DxD: Fusion

Day 23: Toshio Perspective

The wind filtered gently through the treetops, rustling leaves in a steady whisper that felt more like breath than noise. The air was cool now, touched by the slow descent of twilight, but I barely noticed.

I sat cross-legged near the edge of the forest—not deep like the night I fought that grotesque stray devil, but far enough from town that no one would disturb me. My eyes were closed. My breath even. My hands rested on my knees, palms up. My Zanpakutō lay across my lap, unmoving.

But I wasn't here to cultivate.

I was here to stop getting caught with my damn pants down.

First that devil nearly gutted me. Then Rias cornered me outside kendo. Then Akeno decided to weaponize gravity and weapon-grade breasts.

Only one of those I minded, but the principle remained.

I needed a way to sense things.

Not just see or hear them—feel them.

All living things give off energy, even if it's faint. Mana, nature energy, spiritual essence—whatever flavor it came in, it still existed. And since my Reiryoku system interpreted mana as something readable, I figured I should be able to use it in reverse. Reach out. Perceive it. Touch it.

In theory, anyway.

The challenge was in the execution. I couldn't use Reiatsu—too loud, too obvious. It flared like a beacon. Anyone with a shred of sensitivity would notice it. Plus, it might crush people around me. Given human composition, quite literally crush.

No. I needed precision. Subtlety.

So I sat. Focused.

Let my Reiryoku seep outward in thin, invisible tendrils. No pressure, no pulse. Just a push. A probe. Not a wave of power—but a thread searching for the outline of what wasn't me.

I felt nothing. For hours.

Then—something.

Small.

Faint.

Like embers under ash.

I inhaled through my nose and leaned into it, sharpening my awareness, tightening the push.

And then it happened.

Ding.

The sound echoed in my head with that familiar digital clarity.

Behind my closed eyes, the dark canvas bloomed with sparks—tiny flicks of light that shimmered around me like fireflies in a void. Ten feet in every direction, I could see them.

Ants, beetles, birds in the trees, a fox sniffing the edge of a bush—all lit in soft energy outlines.

My eyes opened slowly.

{New Skill Acquired: Energy Sense (Rank 1)

By attuning your Reiryoku to subtle ambient fluctuations in energy, you have gained the ability to sense nearby living beings that emit any form of natural, magical, or spiritual energy.

Current Range: 10 feet radius (requires focused meditation).

Can detect all creatures that passively emit energy, unless that energy is actively suppressed.

Future ranks allow passive detection of humanoid lifeforms within reduced ranges.}

I grinned.

"Yes!" I yelled, the word sharper than expected.

My Zanpakutō vibrated lightly against my lap—just a whisper of movement. Barely noticeable. But I felt it.

Emotion.

Even a small burst like that triggered her.

Then another system prompt appeared, overlapping the first.

{Reiryoku Dominion detected. Adjusting Energy Sense scaling…}

{Range recalculated: 10 feet → 40 feet (Rank 4 multiplier)}

I blinked, then exhaled.

"Still Rank 4…" I muttered. But the multiplier was really nice.

I flopped backward onto the grass, the smell of soil and pine drifting up around me. The stars had begun to emerge—pinpricks of silver scattered above the dark canopy, sharp against the deep indigo sky.

Forty feet. That would've made a difference.

That night in the forest… I wouldn't have been blindsided. I would've sensed it, that stitched-together insectoid nightmare, before it ever opened her mouth, before it snapped that branch.

I closed my eyes again, this time just to feel the air.

Even the Akeno thing… if I'd had this skill, I would've noticed her. Stepped aside. No contact.

But…

I frowned slightly.

…I don't know if I would've changed that.

That surprised me.

Not that I enjoyed it—well, maybe I did—but more that I was willing to admit it to myself. That I didn't want to avoid every unexpected encounter anymore.

Maybe that meant something.

I pushed the thought away before it could fester.

