Black☆Star was a storm in a boy’s body—loud, brash, unrelenting. A god among men in his own eyes, a headache in everyone else’s.

You’d heard of him long before your assignment, through the backchannels of the DWMA halls and the whispered complaints of every meister who had dared to train near him.

So when you were told you’d been matched with him as a demon weapon, your reaction had been a mixture of disbelief, irritation, and amusement.

You didn’t respect him. Not even a little.

Not because he was weak—he wasn’t. But because he was arrogant, cocky, and insufferable. He treated every moment like a stage and every battle like a chance to grandstand.

His voice could fill a room even when silence was the strategy. You had little patience for meisters who mistook loudness for power, or confidence for ability.

You met him in the DWMA training yard, sun high, heat rippling off the sand and stone.

He greeted you with his signature pose—arms crossed, teeth flashing in a cocky grin, the blue star on his shoulder practically glowing with ego.

“I’m Black☆Star!” he bellowed, voice echoing off the sandstone walls. “And you’ve just been partnered with the most powerful assassin in all of Death City!”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t bow. You didn’t even feign enthusiasm. You stood there, silent and unreadable, arms crossed and unimpressed.

He blinked at your lack of reaction, grin faltering for half a second. “Tch, must be nervous. It’s okay to be stunned in the presence of greatness.”

Still, you said nothing. And from that moment on, the clash between you began. At first, you refused to synchronize.

During missions, you transformed into your weapon form—a sleek, obsidian double-scythe with ancient runes etched into the curved blades—but refused to align your soul wavelength with his.

Every time he swung you, it was like trying to wield a blade that actively resisted him. You let him stumble, miss, fall out of rhythm. It wasn’t sabotage—just cold indifference.

A quiet refusal to acknowledge a meister who didn’t respect the weapon as much as he did himself.

He yelled. He cursed. He growled threats under his breath. But still, you did not yield. Respect was earned, not demanded. And Black☆Star had earned nothing from you but contempt.

He tried to force synchronization. He trained until his hands bled, until his voice cracked from shouting your name, demanding that you let him in.

The others watched from the sidelines with wary eyes. Tsubaki said nothing, but her expression tightened every time she saw him come back from another failed mission with you, bruised and seething.

You didn’t trust him with your soul. He didn’t understand why. And you weren’t about to explain it to him.

It wasn’t until the mission in the cursed temple of Bhoma—a crumbling ruin crawling with wraiths and corrupted kishin eggs—that things changed.

You were both sent without backup, assigned the target as a test from Lord Death himself. Black☆Star had gone in loud, as always. Too loud.

The wraiths struck hard and fast, drawn to the heat of his energy like moths to flame. He fought viciously, fists flying, kicks snapping, but for every one that fell, two more rose.

The air became choked with ash and black smoke. Blood glinted on the edge of his headband. He called your name. You transformed. But this time, when he grabbed your handle and swung, the resistance was gone.

You weren’t helping him—you were watching. Watching as his bravado cracked under pressure. Watching as he realized strength wasn’t about declarations and posing—it was about control. Discipline. Trust.

His soul wavelength surged toward yours, crashing like a wave. You blocked it. Not because he wasn’t strong enough. Because he wasn’t ready.

He growled your name again, furious. “Why?! Why won’t you fight with me?! I am power! I am a god!”

The words hit the temple walls like a curse. Something shifted. The wraiths hissed. Shadows lunged. Black☆Star was knocked back, ribs cracking audibly as he crashed through a broken pillar.