The phenomenon of problematic disaster

[VukPauk]

The world was gray. Not in a metaphorical sense, but in the most literal one. A gray sky, heavy with unseen moisture, pressed down on the gray roofs of high-rises, whose walls, once painted different colors, had long since faded into indistinguishable shades of desolation. Gray asphalt, pockmarked with dark stains of old oil spills, glistened after the morning rain, reflecting the indifferent light of the cloud-veiled sun. Even the people, hurrying about their business, seemed part of this monochrome landscape—their clothes, their faces, their gait merging into a single stream of mundanity.

At the bus stop, under a shelter of yellowed plastic, stood a young man. His figure fit perfectly into the surrounding palette. Simple jeans, a dark hoodie, worn-out sneakers. Light hair, devoid of shine, fell onto his forehead, covering his eyes, but even without that, it was clear—his face was a mask. A mask of total, all-consuming apathy. In his violet eyes, there was no sadness, no joy, no anger. Only emptiness, reflecting the gray world around him. He wasn't waiting for the bus; he was simply existing at a point in space where the bus was scheduled to appear.

With a hiss of pneumatics, an old, rattling bus pulled up. Its sides were caked in a layer of grime, and its windows were covered in a murky film that distorted the already bleak reality. The doors struggled open. The youth, his expression unchanging, stepped inside, his movements mechanical, honed to automaticity by hundreds of identical boardings. He tapped his plastic card against the validator, waited for the short beep—the only bright sound in this gray symphony—and moved into the cabin.

The smell was familiar: a mix of dampness, cheap plastic, and something elusively human. He scanned the few passengers—an old woman hunched over a book, a tired worker in overalls dozing by the window, a young mother trying to quiet a fussy child. Nothing interesting. Just background. He took an empty seat by the window, in the middle of the bus. He took worn-out earbuds from his pocket, put them in. Music flowed—an indistinct, melancholic ambient, the perfect soundtrack for disconnecting from the outside world. He leaned his head against the cold, vibrating glass and closed his eyes. The bus moved off, carrying him away through the gray city, toward nowhere.

Time flowed. Or it stood still. Behind his closed eyelids, there was nothing but darkness, and in his ears, only the hum of a synthesizer. He had almost fallen asleep, sinking into his usual state of semi-oblivion, when a distant, muffled sound broke through the music. A scream. Piercing, full of terror. He didn't have time to process it, not even time to be afraid. Only instinctively, for a fraction of a second, did he half-open his eyes.

The world outside the window had become a blur. The last thing he saw was the huge, relentlessly approaching radiator grille of a truck. It filled the entire window, his entire world. And then there was only a blinding flash of pain and darkness.

He did not wake at once. The awakening was like a slow ascent from bottomless, viscous depths of water. There was no pain, no memory of the crash. There was nothing. Just the awareness of his own existence. He opened his eyes, but around him was only an endless, blinding whiteness.

He was sitting. A figure, lacking clear outlines, an almost transparent silhouette woven from nothing. Beneath him was sand. White, fine as salt, it stretched in all directions to the very horizon, merging with the equally white, empty sky. But the sky was not empty. High above, where the stratosphere should have been, a gigantic, living web spread across the white dome. Violet lightning, silent and cold, ran incessantly across it, weaving into a complex, constantly changing pattern, like the giant nervous system of the universe.

And there, far beyond the horizon, gaped a darkness. A huge, perfect black hole with a thin, blindingly white contour. It didn't just hang in space—it lived. It seemed to be drawing the very fabric of this world into itself: the white sand flowed slowly, almost imperceptibly, toward it, and the violet lightning in the sky bent, striving toward its insatiable maw.

The figure sat motionless. Inside it, it was as empty as the world around it. There was no fear, no surprise, no curiosity. Only an incredible, all-consuming lethargy. It didn't want to move. Didn't want to think. Didn't even want to exist. It wanted only to sit and watch as the black hole slowly consumed this world, and then itself.

Time passed. How much? A second? An eternity? It didn't matter here. The figure didn't move, submerged in an eternal half-slumber. The landscape didn't change, only the violet lightning continued its silent dance in the sky. But something had changed. The black hole on the horizon had gotten closer. Just a tiny bit, but its white contour had become sharper, and its pull more tangible. The figure noted this languidly, without any emotion. Just a fact.

Another lapse of time, perhaps millennia long. The hole had grown noticeably larger. It was no longer just a point on the horizon. It had become the dominant feature of the landscape, a massive black sun devouring the light. The figure, still sitting motionless on the white sand, began to notice the very space around it distorting, stretching toward the giant. In its thoughts, slow and viscous as tar, a shadow of realization flickered.

"So, this is it..."

A simple, emotionless acceptance. He didn't know what it was—death, transition, nonexistence. He just understood that sooner or later, he would be pulled into this wormhole, and he would disappear. And this seemed... right. A logical conclusion to his meaningless existence.

Another eternity passed. Now, even the landscape began to change under the gravity. The white sand around the figure rose in small vortices, streaming toward the horizon. The web of violet lightning overhead crackled and bent, like a string pulled to its breaking point. The hole was so close now that its white contour was blinding, and the blackness at its center seemed absolute. And at that moment, on the figure, on its ghostly, immaterial surface, a barely perceptible tremor appeared.

The soul thought it was ready. That it was tired. That it wanted to disappear. But something inside, a tiny, almost extinguished spark, an instinct embedded in the foundation of all living things—still resisted. This was not a conscious desire to live. It was a primal, animalistic fear of complete, final nonexistence. The tremor intensified. It was the agony of a choice the soul wasn't even aware it was making. Give in and be consumed? Or…

And at some point, obeying this last, desperate impulse, the figure slowly, with incredible effort, turned away from the wormhole. It looked in the opposite direction, into the endless white emptiness. And slowly, it began to move.

A long time later, the soul was still moving through space. Now its movements were more jerky, ragged. It was tired. Tired in a way it had never been in its past, physical life. This was not muscular fatigue. It was an exhaustion of the will itself. Every movement was accompanied by invisible spasms; every effort to take a step on the viscous white sand resonated as pain in its very essence. It wanted to stop. Wanted to give up. To lie down on this sand and let the pull of the black hole, still yawning behind it, do its work. But something, that same tiny spark, that same irrational fear, pushed it forward, not letting it stop.

It walked, stumbling, falling, rising. It walked until it felt it could go no further. That the next step would be its last. That it would simply... dissipate from exhaustion. And in that moment, just as it was ready to surrender, it noticed it.

Ahead, in the perfectly flat white sand, was something alien. A hatch. It led down. The hatch itself was made of a strange, pearlescendent wood, its surface shimmering with a soft, mother-of-pearl light, contrasting with the blinding whiteness around it. The sand seemed to flow around it, not daring to touch, as if the hatch existed in another reality, merely brushing against this one.

The soul stopped, staring at it. What was this? A trap? Salvation? Another illusion of this insane world? After brief deliberation, which boiled down to one simple thought—"it can't get any worse"—it approached and, gathering its last strength, opened the heavy lid. Darkness led downward. Not the threatening blackness of the hole, but simply... an absence of light. Taking a final step, the soul entered the hatch.

It found itself in another space. Completely white, but entirely different. It was an office. The walls, floor, and ceiling all seemed to be carved from a single piece of flawless white marble, smooth and cold. In the middle of the room stood a matching white marble desk, and behind it, in an elegant white armchair, sat a man.

He was stately, with perfectly coiffed snow-white hair and aristocratic features. He wore an impeccably tailored white suit. In his hand, he held a white porcelain cup, from which he was drinking dark, almost black coffee.

He raised his eyes to the soul that had entered. There was no surprise in his gaze, no interest. Only a universal, boundless fatigue and a faint boredom. He took a final sip, placed the cup on the desk, and, leaning back in his chair, let out a quiet, drawn-out, lazy sigh.

"Ahhh…"

 

[VukPauk]

Whiteness. Absolute, sterile, oppressive. The soul, still a formless clot of consciousness, stood silently in the middle of the marble office, staring at the man behind the desk. The man, in turn, stared back at it. His gaze was devoid of emotion, empty and weary, like that of a bureaucrat at the end of a limitless workday. Seconds dripped by in the viscous silence, not measured by the ticking of a clock, but felt as a mounting pressure.

At last, a shadow of irritation flickered across the man's flawless face. A thin line creased between his snow-white eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Are you going to stand there long?"

The voice was smooth, almost melodic, but it held a note of chronic boredom, as if he had asked this question a million times before. The soul flinched, its nebulous form rippling in surprise, like the surface of water disturbed by a stone. It was the first sound to break the silence of this place. It hadn't known it could move of its own will. Slowly, with an effort that felt titanic, it took a step, then another, approaching the desk.

The man watched, perfectly aware of the waves of surprise and caution emanating from the indistinct figure. He waited until the soul had settled onto a matching white marble chair that had silently appeared before his desk, and only then continued. His movements were professional, honed to automaticity. He smoothly opened the top drawer of the desk—a normal, unremarkable drawer. But then, instead of pulling something out of it, he sharply pulled the open drawer upward.

The soul watched in astonishment at the impossible sight. The drawer did not end. It continued to extend up, transforming into a gigantic tower that receded into the infinite white height. It was a card catalog. A construct of pearlescent wood, consisting of millions, billions of cells, it grew and grew, piercing the white nothingness for what seemed like miles. At a certain point, the tower's growth stopped. The man, without even looking, reached for a specific, nondescript drawer somewhere in the dizzying heights, and it slid out smoothly. He retrieved a single document from it, a thin card, and slapped it down on the desk. Simultaneously with this gesture, the entire grandiose structure silently vanished back into the desk, as if it had never been.

He silently opened the card. His eyes quickly scanned the lines, which were invisible to the soul. After a few seconds, he closed it with a soft click and shifted his gaze to the figure, which was holding its breath.

"Well, well, well," he began his monologue, his voice just as colorless. "Here you are. I must admit, I'm surprised. According to all calculations, your trajectory should have ended in 'The Purifier' several eons ago. You almost made it, didn't you? Felt the pull, the warmth of nonexistence. Most in your position gladly dive right in, just to end this comedy sooner. But you… you turned around and crawled back." He paused, tilting his head slightly, as if listening to the soul's emotions. "Interesting. A very rare case. Almost unprecedented."

