~The House of Morningstar~
Luke walked the few blocks back to the Morningstar estate, the signed transfer form feeling like a political treaty folded inside his jeans pocket. The paper was crisp, but in his mind, it was soaked in the history of his family's blood. He could still hear the raw, jagged anxiety in his mother's voice—the way the word "Rome" had triggered a physical flinch in her posture.
He stopped outside the massive iron gates of the estate. They were black, ornate, and tall enough to block out the sun. Luke looked down at his right hand. The imperial violet of the Covenant Ring looked deceptively smooth, like a piece of high-end jewelry, but as he clenched his fist, he felt the truth. The metal sat directly over the jagged, white scar of the Apostle Key.
I promised Mom this ends now.
His acceptance of Vera's pact hadn't been an act of bravery. It was a desperate, terrifying gamble. He was embracing the Devil's chain to suppress a Divine curse. It was the only move left on a board where he was already being checkmated by the Grigori.
He took a deep breath, letting the massive wave of demonic energy radiating from the mansion wash over him. It felt like standing in front of an open furnace—hot, heavy, and smelling of ancient power.
He shoved the memories of Rome deep into a mental vault, forcing on the mask of the snarky, obedient Vassal. He had to compartmentalize, or the Fragmentation inside his soul would finish what the Executioner started.
No more running. If the Divine wants to hunt me, I'll meet them with the Demonic.
With that final, steely thought, he stepped through the gates. The oppressive tension was immediately shattered by the sound of cheerful, slightly off-key humming.
"Took you long enough, Luke-kun! What, have you tried to sneak out on your training already?"
Vianne was waiting in the center of the vast emerald yard, looking far too energetic for the humidity of the afternoon. She tossed a small, worn, leather-bound book at his head. Luke caught it instinctively.
"That's Basic Demonic Aura Theory," Vianne said, dusting off her hands. "You might be skipping the standard Devil Academy classes, but you can't skip the reading! Now, let's try the projection again. And please... try to be less explosive this time. The gardener is already crying about the rosebushes."
Luke tried to force a smile, but the underlying trauma from his mother's kitchen made the energy in his core feel tight and aggressive.
He tried to channel the Crimson energy, but the Gold half of his soul—the part that remembered the screams in the Basilica—instinctively pushed back. His hands only managed a meager, pathetic static shock.
The next hour was a masterclass in frustration. Vianne ran him through sensing, levitation theory, and projection. Every attempt followed the same pattern: he would reach for the Red, the Gold would snap at it, and a localized "conceptual knot" would explode in a cloud of white frost and bitter red smoke.
"Stop, stop, stop!" Vianne threw her hands up, her magenta eyes burning with aristocratic exasperation. "You're trying to use a cage to tame a lion, Luke-kun! But the lion is your own soul! You are suppressing the power, not integrating it."
Luke rubbed his temples, where a migraine was beginning to pulse in time with his Morningstar sigil. "I don't know how not to suppress it, Vianne. That golden light... it's the thing that almost destroyed my family. That Key on my hand was meant to lock it away forever. How do I 'embrace' something I was born to fear?"
Vianne's expression softened. She knelt in the grass, her gaze earnest. "That's the fundamental difference, Luke. Human magic is built on suppression—on 'sealing' what you can't understand. Devil magic is about control through acceptance. Your problem isn't the two powers; it's that your human trauma taught you to treat half of your soul like a monster."
She pointed to his ring. "The fragmentation is permanent. Think of it like this: your soul is a collapsing temple. These two powers are the pillars. If you try to tear one down because you're scared of it, the whole roof falls on your head. You have to let them both carry the weight."
"Trust the power that killed me?" Luke challenged, his voice bitter. "That's a big ask."
"It's the only ask," Vianne said, rising and dusting off her knees. "Until you embrace the whole self, you're unusable as a soldier. Which means we move to Plan B: You're a spy for now."
As if summoned by the word "Plan," the back door opened. Vera Morningstar emerged, her rose-patterned silk dress catching the wind.
Behind her walked Ignazio, looking like a silver-blond statue of perfection. He gave Luke a look that wasn't just judgmental—it was a cold, mathematical assessment of a failing asset.
"The forms are signed, Vera-sama," Ignazio reported, his voice smooth. "Luke Kazama is officially a second-year at Seishu Academy. His cover is the 'Special Curriculum' transfer from Tokyo High."
Vera nodded regally, her dark eyes locking onto Luke's. "Excellent. You will be joining a mandatory club, Luke. The Historic Research Club. It's located in the old academy building. It provides us with the necessary jurisdiction to move on campus without oversight. Consider it your new reality."
The high, gothic gates of Seishu Academy were a stark contrast to the Morningstar estate. Here, the power was hidden under layers of wealth and academic prestige. Luke walked through the gates in the charcoal-grey uniform, feeling the heavy weight of the Covenant Ring under his cuff.
The whispers began the moment they crossed the threshold.
"Look, is that the new transfer?"
"He's walking with the President and the Vice? No way. Who is he?"
"He looks kind of hot... but he has that 'scary elite' vibe."
Vera walked through the grounds like a goddess returning to her temple, ignoring the stares. Vianne sauntered beside her with aristocratic boredom, but Luke could see her magenta eyes scanning the rooftops. They weren't just walking to class; they were patrolling.
They paused at the main entrance.
"The Historic Research Club, Luke," Vera announced, her voice a low vibration for his ears only. "Report there after class. And remember... you are a walking paradox. To high-level entities, you reek of Heaven and Hell simultaneously. You are a lighthouse in a storm."
