From her throne of jagged obsidian and starlight high above the battlefield, Hespera sat in silence, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, her gaze fixed on the chaos below with all the intensity of a divine judge watching a child's tantrum.
She had already made her decision.
She wouldn't intervene.
Not because she couldn't—no, if she so much as exhaled in the wrong direction, this entire game would collapse—but because she didn't want to. Not for Rias.
She had been watching the crimson-haired princess for some time now. From the moment Hespera first walked into the academy and saw Rias with her noble name and hand-picked entourage at the door, Hespera had seen the potential pulsing beneath her skin like molten starlight… and the absolute waste of it.
Lazy. Undisciplined. Spoiled.
By Hespera's estimation, if Rias had even trained half as much as she whined about her circumstances, she'd already be breaking into power tier 5-A. Instead, she lingered like a rusted blade in high-class devil 6-B, dulled by comfort and familial indulgence.
It was pathetic.
A princess, born into privilege, crying over an arranged marriage like it was some unprecedented cruelty. As if political marriages weren't the backbone of noble society since the dawn of civilizations.
Hespera's lip curled slightly, fingers drumming on the arm of her throne.
What infuriated her most wasn't even the marriage.
It was the gift Rias had been given.
Her family hadn't shackled her. They'd given her a reason—a chance—to break the chain herself. They placed the obstacle in front of her not as punishment, but as purpose. All Rias had to do was train. Push. Earn her freedom.
But instead, she passed the burden to others.
Waiting for someone else to rescue her.
Waiting for fate to bend to her tantrums.
Hespera's eyes narrowed.
Spoiled little brat.
Let her lose.
Let her feel the consequences of standing still in a world that demanded movement. Let her cry when Riser crushed her. Because, obnoxious as he was, the firebird had one thing Rias lacked—discipline. He trained. He prepared. He earned his strength.
And Hespera, no matter how much she hated arrogant roosters, respected that far more than wasted potential.
So she leaned back, resting her cheek on her fist, and watched.
The Game would continue.
And the girl would learn.
Or she wouldn't.
Either way, Hespera wouldn't lift a finger.
Not yet.
'My playtime will come after. Hehe~'
~☆~
Rias was struggling—truly struggling.
Her breaths came in sharp gasps, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, her uniform scuffed and torn in places. Her peerage was scattered, their strength waning, their formation broken. The battlefield—a fractured echo of the academy—was in ruins.
And high above it all, unmoving… was her.
Hespera Eveningstar.
Sitting on her throne of carved chaos like a goddess carved from starlight, cool and radiant and untouched by the storm unfolding below.
Why? Rias's thoughts burned, angry and confused. Why isn't she helping!?
The older woman had said she would oversee the match, had joined their side, hadn't she?
Rias had assumed—no, she had expected—that at some critical point, Hespera would descend like a blade of divine judgment and tip the scales.
But she didn't move.
She hadn't spoken.
She hadn't even blinked.
Was she… toying with them?
Mocking them?
Did she not care at all?
Rias barely ducked beneath another scorching wave of magic—Riser's Queen pressing the advantage with mechanical precision, her every movement clean and devastating. The ground behind Rias exploded, flames licking at her heels.
She rolled across the terrain, coughing through the smoke, her red hair flying wild as her eyes shot up toward the throne above.
Still there.
Still watching.
Cold, detached—like this meant nothing to her.
Rias grit her teeth, fury and desperation curling in her chest.
"Hespera!" she shouted aloud, voice cracking with emotion. "Are you really just going to sit there and let us lose!?"
Silence.
No response.
Just the quiet shimmer of that untouchable aura… and those merciless, glowing eyes, watching like a judge at the end of all things.
From her elevated throne of obsidian and starlight, Hespera tilted her head ever so slightly. The chaos-forged wind stirred the long silver strands of her hair, and the soft clink of her crossed legs echoed faintly through the open void.
And then—
She chuckled.
Low. Smooth. Effortless.
The kind of laugh that made the battlefield pause for a heartbeat.
Rias froze mid-step, blood rushing in her ears, heart pounding with disbelief.
Then came Hespera's voice—calm, crystalline, and sharp as a dagger dipped in honey:
"I'm not here to save you, Princess."
She didn't elaborate.
Didn't need to.
Her voice cut through the field like a cold front through summer heat—cool, unshaken, absolute.
She reclined once more, lips curled in a lazy smirk, one hand resting against her cheek as the Hesperides giggled softly behind her. Ophis, ever emotionless, took a delicate sip of tea.
Down below, the flames of Riser's Queen surged again.
And Rias Gremory?
She stood very still.
The echo of that short reply still ringing in her bones.
Her pride…
Her weakness…
Her truth… exposed.
And the Rating Game wasn't over yet.
Rias panted heavily, her uniform scorched and torn in several places. Her remaining peerage members were on their last legs—Kiba barely able to lift his sword, Akeno struggling to summon enough lightning to shield their advance.
Across the battlefield, Riser's peerage stood strong. His Queen, Yubelluna, hovered above with a cruel smile, charging another wave of explosive magic.
Rias dodged again—barely.
Above, seated like a bored goddess, Hespera leaned her chin against her palm, her lips curved in a languid smirk. Her fingers twirled the lollipop stick between them as she watched Rias desperately scramble for a comeback.
The crimson-haired girl looked up again, eyes locking with Hespera's.
"Why… aren't you helping!?" Rias shouted between breaths.
Hespera chuckled softly, her voice lazily drifting down like silk wrapped in thorns.
"Because, dear Princess," she said with a faint tilt of her head, "you don't deserve it."
The words hit harder than any spell Riser's team could muster.