He glanced at the card again. "Let's see… Life… gray. No highs, no lows. School, home, internet. No friends, no enemies, no hobbies. Just existence. A passive observation of others living. You were a spectator in your own movie, one you didn't even bother to make. You voluntarily locked yourself in a box, and then complained it was cramped. A pathetic sight." He had expected to see a wave of regret, remorse, pain. But instead, he sensed only… embarrassment and tense attention. The soul wasn't mourning its past life. It was ashamed of it.

The man sighed again, this time more deeply, with a hint of almost human fatigue. "Alright. It seems you're not entirely hopeless, if you're capable of shame, at least. That changes things. A little."

He reached into the drawer again, this time without the theatrics, and took out another sheet, a simple form, and placed it in front of the soul. "Figure it out yourself," he tossed out dryly, noticing the question in its aura.

The soul shifted its gaze to the sheet. It was covered in myriad words in a completely unfamiliar, ornate language, composed of symbols that looked like a cross between runes and hieroglyphs. But the moment it focused, the meaning of the text began to appear directly in its thoughts, clear and precise, as if it were reading its native tongue.

It was a contract. "The Final Chance Contract."

It stated that the soul was receiving the opportunity to live one more life. This life would be the final test, the results of which would determine its ultimate fate. That wormhole outside, as it turned out, wasn't just a black hole, but the embodiment of the eternal cycle of rebirth. Everything that fell into it was completely cleansed of memory, personality, of its very essence, and the soul took on a completely different, new form. A complete reboot. The death of the ego.

The gist of the contract was simple: it was being given one more chance. But if, at the conclusion of this new life, the results remained the same—the same apathy, the same passivity, the same flight from the world—it would face final oblivion. Not rebirth, but a complete, absolute erasure from the fabric of existence.

As an additional support—so the soul couldn't later complain about an unfair world or unfortunate circumstances—it was offered the chance to choose a so-called "cheat." Any power, any ability that would help it in its new life. Below was a blank space where it was to describe its wish.

The soul stared at the empty field for a long time. Options swirled through its consciousness. Limitless magic? Unbelievable physical strength? The ability to control time? Money? Power? The possibilities were endless. It thrashed about, not knowing what to choose. What could guarantee it wouldn't repeat its mistakes?

And at some point, it stopped abruptly and thought. It wasn't skills it had lacked. It wasn't power. Its entire past life, it had done exactly what it had decided to do. And it was its choice—or rather, its refusal to choose—that had led it to all this. The problem wasn't the world. The problem was itself. And it made a decision.

Its ghostly hand reached for the form. It didn't know how it would write, but the desire was so strong that a dark pigment, like ink, began to concentrate at its fingertips. It began to describe its wish. At first, it was just words: "strength," "speed," "endurance." But then the description became more and more detailed. "The ability to analyze and destroy supernatural phenomena," "a body that knows no fatigue," "reflexes that outpace thought." And at some point, it became clear it wasn't describing an abstract ability. It was describing a character.

The very character it had admired so much during its past, gray life. The hero from an old novel, whose strength, audacity, and disdain for boredom had seemed to it the embodiment of true freedom.

Sakamaki Izayoi.

Finished, the soul passed the sheet back to the man. He took it lazily, his eyes scanning what was written. A crooked, cynical smirk slowly spread across his lips.

"Well then. Live your life worthily. However, remember,"—he raised his tired eyes to it, eyes holding not a single drop of sympathy—"that trash will always be trash."

He snapped his fingers.

The world around the soul exploded in a blinding flash and disappeared.

The man was left alone in the silence of his white office. He looked at the sheet in his hand, smirked one more time, and then opened the drawer again. The gigantic card catalog soared upward. He found the right cell, and the sheet the soul had just held was sent to its place. The name of the section where it now rested glowed for a moment, and the old, forgotten name of the protagonist was replaced by a new one.

Izayoi Jin.

 

[VukPauk]

Kuoh Town was waking to the gentle touch of the morning sun. The warm, almost summer-like air was filled with the aroma of fresh pastries from small bakeries, the bitter scent of coffee from open cafes, and the sweet fragrance of sakura, whose last petals lazily twirled in the morning breeze. It was a city of contrasts, where modern buildings of glass and concrete stood alongside traditional houses with tiled roofs, and bustling, lively shopping streets gave way to quiet, tranquil alleys leading to ancient Shinto shrines.

Life here flowed at a measured and predictable pace. In the morning—streams of schoolchildren in neat uniforms and office workers in sharp suits, hurrying to the station. In the afternoon—the carefree laughter of students strolling in the park by the lake, and melodic announcements from the speakers in the shopping arcade. In the evening—the warm light of lanterns reflecting in shop windows, and the cozy hum of restaurants and izakayas. Kuoh was an exemplary Japanese city—clean, safe, and mind-numbingly calm. The perfect place for a quiet, peaceful life. ...

Consciousness returned with a sharp, painful jolt, tearing him from oblivion. The first thing he felt was the hard floor against his cheek and the taste of dust in his mouth. He opened his eyes. A ceiling. Low, with age-yellowed stains. He slowly sat up, looking around with a dull, ringing bewilderment.

He was in a tiny, old apartment. A small living room seamlessly flowed into a kitchen nook, where a single-burner stove and a small refrigerator huddled on a modest counter. In the corner, a low kotatsu table. By the wall, an old wardrobe, from whose slightly open door a thick, heavy blanket was awkwardly spilling out. He realized he hadn't been lying on a bed, but directly on the floor, on woven mats. Tatami.

The word surfaced in his mind on its own, foreign, yet achingly familiar. And in that same instant, an unbearable pain pierced his skull. It was like a lightning strike. The world before his eyes exploded into a myriad of white sparks, and a flood poured into his head. No, not a flood—a tsunami. A gigantic, all-consuming wave of information, of alien knowledge, of alien memories.

The Japanese language, which he had never known, now sounded as natural in his thoughts as his native tongue—grammar, thousands of kanji, colloquialisms, polite forms. The history of Japan—from the Jomon period to the post-war economic miracle. The geography of Kuoh Town—every street, every shop, the bus schedules. The pain intensified, turning into an unbearable pulsation that felt as if it would tear his head apart from the inside. He gripped his temples, trying to contain this insane onslaught, but the information continued to pour in, filling every corner of his consciousness, displacing, overwriting his own "I." At a certain point, at the peak of the agony, his body couldn't take it. The world went dark, and he collapsed onto the floor, losing consciousness.

The day was ending. The orange rays of the setting sun painted the room in warm, melancholic tones. Jin's eyes snapped open. The pain was gone. But there was another, far more vile sensation. His stomach twisted in a brutal spasm, and nausea rose in his throat.

Without thinking, obeying a primal instinct, he scrambled to his feet. Stumbling over his own legs, he bolted for the small door in the corner. The toilet. Barely making it to the bowl, he collapsed to his knees as his body convulsed. He was vomiting violently. Bile and acid burned his throat, tears streamed from his eyes, his abdominal muscles seizing from the strain. This wasn't just vomiting. It was a purge, an exorcism. His body, his new vessel, was rejecting the remnants of the old world, the old life, spewing them out along with the acrid bile.

After what felt like an eternity, when the spasms subsided and only clear, bitter mucus came up from his stomach, he slumped back weakly, his back against the cold wall. Cold sweat ran down his entire body, his head was spinning. He crawled out of the toilet on all fours, made it to the kitchen, and, as if he had done it a thousand times, opened a cabinet, took out a glass, and filled it with water from the tap. His hands moved on their own, guided by an alien memory that had already been absorbed. He downed the glass in one gulp, feeling the cool water extinguish the fire in his throat. And then his strength failed him again, and he collapsed to the floor, sinking into a merciful oblivion.

The next time he woke, he was standing. In the middle of a small, cramped shower stall, covered in old tile. Streams of warm water ran down his body, washing away the sweat and the sticky terror of the last few hours. He lifted his head, and his gaze fell on the fogged-up mirror on the wall. He ran a hand over it, wiping away the damp film. And he saw himself. The new him.

A stranger looked back at him from the mirror. A youth with light, slightly water-tousled hair and piercing violet eyes. A strong, perfectly built body, where every muscle was sculpted with almost unnatural perfection, like a statue of an ancient god. This was not his appearance. This was not his body. This was the vessel he had chosen. The vessel of Sakamaki Izayoi.

And then, looking at this foreign, but now his own, reflection, he remembered everything. Not just the new information about Japan, but what came before it. The white office. The tired man in white. The contract. And his choice.

He had made it. Made it into another world. And the memories that had flooded his head left no doubt as to which one. Kuoh Academy, attended by beautiful girls, one of whom was the crimson-haired heiress of a demonic clan. The perverted guy who became a pawn and the wielder of the Red Dragon's power. Fallen angels, exorcists, Sacred Gears…

He had landed in an anime. In High School DxD.

According to his newly acquired memories, he was now Izayoi Jin, an orphan and a transfer student, recently enrolled in Kuoh Academy. A convenient legend. A blank slate that could be filled with anything.

"Yare yare…" a tired thought flickered through his mind. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, drying himself with a rough towel. "Of all the possible worlds... why here? Into this theater of the absurd, built on fanservice and power-ups?"

He walked back to the window of his tiny apartment. The night city glittered with a myriad of lights, appearing just as peaceful and calm as it had in the morning. But now, Jin saw it differently. He saw what was hidden behind that serene facade.

The warm light of the shopping street, where couples might be strolling right now, seemed to him just a stage set, behind which, in dark alleys, stray demons could be hunting for lost souls. The majestic building of Kuoh Academy on the hill wasn't just a prestigious school, but the headquarters of the Gremory clan, a nest of demons playing at being human. And that old church on the outskirts, which he remembered from the new city maps, wasn't just an abandoned building, but a potential base for fallen angels, hatching their insidious plans.

All these people bustling below were just unsuspecting extras in a great, hidden war. A war he was now-dragged into. And not just as an observer. But as an active participant with the power to flip the entire board.