Getting to the forest at times was interesting. Koneko had been tailing me every now and then. Today was another time. I'm grateful that she isn't that inconspicuous, otherwise I would have never known.

The way she hides behind light poles, reminded me of Tony Tony Chopper. I'd simply turn a corner and with a quick flash of Shunpo, I'd seemingly vanish. I bet it was frustrating to not just her but Rias too. The thought made me smirk.

Then, I let my mind drift to the past couple days. Lunch had become a new kind of routine. As promised, I'd joined Rias and Akeno at their table.

The school hadn't exactly handled that calmly.

Within an hour, I heard no less than four new rumors. One said I was being scouted as a new ORC member. Another said I was dating both of them. A third insisted I was a long-lost noble from overseas, chosen as part of some political marriage game.

The fourth? Something about me being hypnotized by a spell of theirs.

I ignored all of it. So did they.

Lunch was simple. Surprisingly so. We talked about school. Club activities. Exams. Kendo tournaments. Rias would ask my opinion on a reading. Akeno would try to tease me for anything she could. Occasionally, they'd debate something absurd—like whether the faculty or the student council had better taste in tea.

They never pried into my life. Never pushed.

No questions about my past, my family, my weird aura. They let me be me, and that… was nice.

I'd forgotten what normal felt like. What casual conversation felt like. Did I ever know?

I hadn't realized how much I missed it, interactions like these.

I hadn't seen Murayama and Katase much lately. Them not being in school yet, different schedules, and my absence from the dojo.

Last Saturday, we all met up for dinner. Nothing fancy—just ramen and dumb jokes and playful sparring in the alley after. It made me smile, thinking about it now. That brief feeling of belonging.

I liked that feeling.

I liked them. Were they friends?

And I was starting to like this too, the dynamic between me and the "Queens of the School."

Rias and Akeno weren't just beautiful—they were fun. Teasing. Sharp. Comfortable in their own skin. It reminded me of Murayama and Katase, in a strange way. The banter. The little back-and-forths. Akeno would tease Rias just to watch her puff up, and occasionally I'd catch Rias giving her a side glare like a princess deciding whether to roll her eyes or issue a royal decree.

Akeno sometimes made me the punchline in her teases at Rias. I didn't even mind.

Honestly?

I was looking forward to tomorrow.

Not just for the food or the company, though those were welcome surprises (the food from the Kuoh cafeteria was like a 5-star restaurant, insanely good).

But also for the rhythm of it. The quiet momentum building between us—one conversation at a time. Lunches with Rias and Akeno weren't exactly relaxing, not with how sharp and observant they were, but they were… steady. Familiar in a way that felt foreign to me now.

Something I didn't realize I missed until it returned.

And more than that—I wanted to see where it all led. What this dynamic could become. What I could become.

Not just someone who exists in the margins. Not just a silent observer walking from training to task, chasing strength because he doesn't know what else to chase.

But someone real. Present. Connected.

I'd never had real friends back in my old life. Not in the way that mattered. Not the kind who knew me. I had colleagues. Teammates. People I shared space with and even laughed with—but that wasn't the same.

Friends sounded… nice.

It was such a simple word. But it felt so heavy in my chest when I let it breathe.

Could I have that now? In this life?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But I'd never even tried before.

This time, I was willing to.

I exhaled slowly, my body relaxed against the cool earth, and let my gaze wander up to the night sky. Through the treetops, the stars flickered—soft and constant, ancient and uncaring.

The system flickers still danced in my peripheral vision—energy signatures marking the pulse of the world around me.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel adrift.

I wasn't just reacting. I wasn't just surviving.

I was moving—forward, deliberately. Even if I didn't know the destination yet. At the same time, I was trying to live in the moment. To not think about the too distant future. That was a challenge.

Tonight, under the trees, with starlight above and flickering Reiryoku outlining the world around me like echoes of breath—

I felt like I was finally walking in the right direction.

