POV: Akeno
"I cannot begin to describe the quiet agony I feel every time I hear the phrase 'you guys.' Not because I abhor informality, but because it is the linguistic equivalent of smashing fine china with a rubber mallet and then replacing it with microwave-safe plastic from the discount aisle," said Haruki Yamashiro, resident contrarian, chronic intellectual tyrant, and by far the most unpleasant conversationalist in all of Japan.
Today's lecture, because calling it a "conversation" would be an insult to the word, was about the slow, sad demise of second-person pronouns in the English language. Yes, English. In Japan. Because that's relevant. Because what else would one want to talk about at a casual peerage hangout than the historical trajectory of pronoun decay?
"There was a time, ancient, golden, now desecrated, when English had dignity. Nuance. Structure. Clarity. And at the center of that refined system stood thou and thee. Pronouns with character…"
He kept going.
He always does.
The man has the rare and irritating talent of making every topic sound like it was personally betrayed by modernity.
Ah yes, cue the smug expression. The dramatic pauses. The pure, unfiltered arrogance of a man who genuinely believes he's the lone custodian of linguistic virtue.
I cast my eyes around the room, not out of boredom, no, boredom had passed an hour ago, but for the petty satisfaction of shared suffering. Issei had the expression of a man halfway through a slow lobotomy, poor soul. He'd tried to throw himself out the window three times already. Not out of drama, mind you, but as a desperate cry for help. Each time he screamed "I can't take this anymore! Please kill me!" with the rawness of a man begging for salvation. We only stopped him because misery loves company.
Koneko looked… broken. Her usual stone face had cracked into the faint tremble of someone who has truly known suffering. Her ears twitched like they were trying to fly her away from here. Kiba, ever the gentleman, kept nodding politely, but I saw the despair behind his eyes. I'd give him five more minutes before he started screaming into the void.
"And then the English decided, somewhere around the 17th century, probably after drinking lead-laced water, that this was all too complicated. So they threw it out. They threw it out. Like ungrateful tenants evicting a noble old landlord who paid the rent in Shakespearean elegance."
Oh Satan below, save me. Just strike me down now. End it.
The conversation had started innocently. A casual gathering. A night to relax. Maybe talk about mundane things like manga. But no. Someone, probably Issei, made a joke about how we could all speak every language thanks to our devil heritage, and somehow that unholy comment summoned the dark god of Pretentious Ranting into Haruki's soul.
He was practically vibrating with fervor now.
"Oh, but Haruki," he mimicked, using a high-pitched nasal voice, his impression of the general public, I assume, "isn't simplifying language a good thing?"
He said this as if the very question offended him on a molecular level.
Oh good. He's arguing with imaginary people now.
The only person actually enjoying any of this was Rias. Naturally.
She was giggling behind her tea like this was the best entertainment she's had all year. Smiling at every word, eyes wide with amusement, head tilted in that way she does when she's completely enamored by someone's brilliance or delusion.
Honestly, it's disgusting. And hilarious. She's so in love with him and doesn't even realize it. The way she watches him speak, like he's reciting a scripture. As if this nonsense is profound, instead of just the meandering ravings of a man who has no idea how to shut up.
I suppose I do get the appeal, in theory.
He's cute. In a vaguely tortured, definitely emotionally unavailable sort of way. He doesn't trip over himself to impress her. Doesn't grovel. Doesn't see her as the Gremory heiress. Just another girl. I can see how that might be refreshing.
And, admittedly, he's... not unattractive. It's just a shame he opens his mouth.
Tsubaki, his unfortunate ex, once described dating him like trying to hold on to steam. She said he'd alternate between obsessive attention and total disappearance. One week, he'd write her essays on medieval metaphysics. The next, radio silence because he got distracted by "the critique of pure reason" or some garbage.
Charming. Truly. Nothing says boyfriend material like ghosting you for Kant.
"No. No, it is not. Removing thou and thee was not simplification. It was amputation. It was replacing a Stradivarius violin with a kazoo. It was linguistic vandalism masquerading as progress."
He said that.
With a straight face.
Like he was delivering an oracle's truth.
