Whoever said "the early bird gets the worm" clearly never considered that the worm might prefer to sleep in at 4:55 AM, I stood in my underground training room, yawning so wide my jaw cracked. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and unforgiving.
"This is stupid," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Who learns anything at 5 in the morning?"
I'd barely slept. How could I? My mind had been racing all night with everything Azazel had told me. My company was a supernatural joint venture. My grandfather had made deals with devils, angels, and gods. And now I was about to start some kind of training with the leader of the Fallen Angels.
Well, technically, I asked for the training, but still.
I sighed.
"Good morning, Leon-kun!"
"HOLY SH—"
I nearly jumped out of my skin as Azazel's cheerful voice came from directly behind me. I whirled around to find him standing there, looking irritatingly fresh and well-rested in casual clothes—a simple black shirt and pants that somehow still managed to look expensive.
"Don't do that," I growled.
"Lesson one," he said with a grin, "always be aware of your surroundings."
"It's 5 AM. The only thing I'm aware of is that I should still be in bed."
Azazel laughed. "The supernatural world doesn't keep office hours, Leon-kun. Attacks come when you least expect them—especially when you're tired, distracted, or unprepared."
Easy for him to say. The guy probably didn't even need sleep. Did fallen angels need rest? Or food? Or anything humans required? Just another mystery in the growing pile of "supernatural bullshit I need to learn if I want to survive."
"Is that why we're doing this at dawn? To catch me at my worst?"
"Precisely!" He clapped his hands together. "Now, shall we begin?"
I sighed, resigning myself to whatever tortures he had planned. "Fine. What's first? Magic? Combat training? Ancient supernatural history?"
"First," Azazel said, his expression growing more serious, "we need to establish exactly what we're working with."
"Let's start with something basic. Summon your grimoire."
I did as he asked, calling the Arcanum Grimoire into existence. It appeared with a flash of golden light, floating serenely before me, its pages rustling slightly in a wind that wasn't there.
"Good," Azazel said. "Now, tell me—when you use it, what do you feel?"
I considered the question carefully. "It's like... like the grimoire can read me. It feels my intent, my mana, and then translates that into actual magic. The pages were mostly blank when I first got it, but they've been filling up with new spells as I learn and grow."
That wasn't entirely a lie. The Arcanum Grimoire I'd created was designed to work exactly that way—a living magical text that would develop alongside me, reading my mana and intent to help construct spell formulas. It was a standard grimoire concept that I'd enhanced in my Workshop, making it more responsive and intuitive than most.
"Ah," Azazel nodded, looking pleased. "So it follows the classic grimoire pattern. They're fascinating magical artifacts—extensions of their owners in many ways. The book grows as you grow, filling with new magic that reflects your development as a person and as a mage."
"Exactly," I confirmed, relieved that this part, at least, wouldn't require lies. "The spells that appear seem to match what I need or what I'm ready to learn. Sometimes they're challenging, pushing me to develop new skills."
Azazel extended his hand. "May I?"
Hesitantly, I directed the grimoire to float over to him. He didn't try to touch it, which was good, since I wasn't sure what would happen if he did, but instead observed it carefully from all angles.
"The binding is extraordinary," he murmured. "These sigils here and here—" he pointed to markings along the spine, "they are unlike I have anything I have ever seen before, and they are much more efficient and powerful."
I nodded, my Celestial Workshop seemed to draw on knowledge beyond my conscious understanding.
"And the pages themselves," Azazel continued, "they're not paper, but concentrated mana given physical form. A living book, essentially."
"Is that unusual for a Sacred Gear?" I asked.
"To manifest as a grimoire? Not entirely, though it's uncommon." Azazel gestured, and the book floated back to me.
I caught it with both hands, feeling that familiar warm pulse of magic.
"So what now?" I yawned again, the early hour still weighing on me.
He smirked. I don't like this.
"Combat Training."
Then he attacked.
This fucker.
I barely had time to react when Azazel lunged at me, his fist aimed straight for my face. Instincts kicked in and I dove to the side.
Holy shit, he's fast! This was something else entirely. In the anime, they always showed supernatural beings moving quickly, but seeing it in person was terrifying.
One moment he was standing there, the next he was on me. No build-up, no telegraph. Just pure, effortless speed. Can't even see with my enhanced senses.
"What the hell?" I shouted, scrambling to my feet as Azazel pivoted smoothly, already coming at me again.
"Combat training!" he called cheerfully, like we were discussing the weather and not, you know, him trying to punch my face in. "Best way to learn is under pressure!"
Another swing, this one I blocked, channeling mana into my forearm just in time. The impact still sent vibrations up to my shoulder.
Even holding back, his strength was monstrous. That casual swing had more force behind it than most of the stray devils I'd fought. And this was him being gentle. I'd gotten too comfortable hunting low-level strays. This was a wake-up call about where I really stood in the supernatural hierarchy.
"A little warning would've been nice!" I gritted out, jumping back to create distance.
Azazel chuckled, circling me like a predator. "Enemies don't give warnings, Leon-kun."
He moved again, faster this time. Too fast. His fist connected with my stomach before I could even think about dodging, and I doubled over, gasping.
"Lesson two," he said, not even winded. "Speed matters."
I straightened up, anger and pride mixing in my chest. Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it.
I channeled mana into my limbs and shot forward, aiming a punch at his smug face.
He caught my fist like it was nothing, his grip firm but not crushing.
"Good," he nodded approvingly. "You're already using mana enhancement. But—" he twisted, flipping me over his shoulder and onto my back with a thud that knocked the wind out of me, "—technique also matters."
I lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what decisions in my life had led me to getting thrown around by a fallen angel at dawn.
"Get up," Azazel said, not unkindly. "We're just getting started."
I groaned but complied, pushing myself to my feet. My body is already healing the minor bruises from the impact. "What exactly are we trying to accomplish here?"
"I'm assessing your abilities," he explained, resuming his ready stance. "What you can do, how you respond under pressure, your instincts. It tells me where to begin your training."
"And you couldn't just ask?"
"Seeing is believing. Now, show me what you can really do. Don't hold back."
Fair point.
And with that. The dawning realization that my supernatural education was going to be a lot more painful than high school ever was.
Great. Just great.
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Author's Note:
Looks like a lot of you were frustrated with the last chapter and honestly, same. But hey, Leon's still kind of a weakling right now. He's trying, okay? Don't worry though, he won't stay that way for long. That's all I can say without spoiling stuff. Just hang in there, it's gonna get good.
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