I sat up again and crossed my legs, my Zanpakutō resting beside me as I rolled my shoulders once and let my posture reset.

Sleep could wait.

I had another skill to grind.

Maybe after I've increased it a bit, I can go hunting. That stray did say that there were more than just her…

XXX

Day 44

Akeno Perspective

The sunlight spilled through the high windows of Kuoh Academy, casting a warm glow across the polished hallways as I walked beside Rias. Our footsteps echoed in the lull between classes, the midday buzz of students filtering toward the cafeteria creating a kind of quiet anticipation in the air.

I peeked sideways at her, watching the way her crimson hair caught the light, like strands of silk soaked in fire.

Her expression was composed as always… Her body language, her microexpressions, the way her lips pressed together when she was thinking: Rias didn't believe she was easy to read, but she was. At least to me.

"You're excited~," I said, letting my voice lilt up at the end, half-mocking, half-serious, the note

of teasing as familiar as my own laughter.

Her gaze snapped to mine, eyes like chips of sapphire under the blaze of morning. She lifted her chin, regal as ever, but I could see the faintest curve at the edge of her mouth. "Am I?"

"Mmhm," I hummed, not breaking eye contact. I folded my hands behind my back, the motion making me feel both proper and mischievous, like a shrine maiden hiding a fox's tail.

"You've got that little gleam in your eye. The one you get when you're about to see someone you like."

Her sigh was audible, exasperated but indulgent. "It's lunch, Akeno. And when have you seen me like anyone?

"But it's with Toshio~," I sing-songed.

"Another day, another perfectly plated wagyu bento, another emotionally restrained exchange over miso-glazed salmon and seasonal greens."

Rias rolled her eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way her cheeks twitched, a micro-expression of suppressed delight. "You're insufferable," she said, with all the gravitas of a queen banishing a court jester, but she let the smile out this time. It was soft. Barely there. But real.

"Only when I'm right," I said, and bumped her lightly with my shoulder.

That earned me a look—sharp, direct, but not unkind. The sort of look that said, "If you don't stop, I'll find a way to make you pay for it, but I'll enjoy the process." My favorite.

For a few steps, we walked in silence, but it was the companionable kind. The kind that carried the warmth of old habits—two girls who'd spent years together, who'd shared secrets under the velvet dark of midnight, who'd plotted and laughed and fought side by side.

I glanced at her again, lowering my voice just enough for us to hear, "But seriously… why are you playing this so slowly with him? Why not just lay it all out? Offer him a place in your peerage and be done with it?"

Rias's eyes drifted forward again, and for a moment, she said nothing. Just let the question hang between us.

"Because," she said, "I think he already knows."

I blinked. "Knows what?"

"What we are. That we're devils."

Her voice was calm, but I felt the tension just beneath it—a quiet kind of certainty wrapped in hesitation.

"There have been moments," she continued, "where I was this close to saying it. To making the offer. And every time, right before I do… he looks at me. Like he's already figured it out. Like he knows exactly what I'm about to say, and he's just waiting to see if I'll actually do it."

She exhaled. "And the thing is, if he does know… I don't think he'd accept. Not right away. He's too guarded. Too careful. And he's not just wary of us. He's wary of being recruited. I can feel it."

I considered that, letting my mind run back over the countless subtle tells Toshio left behind. The walls he kept up, the way he never gave more than he wanted, the way he seemed to weigh every word as if it might be used against him in a debate or a duel.

"So you're holding back," I said, "Waiting for him to come to us."

"I'm building something," Rias said, finally glancing back at me. "A connection. Real friendship. Something with weight. I want him to want to be part of our world. Not because we asked—but because he chooses it."

I nodded slowly.

I could see it now—the plan, the patience, the long game. It was so very Rias. Some devils bargained with souls and power. Rias bargained with trust.

"Long game."

"Very long," she admitted. "Maybe end of second year. Maybe beginning of third. But not now."

