Crimson Echoes: The Rebellion of Gremory (Highschool dxd)

Kazuki sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, staring at the glass bowl perched on a small wooden stool. Inside, Sora—the silver goldfish Rias had entrusted him with—drifted languidly. The morning sun filtered through the window, gleaming off Sora's scales in tiny flashes of white light.

He reached for the tin of fish food, sprinkling a pinch across the water's surface. Sora swam up, devouring the flakes with quick, darting movements. Kazuki's mind wandered back to the moment Rias had handed him this responsibility—her final act of trust before climbing into that sleek car and vanishing down the driveway.

It had been two days since the Gremorys departed. For Kazuki, time felt both slow and too quick: each day he awoke, hoping he might find Rias in the garden, only to remember she was gone. And yet, the hours blended, mundane tasks filling them with an odd hollowness that made it seem as though he'd simply dreamed their starlit adventure.

He let out a soft sigh, glancing at the folded note lying on his desk. Rias's farewell words—short, almost rushed—replayed in his head: Thank you for letting me be normal, if only for a night.

"Wish you were still here," he muttered under his breath, cheeks warming slightly as if embarrassed by the admission—even though no one else was in the room.

A gentle knock interrupted his reverie. "Kazuki?" came his mother's voice through the door. "Breakfast is ready. I was about to head to the market afterwards—do you want to come along?"

He stood, clearing his throat. "Be right there." After a final glance at Sora, he padded out of the room.

Thirty minutes later, Kazuki found himself in the local market—a bustling area of colorful stalls selling vegetables, fruits, spices, and handmade goods. The air was filled with the lively chatter of vendors promoting their wares and the sweet smell of fresh produce. It was a bright, sunny morning, the kind that typically lifted his mood with the sheer energy of people milling about.

Today, however, he felt a step removed. He followed his mother closely, helping to carry bags of groceries, but his thoughts hovered elsewhere. Each time he caught a glimpse of red cloth or heard a distant laugh, a pang of longing shot through him, remembering Rias's crimson hair and that soft, low chuckle when she was amused or quietly mocking him.

His mother paused by a fruit stall, carefully selecting apples. "Kazuki, mind checking the next stand? We need onions too."

"Sure." He took the coins she offered and walked over to the next booth, where plump onions were piled high in woven baskets. The vendor, a cheerful older man, greeted him with a smile, showing off the produce's freshness. Kazuki politely picked a few and paid.

As he turned to rejoin his mother, he nearly collided with Mariko, one of the maids from their household.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, catching her balance. "Master Kazuki, I didn't expect to see you here."

Kazuki managed a smile, adjusting the onions in his arms. "Mom needed help. You're shopping too?"

Mariko nodded, holding a woven bag filled with herbs and spices. "Yes, for the kitchen supplies. How are you… faring?" Her tone was gentle, and he sensed her concern went beyond mere politeness.

He shrugged. "I'm okay. Just—things are quieter at home."

Mariko nodded knowingly, her gaze softening. "Everyone feels it, dear. Her Ladyship left quite an impression—even among the staff." She paused, then lowered her voice. "And you, especially, I suppose."

His cheeks warmed. "We… got along," he said simply.

A hint of a smile curved Mariko's lips. "I'm glad. Well, if you need any help with the fish, let me know." She winked, then bustled off toward another stall.

Kazuki stood there a moment longer, exhaling. Even the staff recognized how Rias's absence left a void. He turned, making his way back to his mother, determined to brush aside the ache and focus on something—anything—else.

That afternoon, Kazuki roamed the mansion's garden, arms laden with a small plastic bag containing new fishbowl decorations—colorful pebbles and a tiny ceramic arch, items he'd convinced his mother to let him buy for Sora. If he couldn't have Rias here, at least he could keep part of her spirit alive through this little fish's new home.

He approached the oak tree where he and Rias had first bonded, remembering how they'd climbed it to watch the sunset. The sunlight filtering through the leaves created dancing patches of gold on the grass. He let his hand skim the trunk, recalling that night's electric rush of rebellion and promise.

One day, I'll show her more, he thought. Everything she missed.

A sudden noise broke his reverie—a soft yelp and a rustle from behind the hedges near the fountain. Brow furrowing, he took a cautious step toward the sound.

Peeking around the tall hedge, he found a younger boy—maybe six or seven—tangled in the thick branches that formed part of the garden's edge. His knee seemed snagged, and he was struggling, face scrunched in frustration.

Kazuki set down the plastic bag. "Hey, hold on," he called, moving quickly. "Let me help."

The boy's eyes widened with relief and embarrassment. "I— I was trying to find a shortcut to the orchard, but I got stuck!"

Kazuki carefully disentangled the branches, guiding the boy's leg free. Once the kid was upright, he brushed twigs and leaves off his short pants.

"Thanks," the boy mumbled. "I'm Takeru. My dad's a gardener here."

Kazuki smiled softly. "No problem, Takeru. Next time, watch the branches."

Takeru offered a toothy grin. "I will. My dad said I could pick an apple or two, but I guess I got lost. You, uh… you live here?"

"Yeah," Kazuki said, remembering Rias's confusion at the same question. "Though it doesn't always feel that way," he joked half-heartedly. "You can get to the orchard by following that path." He pointed to the left.

Takeru nodded, brightening. "Awesome. Thanks again!" Then, with a small wave, he darted off.