Kuoh Town no longer seemed calm and cozy to him. It had become an arena. A vast, beautiful, but deadly arena. And the show was just about to begin.

 

[VukPauk]

Night—the time when the city removes its daytime mask of decency. Jin stood in the middle of his tiny apartment, a single lightbulb snatching the meager furnishings from the gloom: a stack of neatly piled school textbooks on the low table, a lonely futon in the corner, a small refrigerator humming so quietly it seemed afraid to disturb the peace. The air was stale, smelling of dust and old wood.

He had just finished examining the documents found in the desk drawer. Enrollment certificate for Kuoh Academy, health insurance, a resident card—flawless forgeries, creating a personality from nothing. Izayoi Jin. Orphan. Transfer student. A convenient, empty shell.

"And what now?" The thought was lazy, devoid of any panic. He sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. "Do I even have to?"

The memories poured into his consciousness along with the Japanese language and local geography were clear. The plot of High School DxD. He knew it. He knew about the fallen angels, about the battle for Asia, about Riser, about Kokabiel. He knew that, in the end, Hyoudou Issei, the local protagonist, would manage somehow. Struggling, losing, but winning. Such are the laws of the genre.

"So maybe... just do nothing?" a tempting thought flickered. "Go to school, get my pathetic allowance, watch the story unfold from the sidelines. Be a spectator, just like in my past life. Safe. Simple. Boring."

But immediately, another, more sober thought arose. He was an anomaly. His presence here had already disrupted the original scenario. And what if, because of his interference—or, conversely, his inaction—something went wrong? What if Issei didn't manage? What if one of these wars spilled outside the barriers and caught him, a random bystander? In this world, there were no safe places for those who knew the truth.

He wasn't a spectator. He was a participant, shoved onto the stage without his consent. And if he did nothing... he was finished anyway. Final oblivion, as per the contract with that guy in white.

Irritation rose in his throat, a tight, hot lump. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers clenching into a fist.

"What a goddamn drag..."

The word that escaped his lips perfectly described his state. Not fear, not despair. But precisely a universal, cosmic drag. He was once again forced into a game he didn't want to play, but couldn't leave.

He stood up. Sitting within these four walls was unbearable. He needed to walk, clear his head, and see this new world with his own eyes, not through the prism of someone else's memories.

The night enveloped Kuoh in a cool, damp blanket. Jin ambled down the quiet streets of the neighborhood he now lived in. His memories helpfully supplied: this was an old, poor, but quiet residential district. Small, two-story houses, pressed tightly together, alternated with apartment buildings like his own, housing a few families. The air smelled of damp earth after a recent lawn watering and something elusively sweet—the scent of night-blooming flowers from someone's tiny garden.

The silence was broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant hum of trains. The perfect place for a "normal" life. But Jin saw the underside. He knew that behind this sleepy idyll hid territory divided between two powerful demonic clans. That in any of these dark alleys, you could run into not a drunk worker, but a stray demon looking for easy prey. That behind the windows of these cute houses might live not only humans, but reincarnated servants leading double lives. This contrast between the seen and the unseen brought not fear, but only a wry, cynical smirk.

His leisurely path led him to an island of light in the night's gloom—a 24-hour convenience store, a kombini. Bright, almost vulgar neon signs promised cheap food, drinks, and salvation from loneliness for night owls. In front of the entrance, a group of high schoolers in the worn-out uniform of another school was squatting. They were smoking, laughing loudly, exchanging crude jokes. Typical punks, petty predators who considered this patch of asphalt their territory. Jin cast a lazy, indifferent glance at them and, without changing his pace, went inside. The automatic doors slid open with a soft chime.

Inside, it was bright and cool. He walked past the racks of magazines and manga, past the coolers of drinks, heading for the prepared food counter. But his gaze caught on his own wallet, which he pulled from his pocket. Almost empty. A couple of crumpled bills and a handful of change. Five hundred yen, no more. The financial resources of an orphan on allowance. He sighed heavily. He'd have to be frugal. From a nearby shelf, he grabbed a pack of the cheapest instant ramen and a can of soda. A luxurious dinner.

A surprise waited for him at the register. Behind the counter stood a girl. Incredibly, almost unnaturally, cute for a night-shift kombini clerk. No older than twenty, with chestnut hair tied in a high ponytail that bounced amusingly with her every move. A neat, delicate face with large, trusting eyes, average height, about half a head shorter than him. The striped store uniform fit her perfectly, emphasizing her slender figure.

"Damn ero-world," a tired thought flickered in Jin's mind. Even the cashier at a regular kombini looked like a character from a dating sim. He silently placed his modest basket on the counter.

The girl took the items and began to scan them. Obeying professional habit, she looked up at the customer to greet him, and... froze. Her fingers hovered over the scanner, and a light blush instantly appeared on her cheeks.

Jin, who had been lazily observing the street through the glass door, shifted his gaze to her. He saw her staring at him, frozen, her lips slightly parted in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, his violet eyes studying her indifferently, but attentively. This simple gesture snapped her out of her stupor. She flinched, blushed deeply, and abruptly looked down, hiding her gaze.

"P-p-pardon me!!!" her voice was thin and strained. "T-that'll be two hundred and thirty yen!"

Jin, paying no attention to her reaction, calmly counted out the exact amount, down to the last coin, and placed it on the counter. While he slowly packed the ramen and soda into a thin plastic bag, he could feel her gaze on him. She kept stealing furtive glances, her cheeks still burning. It seemed she desperately wanted to say something but didn't dare.

Jin huffed inwardly. He didn't understand what had happened to her. He was used to his new appearance attracting attention, but this reaction was... excessive. He took the bag and headed for the exit.

After leaving the store and walking past the punks, who followed him with disdainful looks, he had already gotten a decent distance away when he heard a desperate, almost shouted voice behind him:

"PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!"

He turned around. The same clerk had run out of the store and was standing in the doorway, hands clasped to her chest. She was breathing heavily, as if she'd run a marathon, and her face was a mixture of embarrassment and some kind of puppy-like delight. Jin froze for a moment, then the corners of his lips twitched in a wry smirk. He gave her a lazy wave and, turning, walked on.

The girl, seeing that he had noticed her and even responded, looked as happy as if she'd won the lottery. She let out a quiet, sweet sigh full of happiness and, beet-red, ran back into the store.

However, this scene did not go unnoticed by one of the punks. The guy, clearly the leader of the gang, sat with his face twisted in anger. He stared through the glass at the clerk, who was now joyfully, almost skipping, wiping down the counter, and then transferred his hate-filled gaze to Jin's retreating back.

"That bastard..." he growled through his teeth.

He threw a few short phrases to his buddies. They smirked in understanding, put out their cigarettes, and lazily got to their feet. After exchanging a few words, they moved after Jin, disappearing into the shadows of the night city.

 

[VukPauk]

The night air was cool, carrying the scents of asphalt, damp foliage, and distant exhaust fumes. Jin walked slowly down the quiet street, the plastic bag with his meager dinner rustling faintly in his hand. Inside his head, contrary to custom, there wasn't cold analysis, but a light, unfamiliar turmoil.

He recalled the face of the girl from the kombini. Her big, frightened, yet curious eyes, the blush that flooded her cheeks, her desperate, almost childlike cry of "Please come again!". It was so... anime-like. So cliché it was almost amusing. But somewhere beneath the layer of cynicism, something else stirred. Something warm.

"Maybe... she liked me?"

The thought was so alien, so out of place in his new reality, that he involuntarily stumbled. He felt blood rush to his cheeks. A faint, barely noticeable blush he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. For a moment, his thoughts flowed in a completely different, long-forgotten direction. Romance? Ordinary human relationships? Maybe in this life…

In that same instant, as if doused by a bucket of icy water, another feeling washed over him. Sharp, predatory, familiar. The sensation of being watched from behind. Of an approach.

His head cleared instantly. All the sentimental nonsense evaporated, giving way to cold vigilance. He didn't slow his pace, didn't change his gait, but his entire being grew taut, like a predator that had sensed prey. He carefully, almost imperceptibly, cut his eyes, glancing at the reflection in the dark shop window he was passing. Five shadows. They kept their distance, but moved in sync with him, trying not to attract attention. The kids from the store.

Jin looked straight ahead, and a predatory, anticipatory smile touched his lips. The warmth of embarrassment was replaced by an icy thrill. He was tired of inaction. And these idiots, it seemed, had decided to voluntarily offer themselves up as sparring partners. Well, it would be a sin to refuse such a generous gift.

A few minutes later, he turned into a narrow, poorly lit alley between two old buildings. He walked to the very end, until he hit a solid brick wall. A dead end. He turned slowly, the bag of ramen still hanging carelessly from his hand. Blocking the exit, the five were moving toward him. They were trying to look intimidating: confident faces, relaxed, "cool" gaits, hands in their pockets. A classic group attack on a lone target, meant to instill terror in the victim.

Jin turned to face the guy who was walking in front and was, obviously, the leader of this gang.

"Well, nothing new."

...

"Well, nothing new."

Shido froze. He stared at the strange blond, who was looking right back at him with a strange, almost pleased expression and a lazy smirk. The words, spoken in a calm voice devoid of fear, threw him off. He had expected anything: fear, pleading, an attempt to run. But not this.

He glanced at the others. He saw the same uncertain confusion on their faces. The plan was failing. They continued to approach, but a little slower now, less confidently.

Getting closer, Shido tried to understand where this guy got such confidence. He was literally standing with one hand in his pocket, waiting for them with a self-satisfied smirk. He didn't look scared. He looked bored.

"Does he have a weapon?" a thought flickered in Shido's mind. "Doesn't look like it, pockets aren't bulging. Maybe he's not alone? No, no one's around, and he's in a dead end. So why is he so confident?! Dammit, is he crazy?"

Stopping a few meters away, he gathered his courage, put on his most threatening expression, and looked up, shouting:

"Who the hell are y—"

And he froze. He drowned.