"Do you know what we lost?" He went on, as if he were giving a eulogy at a funeral for pronouns. "That sacred ability to be intimate without being vulgar. To be formal without being cold."
I watched his face, beautiful - all sharp lines and alert, intelligent eyes. Too bad the personality behind it was so unlovable. There's a certain tragic beauty in wasted potential.
"The Germans, God bless their umlauts and Teutonic grammar, still maintain the Sie/Du distinction. If you address a stranger, you say Sie. Polite. Distant. Civilized. If you're speaking to your friend, or a particularly well-trained dog, you use Du. It's so intuitive even a cave man could understand it.…"
Issei groaned. "Please, God. Make it stop. Spare me from this." Ironic, a devil praying for divine intervention.
"You need to leave," Koneko said quietly, finally reaching her limit.
But Haruki soldiered on.
"Who, pray tell? You plural? You singular? You the person I love, or you the tax collector I barely tolerate?"
I found myself fantasizing about throwing something at him.
"When the Almighty says, 'Thou shalt not kill,' it carries the weight of a divine command to you, the individual, not to a committee. But if He had said, 'You guys shouldn't kill,' it would've sounded like He was addressing a frat house."
This man. This man wants to kill me with boredom. And I almost admire it.
"Is that what we want? Divine law as delivered by a man in cargo shorts?"
He asked the room like it was a rhetorical question. It wasn't. He waited.
Nobody answered.
He continued, unphased.
"Let's not pretend modern English is free of complexity. We still say 'whom' when we want to sound like we passed an entrance exam…"
On and on. Rant after rant.
I don't even hate him, not really. But there's something deeply satisfying about watching everyone around him slowly unravel. That's entertainment.
"And forgive me if I sound bitter," he added. "I am."
Oh, how generous of him. A confession from the oracle.
"Language is a mirror to the soul," he said solemnly, "and the English chose to abandon their soul."
A beat.
"So yes, I mourn the death of thou. I mourn the elegance exchanged for efficiency. The sharp sword replaced with a plastic spoon."
Satans below, he's quoting himself like he's scripture now.
Issei had started to cry. Koneko looked like she'd aged ten years. Even Kiba was starting to develop a twitch in his eye.
"And if someday, miraculously, I am granted the power to bend the world to my will," he declared like some delusional emperor, "I will begin my reign not with war, or gold, or conquest. I will begin with grammar. And on that day, thou shalt remember me."
Kiba muttered something under his breath. Issei clutched his heart.
"Koneko-san," he said solemnly, "if that ever happens, kill me. Immediately. It would be mercy."
Koneko nodded, face grave. "Gladly."
Then it happened.
Rias, tea cup in hand, ever the enabler, tilted her head and asked: "Oh, but wasn't thou used mostly for insults by the end? Like… in Shakespeare? 'Thou art a knave,' that sort of thing?"
The silence was immediate. Heavy. Dreadful.
We all turned to her like she'd stepped on a summoning circle by accident.
"Ah," Haruki said, voice trembling with restrained rage. "The slander begins."
Even Kiba groaned audibly.
Issei whispered, "No no no no—"
But it was too late.
"Yet another modern heresy," Haruki began. "Spread by those who read exactly one quote from Mercutio and decided they understood 16th-century sociolinguistics."
He was pacing now. Fire in his eyes. Terrible, righteous fire. " But let us be clear, the use of thou as a vehicle of insult occurred only when one was deliberately breaching social norms. That is, one insulted by intimacy. By calling a noble thou, one reminded them, oh, sweet irony, of their mortality. Their humanity.…"
Oh Satan, he's monologuing.
"It was bold. It was theatrical. It was Shakespeare weaponizing grammar like a dagger in a velvet glove!"
"Please," Issei groaned, "weaponize silence."
"Dear Satan," Koneko mumbled, "he's going again."
"Thou doth protest too much," Rias said, smirking.
Haruki turned to her, scandalized. "Oh? Quoting Gertrude now? Misapplied and out of context, as always? Do you want another rant? Because this is how thou gettest another rant—"
"Get thee gone from the room, thou madman!" shouted Issei in a final act of defiance.
And in that moment, we were united.
Not as devils. Not as Rias's peerage.
