A Life Kept Simple (DxD/Hentai Chaos Gacha OC-SI) — Chapter 30 (Patreon)

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After arriving, we’re shown through to a vast hall and emerge onto the lowest level, where a broad circular stage takes up most of the floor. Six spots have been laid out across it for the participating Kings to stand under the spotlight, while everyone they’ve brought along gets shunted off to seating on either side. Mary gives my hand a quick squeeze before heading down with Riser, leaving the rest of us to find somewhere to sit.

It’s when I look up that I realise just how many people are here. The room rises around the stage in tiers. The first few rows are filled with what I assume are the important old bastards Serafall was complaining about on our first date. Above and around them are dozens more boxes and rows packed with devils from houses important enough—or merely interested enough—to make the trip, or at least I think so.

I’m kind of glad we got packed into the shadowed side of the floor because that’s easily hundreds of eyes, all pointed down at six people.

Four seats overlook the entire room from a balcony built so high that whoever designed this place may as well have written ‘SATANS GO HERE’ across the front. Looking basically identical to Rias, except a bit more masculine, Sirzechs Lucifer sits in the middle. Falbium sits beside him, waving to Mary, I think, based on the slight surge of happiness from her. On Sirzechs Lucifer’s other side is Serafall, who’s just overflowing with joy as she beams down at her little sister. Ajuka Beelzebub’s slouching next to her, as if he’d just been sentenced to watch paint dry.

The noise in the hall dies down once the last of us are seated.

An old devil in the front row clears his throat noisily. “Thank you all for coming. We have gathered here today to look upon the faces of the next generation and assess the prospects of our youth. Those before us have distinguished themselves among the younger generation through blood, ability, or achievement. Some hail from houses whose names have shaped the Underworld for millennia. Others…”

His eyes settle on Mary.

“...have distinguished themselves rather more recently.”

Her face doesn’t so much as twitch, but I can feel the irritation wafting off her. One of the other old men nearby leans towards him and mutters something I can’t hear. A few chuckles ripple through the rows around them before Sirzechs rises from his seat.

“Regardless of how they came to stand before us, each has demonstrated qualities worthy of our attention,” he says. “You six represent some of the greatest prospects among your generation. Before your formal debuts, we would like to give you the opportunity to compete against one another and, hopefully, grow from the experience. Over the coming weeks, each of you will participate in Rating Games against your fellow Kings.”

Riser already spoiled that particular surprise on the train.

“Satan Lucifer.” Sairaorg raises his voice over the susurrus.

“Yes?”

“Will we be expected to fight the Khaos Brigade?”

Sirzechs’ smile dims. “That has yet to be decided. If possible, I would rather none of you were placed in that position.”

Sairaorg’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“Because you are young.”

“We are devils. If there is an enemy threatening the Underworld, then surely it is our duty to fight?”

“You misunderstand me, Sairaorg.” Sirzechs’ voice stays gentle. “Your willingness to fight is admirable. But willingness alone isn’t reason enough for us to throw the next generation into a war. I have no intention of adding any of you to that number simply because you believe yourselves obligated to volunteer. There may come a time when we need you. I sincerely hope it doesn’t.”

Sairaorg bows his head reluctantly. “Understood.”

He doesn’t look particularly happy about it, but I can’t exactly blame him. If someone told me where Diodora was right now but told me I couldn’t go after him, I’m not sure I’d be interested in sitting put. Sirzechs takes his seat again, and the old guys resume talking and talking.

And… talking about all sorts of shit in long-winded ways. I shift in my seat and glance towards the others. Kyouka’s slouched so far down in her seat that I’m impressed she hasn’t fallen out of it. Leona, naturally, looks perfectly at home next to a sleeping Ibaraki.

Mercifully, Ajuka Beelzebub stands. “I believe we’ve kept everyone here long enough.”

“There is, however, one last thing we’d like to hear before we conclude,” Falbium adds as he rises, too. “As the elders have no doubt made clear, each of you will inherit responsibilities, titles, and expectations from those who came before you. But those things alone cannot decide what sort of devil you become. So, rather than hear any more about what your families expect of you, we would like to hear something from each of you, Kings gathered here today.”