The strange blond's eyes. He looked into them and the words stuck in his throat. Violet. But it wasn't just the color. It was emptiness. A bottomless, cold, sucking abyss that held no fear, no anger, no life. Only an absolute, all-consuming indifference that contrasted with the slight smirk on his lips. Shido felt a cold sweat run down his back. This wasn't the gaze of a human. It was the gaze of a monster.

He watched the man slowly approach him. Watched his hand descend onto his shoulder. The palm was warm, but the touch... It was unbearably heavy. Shido turned pale. It felt as if a whole mountain had settled on his shoulder, not a teenager's hand. He couldn't move. Not from the physical pressure, but from the primal terror that paralyzed every muscle. He froze, afraid to even lift his head, let alone look this monster in the eyes.

Jin patted his shoulder twice. Amiably. But the gesture almost made Shido pass out.

One of his friends, a hefty guy named Takeda, noticed his leader's strange behavior. "Shido! You okay?!" he yelled and, without thinking, swung a metal pipe he always carried. He struck with all his might, aiming for the blond's head.

After that, everyone froze.

The unknown man smoothly, almost lazily, raised one hand and caught the blow in his palm. There was no sound of broken bones, no cry of pain. Just a dull, dry thud of metal on flesh. The blond didn't even flinch. Meanwhile, Takeda's hands, holding the pipe, went numb from the monstrous feedback, as if he had struck a granite cliff. His fingers unclenched, and the pipe fell to the asphalt with a clang.

Everyone watched this in shock. And they all flinched in unison at an indifferent huff from this monster. Ignoring the high schoolers surrounding him, he was examining his own hand, the one that had taken the blow, with great interest. Not a scratch on the skin.

"Hm. Doesn't even itch," he muttered to himself.

And then the madness began.

He vanished. Simply dissolved into the air. One second he was standing there, the next he was gone. Everyone frantically whipped their heads around.

CRASH!

The wall at the far end of the alley shuddered. There, in a cloud of brick dust, he stood. He had crashed into the wall. By accident? Or intentionally? The asphalt under his feet was covered in a web of deep cracks from a simple landing. The high schoolers literally couldn't understand what was happening.

He disappeared again. And reappeared, this time at the opposite wall. The movement was smoother this time, but the asphalt cracked under his feet again. He moved, and with every movement, every relocation, his motions became better, faster, more precise. It seemed he wasn't fighting them. He was training. He was calibrating his body, using this alley as a training ground, and them as dummies.

Simultaneously, he began to move around them. His silhouette became invisible. They couldn't see him. Only feel him. Gusts of wind that whipped their faces told them he was moving nearby. At first, it was a light breeze, then a sharp gust that made them stagger. The gusts became fiercer, faster, striking from all different directions. Right, left, above, below. The wind tore at their clothes, whipped their hair, knocked them off their feet. It was a demonic dance in which they were merely helpless leaves in a hurricane.

By the end of this insane performance, everyone was already sitting on the asphalt, unable to stand. They were shaking from fear and disorientation. They didn't understand what that was. They just knew they had encountered something that shouldn't exist.

Only the leader, Shido, still stood in the same spot where he'd been left. Frozen like a statue, paralyzed by that initial terror.

Jin stopped unexpectedly. The wind died. He appeared directly in front of the high school leader, as if he had been there all along. He looked over Shido's pale, cold-sweat-covered face and smirked.

"Ha, good for you."

He patted his shoulder twice again. Shido flinched, and the stupor broke. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the asphalt next to his friends. Jin, picking up his bag of groceries from the ground, walked out of the alley and ambled away into the night's darkness.

 

[VukPauk]

A persistent, irritating trill from the alarm clock tore Jin from the arms of sleep. He had set it the night before, mechanically performing one of the rules hammered into his new memory: don't be late on the first day. Today was that day. The day he officially transferred to Kuoh Academy—the place where, according to his memories from a past life, many of this world's key events were supposed to unfold.

He sat up on the futon, running a hand through his hair. His body, rested and full of energy, showed no hint of yesterday's fatigue. The uniform, hanging neatly on a chair, fit his athletic figure perfectly, as if it had been tailor-made. A black blazer, white shirt, and slacks—a standard set that, on him, nevertheless looked like designer clothing.

In the kitchen, sipping cheap instant coffee, he counted the minutes until he had to leave. Tick-tock. Time was relentlessly bringing the moment closer, the moment when he would once again have to immerse himself in the very environment he had fled his entire past life. The school routine.

Unexpectedly, even to himself, he set the mug down, collapsed onto the small sofa, buried his face in his palms, and moaned like a child:

"I don't wanna go to school agai-i-in…"

His voice lacked its usual cold indifference. It held sincere, genuine anguish. He remembered just how suffocating the place was. Pointless lessons, hypocritical smiles, empty conversations, the need to conform, to be part of the system… The very thought of it made him shudder.

But the alarm on his phone chirped again, this time reminding him it was time to leave. Resigned to his fate, he sighed heavily, got up, and trudged to the door.

Slinging the almost empty bag over his back and covering a yawn, he ambled alongside the park toward the academy. The morning was clear and warm. Gradually, the street became livelier: morning clerks in identical suits hurried to work; joggers ran in the park. And the closer he got to the academy, the more kids he saw dressed in the same uniform as him.

Looking at this stream of students, Jin idly noted that the vast majority of them were girls. He remembered that, according to the plot, Kuoh Academy used to be an all-girls school and had only recently become co-ed. This fact also explained the heightened, almost unhealthy attention he was starting to feel directed at him.

The academy towered on a hill, majestic and imposing. It wasn't just a school building but an entire architectural ensemble, combining European austerity with Japanese elegance. Tall spires, arched windows, light stone walls, manicured lawns, and ancient trees—everything spoke of the prestige and status of this place.

The closer he got, the more stares he attracted. Girls, walking in groups or alone, slowed their pace, following him with curious, admiring eyes, and immediately began whispering to their friends. Thanks to his enhanced hearing, Jin heard every whisper, every sigh.

"Who is that?!? I've never seen him before…" "Is that the new transfer student in Class 2-B?" "So handsome! He's on par with Kiba-kun!" "Look, his eyes… they're violet! I'm going to die!" "He's so tall… and his figure…"

Jin heard all of it and tried to ignore it. His face remained impassive, but irritation was building inside. This world was simply obsessed with appearances. He quickened his pace and headed for the school gates.

There, at the entrance, as if waiting for him, stood two girls. As he approached, they stepped forward and greeted him with a polite bow.

"Izayoi Jin-san?" asked one of them. She was short, with close-cropped black hair and a stern, intelligent gaze behind her glasses. "Yes, that's me." "I am Sona Sitri, the student council president. And this is my vice-president, Tsubaki Shinra. We decided to meet you at the gate personally."

Sona glanced at her wristwatch. "Punctual. Excellent."

She introduced herself and her vice-president—a tall, beautiful girl with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail—and then took the folder with his transfer documents from Jin.

While Sona looked over the papers, Jin was once again convinced of just how beautiful people were in this world. Sona Sitri possessed a cold, intellectual beauty, her stern look only emphasizing her delicate features. Tsubaki, meanwhile, was the embodiment of classic Japanese beauty—tall, stately, with a flawless posture. 'The great wars fought in waifu battles were all for nothing,' a thought flickered in his mind.

"Everything is in order," Sona said, closing the folder. "We offered to escort you to the faculty room."

They walked through the academy grounds. At a junction inside the building, when they needed to go up to another floor, Sona stopped and pointed down the hall. "The faculty room is down there. They're already expecting you."

She was about to head to her own floor, where the student council office was, but suddenly stopped and shot Jin a stern look. "And one more thing, Izayoi-san. Our academy's rules do not encourage wearing unauthorized accessories that aren't part of the uniform."

She nodded at his neck, where a large pair of over-ear headphones rested. Jin just smiled and, instead of answering, gave them a lazy wave goodbye, then turned and walked in the direction he'd been pointed. Sona and Tsubaki exchanged a suspicious glance. His reaction was too casual, too confident. This new student wasn't so simple.

After meeting his new homeroom teacher—a young, slightly fussy woman—they proceeded to the classroom. Standing before the door, Jin paused for a moment. This was it. The point of no return. Beyond this door lay a new stage, a new game, new problems. There was no going back.

The teacher, seeing his momentary hesitation, was touched, thinking he was just nervous about meeting his classmates. She was about to say something encouraging, but Jin himself, with cold resolve, opened the door and strode inside. This slightly shocked the teacher, who once again misunderstood him. 'What a good boy,' she thought. 'He gathered his strength and pushed through it.'

He stood in the middle of the class. A sea of eyes—which is to say, everyone present—looked at him. A quick glance made it clear: the class was overwhelmingly female. There were only three guys, sitting at the back, who had the worst reputation in school. A member of this trio was the protagonist of this world, Hyoudou Issei.

The gazes were of two types. The girls, who reacted with extreme interest, immediately began whispering and comparing him to the local star, Kiba Yuuto. And the guys from the "Perverted Trio," who bared their teeth in envy, cursing their new competition.

"Please introduce yourself," the teacher requested.

Jin swept the class with his sharp, observant gaze.

"Izayoi Jin," his voice was confident, without a trace of nervousness. "As of today, I'm in your care. I hope we get along."

Short. Formal. And slightly arrogant. When the girls heard his greeting, a new image formed in their minds, making their hearts skip a beat. His voice was confident, his gaze sharp, and the aura around him made him seem unapproachable. If Kiba Yuuto was their "Prince Charming," then Jin was the "Haughty Prince" standing right beside him.

"Kyaaaa!" some of them mentally squealed, feeling shivers run down their spines.

Seeing how emotional the inhabitants of this world were, how easily they created archetypes and fell for first impressions, an unexpected thought flickered in Jin's mind.

"Huh, that's cool"

 

[VukPauk]

The teacher pointed to an empty seat by the window, in the second-to-last row. The spot was perfect for discreetly tuning out, contemplating the clouds or the crows sleeping on the branches. But there was one detail. It was right in front of one of the few boys in this class—Hyoudou Issei.

