The deal, struck in the electrified air of the clubroom, left a strange aftertaste. Jin felt neither triumph nor relief. He had gotten what he wanted—access to information—but the price was clear: he had been dragged into their world. His quiet, detached life as an observer was over. Now he was a "special ally," a piece on the board, albeit one with the right to make his own moves.
Rias Gremory, true to her word, did not keep him waiting. A day after their conversation, Akeno gave Jin an invitation to visit the clan library.
"Rias-buchou is waiting for you this evening," she said with her unchanging, enigmatic smile. "I hope you find what you're looking for there, Izayoi-kun."
That evening, Jin once again found himself in the old club building. No one was there except Rias. She stood by a massive bookshelf, which, as it turned out, was not just a piece of furniture. Muttering a few words in the demonic tongue, Rias touched one of the books. The bookshelf slid silently aside, revealing a dark passage from which wafted a cool air and the scent of old paper.
"This way," she nodded. "Our library isn't just a room. It's a small pocket dimension, connected to our ancestral estate in the Underworld. It's safe here, and time flows a little differently."
Jin stepped into the passage. The world behind him vanished. He found himself in an enormous, circular hall, its walls lined from floor to the high, domed ceiling with shelves of books. Thousands, tens of thousands of volumes in leather and cloth bindings, with gold and silver embossing, ancient scrolls, dusty folios. In the center of the hall stood a large reading table, illuminated by a soft, magical light that hovered in the air.
It was impressive. Not the magic—he was already getting used to that. But the sheer amount of information gathered here. Concentrated knowledge, accumulated over centuries by one of the greatest demonic houses.
"You may study anything here," Rias said, her voice echoing in the silence. "The history of our world, bestiaries, treatises on magic, research on Sacred Gears. It's all at your disposal."
Jin walked slowly along one of the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of the books. His enhanced memory allowed him to absorb information at an incredible speed. He was looking for information about this world, its rules, its players, and their weaknesses. He pulled out one volume—The Chronicles of the Great War. He flipped through a few pages. Angels, demons, fallen. Battles that destroyed worlds. Names he knew from his past life were not myth here, but history.
"Interesting reading," he remarked, closing the book. "A lot of drama over ideological differences."
Rias smiled slightly at his cynical tone.
"It is our history. A history that continues to this day."
After spending about an hour in the library, Jin felt the information beginning to overload him. The knowledge was useful, but sitting in one place was tiresome.
"Enough for today," he said, putting the volume back. "My head is buzzing. I'm going for a walk."
"As you wish," Rias nodded. "The door will be open for you anytime."
Stepping out of the pocket dimension and back into the silence of the club, and then out onto the street, Jin inhaled the cool evening air. Twilight was already deepening over Kuoh. Instead of going home, he wandered aimlessly through the city, turning into quiet, deserted alleys where the streetlights barely pierced the darkness. He needed to digest the information he'd received and just be in the quiet.
On the way toward his neighborhood, he decided to stop by the familiar kombini again for something cold. The street was almost empty, with only the occasional car passing, its headlights snatching his solitary figure from the darkness. A man emerged from a side alley, walking toward him. Tall, in a long, tattered trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. Jin cast a brief, indifferent glance at him and walked on. Something about the man's figure seemed vaguely familiar, but he paid it no mind. As they drew level, Jin caught a sharp, unpleasant smell from the stranger—a mix of ozone and something sickeningly sweet. The man passed by without lifting his head. After taking several dozen steps, he stopped. Then he slowly turned his head, and in the light of a distant streetlight, a mad, predatory smile flashed across his face, baring teeth that were too sharp. He adjusted his hat, hiding his face, and turned into the darkness.
The kombini was bright and quiet. Misaki was behind the counter again. Seeing him, she smiled politely, as she would at any other customer, and a light, barely noticeable blush appeared on her cheeks, the kind any girl gets when seeing a handsome guy.
"Good evening," she said in a steady, calm voice.
No recognition. No memory of the purple sky, winged monsters, or the boy who caught spears of light. Just polite detachment. Jin nodded silently, grabbed a bottle of water, and approached the counter. He held out the money, their fingers brushing for a moment. She didn't react. He looked at her face, at her eyes, which held no shadow of memory of that evening in the park. Only the usual curiosity for a mysterious customer. Rias had kept her word. They had erased her memory.
He took his water and his change. He felt a strange emptiness. A part of him, the one that had felt something warm during their date, felt a light but sharp pang of disappointment. He was just another customer to her. A ghost with no past.
"Thank you for your purchase," she said as he was already turning to leave. "Please come again."
Jin stopped. He didn't turn around.
"Unlikely," he tossed out quietly and left the store, leaving behind a girl who was surprised by his strange behavior.
He walked through the dark streets, and the disappointment slowly grew into a cold, dull anger. Not at Rias. Not at Misaki. But at this world, at its rules, at himself. He decided to cut through a dark, abandoned park to shorten his route. Tall trees obscured the moonlight, creating almost absolute darkness.
"Hallelujah! What a fortunate meeting on such a lovely night!"
The voice, full of mad, theatrical delight, rang out from the darkness directly in front of him. The same man in the coat and hat leaped onto the path, blocking his way. He threw off the hat, and the moonlight, breaking through the leaves, illuminated his face. White hair, crazed eyes, scars, and a maniacal smile. Freed Sellzen.
"I was starting to think I'd have to search the whole city for you, you little sinner," he licked his lips, his gaze hungry. "I was following the scent. You absolutely reek of that disgusting demonic rot! You must be one of their little henchmen, eh? Like palling around with the spawn of hell?"