"You really like him, huh." I said softly. "It's rare for someone to catch your interest like this."

She didn't respond, but she didn't have to.

I smiled to myself.

Rias always did have good taste.

Lunch with Toshio had become a quiet ritual. One I hadn't expected to enjoy so much.

At first, I thought they'd be… dull. Reserved. Awkward. All stiff silences and unspoken curiosities. But they weren't.

I also noticed there was a kind of tension between him and Rias—a silent, slow, chemical burn—but it was never uncomfortable. It just was. The way the air was heavy before a summer rain.

Our lunches together were calm.

Peaceful.

And somehow, consistently interesting.

We'd usually eat in the cafeteria, but once or twice a week Rias and I relocated to the ORC building so Koneko wouldn't feel neglected. She pretended not to care, of course, but we knew better.

Toshio never asked where we'd go. He never acted like it mattered. Like he considered being around people a privilege and never asked the whys behind our actions. I think he's probably been lonely for a long time.

I found myself wanting to know more. Not just about his powers, or his past, but about him. The way he always tucked his left foot behind the chair leg. The way he'd almost never make any sound with any action he made. The way he'd sometimes go silent, looking out the window with this faraway stare, as if remembering another world.

Lunch with Rias and Toshio had become a kind of secret delight for me—though I'd never admit it to anyone, not even to Rias herself, who could read my moods as easily as I read hers. 

The pattern was always the same: Rias and I would enter the cafeteria side by side, eyes drawing the gaze of anyone with a pulse, and Toshio would already be there, his tray perfectly arranged, posture so straight it bordered on formal, eyes lowered to whatever book he'd brought that day (he read with his left hand, always, the right one slowing eating his meal).

He never acknowledged us right away. It felt like a small rebellion. I liked it.

Rias would pick an empty spot across from Toshio and I'd quickly follow in next to her. Enough time had passed that girls didn't bother trying to talk to him, learning they wouldn't get anything.

That, and his apparent fan club would hound any girl that tried. They noticed he liked his space, so they took it upon themselves to ensure he got it. Except with us of course. Rias and I were the exceptions.

When we would sit down, Toshio would glance up, only once, to confirm our presence. Then he'd return to his book, not even missing a line, but I'd notice the corners of his mouth twitch, just the barest hint, as if he was suppressing a smile. As if we were all in on a joke too subtle for anyone else to hear.

For the first few weeks, he said almost nothing. Rias carried the conversation at first—she was good at that, and she knew how to let silences linger without making them awkward.

I'd join in when I wanted, but more often I'd just watch the two of them. Rias was trying to figure him out, playing her usual games, pushing and pulling at his boundaries, hunting for weaknesses.

Toshio was like a fortress: silent, unyielding, but strangely not defensive. I could make the argument that he was deflective, with what few words he did say.

Slowly, though, he started to change. It was subtle. He'd finish his book a little earlier and set it aside. He'd make the smallest comments—never about himself, always about the world, or the food, about what Rias and I were talking about, or some random observation that was so dryly funny I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Sometimes I'd laugh just to see if I could coax a reaction out of him.

The real breakthrough came when I started teasing Rias in front of him. I could tell he noticed the way she'd react: the tiny glances, the huffy exhalations, the way her hands would flex on her chopsticks just before she caught herself and forced them to relax.

One day I made a joke about her childhood (the one she regretted telling me about with the flaming cake at the Gremory estate), and Toshio actually snorted. It was this barely-audible thing, a single consonant of sound, but it was unmistakable.

Rias snapped her gaze to him, cheeks pink, and he just looked back at her with this "What?" face, like he'd done nothing at all.

From then on, I doubled the teasing. Every time Rias got flustered, Toshio would react—never overtly, but with a glimmer of humor in his eyes, or a slow blink that was the closest he ever got to a smile. It was like feeding a stray cat: patience, and the right kind of bait, and eventually, you got something back.

