Act 1, Chapter 12: The Nine Circles

Saturday, 7 AM. Hiroki Yamada was sprawled in his bed, snoring like a fuzzy bassline from Muse’s Chris Wolstenholme, relishing the weekend’s promise of lazy freedom.

But a sharp jab at his left waist jolted him awake, heart pounding as if stabbed in a nightmare. He shot up, gasping, only to realize it was no blade—just a prank.

Behind him stood Aoi Mizuno, dressed in sportswear, clutching a retractable toy knife, her turquoise eye glinting with mischief under her black eyepatch. “A-Aoi?!” Hiroki yelped. “What are you doing here? What were you thinking?!”

He delivered a light karate chop to her head as payback. Aoi winced, rubbing the spot, then struck a dramatic ninja pose, wielding her sports towel like a nunchuck. “Dark Lord of Tartarus! Let’s forge your potential to realms beyond!”

“Morning jogging? Pass,” Hiroki grumbled, sinking back into his pillow.

Aoi yanked his blanket off, poking his waist with the toy knife repeatedly. “I will not tolerate weakness!” she declared, her chuunibyou flair blazing.

Hiroki snapped, leaping out of bed. “Aaagghhh! Fine, fine! Let me hit the toilet first!” He stormed out, slamming the door as Aoi called, “Make it quick, Dark Lord—”

“Shut up!” he shot back.

As he splashed water on his face, Hiroki’s mind raced. Aoi, a chuunibyou to the core, was bafflingly athletic. He’d ditched his own chuunibyou phase to fit in, cringing at his “Dark Lord” past, yet Aoi embraced hers, earning fangirls who adored her dramatic poses.

Was his rejection of that flair a mistake? Her unapologetic weirdness seemed to defy the mundane dystopia of high school normalcy; at a spark, he threw it all away.

***

The morning jog in the nearby park felt like a journey through Dante’s nine circles of hell. Hiroki’s legs went numb, sweat soaked his shirt, and his energy drained like a succubus had siphoned his soul. Aoi, barely breaking a sweat, glanced back as he lagged. “You’re too slow, Dark Lord—”

“Stop calling me that!” he panted, wiping his brow from the sweat.

She chuckled, her expression sly and playful. “Seems the Dark Lord of Tartarus had grown weak, huh?” She jogged ahead, leaving him gasping.

“Hey! Don’t leave me behind!” he pleaded, frustration mounting. The jog transformed into a grueling ordeal, serving as a harsh reminder of the consequences of his weekend indolence.

Aoi’s invitation felt like a jolting wake-up call, but the intensity of it bordered on excessive for Hiroki's taste. He preferred easing into things, not this relentless sprint.

Catching up at a vending machine, Hiroki doubled over, panting. Aoi stood smug, towel over her shoulder. “Hehe! That’s what you get for letting your guard down!”

Hiroki glared in frustration, feeling rivulets of sweat trickle down his flushed face, adding to his discomfort. “Slow… down… will you?”

Aoi pointed at him, her chuunibyou flaring. “What’s wrong? Is it time the Dark Lord finally repented and sought the light of our gracious Father?”

Hiroki patted her sweaty shoulder, his exasperation evident in the furrow of his brow. “Can’t you please drop the chuunibyou nonsense? I’m fighting for my life here!”

She shrugged him off, a pout forming on her lips. “You’re excusing too much!”

“I’m just asking you to slow down!” he snapped. “Is that so hard?”

“Gotta cool off,” he muttered, stumbling to the vending machine.

“Dark Lord—” Aoi started.

“I don’t care! I’m getting a drink!” he cut in, fishing for coins.

“But I’m saying watch your sugar intake…” she trailed off.

Exhausted, they slumped against the vending machine, seeking respite from the sweltering heat. Hiroki’s mind drifted to Aoi’s unwavering energy. Though exasperating, it reflected the inner fire Hiroki needed to embody Kaito’s legacy and confront Takane’s unfiltered truths.

Perhaps her chuunibyou persona wasn't merely cringeworthy; it symbolized a rebellion against the mundane confines of school life, a manifestation of her desire for excitement and individuality.

