"President, welcome back!"
Tenra stepped into the kendo club, instantly surrounded by a crowd of exuberant girls. Their excitement was almost comical—he'd only been gone a few days, but you'd think he'd returned from a year-long quest.
He couldn't help smiling. "Did everyone keep up with sword practice while I was away?"
He clapped his hands, surveying the room.
"We practiced every day, President!" they chorused, voices bright and proud.
Tenra nodded, satisfied. He'd only agreed to lead the club because they'd begged him, but after so much time together, he'd grown genuinely fond of these hardworking, adorable girls.
Of course, it was just the natural affection of a president for his club members. Nothing more… yet.
"Let's see how much you've improved. No sparring matches today—everyone, attack me together."
He picked up a wooden sword, grinning. "Anyone who manages to land a single hit gets one wish granted. Anything you want."
The room exploded.
"Attack President together?!"
"A chance for a wish!"
"Ahhh—!"
Even Murayama, Katase, and Kiryuu Aika were staring at Tenra like he was a treasure chest waiting to be cracked open.
Just one hit, and you could ask for anything. Even if none of them could beat him alone, maybe, just maybe, with everyone together…
The energy in the club was electric. Every girl imagined herself as the lucky winner—the one who'd earn President's special reward.
"President, please go easy on us!" someone called, and the whole group bowed in unison, barely able to contain their anticipation.
Tenra raised his sword, dazzling smile in place. "All right—come at me."
Thirty minutes later—
"Hah… hah… President, you're unbelievable…"
"Total wipeout. We're all down!"
"Ugh… I wanted that reward so badly…"
The girls lay scattered on the floor, panting, groaning, utterly defeated. Their fantasies of victory had vanished—Tenra hadn't just won, he'd dispatched every last one of them with swift, effortless strikes.
"President, you're so mean! You didn't hold back at all!"
"Yeah! Just one person would've been fine. You're stingy!"
"President, give me back my reward!"
Admiration and mock resentment mingled as the girls exchanged glances, then launched a coordinated barrage of complaints.
If swordsmanship couldn't win them rewards, they'd have to rely on their feminine wiles.
Time for pouting. For puppy eyes. For dramatic sighs and wounded pride.
But Tenra saw straight through it.
"A loss is a loss. No amount of whining will change that," he said, entirely unsympathetic.
"Ugh… so unfair…" they groaned, their collective gaze heavy with disappointment.
He knew he'd done nothing wrong, but having a hundred girls glare at him like he'd kicked a puppy was… uncomfortable. He almost felt like the villain of the story.
"Fine, fine. My promise stands. Any time any of you manage to hit me, you'll get your wish. Happy now?"
He shook his head, surrendering to the inevitable.
"Yay!!!"
Instantly, all resentment vanished. The girls erupted in cheers, celebrating as if they'd already won.
They'd lost today, but as long as the promise remained, hope was alive.
Watching their gleeful faces, Tenra couldn't help but laugh. Maybe next time he'd let one slip through…
Meanwhile, halfway around the world—
Night cloaked the city, a cathedral rising in solemn grandeur from its heart.
Boom!
A thunderous explosion shattered the silence. Flames erupted from within, and a lone figure shot out of the smoke.
White hair, wild laughter—the infamous stray priest, Freed.
"Damn fallen one, stop right there!"
"The holy swords must be secured—catch him!"
Exorcists, radiating power, surged after Freed, surrounding him in a tight formation.
"Oh, so scary, so scary! I'm gonna get killed!" Freed clutched his chest, feigning terror as the exorcists glared daggers at him.
But then he grinned, waving up at the night sky. "Boss! Over here!"
The exorcists turned, startled, spotting a figure hovering above—a man in black robes, blood-red eyes, pointed elven ears, and an aura of pure darkness.
A fallen angel.
"Freed, you're slow."
"Sorry, Boss! Had to snag the holy sword you wanted, and these scary priests chased me all the way. Boss, save me! Otherwise your favorite Freed's gonna get splattered…"
"Tch. Just a bunch of small fry."
The two conversed as if the exorcists weren't even there. Then the fallen angel turned, eyes cold, and spread five pairs of jet-black wings.
"Ten… ten wings! He's a cadre-level fallen angel!"
"Retreat! We're no match for him!"
"Damn, they sent a cadre! Are those bastards trying to start a war?!"
Panic seized the exorcists. A ten-winged fallen angel was far beyond their ability to fight. Shocked and furious, they prepared to flee.
But the fallen angel had other plans.
"Hahaha… Perfect! This world's too dull—I'm itching for a war."
"Feel honored. You'll be the first casualties of this holy conflict."
He laughed, summoning a magic circle. Spears of light rained down, tearing through the exorcists.
Screams, blood, bodies collapsing in heaps—the massacre was swift and merciless.
"Oh, Boss, you're incredible!" Freed crowed, clapping like a child at a magic show.
The fallen angel landed, ignoring Freed's antics. "With the holy swords in hand, Michael will be furious."
"The angels are handled. Now for the devils. That Demon King Sirzechs is a useless softie—I'll have to provoke him too…"
He snorted, lost in thought.
"Boss, Boss, I have a great idea!" Freed piped up, waving his hand like an eager student.
The fallen angel glanced at him. "Speak."
"In the town I used to live, both Demon King Lucifer and Demon King Leviathan's little sisters go to school there! Plus that Phoenix clan Sacred Gear kid! If Boss takes them out, the devils will definitely lose their minds!"
"The Demon Kings' sisters… and that Phoenix clan reject…"
The fallen angel's eyes gleamed with sudden inspiration.
"Hahaha… They're perfect."
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