Rias noticed, of course. She accused me of doing it just to get a reaction out of Toshio. Which, to be fair, was mostly true. But there was something else, too. I liked seeing Rias undone, just a little. She was so poised, so perfectly in control, that anything that ruffled her feathers felt like a victory.

I tried to tease Toshio, too, of course. I tried every sly trick in my arsenal. But it was like flirting with a locked vault—no, not even that, it was like attacking a magical barrier that repelled my strongest lightning attacks.

Toshio's composure was absurd, almost supernatural, and every time I sent out a little feeler—a suggestive tilt of the head, a purr in my voice, a playful insult—he'd deflect without even raising his guard.

He'd just let my words ripple over him, not even pretending to play along. The only sign he'd noticed at all was the faintest shift in his gaze, or a blink that lasted a fraction of a second too long. He never blushed. He never stammered. His eyes tracked every movement, sure, but never with hunger or embarrassment—only an analytical calm, like a chess grandmaster considering the board.

I should have been annoyed. After all, one of the few reliable joys in life was getting a rise out of people, cracking their armor, finding the raw core beneath.

But with Toshio, even the failures were interesting. The challenge made it better. It was as if he turned every advance into a gentle reversal, so that I'd end up feeling like the one who'd been seen through. Every so-called "victory" was met with a polite, unflappable courtesy that only made me want to try harder.

I liked it.

Especially after the stairway incident.

That still made my cheeks warm, just thinking about it.

The way he caught me.

The way we didn't fall.

That blur of movement—faster than anything I'd seen from a human. The quiet power in the way he moved, the precision of his grip. The way he held me, not like someone panicking, but like someone entirely in control.

He didn't grope. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blush.

And that was the most frustrating part.

After that, I made a point of "bumping" into him whenever I could. Call it research. Sometimes I'd pretend to fumble a stack of papers near his locker, or "accidentally" cut across his path walking to class. He caught me every time. By the sleeve. By the wrist. By the waist. By the shoulders.

Once, he twisted his hand so that his thumb landed precisely in the gap between my thumb and palm, like a judo move softened to the point of gentleness. It was the kind of thing that would've sent most boys into an awkward panic, or at least triggered a blush.

Not him. He just gave me a little nod, sometimes a shake of the head. One particular incident he just looked at me deadpan and said, "Really." Like he knew exactly what I was doing.

And then came the day of the bridal carry.

I'd gotten a little cocky. Decided to up the ante. At the top of the main stairwell, I "tripped" hard enough that my feet genuinely left the ground, and before I could shriek, he swept both arms under me and lifted me up.

Bridal style.

I don't know if you've ever been carried like that by someone who's both taller and stronger than you, but it's a little like being dropped through the floor and caught on a silk net. Do you know how rare that is for a man to pull that off without dropping the girl or fumbling the landing?

He did it effortlessly, barely breaking stride, and set me down a few moments later without a word. My hair was mussed, my heart was pounding, and all I could do was gape at him. He didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. Just gently shook his head and said, "Please be more careful." Like he knew what I was attempting and it had gone wrong.

You'd think that would be the most embarrassing part, but it wasn't.

The most embarrassing part was Rias.

She'd seen the whole thing.

I caught her watching from the landing above, arms crossed, face impassive. But her aura—oh, her aura—flared up like a solar storm. I'd spent enough time around her to know when she was rattled.

She masked it well, but the signals were all there: the narrowing of her gaze, the way her lips pressed into a line, the infinitesimal delay before she looked away.

I could practically taste the jealousy. For a moment, I thought she might even say something, but she just flicked her head and walked away, her long red hair trailing behind her like a banner.

That's when it hit me. Rias liked Toshio, and it unsettled her that someone else, even for a split second, might touch a part of him she hadn't yet claimed.

It wasn't about romance, not really. It was about control, and pride, that I had beat her to the punch for something she's been dreaming about.