Before Rias could shout a retort—
"Rook: Retired!"
The system announcement echoed across the battlefield as Koneko was knocked unconscious by Riser's twin knight pieces.
"Bishop: Retired!"
Akeno fell next, her body riddled with concussive burns.
"Knight: Retired!"
Kiba collapsed, his blade clattering uselessly across the ground.
Rias stood alone.
Trembling.
Bleeding.
Angry.
"End it," Riser said smoothly, stepping forward with his wings of flame unfurling behind him. "Your peerage is gone. You're alone. Surrender, and I promise to treat you gently tonight."
The crowd watching winced—even his own peerage grimaced at his smugness.
Rias summoned the last of her magic into a crimson sigil.
But it flickered.
Faded.
And then shattered.
The system voice declared:
"King: Retired. Game Over."
Rias collapsed to her knees.
Above, Hespera leaned back with a sigh, eyes narrowing with frosty indifference.
"Maybe next time… she'll actually train."
She snapped her fingers and vanished from her throne in a shimmer of black and violet chaos.
Down below, Riser raised his hands in triumph.
He had won.
But he had no idea…
That his real opponent had just stood up.
~☆~
Riser was riding the high of his victory like a man drunk on his own ego.
The sight of the once-proud Gremory heiress on her knees—her crimson hair tangled, her pride shattered—made something in him twist with exhilaration. He threw his head back and cackled, arms wide as if the world itself should applaud him.
"Behold!" he shouted, voice brimming with smug triumph. "The almighty Gremory princess… brought to her knees like a common mutt! Hah!"
He pointed at Rias, mockery thick in his voice. "You wanted to escape me? Pathetic! You should've begged me instead. You could've been my queen—now you'll be my prize."
Rias's head hung low, fists trembling against the cracked ground.
The Gremory family said nothing.
Their faces remained passive, unreadable. They had expected this outcome—even if they didn't say it aloud.
The Phenex family? They didn't even glance at Riser. His victory meant nothing to them. This display wasn't dignity—it was desperation.
And far above the battlefield, descending at her own pace, came the storm that had been waiting.
Hespera.
She walked down the air as if it were carved marble stairs, graceful and unbothered. Each step glowed briefly beneath her boots, a soft ripple of chaos curling around her ankles. Her twelve wings—six divine, six infernal—remained furled, casting a silhouette both awe-inspiring and ominous.
Without a word, she reached into her spatial ring, plucked out a raspberry-flavored lollipop, unwrapped it with a flick of her fingers, and popped it into her mouth.
Click.
Her boots touched the battlefield.
Her expression?
Stoic. Cold. Unshaken.
Like a goddess come to collect payment on a soul long overdue.
She stood there, silent, letting the weight of her presence coil through the Game Field like a rising tide.
Riser faltered mid-taunt.
Something in the air shifted.
Something ancient.
Something wrong.
And Hespera… simply tilted her head.
The lollipop clicked softly against her teeth.
Her gaze locked on Riser like a slow-moving blade.
And without breaking eye contact, she whispered—so low only he could hear it through the pulsing hush.
"Are you finished?"
Riser's cocky grin twitched.
But Hespera wasn't smiling.
Not even a little.
Riser couldn't understand it.
His instincts—sharpened by years of battle, indulgence, and arrogance—were screaming at him. Telling him to run.
But why?
The woman standing before him looked barely older than Rias. Elegant. Composed. Her presence unassuming—at first glance.
Yet her eyes…
Emerald and amethyst.
They weren't just eyes—they were verdicts. Etched in fire and silence. They gazed at him not like a person, but like a god examining a flaw in a broken world.
"Those eyes…" Riser murmured, stepping back without realizing.
Then she moved.
Slow, unhurried steps that echoed through the battlefield like judgment bells. She walked toward Rias and her fallen peerage—not even sparing Riser a second glance.
He watched, confusion tightening into dread.
She opened a swirling portal of silver-black void, and with a lazy wave, she began tossing Rias's unconscious team into it like unwanted toys—each one flung without fanfare…
Except for one.
The nekomata.
The white-haired girl.
Riser's eyes narrowed.
Her.
The woman was careful with her.
She knelt slightly, brushing a bloodied strand of hair from the girl's cheek with a ghost of tenderness before helping her into the portal.
No mocking.
No disdain.
Just… quiet care.
And that, more than anything, unsettled him.
The contrast.
The deliberate choice.
The inhuman calm.
Then she turned. The portal closed with a whisper of finality behind her.
Her wings—twelve in total, half divine, half draconic—strung from her back and unfurled behind her like a tapestry of chaos and forgotten power.
She smiled at him.
But it wasn't warm.
It wasn't cruel.
It was simply…
Inevitable.
"Now," she said softly, voice like silk over broken glass, "it's my turn to play."
Riser's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a chill prickling down his spine despite the flames coiling naturally through his blood. Her words—it wasn't what she said, but how she said it. That casual, almost lazy amusement laced with ancient weight. It pressed against his chest like a hand that could crush mountains with a sigh.
But he was a Phenex.
A noble. A devil of prestige and power. He wouldn't let some smug nobody, no matter how radiant or terrifying, reduce him in front of his family.
He drew himself upright, brushing back his blond hair with more confidence than he felt, voice rising with an edge of indignation.
"I don't care who you think you are—this is a Rating Game sanctioned by the Underworld and watched by nobles. I demand to know your name!"
He pointed toward her, flames flickering behind him, eyes narrowing.
"Who the hell are you to interrupt my match and act like a goddess?"
(Oh boy, he just made it worse, didn't he? Bye-bye birdie~)