Kazuki watched him go, realizing that just days ago, he'd been the one guiding Rias around, showing her safe routes and the hidden corners. He sighed, retrieving his plastic bag. Maybe it was time to set up Sora's new home.

Back in his bedroom, Kazuki cleared space on his desk for the new fish bowl. The old glass container he'd borrowed wasn't exactly ideal—he wanted to create a more comfortable environment for Sora.

He washed the bright pebbles and tiny ceramic arch in a basin of water. His mind drifted, remembering the excitement on Rias's face when she'd tried—again and again—to scoop goldfish at the festival. Her voice echoed in his head: I don't lose.

A small smile touched his lips. Even in something as mundane as a goldfish game, Rias had refused to be bested. The memory warmed him as he arranged the pebbles in the bottom of the new bowl, then carefully transferred Sora and the water.

Once finished, he observed his work. The pebbles sparkled under lamplight, the arch creating a tiny hiding spot. Sora tested it out immediately, swimming through the arch's shadow like an underwater explorer.

Kazuki pressed a finger against the bowl. "Lookin' good, buddy." He exhaled. "She'd probably think this was silly. But I hope… I hope she'd approve."

He pulled Rias's note from his desk drawer, reading it for the hundredth time. It was barely half a page, but each word resonated: Thank you for letting me be normal... maybe I'll come back…

"I'll wait," he murmured to the empty room.

The next morning, Kazuki found himself helping his father in the tool shed—a small structure near the orchard where various gardening implements were kept. His father rummaged through a wooden chest, looking for a sturdy set of pruning shears.

"Kazuki," his father began, not looking up. "Everything all right these days? You've seemed… quieter."

Kazuki fiddled with a rake handle. He shrugged. "I guess I just miss having guests around. The Gremorys made things more interesting."

His father studied him. "Yes, they certainly did. Lord Gremory's rather intimidating, isn't he?" He gave a short laugh. "But your mother and I have been talking… we noticed you and Rias seemed to get along well."

A jolt of nerves sparked in Kazuki's stomach. Do they suspect last night? He kept his voice casual. "She was nice. Different from other kids."

His father nodded thoughtfully. "True. Just remember—some folks have responsibilities we can't imagine. That family is involved in something big… I don't claim to understand it, but it's not our world."

Kazuki frowned. "Yeah, I know. But… does that mean we can't be friends?"

His father paused. "Not necessarily. But be prepared—it might not be simple or frequent. They live by different rules."

Kazuki gripped the rake tighter. "I can handle that."

A small smile curved his father's lips. "I'm sure you can, son."

The conversation settled around them like a hush. Kazuki wondered how deeply his father understood the complexities of the Gremory family. Perhaps they knew more than they let on. Perhaps they felt the tension under Lord Gremory's polite exterior.

All Kazuki knew was that he'd hold onto the memories and wait. Maybe, just maybe, Rias would return—like a storm across a quiet summer sky.

That evening, Kazuki made his way to the library—the same place he and Rias had shared their final conversation. Darkness enveloped the corridors, but a single overhead lamp illuminated rows of leather-bound books. He glided a hand along their spines, recalling how Rias had admired the quiet of this room, how her voice had echoed softly in the hush.

His eyes flicked to the tall stained-glass window. Without Rias there, it felt more like a silent monument than the magical spot it had been. He remembered the gentle way she'd pressed her forehead to his, saying no words but communicating everything.

A pang of longing hit him. It wasn't just that he missed her presence—he missed the spark of possibility she'd brought into his life. In the days since her departure, everything felt… normal again. Almost too normal, like he'd been thrust back into a routine that no longer fit.

Kazuki inhaled, letting the musty library air fill his lungs. He tried to recapture the excitement from that festival night—the swirl of lights, the shock of nearly being caught, the brilliant sky exploding with color. Even now, the memory gave him a thrill.

Settling into an armchair, he gazed up at the stained glass. It depicted some old story—knights, perhaps, or mythical creatures. He could imagine Rias as part of that epic tapestry, her noble bearing melding with the hint of rebellion that set her apart.

He wondered if she was safe. If she was back in her "obligations," stifled in some formal mansion. Or maybe, in her own rebellious way, she was sneaking out again—someone else's orchard this time. The thought made him smile.

Outside, a cricket chirped, the only sound breaking the library's hush. Kazuki decided he'd keep a habit of reading here at night, to hold onto that piece of the bond they'd formed. After all, this was where she'd entrusted him with her unspoken goodbyes.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small black ribbon he'd found on the library floor the day she left, likely dropped from her dress. A quiet memento. He ran his fingers over the satin material, thinking of how it matched the lace gloves she often wore.

A gentle resolve solidified in his chest.

He wouldn't let these memories fade. He might be young now—life continuing with mundane chores and simple routines—but one day, he'd be older, able to travel or investigate the hidden truths behind her family. And when that day came, he'd be ready to see Rias Gremory again, on equal footing.

Returning to his room, Kazuki paused by Sora's fish bowl. The tiny arch inside cast a wavy shadow on the pebbles. The goldfish flitted around as if acknowledging his presence.

"This is just the beginning," Kazuki whispered, placing the black ribbon gently next to the bowl. He watched Sora for another long minute, letting the quiet wash over him, before switching off the desk lamp.

In the darkness, he allowed a small smile. Rias might be gone, but her echo lingered in the silent corridors of his life—an echo he vowed never to let go silent.