I found myself thinking about that stairway incident more than I wanted to admit. Replay it, frame by frame. The way Toshio's eyes never left mine, even as he caught and carried me. The weird, electric calmness of his touch.

The way I felt, for a split second, like I was the one being measured—not by the standards of a devil, or a woman, or even as a person, but as a… possibility. The intense feeling of him being in control of every part of the situation.

From then on, my teasing got more creative. I'd engineer situations—minor emergencies, little moments of chaos—just to see how he'd handle them. Each time, he responded with the same eerie poise.

One afternoon, I deliberately made a mess of the Student Council's sign-up booth, scattering clipboards everywhere, me on my knees with my skirt flipped up, hoping he'd lose his cool. Instead, he just gathered everything up, handed it back to me, and gave a one-word critique: "Sloppy."

Another time, I tried a classic: the dropped handkerchief. I'd borrowed one from Rias, white with red embroidery, and let it slip from my uniform pocket right in front of him. I bent over, knees locked. I went with a thong that day.

I was so close to him I could feel his breath on the bare skin of my ass. When I stood back up to look at him, he was staring into my eyes with an eyebrow raised. Not a word. Then I caught a twitch in his expression. Finally, a victory.

I wanted to break him.

Not in a cruel way. Not even in a romantic way, necessarily.

But emotionally. Energetically.

I wanted to see what was behind that stoic shell. What it would take to make him laugh out loud. To flinch. To blush. To stammer. To react.

Because right now, it felt like I was flirting with a statue.

A very attractive, mysterious, possibly-dangerous statue—but still.

Maybe it could even go the other direction. Him being in control. Control of me. The thought sent a shiver through my body, ever so slightly dampening my panties.

Rias, noticing my shiver, looked over at me in mild confusion as we walked up to our destination, but didn't comment.

We reached the cafeteria doors, and I slowed my pace just enough to brush my shoulder against hers.

"I have an idea," I said, letting the words slip out smoothly as I turned to her with a small, sly smile.

Rias narrowed her eyes slightly, skeptical already. "What kind of idea?"

I opened the door for her, gesturing like a gentleman. "One that involves a breakthrough."

She gave me a long look, then stepped inside.

"...Do I want to know?"

I just smiled.

She'd find out soon enough.

We made our way through the usual crowds, trays in hand, the smell of freshly made duck confit and roasted garlic miso soup wafting through the air. The chefs at Kuoh were almost comically overqualified. I never thought I'd look forward to school cafeteria food, but here we were.

I spotted Toshio at our usual table—already seated, as always, posture flawless, tray aligned perfectly, reading another book with that ever-quiet focus. Different cover, different thickness every day. I made a note to figure out where he got them all. The library didn't carry half of what I'd seen him read.

Rias and I moved toward him, and I acted without hesitation.

I reached the table first and set my tray down with just enough force to announce my presence, but not enough to startle. I slid onto the seat at Toshio's right—closer than social convention, closer than was strictly appropriate, close enough that my skirt brushed his thigh beneath the table.

I could feel the warmth where his body radiated through layers of fabric, the faintest buzz of static where our knees almost, almost touched.

I tilted my head, smiled sweetly up at Rias, and gave her a single, silent look.

Well?

She hesitated—but only for a second.

She hesitated, just for a heartbeat, measuring the angles, the possible outcomes, and then committed, sitting down on his left so close that the air between them might as well not have existed. For a moment, the three of us just sat there, locked in a tableau: Toshio in the middle, flanked by two very determined girls, both of us radiating intent.

I could see it in the stiffness of her posture, the way she tried not to glance at the point of contact. Her chopsticks hesitated slightly as she unwrapped them. Her cheeks gained the faintest dusting of pink.

Rias Gremory. Blushing.

Secondary objective: Great Success.

