his neck, yellow fox plushie dangling from one small hand. Nami followed close behind, portal winking shut after them with a soft pop.
The rooftop was quiet—city lights sprawling below like scattered jewels, festival sounds rising in muffled waves. The other groups were already arriving: Rias and Akeno stepping out of their own portal hand-in-hand, Kiba and Koneko appearing a moment later, Robin materializing last with her notebook tucked under one arm.
The moment Rias spotted Yasaka—and the sleeping Kunou in her arms—her eyes widened. "Lady Yasaka," she said, dipping into a perfect, respectful bow. "It's an honor." Akeno followed suit—wings tucked neatly, smile warm but deferential. Kiba and Koneko bowed as well—quiet, precise.
Robin gave a small, elegant curtsy—extra hands folded neatly. Yasaka regarded them all—golden eyes sweeping the group with calm appraisal. "The pleasure is mine," she said. "Your clan has already done Kyoto a great service. Tonight… let us simply enjoy the view as friends."
Millicas—still half-asleep—lifted his head at the sound of Rias's voice. "Aunty Rias… fireworks soon?" Rias smiled—soft, maternal—and stepped closer. "Soon, little one. Very soon."
She looked at Kunou—still curled against Yasaka's chest—and her expression melted. "She's adorable." Yasaka's smile warmed.
Arto snapped his fingers once—void mana rippling outward in a subtle wave—and four thick, plush mattresses materialized on the rooftop tiles. Soft, wide, covered in dark silk with silver embroidery, each one large enough for three or four people to sit comfortably. Pillows and low blankets appeared beside them, ready for the night air.
"Lady Yasaka," Arto said quietly, gesturing toward one of the mattresses, "please have a seat. The performance is about to begin."
Yasaka inclined her head—gracious, unhurried—and lowered herself onto the nearest mattress with effortless poise. She arranged Kunou carefully in her lap, letting the little girl curl against her chest like a kitten. Then—without any ceremony—she released her glamour.
Fox ears unfurled from her golden hair—sharp, elegant, twitching once. Nine fluffy tails bloomed behind her in a slow, graceful fan—each one thick and luminous, shimmering with faint golden light. The tails shifted lazily, then curled protectively around Kunou and the empty space beside her.
She turned to Millicas—voice soft, inviting. "Come over, Millicas. Let us watch together." Millicas's eyes sparkled like twin stars. He looked up at Arto—seeking permission. Arto smiled—small, warm—and nodded once. "Go on, kid."
Millicas scampered over—bare feet pattering on the tiles—and climbed onto the mattress beside Yasaka. She lifted one fluffy tail like a blanket, draping it gently around his shoulders. Millicas giggled at the softness, snuggling closer, already half-leaning against her side as though he'd known her forever.
Rias, Akeno, Grayfia, and Albedo claimed the second mattress—Rias settling in the center, Akeno on her right with wings tucked neatly, Grayfia on her left in perfect posture, Albedo taking the end spot closest to Arto. They arranged themselves with the easy familiarity of people who had long since stopped competing for space and started sharing it.
Robin, Nami, and Koneko took the third mattress. Nami immediately pulled Koneko into her lap—arms wrapping around the smaller girl like a possessive koala. Koneko sighed—tiny, resigned—but didn't protest. She leaned back against Nami's chest, letting herself be cuddled, ears twitching faintly at every distant firework whistle.
Arto, Ryuma, and Kiba remained standing—three warriors instinctively keeping watch even in a moment of peace. Kiba stepped forward first—bowing deeply toward Ryuma with the respect of a swordsman addressing a legend. "Shimotsuki Ryuma," he said, voice steady and clear despite the festival noise around them. "I've heard much of you and Shusui. It's an honor to finally meet the blade—and the man—who have guarded Kyoto for so long."
Ryuma regarded him in silence for a long heartbeat—golden eyes under the lantern light sharp and unreadable. Then—without warning, without telegraphing—his hand blurred. Shusui left its scabbard in a silver arc so fast the motion vanished into afterimage. The blade sang a single, pure note as it sliced toward Kiba's throat.
Kiba reacted—Sword Birth already forming in his palm—but too slow. The edge stopped millimeters from his skin—perfectly controlled, not a hair's breadth closer. Kiba froze—breath catching in his chest. Ryuma held the pose for one long second—then withdrew the blade in a smooth, respectful arc, sheathing it with a soft click.
The swordsman laughed—deep, rolling, full of genuine approval. "Too relaxed tonight, boy," he said, voice rough but warm. "You've got speed. But not enough when your guard's down. Train harder. The next blade might not stop."
Kiba exhaled—shaky but grateful—and bowed deeper. "Thank you for the lesson, Master Ryuma." Ryuma stepped forward—clapped one heavy hand on Kiba's shoulder, firm enough to make the younger man stagger slightly. "You've got spirit," he said. "Skill still needs work, but spirit? Hard as steel. Most would've fainted after a greeting like that. You didn't even flinch."