Sirzechs smiles. “Simply put, what do you intend to do with your futures?”

One of the old devils raises a hand before any of them can answer.

“If we are to hear from everyone, there should be a proper order.”

“Quite,” another agrees. “We should begin with the lowest and least among you, then proceed according to the standing of your respective houses.”

There are a couple murmurs of agreement from the front rows. My eyes narrow. …The hell does he mean by the lowest and least?

“Mary Naamah,” the first old man says. “As the daughter of a mere Baron, you may begin.”

…These decrepit old bastards.

“Mere Baron,” Kyouka grunts beside me. “Fucking wrinkled old cunts.”

She has the good sense not to throw herself onto the stage and give them more fuel to undermine Mary, but if she doesn’t, I’m pretty sure I will. Taking a deep, calming breath, I tune out my friends’ anger; otherwise it’ll only feed mine, and I keep my eyes pinned to the stage.

“Naamah…”

“Isn’t she the dhampir?”

“Half-human, yes.”

“Times certainly have changed.”

“They’ll let anyone play King these days.”

My fingers curl around the edge of my seat. Could I get away with lambasting them as ‘mere devils’ if I leaned hard on my newfound status and fame? I know Serafall and Falbium wouldn’t stop me, and the little I know of the other Satans reassures me they won’t either. But as I take the time to think the pros and cons through, Mary lets her tense shoulders settle after a deep breath and smiles up at them.

“I intend to raise House Naamah to the rank of Marquis.”

“What?!”

“Marquis?”

“Absurd!”

“From a barony?”

Someone actually laughs incredulously, and it spreads like a contagion.

“Ambitious,” one of the elders says once the noise settles enough to hear him. He sounds like he’s trying very hard to make that word mean something else. “House Naamah has remained a barony for generations. You believe yourself capable of raising it three ranks?”

“Yes.”

A woman somewhere above us gives a little scoff. “Youthful confidence is one thing, but perhaps someone in her position ought to set more reasonable expectations.”

“I was asked what I intend to do with my future. That’s what I intend to do.” Mary gives them a little bow alongside her smile.

I can feel enough satisfaction rolling off her that I almost start laughing because I know that she can sense the irritation of a lot of the bastards above her as clearly as I can, if not clearer.

“And how,” another elder asks, “does the young Lady Naamah intend to accomplish such a remarkable elevation?”

“Why, by earning it through Rating Games.”

The Underworld isn’t some feudal shithole where your great-great-grandfather’s title is the only thing that matters anymore. The Satans have spent centuries dragging the place in the other direction, and houses can rise or fall based on what they actually do. Mary’s already gone from being some Baron’s half-human daughter nobody gave a shit about to standing on this stage.

Marquis is a hell of a jump, but is it impossible? Not in the least.

“A lofty ambition. Very well.” The old devil who volunteered her first doesn’t look impressed, but he gives a shallow nod anyway.

Mary inclines her head and steps back. I catch her eye and grin, cracking her perfect composure as the corner of her mouth twitches.

Sairaorg goes next. “I intend to become a Satan.”

The response to his declaration couldn’t be more different from Mary’s.

Applause crashes through the hall almost before he’s finished saying it. Even a fair chunk of the old lot join in, and Sairaorg takes it without puffing his chest out. Rias Gremory wants to succeed her father as Archduchess of Gremory and swears that once she properly enters the Rating Games, she doesn’t intend to lose a single one. That gets plenty of approval, too. Riser declares that he’ll surpass Ruval as a King and receives similar support.

Then it’s Sona’s turn.

“I intend to establish a school.” She adjusts her glasses.

One of the elders on the lower level frowns. “There are already institutions dedicated to educating young devils, Lady Sitri.”

“Not the kind I intend to establish.” Sona folds her hands neatly in front of herself. “I want to create a school dedicated to teaching Rating Games that anyone may attend, regardless of their rank or birth. Low-class devils, reincarnated devils, and those without the privilege of belonging to one of our great houses would all be permitted to study there.”

…That’s pretty nice, actually, or so I think until laughter bursts from the seats above us.

“Anyone?”

“What an absurd notion!”

“A school for servants to learn Rating Games?”