He didn't react. Not at first. He just kept reading, eyes flicking across the page, lips moving in silent rehearsal of the words. But there was a flicker—a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in posture, a tensing of the hand that held the book. I saw it. So did Rias. We exchanged a microscopic smile, allies in mischief.

I grinned to myself as Toshio finally lowered his book—not abruptly, but slowly, like a man accepting the inevitable tide.

He gave us both a look. The deadpan one. The "Why are you like this" one.

"What are you doing?" he asked, eyes flicking between us.

I gave him my best innocent smile. "Eating lunch together. Like we always do."

His gaze didn't waver. Didn't blink.

Then he sighed. That quiet exhale of resignation that he was far too young to be that good at. He picked up his book in his left hand to resume reading, picked up his chopsticks in his right to continue eating like this was completely normal.

Which, in fairness, it would be. Soon.

I leaned in, just enough that my boobs pressed snugly against Toshio's upper arm. I acted like the contact was innocent, deniable, the kind of thing you could claim was an accident, but it wasn't.

I angled my face up at Rias, who gave me a look that said, "Fine, two can play at that game." She mirrored my move from the other side, her thigh now unmistakably flush with his, her hip ever so slightly cocked to maximize surface area. If he noticed he didn't show it, but the way his jaw clenched told me everything I needed to know.

"So, Rias," I said, tone casual, "did you see what Takashiro-sensei wrote on the board today during homeroom? That kanji for 'resilience'? She wrote it backwards."

Rias, catching on immediately, leaned in from the opposite side, her boobs doing exactly what I'd hoped, firmly pressing into his other arm. Her face was composed—barely—but I could see the strain. She was trying very hard to look unbothered.

"Oh, I did," she said smoothly. "And she said nothing when the entire class snickered. She must have realized halfway through and just… committed."

Our breasts were pressed fully against his arms, and we carried on our mundane conversation like absolutely nothing was out of place.

Toshio, to his credit, didn't say a word. Didn't fidget. Didn't protest.

He set his chopsticks down.

And when he went to set his book down with his left hand, I watched the movement of his arm, the slight ripple of defined muscle through his uniform as his arm shifted—pressing into Rias.

And that's when it happened.

A tiny sound. Barely audible.

Rias let out a little moan.

So soft it might have gone unnoticed.

But I heard it.

And so did Toshio.

His eyes flicked up, a slight twitch of surprise in his brow.

And for the first time in nearly two months of knowing him—

He blushed.

Not deeply. Just a dusting of pink across the high points of his cheekbones.

But it was there.

Primary objective: Great success!

I had to work not to grin like a maniac. Rias, flustered, pulled back immediately, her cheeks now crimson for entirely different reasons. She didn't speak.

I stayed, and pushed against him just a touch more, my thigh flush with his.

"You know, you don't have to pretend you're not enjoying this," I purred softly.

I caught Rias's eye and winked, and she rolled hers with the resigned dignity of a girl who had just lost—but also, secretly, won.

Toshio turned his head slowly to look at me. Due to my position, his face was almost touching mine. I could claim his lips before Rias, all I had to do was push a little…further…

Toshio gently moved his arm, pushing me away with a strength that boasted effortlessness.

"Who said I was pretending." A simple statement, but utterly complex in delivery. Neutral tone, like stating a fact. If he wasn't pretending, then was this his genuine full reaction? Now THAT got me curious.

Then, I followed suit—pulling back as if it had all been perfectly innocent.

We ate in relative silence after that. Not tense. Just… steeped in something new. Something unspoken.

A few minutes later, I decided to test the waters again.

"So," I said lightly, spearing a piece of grilled lotus root with my chopsticks, "what do you think about the new math assignment? Too easy, right?"

Toshio gave me a glance. "It's just integrals."

"Exactly," I said. "Though I might need some help understanding the finer… curves." I let my hand drift under the table, slow and smooth, and placed it lightly on his upper thigh.

He didn't jump. Didn't flinch.

