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Immediately upon waking up and seeing an envelope lying on his chest, Subaru knew that everything had gone wrong.
Black envelope.
Purple wax seal.
Witch Cult logo.
The return address read:
"For our Very Special Guest"
"…Not in my dreams." Subaru said without even thinking. "Absolutely not. Into the rubbish bin."
He threw the envelope.
And it was back in his hand.
"Nope nope nope—"
Another throw.
It ended up back in his mouth.
"—Puth—Why—"
After a good ten minutes spent fighting against the stationary object, Subaru gave up and opened the damned invitation.
Inside there was written:
"To our dear Apostle of the Witch,
We have the pleasure of inviting you to our Archbishops Mixer.
Attendance compulsory.
Attire: 'Sinfully Handsome'
Small note:
"P.S. This month your miasma output got ranked S. Congratulations!"
Subaru looked at it.
"I'm way too tired for this"
Later That Night, at the Witch Cult Mixer
A darkened subterranean cavern. Candles everywhere. Voices chanting within stone-lined halls. Organ music that would make H.P. Lovecraft cackle maniacally.
Think Hot Topic sleepover on crack.
Subaru entered wearing the most "sinful" outfit he possessed—the tracksuit—since fashion is subjective and he had nothing else to wear.
Every single Archbishops there turned to look at him.
Wrath, Sloth along with the Gluttony brothers—the most dangerous gathering of guests ever assembled standing to the sides.
While the other cultists gaze at him like he was the honored guest of an execution party.
A cultist priestess announced grandly:
"PREPARE TO BEWITHESS THE APOSTLE OF THE WITCH!"
Subaru, sweating profusely in front of his soul: "Um… hey everyone. Please don't try to kill me because I have a dental checkup next week."
The Archbishops made no move to attack.
They clapped.
Vigorously.
Subaru frowned. "What? Are you guys… fans?"
A hooded cultist whispered reverently.
"Mischievous energy has reached legendary levels. We thought you were dead four times this month."
"He was," his companion added quietly.
Subaru blinked. "Uh… no comment."
Aura Farming: Subaru Gets All Influencer About It
The cultists led him to the middle of the room.
"Please," pleaded a cultist, eyes bright, "demonstrate how you create such a divine aura!"
Subaru swallowed hard.
Aura farming?
In front of the Witch Cult?
Not a good idea at all!
But he proceeded nonetheless.
Subaru cracked his knuckles, firmly planted his feet, and struck the most extreme shonen protagonist pose that he could make—
he flipped his hair, spun sharply, extended his finger towards the sky, and let his tracksuit jacket flap in the nonexistent breeze.
With an anime smile, of course.
There was a loud explosion.
"AURAAAAAAAAAA!"
"MAGNIFICENT!"
"LIFELESS MIASMA IS SPREADING!"
"FARMING STYLE POINTS LIKE A GOD HERE!"
"DO IT AGAIN, APOSTLE!"
Subaru realized that he was raising some crazy spirits:
"Oh no what did I do—"
One cultist passed out on the spot.
Another immortalized him on a banner.
Somebody started chanting "SU-BA-RU! SU-BA-RU!"
He made a new pose.
This time with finger guns.
And their chants only grew louder.
He swore his aura bar was filling up like RPG meter.
"This is definitely the worst day ever," Subaru muttered under his breath.
The Gospel Giveaway
But then a bishop came out, carrying a black leather book.
"Your aura harvesting has resonated with us," he announced, as if it were a totally natural thing to say. "Here. Take this. It is called a Gospel. A present for the Apostle."
Subaru's soul fled his body.
"A… gift…?"
The bishop nodded gently.
"Yes, it suits you."
The cursed energy from the book felt like it wanted to sink its teeth into him.
Subaru protested.
"Oh no, I could never—"
The book leapt into his grasp.
Subaru shrieked. "WHY IS IT MOVING BY ITSELF?!"
The cultists clapped once more.
Subaru bowed stiffly. "Thank… you… I suppose…?"
After the Meeting
Subaru dashed up the steps of the stone building as if his life depended on it (it did).
He appeared on the street under the moon, out of breath.
He checked the Gospel.
It glowed like it was pleased with him.
"This is going to cause some problems," he thought, and, in the manner of someone who had just decided to make a terrible life decision, slipped it into his jacket.
His jacket expanded in an otherworldly fashion.
"That’s not normal," Subaru whispered.
The Gospel responded, normality is overrated.
Subaru cried softly.
He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and got ready to rejoin Emilia and the rest in the strategy meeting.
"Alright," he said to himself.
"Just be cool. Don’t say anything about the mixer. Don’t try to aura farm. And don’t tell them that the cult gave you a cursed Gospel. Just be cool."
His jacket emitted an ominous humming sound.
He flinched.
"Fine then, be slightly cool. Maybe just a bit of aura."
And with that, he started walking toward the council room—
unaware that Julius was about to ask in horror,
"WHY DID YOU NEED TO PUT THAT IN YOUR JACKET?!"