“I suppose even the Sitri heir is allowed one childish fantasy.”

My smile disappears. ...Seriously, what’s their problem here? Sona waits for it to die down, but it takes a while.

“I am serious,” she says.

Serafall’s bubbly persona is gone, her blue eyes are fixed on her sister with intense focus.

“Lady Sitri, low-class devils are low-class for a reason. Reincarnated devils are selected by their masters according to whatever talents make them useful. Those fortunate enough to demonstrate exceptional ability may rise accordingly.” One of the old men sighs. “Such opportunities already exist. Your endeavour, while well-meaning, is a youthful folly.”

“Those opportunities exist only for those who are given access to them,” Sona replies. “How many talents are squandered because they had the misfortune of being born into squalor?”

“A gem, no matter how rough, will always gleam.” The old man carries on despite the frown on her face. “Moreover, the Rating Game is a tradition of the nobility. Opening specialised education to every low-class devil and reincarnated human who fancies themselves a King would accomplish little beyond cheapening it.”

Sona and Rias’ people are seated opposite us and Riser’s peerage. Judging by the look on the one guy in Sona’s peerage, I’m not the only person wondering what the fuck these people are smoking. His blonde hair bobs angrily as he surges to his feet, cast in darkness but no less furious at the elders and upper crust staring down at us.

“Are you kidding me?!” His voice carries clear across the hall. “You all asked President—Lady Sona what she wanted to do! What’s the point of asking if you’re just gonna laugh at her for answering?!”

“Saji,” Sona says sharply.

“Who are they to decide it’s impossible?!”

“Mind your tongue, reincarnated devil. Lady Sitri, I suggest you teach your servant when it is appropriate to speak.”

Saji looks about ready to vault the stage himself.

Sona turns her head just enough to look at him. “Sit down.”

“But—”

“Please.” He eventually drops back into his seat, fists still balled against his knees, and Sona faces forward again with a bow. “...My apologies for the interruption.”

“Don’t apologise.” Serafall rises from her seat and stares down at the rows beneath her. “Saji is right. All of you asked these children to stand before you and tell you their dreams, then laughed when those dreams weren’t sufficiently agreeable to you. How many centuries do you intend to spend as cobwebs weighing down the dreams of our youth? If Sona wishes to build her school, then let her try. If Mary Naamah wishes to raise her house to Marquis, let her try. If Sairaorg wishes to become a Satan, he can try, too. Whether they succeed is for their own ability and the future to decide.”

The most mouthy old man bristles. “Satan Leviathan, with respect, there are traditions—”

“Traditions change.” Sirzechs says pleasantly. “The Underworld in which we live today would have been called impossible once. There was a time when the notion of four devils bearing the names of Lucifer, Leviathan, Beelzebub and Asmodeus without descending from the original Satans would have been considered an insult.”

“The peace and prosperity you now consider ordinary were dreams then, too. Quite unrealistic ones, as I recall,” Falbium adds. “You have every right to question how these young devils intend to achieve their ambitions. You may advise them. You may warn them of the difficulties ahead, but you have no right to summon them here, ask for their dreams, and then ridicule them for dreaming beyond the world you already know.”

Ajuka rests his cheek against one fist with a long sigh. “You could also stand to speak less.”

For all the furious whispering, no one dares to say anything against them, and across the hall, Saji stares up at Ajuka like he’s just witnessed the second coming of Christ. Or, more accurately, Satan, I guess.

“In the interest of brevity, then, perhaps we ought to proceed to the matter of the Rating Games.”

...Oh, now he’s interested in brevity.

“Since Lady Naamah is so confident in her ability to elevate her house through the Rating Games, it seems only proper that she be afforded an opportunity to demonstrate that ambition.”

Several of the old bastards start smiling.

“Your first match shall be against Sairaorg Bael.”

Mary’s head snaps towards Sairaorg. He looks just as surprised as she does.

“That’s bullshit,” Kyouka growls. “They’re setting us up this blatantly?!”

…Past my immediate excitement at the chance to fight him, yeah. This is some A-grade scumbaggery.

“A future Marquis should hardly be troubled by such a challenge, surely?”