But as victims of Haruki Yamashiro's verbal terrorism.
-------------------------------
I left the Occult Research Club after delivering my objective, thoroughly well-argued, and, if I may say so, insightful commentary on the development of the English language. No one clapped. Somehow, they did not appear to appreciate my enthusiasm. A tragic reflection on the priorities of modern education, if you ask me.
Linguistics has long been one of my neglected interests. Neglected only because ever since I became a devil, I have been preoccupied with more interesting things, like magic and being able to fly. Before all of this nonsense began, I had been working on a theory regarding the origin of language. I had hypothesized, admittedly without a shred of empirical support, that all human languages shared a singular root. A universal tongue. I was aware it sounded absurd, but that was precisely why I wanted to test it.
My primary case studies had been babies. Specifically, their noises, the little pre-linguistic grunts and babbles - those proto-vocalization- before formal speech, seemed like a good place to search for commonalities, hidden threads and primal syntax. I had conducted my field research in a kindergarten. Unfortunately, my attempt was rudely interrupted when the administration lodged an official complaint. Apparently, "you cannot do experiments on babies" was considered a valid argument. A noble sentiment, I suppose, if you are the type to confuse observation with sadism. I would never have harmed them. They were not convinced.
Still, perhaps the idea had some merit. After all, I now know that myths are real, and the biblical tale of Babel is likely not symbolic but literal. It is an interesting proposition, if there was once a unified human language, perhaps that can be rediscovered. Though much of early history was drowned, literally, when the flood erased it. But perhaps that is a project in the distant future.
And perhaps I could even study the devil language. While devils possess the ability, called Language, that allows them to speak any tongue they encounter, they still maintain a native demonic language. It sounds rather seductive and corruptive in my opinion. Their writing system, developed by the original Lucifer and aptly named the Luciferian Alphabet, is particularly fascinating. Allegedly, it can be used to write any language save for the holy tongue of the angels. A design choice, perhaps. Or a metaphysical limitation. In either case, it is a system I wish to study, though I have yet to find the time. The original Lucifer, whatever else one may say of him, was - at least in the beginning - quite brilliant.
But I digress.
My thoughts drifted, as they often did when I walked alone, to something more pressing. What Hikaru told me when I called her.
My sister, two years younger than me, and always something of a crybaby. She would weep at sad documentaries. At wounded animals. At anything where something helpless suffered. She stopped crying around thirteen. Told me she wanted to be "mature." I think she just didn't want to look weak in front of her friends. But that night, over the phone, she cried like she was seven again.
"Onii-chan… I… I can't… I can't sleep anymore," she had said. Her voice had no center. It wandered, cracked, frayed.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see through them. All of them. A thousand eyes. Like I'm, like I'm inside something huge, monstrous. Big. I can't move, I can only watch. I can only watch."
She was sobbing. Full, unfiltered sobs. The kind she used to cry when she got nightmares and ran to my room.
"It kills them, Haruki. People. So many. It tears them apart. Eats them."
The line had gone quiet. I thought she hung up. Then came her whisper:
"I feel it. The teeth. The hunger. It's not even rage. Just... need. Like chewing meat is breathing. And the worst part is…" She struggled with the words. "Sometimes it's people I know."
"The shopkeeper. My friends. Our neighbors. You. Mom. Dad."
Her voice splintered.
"I-I watch them die. Over and over. It eats them, and I feel it. The blood. The crunch of bone. Their screams."
She had always had an imagination too vivid for her own good. She had an imagination that could conjure entire mythologies out of shadows in a hallway.
"Sometimes I'm not even the monster," she said, even quieter now. "Sometimes I'm the victim. I feel the claws go in. The teeth. I feel my throat tear open. I feel myself dying. And I scream. I scream so loud, but no one hears me, and when I wake up, when I go outside, I can't stop seeing their bodies. Torn up. Shredded. Still twitching."
I didn't say anything. I just listened.
Back when we were children, she used to tell me all her nightmares. I was the only one who knew about them. She would crawl into my bed, clutching her stuffed rabbit and trembling. Even back then, she said she only felt safe when I was near.
So I listened now, because she needed me to.