As Jin unhurriedly made his way to his desk, he shot a short, sharp glance toward the future wielder of the Red Dragon. This wasn't a glance of introduction or curiosity. It was the cold, appraising stare of a predator sizing up another animal in its territory. Issei, who had been gawking at the new "competition" with a dopey grin, caught that gaze and instinctively flinched. An icy chill ran down his spine. He didn't understand what that was, but something in those violet eyes made him pale and hastily look away, staring at his textbook with an intensity that suggested his life depended on it.

Jin took his seat, and the teacher, clapping her hands, continued the lesson.

The class sank into a monotonous drone. It was a lecture on modern Japanese literature, an analysis of some sickeningly sentimental story about lost love and blooming sakura. Material that Jin, thanks to the knowledge poured into him, knew almost by heart. He propped his head on his hand and stared out the window. Boredom. Thick, viscous, almost tangible.

He could feel the stares. Dozens of them. Almost the entire female population of the class, instead of heeding the teacher's words, was covertly studying him. Admiring, curious, dreamy gazes. He heard their quiet, broken whispers, which to his heightened hearing sounded as clear as a shout. "He's perfect even in profile...", "I wonder if he's seen Kiba-kun yet?", "We have to go talk to him after class...". Added to this were a couple of irritated, envious glares from the "Perverted Trio," who clearly sensed a threat to their dubious status.

Jin sighed heavily. His mind was blank. He closed his eyes, letting the teacher's monotone voice and the warm sunlight lull him. He started to nod off, sinking into a welcome drowsiness…

BRRRIIIIINNNG!

The sharp, deafening bell announcing the end of class made him jolt. He opened his eyes. And realized there would be no escape. With the bell, his desk was instantly surrounded by a tight ring of girls. They pushed and giggled, trying to get closer, their eyes burning with the enthusiasm of explorers who had stumbled upon a new, undiscovered species.

"Izayoi-kun, is it true your hair color is natural? It's so beautiful, almost platinum!" "Are you a foreigner? You have such unusual features... And your eyes! They're such a deep violet! I've never seen any like them!" "Where did you transfer from?" "What are your hobbies? What kind of music do you listen to? Your headphones look so professional!" "Tell us, tell us, do you have a girlfriend?!" "What's your type? Do you like girls with long hair or short? With big breasts or small?!"

The questions rained down from all sides, interrupting each other, creating a deafening din. Jin, though a bit overwhelmed by the onslaught, tried to remain calm. He answered some of the questions, attempting to project a friendliness he didn't feel.

"It's my natural hair. Not a foreigner, just turned out this way. My hobby is... reading."

At one point, one of them, the boldest girl with a short haircut, asked with interest, "Izayoi-kun, have you settled into the academy yet? Do you know where everything is? If you want, I can give you a tour! I'll show you all the best spots!"

Her words were the trigger. "Hey, Kaori, I wanted to offer first! Izayoi-kun, I know all the secret paths and places where you can sit in peace!" "No, me! I'll show him the gym and the pool! He must be good at sports!"

The girls began to argue noisily, offering their services. Jin was bewildered. This deafening squabble between young girls fighting for the right to be his guide was both comical and exhausting.

And then, amidst the din, three uncertain male voices spoke up. "U-uh... we could... maybe... too..."

All the girls instantly fell silent and, as if on command, turned their venom-filled gazes on the source of the sound. It was the "Perverted Trio." Issei, Matsuda, and Motohama were standing by their desk, trying to look confident, but their bravado quickly evaporated under the collective female glare.

"We... we were thinking..." Issei began, his voice trembling slightly, "that we'd give the new guy a tour... as... well... fellow male students. Us guys gotta stick together!"

The room temperature instantly plummeted. The smiles on the girls' faces vanished, replaced by icy masks. Their eyes darkened, and a dark aura seemed to gather around them. They stood with faces worthy of a Japanese horror story.

"Y-y-you...?" one of them hissed, her voice dripping with contempt. "You want to corrupt the new guy with your pestilent influence?!" "How dare you even interrupt our introduction to Jin-sama?!" "You trash aren't worthy of breathing the same air as him!"

The girls became more and more terrifying in the trio's eyes. Their aura was crushing, making the boys shrink. They seemed to become smaller and more pathetic under the onslaught.

Watching this scene—the demonic faces of the girls and the pathetic, terrified expressions of the "Perverted Trio"—Jin's tension broke. He couldn't hold it in. He burst out laughing. Loudly, genuinely, from the heart.

"Ahaha-ha-ha... haah... ehhh..."

The laughter instantly drew everyone's attention. The girls turned, their menacing looks immediately replaced by surprise. The trio stared at him with their mouths open.

Jin wiped away a tear of laughter and, turning to the girls, flashed them a bright, confident smile. "Thank you all for such a warm welcome," he said, his voice charming and firm. "I'm very pleased. But I'm afraid I'll have to politely decline your kind offers."

He shifted his gaze to the boys standing dejectedly to the side. "I'll go with these idiots."

When their eyes met, Jin's gaze changed. The warmth vanished, and his smile turned slightly mocking, predatory. A cold glint flashed in his violet eyes, making the trio flinch involuntarily. This guy was weird. And possibly very dangerous.

In the academy courtyard, under the shade of a sprawling tree, the official introductions took place. "I'm Matsuda!" the guy in glasses introduced himself, adjusting them with an intellectual air. "My goal is to gather data on all the beauties in this school! My 'All-Seeing Eye' ability allows me to determine a girl's measurements down to the millimeter just by looking!" "And I'm Motohama!" the second, stocky guy with a buzz cut chimed in. "My dream is to become a true kendo master... so I can peek in the girls' locker room! I've developed a 'Pervert's Ear' that lets me hear girlish whispers through three walls!"

Jin stood with a completely blank face, listening to their nonsense. 'Why haven't they been castrated yet?' he thought, detached.

Finally, it was the protagonist's turn. "I'm Hyoudou Issei! My dream is to become the Harem King! I'll gather the most beautiful girls around me and create my own kingdom of love and erotica!"

Jin listened intently. Hyoudou Issei. He thought about this guy's fate. About his future. He compared this loud, clumsy, obsessed idiot with the character who would one day become one of the strongest beings, challenge gods, and save the world. And he couldn't believe it was the same person. The gap between the present and the future was colossal. Jin stared at Issei for so long and so intently that he started to get nervous and fidget, interrupting Jin's thoughts.

Unexpectedly for everyone, Jin asked Issei a question in all seriousness. He pensively brought a finger to his chin and tilted his head slightly, his gaze completely serious.

"Why a Harem King, specifically?"





..............................................................

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[VukPauk]

The question hung in the warm schoolyard air, strange and out of place. A moronic question, one that no one in his past world would have even bothered to consider, writing it all off as youthful maximalism and hormones. But here, in this new reality, where absurd dreams had a habit of taking on flesh and blood, Jin was genuinely interested in Issei's answer.

He looked at the guy in front of him, and a whirlwind of thoughts tore through his mind. He saw the whole picture: a pathetic, obsessed schoolboy who, through pain, humiliation, and loss, would eventually scramble to the very top of the world. And all of this—for what? For a harem. This drive to live, to overcome himself, to challenge gods and demons—everything was filtered through a prism of vulgarity. His entire incredible motivation boiled down to this stupid, almost childish desire. What exactly drove this goal? What fuel fed this fire?

"Where does this drive come from?" Jin continued, his voice remaining even, almost academic, but holding a note of genuine interest. "Even with your reputation… Even I, the new guy, can immediately see that almost every girl in this school looks at you guys with disgust." He glanced at Matsuda and Motohama, who winced guiltily. "And, by my humble observation, you are currently as far as possible from your dream. So why?"

He fell silent and waited for an answer, watching Issei intently. He looked surprised at first, bewildered. Always, when he spoke of his dream, he was laughed at, despised, people would tap their temple. But no one had ever asked about it like this. With such seriousness, with such analytical curiosity, as if it weren't a stupid fantasy, but a complex philosophical doctrine.

Catching Jin's serious mood, Issei was faced for the first time with the need to not just declare his dream, but to explain it. He frowned, searching his mind for words, trying to clothe his chaotic, instinctive desires in something coherent.

"Yeah…" he began, his voice uncertain at first, but growing stronger with every word. "Yeah, they look with disgust! Yeah, they call us perverts! And yeah, I get beaten up almost every day just for trying to catch a glimpse of their beautiful forms! But…" he raised his head, and a fire of fanatical conviction lit in his eyes. "But my faith will not waver! Because they don't understand!"

"Don't understand what?" Jin clarified calmly.

"Everything!" Issei blurted out, gesticulating. "Every girl is beautiful! Every single one! You get it? One has a cute smile, another has beautiful hair, a third has slender legs! And every one… every one has breasts!" At this word, his eyes shone reverently. "Big, small, firm, soft—it doesn't matter! Breasts are a symbol! They are the source of life! They are the promise of warmth and tenderness! They are what makes life worth living!"

Matsuda and Motohama, listening to him, nodded reverently, as if taking in the greatest sermon.

"I don't just want to look!" Issei continued, his voice ringing with passion. "I want to know them all! To understand! To protect! I want to create a world where every single one of them is happy! Where they will smile, and laugh, and not be afraid of anything! My harem isn't just a bunch of girls! It's my kingdom! A kingdom where I will be king, and they will be my queens! And I'll do anything to achieve this dream! Even if I have to die!"

He finished his fiery speech and, breathing heavily, held out his fist to Jin. A gesture full of pride, defiance, and unshakable faith in his own righteousness.

Jin's thoughts were different. 'No matter how you look at it, he's an idiot,' it flashed through his mind. 'An impenetrable, clinical idiot.'

However, listening to his words, he understood something important. At the heart of all this nonsense wasn't just lust. It was greed. All-consuming, limitless greed. Issei strove to possess them all. Not just to sleep with, but specifically to possess—their beauty, their smiles, their happiness. And this was despite him being at the very bottom of the social hierarchy. Maybe that's why he became the wielder of a dragon's power? Draconic greed. The desire to obtain all the world's treasures, be it gold or women's hearts.

Irritating.