A snide feminine voice joins him from somewhere in the first few rows. “Indeed. Advancement through the Rating Games is precisely what Lady Naamah proposed. And what better opportunity to begin earning it?”

A few chuckles follow.

“Besides,” the first elder adds, “Lord Bael has aspirations of becoming a Satan. Lady Naamah seeks merely to become a Marquis. One would think hers is the considerably easier dream.”

Mary stares up at them. I can feel the anger rolling off her now. Hot, sharp, and—gone.  “...Very well.”

“You have no objection?”

“Would it matter if I did?” She smiles sweetly. “Someone would have to fight Lord Bael anyway. If I intend to raise my house through Rating Games, I’ll have to win difficult ones eventually. I look forward to our match, Lord Bael.”

“As do I.” Sairaorg’s grin widens. “Circumstance aside, I won’t insult you by holding back.”

Sirzechs regards Mary with a small smile.

“In which case, the match between Sairaorg Bael and Mary Naamah will commence in five days on August 3rd.”

【—〄—】

We basically mob Mary the moment she’s allowed to leave the stage. …Or, well, her peerage does. Ibaraki’s somehow still asleep in her chair while I hang back and watch her calm them down. I can’t help laughing as Mary gets jostled between Murata, Kyouka, and Miyata, who are trying to cheer her up. Kyouka’s already started talking about training twice as hard for the next five days.

Just yesterday, she was calling me a demon walking, but I guess there’s nothing like infuriating old people talking down on you to get the blood pumping. Mary eventually extricates herself and looks across the entrance hall at Sona and her peerage. They’re gathered off at the other side of the stage. Sairaorg, Rias, Riser, and Seekvaira are all in the adjacent refreshments room with their peerages, I think.

Mary moves towards them.

“Where’re we going?” Kyouka asks.

“To talk to them.”

Sona notices us approaching first. “...Lady Naamah.”

“Mary’s fine! I just wanted to say that I think your school’s a good idea.”

Saji immediately looks about ten times happier.

“Thank you.” Sona blinks.

“Though, why stop at devils? The world’s getting smaller, isn’t it? Devils are making peace with angels and fallen angels. I’m half-human myself, and there’s an oni asleep over there.”

Saji angles around our peerage to glance at Ibaraki.

“If you’re going to make a school where birth and rank don’t matter, why make species matter?” Mary shrugs. “You might end up with humans, youkai, fallen angels... whoever. Assuming they can actually participate in Rating Games, anyway. Maybe they don’t have to, even if you teach Rating Game strategy?”

I shrug. “Hell, I might volunteer as a teacher. A supernatural school sounds pretty cool.”

“I hadn’t considered extending it beyond devils,” she admits, giving me a considering look. “The idea of a demigod professor is interesting for certain. There are considerable practical difficulties with doing it at all.”

“And apparently a lot of annoying old people.”

Saji snorts.

“...Also true.” Sona ignores him. “I would need to consider how such students could participate in the Rating Game system without Evil Pieces, but… yes. I quite like the idea. Thank you for broadening my horizons.”

Mary beams. “Glad to have helped~!”

“Are either you or the oni you intending to join Lady Mary’s peerage?” Sona asks. “Or are you here in capacity as her contracted mage?”

“She’s my familiar,” I say. “I’m the contracted mage.”

A little crease appears between her eyebrows. “An… oni, the familiar of a Greek demigod?”

“I do live in Japan.”

Sona stares at me.

“Soooooona~!”

She closes her eyes in acceptance for a punishment that never comes. Instead, I feel two arms wrap around my waist and a soft weight moulding into my spine. My feet almost leave the floor as Serafall squeezes the life out of me, pressing her cheek against my elbow.

“And hello, Arima!”

“Hello to you too.” I smile stiffly, making eye contact with Sona while her sister glomps me from behind.

“Sona!” Serafall finally releases enough pressure on my ribs to wave enthusiastically at her. “You’re okay, right? Those mean old geezers didn’t hurt your feelings?”

“I am perfectly fine, sister.”

“Are you sure? Because I can go back in there.”

“Please don’t.”

“I haven’t even frozen anyone!”

“That’s precisely why I’d like you to stay out here.”

Serafall pouts.