"A lighthouse for who?" Luke asked, his hand instinctively moving to his chest.
"Everyone who hunts the Divine," Vera murmured, glancing at the sun-drenched sky. "And everyone who wants to claim the Fallen. Don't be late."
Luke spent the morning in a state of agonizing hyper-awareness. He excelled in his lectures—the mundane math and history felt like a vacation compared to "Demonic Theory"—but his senses were constantly being pulled apart. The "Gold" was cold, the "Red" was warm. The pressure behind his eyes was becoming a constant throb.
On his way to the old building for lunch, he felt it.
WHOOM.
It wasn't Demonic. It wasn't Divine. It was a cold, clinical presence that felt like a surgical scalpel cutting through the humid air. Luke froze. He knew this frequency. It was the smell of the morgue. It was the smell of the alleyway.
Lamina Mortis.
"Death wasn't supposed to be soothing, was it?" Luke muttered to himself, his expression turning deadly serious. He looked at the shadows under the trees, expecting a spectral blade to emerge. "If the blade of death pursues me again, I won't just die this time. I'll break it."
He shook off the chill and entered the "haunted" building. The interior was a surprise—it looked like a high-end university lounge, complete with velvet sofas and a wide-screen TV.
Two figures looked up.
One was a sharp-featured boy, Ao Mitoma, who adjusted his glasses with a look of detached contempt. He was holding a math pad covered in equations that looked like they were written in a foreign language.
The other was a girl huddled under a thick blanket, her melancholy eyes fixed on a book.
"So this is Vera-sama's new pet," Mitoma said, his voice flat. "Intriguing. I sense two variants that refuse to coexist. A chaotic chain reaction that threatens to liquefy the host's internal organs. How... disappointing."
Wow. Harsh, Luke thought. He stepped forward, putting on his aristocratic mask. "Luke Kazama. Pleased to meet you. Since I'll be working with you, I suggest we get along."
" Ao Mitoma. I am the Seer," the boy replied, not missing a beat. "I'm also a reincarnated devil, though I prefer the term 'Analytical Consultant.' Your ring is nameless, Vassal. Yet something 'incalculable' sits inside you."
Luke turned to the girl in the blanket. His senses sparked—his eyes flashed gold for a micro-second. Her demonic presence didn't feel like a flame; it felt like a massive, impenetrable wall.
"That's Kiyom Hayashi i," Mitoma added. "The Warden. Try not to cause her any 'existential dread.' She's sensitive to... noise."
"It's loud," Kiyomi whispered, her eyes finally meeting Luke's. "The parts of you... they are screaming at each other. It's painful to hear."
Luke felt a genuine pang of guilt. "Forgive me, Hayashi-san. I didn't realize my 'noise' was that loud. I'd like to be your friend, if that's okay."
He offered his hand. Kiyomi stared at it for a long time, sensing the warmth behind the chaos. She reached out a small, pale hand, gave a quick, bird-like nod, and retreated back into her blanket.
"Well, Luke. You have a way with words."
Vera emerged from the side room, followed by Vianne and Ignazio. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly to one of total, regal authority.
"Let's sit," Vera smirked. "It's time to explain the 'shackles' you're wearing."
Vera leaned across the mahogany table. "You are not ready for combat, Vassal. But you are a beacon. Tonight, you will be the Lure. You will draw out the scavengers your 'death' attracted to this city."
"Lure, not soldier. Got it," Luke said. He looked at his ring. "But before I go out as bait, I need to understand the system. Why is my ring blank while Vianne-san has a crown and Ignazio-sama has a sword?"
Vera's eyes glittered. "Ignazio, the orb."
Ignazio brought a crystalline orb that pulsed with imperial violet light. Vera placed her hand on it.
"We use the Covenant Ring System. Six rings, all satellites of the Master Ring I wear. They designate function and allegiance based on our Arcane Imprint: Conceptual Fragmentation."
She gestured to the group.
"Vianne wears the Vice Ring. Her role is the Executive. Her fragmentation allows her to redistribute energy to manage the House's resources—and her own body—with extreme efficiency. Though, as you've seen, her focus sometimes leaves her feet behind."
"Ignazio wears the Knight Ring.His fragmentation is specialized for defense. He splits incoming energy and redirects it. He is a wall of pure concept." Ignazio gave Luke a sharp, icy look. "He represents stability. Something you lack."
"Ao wears the Seer Ring. He fragments time and space into calculable data points. He sees the math of the universe."
Well, that's interesting, Luke thought, looking at Mitoma with a newfound awe.
"Kiyomi wears the Warden Ring. She filters energy. She fragments harmful or chaotic auras to protect the integrity of the House."
Finally, Vera reached out and touched Luke's hand.
"And you. The Vassal Ring. It is nameless because you have no defined function yet. Because you are 'unstamped,' the Imprint was applied to your soul with maximum, undiluted force. It didn't refine a power; it saw your All-Seeing Fragment and shattered it."
She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear. "You cannot undo the fragmentation, Luke. You must learn to wield two warring powers at once. Until then, you are the bait. Tonight, Vianne will take you to the perimeter. The Grigori believe you are a ghost. Go out there and show them you are mine."
Luke looked at the named rings of his new family. Then he looked at his own blank band. He wasn't just a lure. He was a sacrifice. But as he stood up, he felt a cold, sharp determination.
"Understood, Buchou," Luke said, his snark replaced by a flat, soldier's tone. "I won't disappoint you. Let's go find some scavengers, Vianne-san."