He simply looked at me.

And gave an answer so neutral it might as well have been a weather report.

"Keep your variables isolated. Don't overthink the boundaries."

I pulled my hand back, chuckling softly. Okay. That one was actually good.

I didn't push any further after that.

Not because I was afraid of crossing a line.

But because it didn't feel necessary.

And then, as if the universe wanted to punctuate my triumph, Toshio set his chopsticks down and rose gracefully, regarded us both with a look that was part exhaustion, part admiration(?), and part… something else. Something raw and unadorned, like an emotion forged in.

"I'll see you both in class," he said simply. He stopped a few paces away and looked back. "Thank you for joining me for lunch."

And then he was gone.

How could a simple statement induce such an overwhelming feeling of triumph and satisfaction?

I waited until he was fully out of view before leaning over to Rias.

"So?" I whispered, resting my chin on my palm, eyes glittering with the fever of fresh mischief.

"What did you think of my idea?" Rias didn't answer immediately. Her gaze stabbed the table like a tacit threat, lashes lowered, the faintest tremble of repressed fury—or was it a blush?—tinting the corners of her lips.

If I didn't know her, I might have mistaken it for sullen resentment. But I'd seen her at her real worst, and this wasn't it. She finally looked up, fixing me with a glare so sharp it felt like it could crack the lacquer off the cafeteria table.

"You're insufferable," she said, her voice a brittle chill. I didn't even try to hide my smile.

"But did you like it?" She snapped her chopsticks together once, a punctuation mark.

"No." I let the silence linger, the way a magician lets the audience squirm before the reveal.

Then, "Really?"

"Absolutely not." I leaned in, close enough that if Toshio had still been here, he would've felt the heat radiating off my skin. I could tell she did, she just didn't like me doing it too.

"You're a terrible liar." Her nostrils flared in annoyance. Or maybe in something else entirely.

"You're the worst."

"But did you like it?" I asked again, softer this time, almost a caress. She exhaled with the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

"Maybe." I grinned, wide and genuine.

"That's a yes~." Her eyes flicked away, refusing to give me the pleasure of victory. Still, the blush crept higher, tinting her ears now.

"Next time," she said, voice low, "give me a warning how far you're going to go." I shrugged.

"I knew you'd like it," I said. "You were blushing before he even noticed." She stiffened, visibly.

"Shut up." But the words lacked venom. It was more a plea than a curse. She was turned slightly away from me now, picking at the remains of her food, but I could see the edge of her mouth curling into a traitorous smile. I pushed my tray away and stretched, luxuriating in the warm, heavy satisfaction of a plan well-executed.

I glanced over at the still-warm spot where Toshio had sat, wondering what he was thinking at that exact moment. If he was puzzling over our motives, or just processing the strangeness of the lunch itself. The idea that he might be a little unsettled—or even a little thrilled—by it made my heart beat a shade faster.

"We probably shouldn't push him like this again. I don't want to scare him off." Rias had slightly worried look on her face.

"Rias didn't you hear him? He said he wasn't pretending, that means he liked it too~." I smiled mischievously. Rias sighed. I knew she just wasn't used to doing these things. That's going to change if I have a say in it.

"Don't think I didn't see you trying to kiss him either." She fully glared at me with that. "You won't be the first."

"Ooo~ is that a challenge?" My smile never left, but I had a competitive gleam in my eye.

"A fact." She huffed. Realizing what she said, she blushed again and returned to her food. It looked like she couldn't help the small smile that creeped up on her face, though.

And with that, we finished our meal in a strange, new peace. The kind that comes only after a shared secret, or the first salvo of a war you're both secretly hoping to lose. I sat up straight in my seat on the table bench, triumphant. Yes, lunches with Toshio were getting a lot more interesting.

XXX

A/N: This chapter was super fun to write. I think it's my favorite so far. Probably why it's my longest one yet. What do you all think? Thanks for reading!