Jin was irritated by the thought that such a stupid, primitive desire would become the catalyst that would change this guy's life and the entire world. Irritated by the situation itself, which looked so stupid, so childish, as if it were written from the template of a cheap novel. Irritated that he was dragged into this farce. And most of all, irritated that they were similar. Issei was reincarnated as a demon. Jin—into this body. Both of them were beings who had received a second chance in a foreign world. And the realization of this kinship with such an idiot pissed him off to the point of grinding his teeth.

Jin snorted, then smirked. "Hah," his voice held a mix of contempt and a strange, almost perverse admiration. "Well, your resolve is worthy of respect, even if it is channeled into absolute stupidity. Good luck with that, future Harem King."

He lightly, almost carelessly, bumped his fist against Issei's. Meanwhile, Matsuda and Motohama, with shining eyes and tears of emotion, watched the scene as if they were witnessing a historic moment.

On the way back to class, in one of the sunlit corridors, they passed another guy. He was the complete opposite of the "Perverted Trio." Tall, slender, with soft golden hair and kind green eyes. His smile was warm and disarming. He was walking with books in his hands, and several girls passing by giggled shyly and cast admiring glances at him. Kiba Yuuto. The local "Prince Charming."

Issei and his crew, upon seeing him, grimaced in unison, looking at their main rival for female attention with irritation. Kiba, used to this reaction, turned with interest. Glancing at the familiar scene with those three, he noticed the new, fourth student. Jin.

Their gazes met. For a moment, tension hung in the corridor. They looked at each other appraisingly. Two alphas. Two centers of gravity, albeit of completely different kinds.

Yuuto was the first to break the silence. He smiled gently, approached, and offered his hand to Jin. "Hi. You must be Izayoi Jin? I'm Kiba Yuuto. Nice to meet you."

Jin received the same friendly smile and, shaking the offered hand, returned the sentiment. "Likewise."

They both stood, holding each other's hands, smiling pleasantly, creating a picture of a burgeoning friendship that took the breath away from the girls passing by. However, a silent struggle was taking place in their hands.

Initially, Jin had simply returned the handshake, but then, out of pure curiosity, he added a little strength. Just to test. Kiba, intrigued, reciprocated. He was a Knight of the Gremory clan; his physical strength, enhanced by demonic energy, was orders of magnitude higher than a human's. He was confident he could easily crush the arrogant newcomer, showing him his place.

However, at some point, his smile became a bit more strained. He was surprised by the strength of the handshake. Jin was squeezing his hand with strangely immense power for a "normal" person. Kiba increased the pressure, applying not playful, but quite serious demonic power. But Jin's hand was like a steel vise. It didn't yield.

At some point, Kiba began to feel real pressure, which he hadn't expected at all. His knuckles began to ache. Jin's previously friendly face began to change. Although the smile remained on his lips, his eyes were slightly narrowed, and in their violet depths, Kiba saw something else. Not friendliness, but the cold, appraising glint of a predator. The crushing force kept growing until Kiba felt his bones were about to crack.

And then they both, as if on command, chuckled softly, breaking the tension. A moment later, they released their hands.

"It was nice to meet you, Izayoi-san," Kiba said, his smile genuine again, though surprise was evident in his eyes. "See you, Kiba-kun."

After saying goodbye, Jin's group continued on their way to class, leaving Kiba standing alone in the corridor. When they had disappeared around the corner, the smile faded from the prince's face. He raised his hand and looked at it in amazement. It was trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly, from the strain.

 

[VukPauk]

The first day at Kuoh Academy came to an end. When the final bell rang, Jin, without waiting to be swarmed again by a hive of curious classmates, quickly gathered his things and was one of the first to leave the classroom. He exited the massive school building and paused for a moment at the gates, breathing in the warm evening air.

He was lost in thought, analyzing the impressions of the day. Aside from the excessive, almost suffocating attention to his person, the academy, he was forced to admit, was actually nice. Spacious, bright corridors with perfectly polished floors, modern classrooms equipped with the latest technology, a huge library that looked like a cathedral of knowledge. Even the school cafeteria was impressive—the food there was on par with a decent restaurant, not the tasteless slop they served at his former, ancient school.

That old school of his… the memory of it brought only a dull irritation. An old, shabby building that smelled of dust and hopelessness. Creaky floors, graffitied desks, dim lamps humming eternally overhead. Grayness had soaked not only into the walls there, but into the students themselves—their tired, indifferent faces, their extinguished gazes. Here, everything was different. Everyone seemed to exude a kind of positive vibe. Laughter, energy, life. Even the boring lessons, whose material he already knew, weren't as tedious here, perhaps because of the general atmosphere, or simply because the teacher was pretty.

This world, for all its absurdity and hidden danger, was… brighter. More alive. And that was disorienting.

"Hey, Jin! Wait up!"

A familiar voice, full of irrepressible energy, tore him from his musings. Issei was catching up to him at the gates, waving his arm. Behind him, like loyal squires, trudged Matsuda and Motohama.

"Ugh, barely caught you!" Issei panted, drawing level with him. "Why'd you run off so fast? The girls were almost crying that they didn't get to say goodbye!"

"That's exactly why," Jin threw out dryly.

Issei, however, paid no attention to his tone and walked alongside him with a carefree air, as if they were old friends.

"C'mon, don't be such a grouch!" He clapped Jin on the shoulder. "Is it so bad being popular? It's the first step to the dream! You gotta use it!"

Matsuda and Motohama nodded in agreement, looking at Jin with poorly concealed envy and admiration.

On the way, Issei chattered non-stop. He talked about his hobbies—a new video game he couldn't beat, a rare figurine he'd seen in a shop, the latest magazine issue with photos of gravure idols. Then he enthusiastically started to question Jin.

"So, what are you into?" his eyes burned with curiosity. "You like music, I get that, since you never take off those headphones. But what else? Movies? Manga? Maybe you have some... special fetishes? Y'know, like, girls with glasses, or ponytails, or maybe you like cat ears?"

"I like silence," Jin replied sarcastically, hoping the hint would be understood.

But Issei was impenetrable. "Silence? Pfft, that's boring! Life should be lived! Me, for example, I think there's nothing better than a girl's legs in stockings! It's true art! What about you? 'Fess up!"

"Issei, leave the guy alone," Matsuda interjected, adjusting his glasses. "Everyone has their own aesthetic preferences. Although, I must admit, the analysis of the perfect curvature of a thigh under a specific lighting angle is a topic for a whole dissertation."

Jin groaned inwardly. The conversation was becoming more and F-n unbearable. He was waiting for their paths to finally diverge so he could sink into his blessed solitude.

"Hey, I've got an idea!" Issei suddenly exclaimed, stopping and turning to Jin with his eyes blazing. "Jin, you're the cool and mysterious guy now! The girls are crazy about you! You could help us!"

"Help with what?" Jin asked wearily, already sensing this wouldn't end well.

"Get girlfriends!" Issei blurted out. "Here's the plan: you go up to a group of hotties, start chatting them up, and then, totally casually, you introduce us! You say, like, 'and these are my best buds, reliable and fun guys'! They'll see that a cool guy like you hangs with us, and they'll instantly know we're not so bad either! It'll work, I'm sure of it!"

Jin stared at him in silence for a few seconds. At his completely serious face, his naive faith in this idiotic plan. "Issei," he said slowly, "if I do that, they'll either think I'm your pimp or that I have a very specific sense of humor. Either way, they won't even look at you."

At some point, when Issei had finally run out of steam and fallen silent, tired of his fruitless attempts to drag Jin into his schemes, an awkward pause hung in the air. They were just approaching the bridge where their paths were supposed to split. And Jin decided to use this moment.

"Issei," he called. His tone had become serious, making the boy turn around in surprise. "I have a question for you. Purely hypothetical."

He stopped, staring somewhere into the distance, as if pondering a complex philosophical problem. "Imagine a scenario. There's a guy, ordinary, unremarkable. Lives his life, dreams about something of his own, stupid and unattainable. And then, one fine day, he's faced with a choice." Jin spoke slowly, choosing his words, trying to make them as detached as possible so Issei wouldn't catch the hint. "The choice is this: die. Right now. A simple, meaningless death, unnoticed by anyone. Put a period on it. Or... get a chance. A chance at a new life, one where he'll gain an incredible power, capable of fulfilling his most cherished dream. But there's a price. He'll have to pay for this power with his humanity. Become someone... or something... else." Jin turned to Issei. "So, here's the question. What would this guy choose? A guaranteed death as a human, or a phantom chance at his dream, but in the form of a monster?"

Issei blinked in surprise. The question was strange, unexpected. He wasn't used to Jin talking about such things. He frowned hard, squeezed his eyes shut, his face taking on a strained expression, signaling that he was genuinely thinking. He imagined himself in this hypothetical guy's shoes.

After a short while, he opened his eyes. His gaze was firm and clear.

"I'd choose the chance," he said without hesitation.

"Even if you had to become a monster?" Jin clarified.

"Yeah," Issei nodded. "Because between a chance and no chance, I'll always choose the first. To just die, having achieved nothing—that's the worst. But if there's even one possibility, just one in a million chance to make my dream come true... you have to grab it. Even if you have to become someone else. It's better to be a living monster with a dream than a dead human without one."

Jin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air out through pressed lips. "I see..."

He had expected as much. The answer was predictable. But hearing it from Issei himself was... important. It relieved Jin of some of the responsibility. He wasn't forcing this fate on him. He was merely following Issei's own choice, even if it was one made in ignorance.

They reached the bridge where their paths diverged. "Well, 'kay, I'm this way," Issei waved his hand toward the bridge. "See ya tomorrow, Jin!" "Later," Jin threw out shortly and, without saying goodbye, turned onto the road leading to his new home.

After walking a little way, he obeyed some inner instinct and glanced back toward the bridge. He saw Issei stop before he was even halfway across. A girl had approached him. Pretty, with long black hair, in a cute dress. She asked him something, pointing off into the distance. Issei, upon seeing her, immediately turned red to his ears, started acting shy, gesticulating awkwardly, trying to explain something. The girl laughed demurely, covering her mouth with her hand. A typical 'meet-cute' scene.

But Jin knew it wasn't. He knew who it was.

Raynare.

