DXD: Samsara Finis

The day had arrived. Kuoh Academy, usually prim and proper, was now a riot of color and noise. Bright banners hung from windows, stalls lined every pathway, and excited chatter filled the air. It was the first day of the annual school festival, and for once, the whole school seemed alive with a contagious energy.

The festival was split into two days: the first was for fun, and the second for the main event—the talent competition. I had spent months preparing for that moment, but today, I promised myself one thing: I was going to enjoy the festival like a normal high school student.

Today, I promised myself I'd enjoy it like a normal high school student.

First stop: Issei's class. I had to see this for myself.

Class 1-B had gone all-in on the maid café concept. As I approached the door, a large sign swung lazily above the entrance, decorated with glittery hearts and lacy borders: "1-B's Maid Café: Master, Welcome Home!"

There was already a decent crowd waiting outside. Some girls giggled, boys posed with cat ears, and someone was taking far too many photos.

I stepped through the doorway, and immediately, a cheerful (in strangely high-pitched) voice called out.

"Welcome home, Master! Table for one?"

I turned toward the voice—my brain processing the image slower than it should have.

There, in full frilly maid attire—complete with stockings, wig, and a tiny apron—was one of Issei's friends. The scrawny one with the glasses.

Motohama.

My face went stiff. I stared. He stared. The moment dragged.

"…Yes. Just one," I managed, keeping my best poker face.

Motohama led me through the café, doing his best deadpan impression of a professional maid, his voice monotone. "Please raise your hand when you are ready to order, Master."

He handed me a laminated menu, bowed awkwardly, and walked off.

I stared down at the menu, then around the café.

Apparently, even the boys had to wear the maid uniforms. I held back a laugh. So my guess were true.

I scanned the room.

Where are you, Issei…?

Then I spotted him.

In the corner, serving a table with the enthusiasm of a man who had just lost all hope in humanity. Issei Hyoudou. His face was pale, his eyes hollow, and yes—he too was wearing a maid outfit. Lacy skirt. Cat ears. White thigh-highs.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

I need a picture.

For blackm— no, pulling out my phone, just for… long-lasting memories.

I aimed the camera.

Click.

Perfect.

Then I saw it—Issei, hunched over a plate of omurice, reluctantly drawing a heart with ketchup for a customer. His face was the very picture of suffering.

Pffftt.

I couldn't hold it in.

"Pwahahahaha!"

My laugh echoed through the café. A few customers turned, but I didn't care. I was living for this moment.

Issei's head whipped around.

His eyes met mine.

Pale.

Frozen.

Gotcha.

With horror etched into every step, he stormed over to my table, the hem of his maid skirt fluttering awkwardly with each movement. His expression was caught somewhere between sheer panic and barely-contained rage.

"Eishi!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I raised an eyebrow, all innocent amusement."Oh? Don't you remember? You invited me."

His eyes widened slightly."Damn it… I forgot."

Trying—and failing—to suppress a grin, I gestured toward his outfit."So… what's all this then?"My voice trembled with barely stifled laughter.

He sighed in defeat, face flushing red as he slumped slightly."Well… turns out the girls figured out it was us who incite the boys to wrote down maid café for the festival."

I leaned in, intrigued.

"So as punishment," he continued bitterly, "they decided that the we three have to dress up too."

He looked away, avoiding eye contact.

I tapped my fingers on the table, smug as ever."I see... well, never mind then. So—have you come to take my order, maid-chan?"

His eye twitched.

For a second, he just stood there, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but the sheer effort it took not to blow up in the middle of the café. The frilly apron and lace headband weren't helping his dignity either.

"I will get you back for this," he muttered darkly, then took a deep breath, straightened up, and plastered on the most fake smile I've ever seen.

"Welcome, Master," he said, voice flat as a dead fish. "May I take your order?"

I barely kept a straight face."Yes, I'd like the omurice, please. And make sure to draw a heart on it with ketchup."

His nose twitched."...Anything else, Master?"

I steepled my fingers in mock thought."Hmm. Maybe a smile? You know, just a cute one—really sell the part."

He groaned. "Kill me now."