He leaned in slightly—voice dropping so only Kiba could hear. "That tells me one of three things. Either you're a kid whose will's been honed through fire… or you're already expecting your own death. Regret, redemption, hopelessness—I don't know which. But I'd love it to be the first one. Because you've got potential."
Kiba's face flickered—something uneasy passing through his eyes like a shadow. Guilt. Memory. The old scars of his past that never quite healed. But he forced it down—quickly, practiced—and met Ryuma's gaze again. "I'll take that as high praise," he said quietly. "And I'll train harder."
Ryuma studied him another moment—then nodded once. "Good." He stepped back—hand falling away from Kiba's shoulder. "Keep that spirit sharp, boy. The world's still got plenty of blades waiting." Kiba bowed again—deeper this time. "I will."
The fireworks began in earnest—slow at first, a few tentative blooms of gold and crimson testing the dark canvas of the sky. Then the tempo built: sapphire waterfalls cascading into emerald spirals, violet crackling palms that burst into white-hot stars, red rings expanding like ripples in a pond of light. Each explosion rolled thunder across the rooftops, the sound vibrating through chests and bones alike.
Millicas and Kunou—curled together under the soft canopy of Yasaka's nine tails—clutched their plushies tighter. The dragon and the fox pressed cheek to cheek as the children stared upward with identical wide-eyed wonder. They'd both seen fireworks before—palace displays, controlled and distant—but never like this. Never with the wind carrying the smell of gunpowder and grilled squid, never with new friends beside them, never while wrapped in the warm, fluffy embrace of a mother who had finally been able to leave her castle.
Kunou whispered something in Millicas's ear—too quiet for anyone else to hear—and he giggled, nodding vigorously. Both children tilted their heads back farther, cheeks flushed from excitement and the reflection of every color.
On the mattress beside Yasaka, Grayfia and Albedo sat shoulder to shoulder—both women unusually still.
Grayfia's silver eyes reflected the bursts above her—each bloom painting her face in shifting hues. For centuries she had served, guarded, endured. Fireworks had been background noise at best, a fleeting luxury in a life defined by duty. Tonight… tonight she watched them as a free woman. No contract forced her here. No seal bound her. She had chosen this rooftop, this family, this moment. When a particularly bright gold chrysanthemum unfolded overhead, she exhaled—soft, almost inaudible—and the faintest smile touched her lips.
Albedo—white yukata glowing under the colored light—kept one hand resting lightly on the ring Arto had placed on her finger. The ruby caught every explosion, throwing tiny crimson stars across her skin. She too had seen fireworks in distant courts and blood-soaked battlefields, but always as a weapon, a spectacle, a tool. Never as joy. Never as freedom. Tonight she watched them as a woman who had chosen her place beside a scarred man who had freed her twice—once from chains, once from his own fear of binding her. When a red waterfall cascaded across the sky, she leaned her head slightly toward Grayfia's shoulder—a silent acknowledgment between two women who had both been given something priceless.
Rias, Akeno, Robin, Nami, Koneko, and Kiba sat together on the other mattresses—each of them quieter than usual.
They had all seen fireworks before—human festivals, devil celebrations, private displays in the Gremory gardens. But never like this. Never as part of a family that had fought through auctions, scars, lies, and legends just to reach this rooftop. Rias leaned against Akeno's side, fingers laced with hers. Akeno's wings were tucked away, but her free hand rested on Rias's knee—gentle, grounding. Robin sketched the patterns overhead in quick, elegant lines—already planning how to recreate them in mana constructs later. Nami—phone forgotten for once—rested her head on Koneko's shoulder, the smaller girl tucked comfortably in her lap. Kiba sat cross-legged beside them—sword resting across his knees—watching the sky with the same quiet awe he usually reserved for a perfect blade.
Arto stood a little apart—Ryuma on one side, Kiba on the other—both swordsmen instinctively keeping watch even in this moment of peace. A nudge against his elbow. Ryuma—without looking away from the sky—held out two small ceramic cups filled with clear liquid. Kiba had already received his.
Arto eyed the cup warily. "I… don't handle sake well." Ryuma's laugh was low, rough, genuine. "Rice water, boy. Not sake. Tradition among my people—drink at the finale, sigh loud when the last bloom fades. Seals the night right."
Arto accepted the cup—small, warm from Ryuma's hand. Kiba raised his own in silent salute. The final sequence began—massive golden peonies unfurling into silver waterfalls, then a rapid chain of red and blue that built into a single, sky-filling supernova of white light. Arto lifted his cup. Ryuma did the same. Kiba followed.
All three drank—cool, clean, faintly sweet rice water sliding down throats that had suddenly gone tight with something wordless. The last firework bloomed—golden, enormous, lingering like a second sun. They exhaled together—three long, satisfied sighs that carried over the rooftop.