The fallen angel. The one who would kill Issei on their first date. Which meant...

'The canon has finally started.'

He watched the scene. Watched Issei's happy, unsuspecting face, his stupid, lovestruck smile. Watched the girl's sweet, innocent face, which hid a ruthless killer. In his gaze, fixed first on Issei, then on her, a shadow of sadness appeared, and a kind of heavy weariness. He exhaled quietly, the vapor turning into a small cloud in the cool evening air.

Then he pulled his headphones over his head, turned around, and continued on his way home, without looking back.

 

[VukPauk]

The next day at the academy began with deceptive calm. The lessons drifted by one after another, lulling Jin into his usual state of half-slumber. He sat at his seat by the window, watching the lazy dance of the clouds, his brain automatically, almost without his participation, absorbing the information the teacher droned on about at the board. This world, for all its brightness, still couldn't offer him anything that truly captured his attention.

When the bell rang for the lunch break, he headed to the cafeteria without a second thought. Lunch at Kuoh Academy wasn't just edible—it was luxurious. And, most importantly, completely free for students. Jin, still remembering the taste of cheap instant ramen and the emptiness of his wallet, had no intention of missing an opportunity to save money on food.

He grabbed a tray with steaming curry and rice, took an empty four-person table in the corner, and began to eat. As expected, his figure instantly became the center of attention. Many of the girls, whispering shyly at their own tables, were clearly drawn to the three empty seats next to him, but his detached, almost icy demeanor and "Haughty Prince" reputation acted as an invisible barrier. They were hesitant to act, afraid of rejection.

Suddenly, with a loud clatter, a tray landed on the opposite side of the table, right in front of Jin, followed by its owner—Hyoudou Issei.

"Whew, made it! Grabbed the last katsudon!" he announced cheerfully, plopping into the chair.

Instantly, all the admiring and curious gazes that had been directed at Jin turned to ones of contempt and venom, focusing on Issei. It looked as if the girls were contemplating something wicked; if looks could incinerate, Issei would have been reduced to a pile of ash.

Issei himself, however, was completely oblivious to this threatening aura. He was literally glowing with happiness and had been since morning. Jin immediately suspected that this behavior was directly related to yesterday's meeting at the bridge. His loyal companions, Matsuda and Motohama, were nowhere to be seen. As Jin later found out, they had been caught smuggling porn magazines onto academy grounds, and someone from the Student Council had made an example of them. 'Let's pray for their souls,' Jin thought, detached, picking at his rice with a fork.

Issei didn't rush to explain what was going on. He was devouring his katsudon with gusto, trying his best to attract Jin's attention. He sighed, smiled dreamily, shot meaningful glances at Jin, and uttered phrases like:

"Ah, spring... a time for love and romance..." "I wonder if the stars at night are as beautiful as her eyes?" "It feels like fate itself brought us together..."

Jin stubbornly ignored him. But Issei was persistent. Tired of this one-man show, Jin slowly chewed a piece of chicken, swallowed, and, pretending to be even slightly interested, raised a blank gaze to him. "What's up?"

Even though it was a very lethargic reaction, it was enough. The joyous Issei didn't even notice his tone and immediately began dumping information on him as if from a dump truck.

"Jin! You won't believe it! It's incredible! Yesterday... yesterday I met her! The girl of my dreams!" his eyes shone like two searchlights. "Her name is Amano Yuuma! She's so cute, so beautiful, so shy! We got to talking, and..." he made a dramatic pause, "...we have a date this weekend! A real date!"

He talked about how he had won her over with his "irresistible charisma" and "manly charm." 'Yeah, right,' Jin snorted internally, lazily stirring the curry on his plate. 'More like with your obsessive persistence.'

"Looks like love came to me first, Jin!" the conceited Issei continued. "But don't you worry! I'm sure there's a cutie out there for you too! The important thing is to keep your chin up!"

Jin only honored him with a blank stare and said tiredly, "Right..."

Issei, having unleashed his first wave of euphoria, finally got to the main point. "Listen, Jin... I have a favor to ask. You're the popular guy, you look cool, girls are crazy about you. Help me plan the date! I've... well, you know... never been on a real date. I don't want to mess it up! What should I wear? Where should I take her? What should we talk about?"

A strange, puzzled-embarrassed expression appeared on Jin's face. The request caught him off guard. Matters of the heart. He, with his meager experience from his past life—which amounted to practically zero—and a complete lack of interest in it in his current one, knew about as much about dating as he did about quantum physics. That is, nothing.

But he saw Issei looking at him with the sincere, hopeful eyes of a puppy. And, not wanting to show his weakness and incompetence in such a seemingly elementary matter, he decided to improvise on the fly, dishing out scraps of knowledge gleaned from old movies and manga.

"Hm, a date, huh..." he tried to make his voice sound confident and wise, like an experienced guru. "Well, it's simple. The main thing is not to overdo it."

"Not overdo it?" Issei leaned forward, hanging on every word.

"First, clothes," Jin began, trying to look confident. "Wear something light. So you don't sweat like a pig if you have to walk a lot. Sweat is not charismatic. No bright, flashy colors. And, God forbid, no anime prints. Simplicity shows confidence. Got it?"

"Simplicity... confidence..." Issei repeated like a mantra, committing it to memory. "Got it!"

"Second, the place," Jin continued, his brain working furiously. "If the girl is shy or timid, don't drag her to the movies or an expensive restaurant right away. It creates pressure. Take a walk in the park, go on some rides, hit the arcade. You need a shared activity that creates common memories and gives you things to talk about. You don't need to try and impress her, you just need to have fun together."

"Have fun together..." Issei nodded so vigorously it looked like his head might fall off. "Genius! Jin, you're a dating god!"

Jin just sighed internally. So far, his improv was working. He was about to continue sharing his "wisdom" when a group of girls approached their table. There were four of them, and a couple of them, if Jin's memory served, were in their class. He thought their names were Katase and Murayama.

A tall girl with a stern face and short-cropped hair stepped forward.

"Izayoi Jin-san?" she asked, her voice firm and confident. "I'm Murayama, captain of the kendo club."

Issei immediately tried to butt into the conversation, adopting a protective stance. "Excuse us, but we're busy here! Discussing very important man-business!"

But he was completely ignored. The girls didn't even spare him a glance. Issei quietly sat back down, looking a bit dejected.

"I heard from Yuuto that you managed to impress him," Murayama continued, addressing Jin. "He said the new guy has an excellent grip. That's important in kendo, and we're interested."

The other girls nodded in agreement, looking at Jin with curiosity. "We'd like to invite you to our dojo," she said. "Just out of interest. To see how you move. Maybe you'll like it."

The invitation was unexpected. Jin thought for a moment. Kendo? It could be a good way to test his body control and reflexes in a more formalized setting. Besides, it was something new. And anything new was better than the old boredom.

"Alright," he nodded. "I'm in." "Excellent!" Murayama visibly brightened, a shadow of a smile even flickering on her stern face. "Then we'll see you after school!"

They made the arrangement, and the girls, whispering excitedly, moved away from the table and began to celebrate their small victory.

Watching the departing crowd, Jin sat back down. He saw the dejected Issei, who was still smarting from his total failure as a "conversationalist." Jin smiled warmly, almost friendly.

"Oh, all this attention," he said with a light, barely perceptible irony, subtly teasing Issei about his recent performance about "love having arrived." "It's such a heavy burden, isn't it?"

 

[VukPauk]

After classes ended, the air seemed to become lighter. The pressure of the school routine had lifted, replaced by a light hum of voices and the anticipation of freedom. As arranged, Jin, accompanied by Murayama and Katase, headed to the kendo club. He walked with a calm, measured pace, his almost weightless bag slung over his back. On either side of him, like an honor guard, the girls walked, guiding him to his destination. Their chatter was light and easy, a clear stream breaking the silence.

"Have you really never held a shinai before, Izayoi-san?" Katase asked curiously, adjusting her short hair. "Kiba-kun praised your grip so much, I thought you had experience."

"Never," Jin replied, his voice even but with notes of warm politeness he had learned to feign to maintain conversation. "Perhaps it's an innate talent for holding sticks."

The girls giggled. His dry humor, devoid of any vulgarity, was new to them and seemed refreshing.

"Then you should definitely try!" Murayama picked up, her stern features softening slightly. "Kendo isn't just swinging sticks. It's a path, a discipline of spirit and body. It helps you focus, to find your inner core."

"Sounds... meditative," Jin remarked, though he privately thought his own inner core was already hard enough to break others'.

They left the main academy building and followed a well-kept path that skirted the sports fields. The kendo club was located a little further off, in a separate, traditional Japanese building—a dojo. It was built of dark, time-polished wood, with a high, tiled roof whose curved eaves resembled the wings of a giant bird. In front of the building lay a small, perfectly flat field for outdoor training, surrounded by a low bamboo fence. Everything here breathed with peace, tradition, and strength.

When they entered, a very special atmosphere enveloped Jin. The air was saturated with the smell of wood, sweat, and something else—a subtle scent of will and discipline. The spacious hall with its high ceiling and perfectly smooth wooden floor was filled with a soft light filtering through large windows with paper shoji.

And the hall was alive. It was filled with sounds. The rhythmic thud of wooden shinai against training dummies. Sharp, abrupt shouts—kiai—accompanying every strike. The shuffle of bare feet on the floor. The muffled hum of voices as one of the senior students gave instructions to a junior.

Dozens of girls, dressed in snow-white keikogi and dark blue hakama, moved across the hall with honed grace. Some practiced swings alone, their shinai cutting through the air with a whistle, creating invisible patterns. Some sparred in pairs, their movements fast, precise, resembling a deadly dance. Some struck the dummies with all their might, pouring all their energy into every swing.

Jin couldn't help but admire the sight. There was nothing explicit about it, but the aesthetic of the female form, clad in a stern kimono and in motion, was captivating. The sweat glistening on their tense necks and temples. The strands of hair that had escaped their tight buns and stuck to their flushed cheeks. The focused, almost predatory expressions at the moment of attack. The way the thick fabric of the kimono clung to their figures, accentuating the curves of their backs and hips with every swing. It was the beauty of strength, discipline, and youth.

