High School DxD: Return of the Crimson Dragon Emperor

Chapter 62: Chapter 60: I Won’t Hand Her Over!

After the equipment room incident, it was club time.

”Everyone’s here,” Buchou confirmed, holding up a recording device. ”These are the young demons’ match records, including ours and Sitri’s.”

Game footage. Today, we’d analyze them. A large monitor was set up.

Azazel-sensei stood before it. ”Other young demons had matches too—Great King Bael, Asmodeus’s Glasya-Labolas, Archduke Agares, and Beelzebub’s Astaroth, all after your Gremory-Sitri clash. Study your rivals closely.”

”Yes!” we nodded, serious.

Everyone was curious about our peers’ battles. I was too, especially about Sairaorg Bael, Buchou’s cousin, rumored to be the top young demon. His aura at the gathering was unmatched.

”First, Sairaorg—Bael versus Glasya-Labolas,” Buchou announced.

Sairaorg already? Against that yankee? He got crushed at the gathering—can he even compete?

The footage rolled for hours. Our faces grew stern. The screen showed overwhelming power. A one-on-one between the yankee and Sairaorg. The yankee was cornered, his kin already defeated. Both sides had strong members, but the kings’ duel was the focus.

The yankee, out of pieces, taunted Sairaorg into a direct fight. Sairaorg didn’t hesitate. Every attack the yankee threw was repelled. Even direct hits didn’t faze Sairaorg, who countered effortlessly. The yankee grew frantic, losing composure. Sairaorg’s fist shattered layered defenses like paper, landing a blow that shook the air even through the screen.

”Glasya-Labolas’s new heir candidate, called a monster, is no match,” Kiba said, eyes narrowed. ”Sairaorg Bael is that strong.”

Sairaorg’s speed stunned even Kiba, a speed specialist.

Gasper clung to my arm, trembling. ”Chill, Gasper...”

”Rias, Sairaorg, you kings fight too directly,” Azazel sighed. ”A king should direct pieces to win, not risk themselves. Bael blood’s too hot-headed.”

Buchou blushed, embarrassed. She does charge in often.

”How strong is that Glasya-Labolas demon?” Xenovia asked.

”Not weak outside this six-family limit,” Buchou replied. ”He’s a substitute, though, after the previous heir’s accident.”

Akeno added, ”Pre-match rankings by the game committee placed Bael first, Agares second, Gremory third, Astaroth fourth, Sitri fifth, Glasya-Labolas sixth, averaging king and kin strength. Some results flipped, though.”

”Sairaorg stands out,” Xenovia said.

Buchou nodded. ”He’s a monster. They say he’d rise fast in official games. Beating him would skyrocket our reputation.”

True, but we can’t beat him now. Everyone knows it.

”Here’s a graph,” Azazel said, conjuring a holographic chart.

It displayed the six young demons’ faces—Buchou, Sona, Sairaorg, and others—with parameters: Power, Technique, Support, Wizard, and King (likely leadership).

Sairaorg’s stats were extreme: Support and Wizard lowest, but Power off the charts, stretching past the ceiling. The yankee’s were the lowest, fitting his lack of kingly presence.

Buchou’s Wizard (magic) was highest, Power decent, Technique and Support above average.

”Sairaorg didn’t even go all out against Zephyrdor,” Azazel noted.

The footage showed Sairaorg’s ease.

”Is Sairaorg’s talent that immense?” Xenovia asked.

”No,” Azazel shook his head. ”Sairaorg’s the least talented pure-blood Bael ever. He didn’t inherit Bael’s Power of Destruction, unlike Rias and her brother. His strength comes from relentless training. He had only his body and honed it obsessively.”

Like me, Sairaorg lacked talent but forged strength through effort. His confident eyes made sense now.

Azazel continued, ”Born talentless, he faced defeat after defeat. In a world of glamorous pure-bloods, he clawed through a gritty, bloody path. A talentless demon becoming heir is monumental. He knows the depths of defeat and the heights of victory—marks of the real deal. Plus, he’s got other strength secrets.”