“There’s no need to worry about me. I stated my ambition and defended it. What they think of it is irrelevant.”

“That’s my Sona!”

Sona’s eyebrow twitches. “I also don’t need you fighting my political battles for me.”

“That’s my ungrateful Sona!” She brightens and squeezes me again. “Anyway! I wasn’t just coming over here for you. I wanted to tell Arima our date’s on for tomorrow!”

“...Oh.”

Sona’s peerage gawks at me, no one more than Saji. He’s looking at me in naked admiration and with pretty obvious jealousy, and it doesn’t exactly take a genius to see why, given his impassioned outburst in defence of Sona.

“Cool,” I say. “See you tomorrow then?”

“Perfect!”

Sona adjusts her glasses. “Your… date?”

“Mhm!” Serafall nods happily.

“With my sister?” she asks me.

“...Yep.”

“I see.” She turns around.

“President Sona?” Saji asks.

“I need to find Rias.”

“Right now?”

And off she and her peerage go. Serafall watches her disappear into the crowd before covering her mouth and giggling.

“You did that on purpose,” I say.

She lets me go, circling around and locking her arms behind her back. “I don’t know what you mean. …But thanks for the assist! I’ve got boring Satan work to do now, so I’ll see you tomorrow. It was good seeing you, Saki. You look so much better~! And Mary? You’ve got this!”

“T-Thank you!” Saki bows.

Mary smiles as Serafall giggles again before disappearing back towards the hall.

Leona folds her arms. “...Do you think we’re overdressed?”

“You are,” Kyouka snorts, wearing denim booty shorts, knee-high boots, and a black tank top. “Nobody told you to wear a fancy dress.”

“It’s a gathering of young aristocrats!”

“So? You’re the only ones dressed to the gills. The two noble princesses here were wearing their school uniform.”

Mary laughs. “Well, that’s sort of their signature Rating Game look.”

“...You have two girlfriends?” Saki says to me, shifting uncomfortably. Miyata gives me a baleful stare.

Seto adjusts his glasses. “Polyamory is much more common among the supernatural.”

“I’ve also got a girlfriend,” Mary says. “Her name is Ravel Phenex.”

Murata’s jaw drops. “Wait, what?”

“C’mon!” Kyouka snorts. “You didn’t see our lovely King getting handsy with the blonde on the train?”

“No!”

I follow after Sona and her peerage to avoid what’s becoming a pretty awkward conversation. “Come on. I think they’re headed to where Riser and everyone else are at, I think.”

We follow Sona through the crowd anyway, eventually spotting her distinctive bob of black hair near one of the side corridors, turning the corner. Rias is there with her peerage, and so is Riser with his, just to the side of the adjacent hall. Sona and her peerage slow a little as they enter the hall, but they don’t linger.

…We do, though.

“I’m apologising, Gremory,” Riser says slowly.

“I-I gathered.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

She notices us and composes herself. “I simply wasn’t expecting it. Then... apology accepted, Riser.”

He gives her a stiff nod.

“Mary Naamah!” My girlfriend barely gets out a “Hi,” before Rias closes the distance and takes both her hands in her own. “Don’t listen to them.”

“...Who?” she asks.

“The elders,” Rias clarifies. “Your ambition is your own. If you truly wish to raise House Naamah to Marquis, then pursue it. Nobody in that hall has the right to decide how high you’re permitted to climb.”

“Oh.” Mary’s expression softens. “Thank you.”

Inside the refreshment hall, tables have been set up along the walls beneath chandeliers, covered in enough food and drink to feed everyone several times over. The various peerages start breaking apart into smaller groups as we enter, and our peerage isn’t an exception. Mary herself gets dragged off by Rias’s peerage almost immediately. Ibaraki, Kyouka, and Murata make a beeline for the food. Leona follows at a much more dignified pace while Miyata, Saki, and Seto wander over to where Sona’s people have gathered.

Meanwhile, I make it about ten steps before someone calls my name.

“Arima.” Sairaorg walks up to me and offers me his hand. I take it, squeezing down when his grip immediately tightens around mine.

“You’ve grown considerably stronger.” He releases my hand. “Of course, that only makes me more eager for our match.”