***

Hiroki and Aoi collapsed under a tree near the park’s vending machine and emptied the isotonic water to soothe their sweat-soaked bodies. The morning jog had been a grueling odyssey, Hiroki’s legs numb and his energy drained.

Aoi, barely fazed, sat casually, her sportswear damp but her spirit unshaken. Hiroki gulped the last of his drink, gasping for air. “How long have you been jogging like this?”

Aoi closed her bottle, gazing at the blue water canal beside the park. “My sister dragged me to forge the light within my soul long ago.”

“Stamina, huh? Interesting,” Hiroki said, nodding. He smirked, poking at her. “So, how was hanging with Mei, Yuna, and Sara last Friday evening?"

Aoi’s face soured, her pout returning, as she clenched the isotonic bottle. “They’re the worst.”

Hiroki chuckled and poked at Aoi. “What, can’t take a joke?”

“They’re vile succubi I must purge!” Aoi snapped, her priestess' persona flaring, and clenched her fist. “Sara Fujimoto, Mei Hashimoto, and Yuna Aoki—all Lilith’s disciples!”

Hiroki leaned closer, trying to reason. “Calm down, Aoi. They’re just being friendly. It’s about being normal.”

Aoi's turquoise eyes locked onto his; her piercing stare intensified as she removed her left eyepatch, revealing a gaze that seemed to penetrate his soul. “Define: normal.”

Hiroki faltered, expecting her usual theatrics. “Uh… normal is… not being weird… like you…”

“Is that it?” Aoi’s voice sharpened, her gaze akin to a priestess passing judgment on a sinner. Her tone was low and commanding. “Here’s the cold, harsh truth: it’s normal to be not normal. That’s the natural state of humanity.”

He froze, stunned by her words that cut deeper than expected, his mind reeling in contemplation. She continued, unrelenting. “Jesus Christ was seen as a madman for spreading his truth. If calling out nonsense is a crime, then you’re ruled by criminals.”

Hiroki’s breath caught. Aoi wasn’t just playing her “Priestess” role—she was telling him something that he should listen to. The fear of his “Dark Lord of Tartarus” past felt trivial. Had ditching it been a mistake, a surrender to a mundane dystopia?

Aoi softened and gazed toward the blue canal. “I know you tried to bury your Dark Lord persona. But there’ll come a time when you’ll crave it again. Like adults longing to be kids.”

Hiroki nodded slowly. She was right—normalcy wasn’t the absence of weirdness but embracing what made you human. Even “normal” people acted strange to break free.

Aoi’s chuunibyou wasn't merely cringeworthy; it symbolized her unique essence. Procorat’s Nothing to Waste flashed in his mind, its lyrics about never abandoning passion echoing her point.

Aoi leaned closer, pointing the knife again with a scornful glare. “I tolerate mistakes, but not quitters. Quitters are traitors to their own fire.”

Hiroki sighed softly as he delicately lowered the toy knife, a gesture of understanding and restraint. “I get it, Aoi. Your chuunibyou lights up the school—everyone loves it, even me. But… moderate it. Don’t let it consume you, or people will turn against you. Just… pipe down your ego a bit, will you?”

With a smirk, Aoi twirled her toy knife skillfully, her gaze averted as if lost in contemplation. “You’ll see, Dark Lord. A time will come—”

Exasperated by her usual theatrics, he raised his hand for another karate chop. “That’s en—”

Swiftly parrying, she playfully jabbed his stomach with the toy knife in quick succession, teasing him with a mischievous grin. “Got your guard down!” she taunted, sprinting off.

“Hey! You little—!” Hiroki chased her, frustration boiling as she laughed, her chuunibyou flair in full swing. “Catch me if you can, Dark Lord of Tartarus!”

They chased each other until exhaustion reclaimed them. Aoi’s words lingered. It’s normal to be not normal. Hiroki’s cringe at his chuunibyou past felt like a betrayal of the fire Kaito had nurtured in him.

Takane’s raw confession, Sora’s faith in his brother’s legacy, and now Aoi’s defiance—all pointed to the same truth: his “Dark Lord” wasn’t a phase to bury but a spark to wield.