The footage ended with Sairaorg’s victory. The yankee, cowering, surrendered. Sairaorg left without a glance.

”Next up, if you beat Diodora, it’s Sairaorg,” Azazel warned.

”What?” Buchou frowned. ”Isn’t Zephyrdor next?”

”He’s done,” Azazel said. ”Sairaorg broke him—body and mind. He’s too terrified to fight. Glasya-Labolas is out. You’ll face the remaining teams.”

Poor guy, mentally shattered after his magic failed and Sairaorg pummeled him barehanded.

”Be careful,” Azazel added. ”Sairaorg fights with intent to break spirits. He’s dead-set on becoming a Demon King, no compromises.”

We nodded, absorbing his words.

”First, the immediate match,” Buchou said. ”We’ll study Astaroth’s footage next. They beat Archduke Agares’s heir, Seekvaira.”

”Agares lost?” I blurted. I thought Seekvaira, the glasses lady, was stronger than Diodora at the gathering.

”I thought so too,” Buchou said. ”Let’s watch.”

As she moved to play the footage—

Flash.

A teleportation circle appeared. I recognized it from Gremory studies.

”Astaroth,” Akeno muttered.

A suave man with a charming smile appeared. ”Greetings, I’m Diodora Astaroth. I’m here for Asia.”

Buchou, Diodora, and Azazel sat at the clubroom table. Akeno served tea, standing by Buchou. I stood behind, ready to punch Diodora if he tried anything with Asia.

”Rias, I’ll be direct,” Diodora said. ”I want to trade for your ’Bishop.’”

Bishop—Asia or Gasper.

”No way, me!?” Gasper yelped, hugging himself.

”I won’t let you take Gasper!” Miu stepped in front.

”Obviously not,” I said, lightly chopping their heads. What a comedy duo.

Gasper’s grown bolder—no hiding in a box like before.

Diodora meant Asia. She gripped my hand tightly, signaling no.

”I want Asia Argento,” Diodora said, smiling at her.

He pulled out a catalog, likely listing his kin for trade. Buchou cut him off.

”I figured. Sorry, but I’m not trading. Not because your Bishop doesn’t match—Asia’s my precious kin. I won’t let her go.”

No comparison, no deal.

”Is it her ability or her charm?” Diodora pressed.

Persistent bastard.

”Both,” Buchou said. ”She’s like a sister.”

”President!” Asia teared up, touched.

”We live together; I’m attached,” Buchou continued. ”Is that not enough? And proposing through a trade? Do you even understand courtship, Diodora?”

Her smile was fierce, barely masking her anger.

Diodora’s smile didn’t waver, eerie. ”I see. I’ll leave for now, but I won’t give up.”

He approached Asia, knelt, and reached for her hand. ”Asia, I love you. Fate won’t betray us. No matter who denies us, I’ll overcome it.”

He leaned to kiss her hand.

Grab.

I seized his wrist, pulling him up. ”She doesn’t want it. Leave.”

Diodora smiled. ”Let go, filthy dragon.”

There’s his true face.

I froze—not from fear. Miu was radiating murderous intent. If she snapped, the clubroom would be rubble.

I released Diodora, moving to stop Miu.

Slap!

A sharp sound echoed. Asia had slapped Diodora’s cheek, stunning everyone. Even Miu’s killing aura paused.

”Don’t say that!” Asia cried, clinging to me.

No one expected her to strike.

”I see...” Diodora began. ”Then, in the next game—”

”Get a clue,” I cut in. ”Can’t you see Asia’s face? She’s not going with you, no matter what. Betting her feelings on a game? You’re just a stalker ignoring her.”

”You mock me?” Diodora’s eyes flashed with anger, releasing weak killing intent—nothing compared to Miu’s.

We glared. Azazel’s phone rang. After a brief exchange, he spoke. ”Rias, Diodora, the game’s set. Five days from now.”

Diodora left. Hopefully, he never returns.

The official Demon King notice arrived the next day.

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