I snort. “You’re excited about this?”

“Very. I dislike the circumstances, however. The match was chosen to punish Lady Naamah for offending their pride. I have no intention of pretending otherwise. I’ve spent much of my life being looked down upon by those same people.” His mouth twists. “Being used by them to do the same to someone else leaves a bitter taste. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased with the result.”

I laugh. “...Well, being honest, I’ve wanted to fight you since we met.”

“I had hoped we might spar after the funeral, but it hardly seemed appropriate.”

My smile falters.

“My apologies,” Sairaorg sighs.

I glance down at my hand. It hasn’t even been that long... 

“MASTER!”

I flinch as Issei Hyoudou barrels through several people to reach us. …Is he talking to me? Surely not, right? And why is he bowing so formally? Like, a full ninety degrees with his hands pinned to his sides and everything.

“Please teach me!”

I stare down at him. “...Teach you what?”

“Your technique!” He shoots upright. “From DevilTube!”

Sairaorg starts chuckling.

“The one where you made that guy cum without even touching him!”

He throws his head back, laughing loud and hard and pulling so many goddamn eyes in our direction. The concurrent conversations between the three peerages screech to a stop as they all turn to face us. The members of Rias’ peerage look about as mortified as I feel, with Koneko separating herself as far as she can from him by entering the refreshment hall.

“Please, Master!” Issei bows again. “Teach me how to make people cum on command!”

Feat: When the Master is Ready, the Student Appears!

+1x Silver Random Gacha Ticket

God… why?

“Issei.” Rias walks up behind him, and never have I heard more exasperation in a single word until now.

“Prez?”

“Leave him alone,” she says, pulling him by the arm.

“But—”

“Now.”

His shoulders slump. “...Yes.”

He trudges away, though not before turning around and pointing two fingers at his own eyes, then at me. The commotion’s drawn pretty much everyone over by now. Mary arrives with Rias and is laughing at me, followed by most of our lot and Riser’s peerage. Kyouka’s carrying a plate piled high enough with food that I genuinely don’t know how it’s staying upright.

Sairaorg finally gets his laughter under control as another group approaches from behind him. His peerage, presumably. There are eight of them altogether, some more intimidating than others.

Sairaorg turns towards Mary. “Lady Naamah.”

“Mary is fine.”

“In that case, Sairaorg’s fine as well.” He gestures to the devils gathering behind him. “Since we’ll be facing one another in five days, we may as well introduce ourselves properly. My Pawn, Regulus. My Rooks, Gandoma Balam and Ladora Buné. Coriana Andrealphus and Misteeta Sabnock are my Bishops, Liban Crocell and Beluga Furcas are my Knights, and lastly, my Queen, Kuisha Abaddon.”

The respective members nod and bow as he introduces them, entirely friendly towards us. 

Mary gestures towards Leona first. “Leona Houjou, my Queen.”

Leona dips her head.

“Kyouka Shiraishi, Pawn.”

Kyouka raises her overloaded plate in greeting. “Sup.”

“Murata and Miyata, Knight and Rook.”

They grin.

“Seto, Bishop. Saki, Rook.”

Seto bows and introduces himself, prompting Saki to bow quickly. “N-Nice to meet you.”

“Takezo is my contracted mage and...” She leans back and points to the dessert table on the other side of the hall. “...Ibaraki is his familiar.”

“She’s still eating?” Miyata mutters. “Doesn’t she ever get sick of sweets?”

Sairaorg laughs again, and his Queen covers her mouth. Riser and Ravel have joined the growing semicircle by now, along with enough of their peerages that we’ve basically taken over this corner of the room. Riser looks over Sairaorg’s people before turning to Mary while his peerage socialises with Sairaorg’s.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” he says plainly. “But it’s winnable.”

“Thank you for the encouragement.”

Riser folds his arms. “Bael’s the favourite.”

One of Sairaorg’s eyebrows rises as he leans over. For all the shit surrounding how this match came about, there isn’t a trace of condescension on his face.

“I hope you understand that I meant what I said earlier. I have no intention of treating this match differently because of the elders’ intentions,” he says.

Mary dips her head. “I’d be offended if you did.”

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