Eventually, her voice softened, broken and tired: "I know it's not real. I know it's just a dream. But it feels real. And when I see people now… I don't see their faces. I see how they died."
I didn't interrupt her. I didn't mock her.
I listened like always.
After all, she used to do the same when we were younger. If we watched a horror film and she couldn't sleep, she would sneak into my room. She'd crawl under the blanket and grip my arm and whisper nonsense about ghosts and monsters and shadows that could move. And I'd let her. I would listen. Then I'd make jokes. Talk about school. Ask if she had a crush on anyone. Whatever it took to make her forget.
I did the same now. Teased her about whether she had a boyfriend. Told her she was still a crybaby. She made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. I counted it a victory.
By the end of the call, she had laughed properly. I told her to stop watching horror films if she was such a crybaby. She insulted me. I insulted her back. The world felt a little less heavy.
We ended the call on that note.
That should have been the end of it.
Under normal circumstances, I would chalk it up to stress, hormones, perhaps a particularly disturbing film she should not have watched. She had always been prone to nightmares. This wasn't new.
But now I know monsters exist.
Truthfully, I still think it's just a nightmare. Her imagination at work. Nothing supernatural. Nothing that requires divine intervention. She's had these dreams for as long as I can remember. The only difference is that she's articulate now. The fear just has a bigger vocabulary.
But still.
Perhaps I should look into it.
Eventually.
After the coming holiday break.
When I visit home.
-----------------------------------------
Asia was waiting at the school gates, hands clasped with polite expectation. It had been a week since she started attending this school. Second year, same class as Issei. A fortunate alignment. At least she would have a familiar face beside her, someone capable of understanding her peculiar disposition. Though fluent in Italian and surprisingly competent in English, she would need time before navigating Japanese with ease. Issei, for all his vulgarity, would be a reliable guide in class.
Meanwhile, I've taken it upon myself to tutor her. Not only in Japanese, but in subjects she, as a nun, was never expected to know, mathematics, history, biology the usual. She is eager to learn, and I find her company excellent. She was eager, and she indulged my linguistic tangents or other rants with commendable patience.
I greeted her. We began walking.
A small group of girls waved to her as we passed. They were smiling, bright. She waved back with equal enthusiasm.
"I see someone is quite popular," I said, amused.
She flushed. "It's not like that at all. They're just very nice to me since I'm new here," she replied softly, then added with a sheepish smile, "I was afraid they wouldn't like me because I don't speak Japanese well… and I don't know much. But they've been very kind."
It is difficult to dislike Asia. She is painfully sincere about everything.
We spoke casually on the way home. She told me about something that had happened a few days ago. Apparently, one of her classmates—Aika Kiryuu—had taken an immediate and intense liking to her.
"Then Aika said, 'I've only known Asia for an hour and a half, but if something happened to her, I will kill everyone and then myself.'" She looked at me, concerned. "I hope she didn't mean that seriously."
I chuckled. She has much to learn about people and jokes.
Later that evening, we ate dinner. I cooked; she insisted on washing the dishes. Of course. That girl is constitutionally incapable of taking advantage of others.
Afterward, I showered, entered my darkened room, and prepared to sleep.
A magic circle formed on my floor. Red and black, Gremory's crest.
Rias.
I don't recall giving her permission to access my room without announcement. I bit down the remark when I saw her face.
She looked desperate.
"I don't suppose you're here for a game of tag," I said, watching her evenly. I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Haruki, take my virginity. Immediately," she said.
Who starts a conversation like that? I had just sat down.
"Come again," I said.
A memory flickered, something from the anime I had watched in my previous life. A scene with Issei. Erotic. Interrupted by a very hot maid.
"I don't suppose you're going to explain," I said, unable to keep the amusement from my voice.
"My parents have moved the engagement. I want you to take my virginity to break it off," she answered, her voice hard, resolved.
This was absurd. But apparently not a joke. This, at least, required some analysis.
"Why did they do that?" I asked. I was curious. I had hypothesized that in the original timeline the advancement of the engagement was triggered by Issei's sacred gear awakening, perhaps they feared he would grow too strong if they waited too long. That had not occurred, likely because of my interference. Issei has not awakened his boosted gear. So why proceed?