The sky went dark. Silence—brief, reverent—before the crowd below erupted in cheers and applause. Millicas—still wrapped in Yasaka's tails—clapped sleepily. Kunou smiled against her mother's chest—eyes already drifting shut again. Arto looked at Ryuma. "Thank you… for the tradition."
Ryuma clapped him on the shoulder—firm, approving. "You'll do, boy. You'll do." He turned to Yasaka—bowed once, deep and respectful. "Yasaka-sama, it's time to go home, Kyoto awaits"
Yasaka nodded—graceful, unhurried. Her nine tails shifted, gently tightening around Kunou like a living blanket, keeping the little girl secure and warm against her chest. Kunou stirred faintly, golden eyes blinking open just enough to look around.
Before they stepped away, Kunou reached out one small hand toward Millicas—still drowsy on Arto's shoulder. "Millicas…" she whispered, voice soft and sleepy. "Thank you… for today. For the dragon. For being my friend."
Millicas blinked awake enough to smile—cheek still creased from sleep—and reached back. "Thank you too, Kunou. For the fox. For playing with me. I had the best time ever." Kunou's ears twitched—shy, happy. "I hope… we can meet again. Soon."
Millicas nodded vigorously. "Definitely! Promise!" Arto watched the exchange—something soft and warm settling in his chest—and stepped forward before Yasaka could turn away completely. "My lady," he said respectfully, "this friendship… it's too precious to leave to chance meetings and schedules. Distance and duty shouldn't keep them apart."
He reached into the void—hand vanishing briefly into a ripple of dark mana—and withdrew four small pendants. Each one was a smooth obsidian teardrop, no larger than a child's thumb, with a faint silver hawk crest etched into the surface. A tiny ruby glowed at the center—soft, warm, alive.
He knelt—eye level with Millicas and Kunou—and placed one pendant in each small hand. "These are for you," he said gently. "Secured magical lines. Think of the person who has the matching pendant—really think of them—and the connection opens. No distance matters. No leyline interference. It works even if one of you is in danger; the pendant will alert the other instantly."
He demonstrated—holding his own matching pendant up. "The ruby glows when the other is calling. Tap it once to answer. It expands into a screen for video—top-tier clarity, no lag, like your own personal phones. Audio is perfect. You can talk, see each other, share whatever you want. And it's private. No one else can listen in."
Millicas's eyes went huge—he clutched the pendant like it was treasure. "Like magic phones?!" Arto smiled. "Exactly like magic phones." He turned to Yasaka—offering the fourth pendant with both hands, bowed head.
"And this one is for you, my lady. It links to Kunou's pendant. You can contact her anytime—see her, hear her, know she's safe. It also supports group calls—three or more pendants connected form a single line. I'll give one to Lord Sirzechs as well, so parents can speak directly when needed."
Yasaka accepted the pendant—fingers brushing his as she took it. She studied the obsidian teardrop for a long moment—then met his eyes. "You've thought of everything," she said softly. "Safety. Connection. Privacy. Even for parents who worry."
Arto inclined his head. "Children should never feel alone. Not when technology—and magic—can prevent it." He straightened. "These are the R&D division's first step toward something larger. A mana Internet—linked through magic-tech cables. Secure, instantaneous, global. These pendants are the prototypes. The first devices connected."
Yasaka's golden eyes flickered with genuine interest. "Then Kyoto will watch your progress closely. And perhaps… participate, when the time comes." She slipped the pendant into her sleeve—then looked down at Kunou. "Say goodbye properly, little one. We'll see Millicas again soon."
Kunou hugged her dragon plushie tighter—then reached out and hugged Millicas around the neck—awkward, sweet, very much a child's hug. "Bye, Millicas… thank you. For everything." Millicas hugged her back—fiercely, like he never wanted to let go. "Bye, Kunou. We'll talk soon. Promise."
Yasaka lifted Kunou gently—settling her daughter against her shoulder once more. "Until next time, Millicas Gremory. And you, Aruto Abyga… thank you. For tonight. For your gifts. For your nephew's kindness." She inclined her head—regal, grateful—then stepped through a golden portal that opened like a doorway of light. Ryuma followed—silent, watchful—vanishing with her into the night.
The rooftop felt suddenly quieter. Millicas stared at the spot where Kunou had been—pendant clutched in one small hand, fox plushie in the other. "She's gone…" he whispered. Arto knelt—eye level with the boy. "She's not gone. She's just… far away for now. But you can talk to her anytime. Just hold the pendant and think of her. She'll answer."
Millicas looked at the obsidian teardrop—then up at Arto. "Really?" Arto nodded. "Really." Millicas smiled—small, sleepy, but bright. "Okay. Goodnight, Kunou…" He yawned—huge, adorable—and nestled back against Arto's shoulder.
Rias stepped closer—wrapping an arm around Arto's waist. "He'll be dreaming about her tonight," she murmured. Arto looked down at the sleeping boy—then at the pendant still clutched in his tiny fist. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think he will."