Give it time. It'll probably come out that you're the "chosen one" to slay, I dunno, Lucifer or something at some point, and the hope of the world rests on you beating him at rock, paper, scissors.

[Kazuya's feeble attempt at humour fell flat, as his words came out a little more bitter than he intended. He lowered his gaze, staring at the tea in his hands blankly. Every time he had to genuinely consider what his job as Messiah entailed, he always felt this great... something. Something far too cold and hard for anger, and that weighed greatly on his diaphragm like a sharp edged rock.

Something that felt like hatred, a rancour so alien and bitter that Kazuya simply couldn't comprehend it. Was it his own? Bel's? Abel's? All three of them combined? He didn't know. It existed. It was there. It remained.]

...I. [Kazuya stopped, remembering who he was talking to. He made an odd noise, difficult to discern, and lifted his head and gaze, the shadow gone from his eyes] I mean, it's fine. To be honest, mine's more straightforward than your situation of refereeing a demon election. That sounds way more troublesome.