"My father is getting impatient and wants me to marry as quickly as possible. He likely wants us to get with children as quickly as possible, at least within a century or so," she said bitterly.
A century considered quick. My human sensibilities bristled, but I am no longer human.
"So will you fuck me? I beg you," she said, and her voice lost its coldness. It was pitiful.
You may wonder why such an act would nullify an engagement. Why purity should matter among devils, whose sins are literal currency. Virginity, of all outdated notions.
It is not morality. It is a superstition.
Devils have low fertility rates. Demonic energy is corrosive and ill-suited for generative processes. Among nobility, there persists a belief, that is both disputed and unproven, that if a female devil's first and only partner is her husband, her demonic energy will adapt to his, increasing the likelihood of conception. Curiously, the same is not said of male devils, who are free to indulge in harems. How convenient.
So, Rias believed that if I took her virginity, it would lessen her supposed value as a wife, making the engagement void or at least undesirable
So basically Rias wants me to ruin her. To make her unsuitable.
"So..." she said hesitantly, slipping off her nightclothes. Naked. Trying to appear seductive. "Will you fuck me?" she said.
Had she not looked so pitiful, it might have been arousing.
"I refuse," I said.
"What—? Do…do you not find me attractive?" she asked. There was hurt in her voice.
"The issue is not whether I find you attractive or not," I said calmly. "I simply prefer not to have sex with someone who is obviously desperate and not thinking clearly. It would feel as though I were exploiting a vulnerable person."
I find the prospect distasteful.
"So you refuse. I am begging you for help but you—" she began.
I interrupted. "If you truly wanted to have sex, you would have gone to Issei or someone else who wouldn't hesitate. You must have known I would refuse.You know at least that much."
"I didn't want my first time to be with just anyone," she said, flushed. "I wanted it to be you."
"Perhaps under different circumstances," I said with a trace of amusement. "Besides, if your father is truly that desperate, I doubt one night with me will change the outcome."
That she had not considered this is further proof that she is not thinking rationally.
She stepped forward and collapsed onto the bed beside me. Still naked.
"Then what am I supposed to do now? This ruins my plan," she said angrily.
"Wasn't your original plan to challenge your betrothed once you were of age?" I said, lying back. She was still naked. "Can't you do that now? Especially if you make it public. If what you've told me of his prideful nature is true, he wouldn't refuse."
"My voice wouldn't carry much weight unless I'm a Rating Game veteran. Riser is already an adult. He's fought multiple matches and won most of them," she said, the energy draining from her voice. "There's also the issue of being able to defeat him," she added, quietly. "Riser has a battle-tested full peerage. I only have five, and I can't even use the fifth. And besides, I'm not confident I could beat him one-on-one."
She didn't count me among her peerage. How considerate.
"Well," I said, smiling, "if only there were another high-class devil who could change the tide in your favor."
She looked at me, surprised. Hopeful.
"You would help me?" she asked.
"Try out being a member of your peerage for six months, remember?" I said, reminding her of our arrangement. "And more importantly, I once gave you my word that I would repay your debt. I take my word seriously."
That was the true reason. A debt is a debt. I always pay my debts.
She looked stunned. Then tears gathered in her eyes, and she embraced me, whispering thank-you over and over.
Eventually, she dressed, apologized for her behavior, and left.
No beautiful maid this time.
Pity.
AN: Quick chapter today! This was originally meant to be part of the last one, but that chapter was already too long, and thematically, this scene didn't quite fit.
Plot-wise, things are about to kick off. I'm genuinely excited for the next few chapters; there'll be new characters, twists, and (in my humble opinion) some very interesting developments. The "Riser Arc" is officially here. New players will be introduced.
Question for you guys: do you want me to write Riser's visit to Rias? I'm leaning toward skipping it or summarizing it briefly, since it plays out similarly to the original and Haruki likely won't even be present, let alone interact with Riser. I'd rather speed things up and focus on the more original and dynamic parts of the story now that Haruki's character is well-established. Let me know what you think.
Also, if anyone has tips on writing fight scenes, I'd really appreciate them! I've been avoiding fights because I'm not super confident in writing them, but they're coming up soon.