He turned on his heel and trudged back toward the kitchen like a soldier heading into battle.

Best day ever.

—————————————————————————

I took my time enjoying the food. Surprisingly, the omurice wasn't bad—pretty decent, actually. The seasoning was balanced, and the rice had just the right fluff. Who cooked this? I wondered, half-impressed. Maybe one of the girls in their class?

I ended up spending quite a bit of time there—longer than I expected, really. And… I may have taken more photos than I should've. Hehe.

Honestly, I thought the girls might mind. But once they noticed I was only snapping pictures of Issei, they lost interest almost immediately. Some even chuckled and waved it off.

As I stood up to leave, ready to pay and continue exploring, I heard a familiar voice.

"Apologize."

I turned. Issei. His voice was low and tense.

He was standing in front of a tall man in a suit, his fists clenched tightly at the front of the man's collar. The café had gone quiet, all eyes locked on the scene.

The man chuckled mockingly and stood up. "Huh? Apologize for what? I was just minding my business, kid."

"You touched Miki-san," Issei growled, not letting go. "Don't lie."

Behind him, a girl—probably one of the other maid café servers—looked startled. "It's okay, Hyodou-Kun," she said gently, trying to calm him down. "I'm fine…"

"No," he snapped. "He has to apologize."

The man forced Issei's hands off his shirt with surprising ease. He adjusted his collar, sneering. "Kids these days. No manners. You think you can go around accusing people without proof?"

He raised a hand.

And that's when I stepped in.

In an instant, I was in front of Issei, one hand gripping the man's wrist mid-air, stopping the slap before it even started. My eyes locked onto his.

"Let's not make a scene," I said. "If you'd like to test your luck, we can call the police. Sexual harassment on school grounds isn't exactly something to walk away from."

His expression shifted—first shock, then anger. "Hooo? That's quite a big accusation. Got any evidence, boy?" He sneered, trying to yank his arm back, but my grip tightened just slightly.

"There are plenty of witnesses," I replied. "And your reaction alone is enough to raise suspicion."

"Tch. I didn't do anything." The man scoffed, brushing off his suit like my very presence had stained it. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"

Then his eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition gleaming beneath the disdain.

"Oh… Now I remember why you look familiar." A slow, mocking smirk curled his lips. "Eishi Lucivar, wasn't it? The scholarship candidate for the Gremory Corporation?"

He gave a lazy, theatrical clap—each one laced with condescension.

"Haaa… that takes me back. I remember visiting this school and watching your performance. It was… acceptable, I'll admit." His voice dipped with exaggerated thoughtfulness before twisting into mockery. "But that final moment—when your violin string snapped mid-note? What a tragedy. Such a pity, really."

He leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret laced with venom.

"If not for that little mishap, perhaps you'd already have that scholarship in your pocket. But alas, fate—and maybe a poor choice in instruments."

He adjusted his cufflinks with theatrical precision, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Of course, if you'd chosen to play with a proper instrument instead of clinging to that worn-out relic, the incident might've been avoided. But I suppose… sentimentality is cheaper than quality. Or maybe you couldn't afford better?"

His gaze narrowed, tone dipping into a false sympathy that oozed arrogance.

"Ah—but I shouldn't assume. Needing that scholarship so badly must mean things aren't so easy for you, right? Hm. I do understand."

Eishi stood still, his jaw tightening. The words stung—but more than that, they insulted his pride, his craft, his reason for playing in the first place. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the phantom sensation of his violin in his grip anchoring him.

"…Who are you?" he asked, voice low.

Kazuma gave a shallow, mocking bow—not of respect, but of showmanship.

"Forgive my rudeness. I'm Tenjou Kazuma—Talent Acquisition Manager for the Gremory Corporation. I'm also one of the judges for tomorrow's competition."

His smug grin widened as he looked between Eishi and Issei, like a man savoring a private joke.

"But let's make this easy. If both of you kneel here and now, we can just forget this little misunderstanding ever happened."

He straightened, smoothing his blazer, his tone thick with veiled threat.

"If not… well, I might feel rather disheartened. And a disheartened judge tends to be… harsh. Especially when scoring performances."