Two objects appeared in his hands, as if from thin air. In one, a long, serrated blade glowing faintly with a white light. In the other, a large-caliber pistol.
"But don't you worry! Father Freed is merciful!" he theatrically raised his eyes to the sky. "I will deliver your lost soul from its suffering! I will cleanse you with fire and steel! I will grant you a great mercy and send you straight to hell, to your beloved demons! Hallelujah!"
Jin stopped, looking at him with undisguised boredom. All his anger, all his disappointment, vanished instantly, replaced by a universal exhaustion.
"Are you finished with your monologue?" he asked, his voice perfectly flat. "I was starting to fall asleep."
"What?! How dare you, you filthy heretic?!" Freed shrieked, his face twisting in rage. "I will offer your head to the Lord!"
He lunged forward, his movements chaotic, unpredictable, like a rabid beast. The light-sword traced intricate patterns in the air as he simultaneously fired the pistol, bullets wreathed in holy energy flying from all directions.
Jin didn't even move. He just stood there, and the bullets, as they approached him, fell to the ground as if hitting an indestructible wall. Freed, seeing this, only became more incensed. He ran in close, his sword whistling as it came down on Jin from above.
Jin lazily raised a hand and caught the blade by its edge. A hissing sound rang out, but his palm remained unharmed. Freed froze in shock. Jin clenched his fingers. The sword cracked and shattered into pieces.
"My... my holy blade?!?!" Freed stammered, staring at the hilt in his hand.
"A toy," Jin stated, and struck. A simple, short punch to the stomach.
Freed doubled over, the air driven from his lungs in a whoosh. He was thrown back several meters, slamming into a tree trunk and sliding to the ground, coughing up blood.
"Im... impossible..." he wheezed, trying to get up.
Jin slowly walked toward him.
"I'm not in the mood for games tonight," he said coldly. "So let's end this quickly."
He drew back his leg, intending to crush his skull. But Freed, in a last desperate lunge, pulled another pistol from his coat and fired. Not at Jin. At the ground next to him. The bullet exploded in a blinding flash of light and smoke. When the smoke cleared, Freed was gone. He had jumped aside, deeper into the woods that began just beyond the park.
"Hee-hee-hee! Thought you could catch me so easily, you demon-worshipper?!" his mad laughter drifted from the trees. "Let's play tag!"
Jin clicked his tongue in irritation. He'd have to run. He shot into the forest, his speed so great he became a blur, easily weaving between the trees.
The chase was short. Jin quickly caught up to him in a small clearing. Freed, realizing it was useless to run, turned, his face a mask of fear and mad determination.
"That's it, sinner! You've pissed me off! Now you'll know true pain!"
He drew another, more powerful sword and charged again. But this time, Jin didn't play. He met his lunge, broke the sword, then broke his arm with a single blow. Freed howled in pain. Jin struck again—a leg snapped. The exorcist collapsed. Jin walked over and stepped on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
"Does it hurt?" he asked dispassionately.
"G-go... to hell... heretic..." Freed wheezed, choking on blood.
Jin pressed down harder. A crack of ribs. Freed screamed.
"You know, I just wanted to kill you and go home," Jin said, looking down at him. "But you're too loud. And too hard to kill. Types like you are always crawling out of your cracks, sowing chaos. It's tiring."
Freed, despite the pain, laughed maniacally.
"Hee-hee... think you've won? You know nothing... I... I'll be back... And I'll find you... And that cute little clerk from the store... the one you were chatting up..." he grinned, his eyes burning with hatred. "I'll be sure to pay her a visit, too... Teach her a lesson about how dangerous it is to get involved with types like you..."
He didn't get to finish.
Jin's gaze changed. All the fatigue, all the boredom, all the indifference vanished in an instant. His face became completely blank, like a mask of polished stone. And in his violet eyes, a coldness flared, such a bottomless, primal fury that even the madman Freed faltered and fell silent, feeling an icy terror run down his spine.
The exorcist realized he had made a fatal mistake. He quickly pulled a small crystal from his pocket and, with a desperate cry, threw it at the ground. A teleportation crystal. His last chance at escape.
Time slowed. The crystal flew toward the ground, its facets glinting in the moonlight. It was supposed to touch the moss, shatter, and carry its master away...
But it didn't touch it.
A moment before the crystal hit the ground, a hand intercepted it. But not the one that had thrown it.
Freed stared, stunned, at the crystal clamped in unfamiliar fingers. Then his gaze traveled slowly up the arm, to Jin's face. He was standing right in front of him, though a second ago he'd been several feet away. His face was still just as blank and terrifying. Looking into his eyes, his breath caught, and his heart froze in terror.
"I told you," Jin's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it resounded with absolute, irrevocable finality. "I'm not in the mood for games tonight. Did you think I'd let a piece of trash like you escape again and cause more problems? You're mistaken."
He clenched his fist. The teleportation crystal crumbled to dust.
"I will rid this world of you. Once and for all."
...
When Rias's group, drawn by the powerful surge of holy energy and then its abrupt disappearance, teleported to the clearing, they found only the aftermath. In the middle of the scorched and torn-up earth, in a pool of his own blood, lay what had once been Freed Sellzen. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his body covered in horrific wounds. He was alive, but barely breathing, his eyes lifeless, staring at nothing. He was physically and morally broken.
Rias and her peerage froze in shock, staring at the sight. They knew who had done this. And they knew that the power that had wrought such a thing was far beyond their comprehension.
And somewhere far away, a tall, blond youth was walking home through the night streets of Kuoh. In his eyes, there was no longer any boredom or irritation. Only a cold, calm emptiness. He had made his choice and had ceased to be an observer.