A few moments later, after Jin and his companions arrived, the training hum began to die down. First one girl, noticing them, froze with her shinai raised. Then another, then a third. Gradually, all eyes in the hall, as if drawn by a magnet, were pulled to his figure. Gazes that Jin had already begun to get used to over the last few days at the academy. Surprise, curiosity, admiration…

'This is starting to get tiring…' was the only thing Jin thought at that moment, feeling dozens of pairs of female eyes fixed on him again.

'Who is that?' flashed through the mind of Ayako, one of the club's senior students. She had just been practicing a men strike on a dummy when she noticed Captain Murayama had brought a guest. And what a guest! Tall, blond, with a figure that even his loose school blazer couldn't hide. And those eyes... you could drown in them. She had never seen eyes like that.

'The new guy everyone's whispering about?' thought her friend Rika, who was standing nearby. 'They say he's on par with Kiba-kun. Hm… Kiba-kun's beauty is soft, prince-like. But this one… there's something predatory, dangerous about him.'

The comparison to Kiba Yuuto was inevitable. Kiba was their idol, the unattainable Prince Charming who sometimes stopped by their dojo to maintain friendly relations between the clubs. His aura was bright, warm; he smiled at everyone, and his smile made you want to melt. He was like the sun.

This one, Izayoi Jin, was like the moon on a clear, cold night. His beauty was sharp, almost provocative. An aura of calm but absolute confidence emanated from him, bordering on arrogance. He wasn't trying to be liked, wasn't smiling ingratiatingly. He just was. And his presence alone was enough to make everyone fall silent and pay attention.

'Kiba-kun makes your heart flutter with tenderness,' decided a third girl, the most romantic one in the club. 'But this one… this one makes your blood run cold and, at the same time, boil with excitement. I don't know which of them is better…'

Murayama and Katase, noticing that practice had come to a complete halt, stepped into the center of the hall. "Attention!" Murayama's voice rang out, loud and commanding, bringing everyone back to reality. "My apologies for the interruption. I want to introduce our guest. This is Izayoi Jin-san, a transfer student from our class. He expressed an interest in kendo, and we invited him to watch our practice. Please, welcome him."

The girls bowed in unison, offering a greeting. Jin responded with a slight nod, his face impassive.

"We thought," Katase continued with a smile, "that the best way to get to know kendo is to try it yourself. Izayoi-san has agreed to a light spar."

An excited murmur rippled through the hall. Sparring with such a handsome guy? This would be interesting!

Jin stubbornly refused to put on the protective gear—the bogu. He waved off all of Murayama's pleas about it being dangerous and against the rules. "Don't worry, Captain. I'll be careful. I just want to feel the sword, not sit in that bulky armor like a turtle."

He took the shinai that was offered to him. A standard bamboo sword. He turned it over in his hands, assessing the weight, the balance. Then he made a few light, almost lazy swings, playing with it as if it were a reed. This show of disdain caused a new wave of whispers among the girls. He clearly wasn't taking them seriously.

Murayama, seeing this, frowned. Her professional pride was wounded. "Fine, Izayoi-san. But in that case, I will be your opponent. And I will not hold back."

They briefly explained the basics to him. One of them was the stance—kamae. One must hold the sword firmly, the stance must be stable, so that a blow to the sword would shake it as little as possible. It was the foundation, a demonstration of the strength of spirit and body.

Everyone watched as Jin agreed to try. He got into the required position. But his stance was... ridiculous. Instead of adopting the classic pose, he stood nonchalantly, one hand stuck in his pants pocket. With the other hand, he calmly held the shinai, extending it slightly forward. No tension, no concentration. Just a relaxed, almost bored posture.

"He's mocking us!" "He has no respect for the captain!" "She's going to show him now!"

The girls began whispering again, their admiration turning to slight irritation. This newcomer was taking things too far.

But then they heard his voice. And looking at him, they began to doubt. His gaze, which had been detached, became warm, almost tender. His voice sounded soft, but it held an absolute, unshakeable confidence that made you believe him.

"I'm ready. You may begin, Captain."

He said it as if he were inviting her to a dance, not a fight. This intimate, almost theatrical manner didn't look ridiculous coming from him. It was mesmerizing.

Murayama felt her cheeks flush. She was embarrassed. But at the same time, she felt slighted. This guy in front of her was not taking her seriously at all. It was frustrating and infuriating. She didn't object. She decided to teach him a lesson. To show him that the Kuoh Academy kendo club was no place for games.

Moving into position to strike, she tried not to look him in the eyes. His sincere, expectant gaze was incredibly flustering. She took a deep breath, concentrating. She gritted her teeth, pushing away all other thoughts. And, drawing back, she struck. A fast, precise, powerful men strike, aimed directly at his extended sword. A strike that should have knocked the shinai from any novice's hands and possibly even made him stagger.

CLACK!

The sound wasn't like usual. Not the dull thud of wood on wood. It was a sharp, dry sound, like a gunshot. The sound of an absolute collision.

And that was all.

The hall froze in shock.

Jin, with his ridiculous stance, his hand in his pocket, hadn't moved. Not even a millimeter. His shinai, which he held in a relaxed grip, was frozen in the air, having completely absorbed the force of the blow.

And Murayama's sword... it flew from her hands from the monstrous feedback. As if it had struck an indestructible cliff, it traced a high arc in the air and landed with a clatter in the far corner of the dojo.

The girl was frozen in place. Her hands, which a second ago had been gripping the shinai, were trembling slightly, but she didn't even notice. She was still in the stance she had used to strike, her hands empty. Her eyes were wide, filled with absolute, total bewilderment. She stared at the smiling Jin.

His smile was soft, almost apologetic. "Seems I overdid it a little," he said, as if it were an unfortunate accident. "You have a very strong strike, Captain."

But she didn't hear his words. She saw only his violet eyes, and in their depths, mocking, all-knowing sparks now danced. He hadn't overdone it. He had calculated it all. He was simply... playing with her. And he was strong. Unbelievably so.

 

[VukPauk]

The deafening, ringing silence that had fallen over the kendo dojo was suddenly broken by the measured sound of applause. All eyes, which had been riveted on the stunned Murayama and the unfazed Jin, darted to the entrance. There, leaning against the doorframe, stood Kiba Yuuto. His natural, disarming ikemen smile played on his face, and sparks of genuine interest danced in his green eyes.

"Yuuto-sempai!" several girls immediately cried out in delight. The tension in the hall instantly dissipated, replaced by a reverent awe at the appearance of the school prince.

He walked to the center of the hall with a calm, graceful stride, heading toward Jin and Murayama, who had only just emerged from her daze and was now, breathing heavily, looking shyly at the approaching youth. Her confidence as club captain had been severely undermined.

"Impressive," Kiba's voice was soft and warm, but Jin caught the steel notes within it. "I was watching from outside. Izayoi-san, your stance is... interesting, to say the least, but the result speaks for itself."

He then turned to Murayama, his smile becoming even warmer, full of sympathy and support. "Murayama-san, you shouldn't be upset. Your strike was superb. Speed, power, precision—it was all top-level. I'm serious. Few in this academy could have landed such a clean and powerful men."

The words of praise from Kiba Yuuto himself made the captain's cheeks flush. "B-but... he didn't even budge... and my shinai..." she stammered, still not believing what had happened.

"Sometimes," Kiba looked at Jin with a sly squint, "an opponent turns out to be a 'special' case. And clashing with such strength isn't a defeat, but a valuable experience. You shouldn't be disheartened by it. You did wonderfully."

Jin silently observed Yuuto's actions, as he so skillfully and casually played the role of the good guy, calming the humiliated girl while simultaneously sizing up his new rival. He just rolled his eyes internally. This prince was too... perfect. Too proper. It was irritating.

After Murayama, embarrassed but slightly calmed, stepped aside under the encouraging gazes of her friends, Yuuto turned to Jin. His smile remained pleasant, but now it held a clear challenge. "Izayoi-san, since Murayama-san is a bit tired, perhaps you'll allow me to be your next sparring partner?"

All the girls in the hall held their breath. Kiba Yuuto was challenging the mysterious newcomer to a duel! This was going to be legendary!

Like Jin, he didn't bother with protective gear and, picking up Murayama's shinai from the floor, took her place. "Only," he looked at Jin with a slightly sly smile, "maybe you'll actually get into a proper stance? Or are you going to keep fighting with your hand in your pocket? It's a bit... disrespectful."

Jin looked at him lazily. His friendly expression, which he had maintained while talking with the girls, was replaced by one that was openly arrogant. "Nah," he drawled.

Well then. Kiba got it. This guy wasn't just strong; he was a provocateur. "I won't be holding back, Izayoi-san," his smile hardened, and his gaze sharpened. "Sometimes, only by crashing into an unbreakable wall can one truly learn the limits of one's own capabilities."

The hall froze in anticipation. All eyes were fixed on the two figures. The strike from the strongest kendo practitioner in their academy was about to happen (how annoying that he wasn't even in the kendo club).

Kiba didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his movement lightning-fast, almost invisible to the eyes of the regular students. The shinai cut through the air with a whistle, carrying a power and precision honed by years of training. The blow landed squarely in the center of Jin's shinai.

CLACK!

The sound was louder, sharper than the last time. But the result was the same. Jin's sword didn't even waver. Kiba, however, felt a powerful feedback jolt through his arms all the way to his shoulder. He stayed on his feet, but his fingers were numb from the vibration. He looked at Jin in amazement. He had used significant force, though he was far from going all out. But his opponent hadn't even flinched.

Jin snorted sarcastically. "Is that all?"

Kiba was taken aback for a moment by such audacity. Then, a slightly sheepish, almost boyish expression appeared on his face. "My apologies," he said, taking a step back and giving a slight bow. "It seems I really did underestimate you. May I ask for a second strike? I promise, I'll be more serious this time."

Jin didn't even bother to answer. He just gave a barely perceptible, lazy nod, continuing to hold the sword in his ridiculous, relaxed pose. The gesture, full of condescending indifference, spoke louder than any words: 'Go on. I'm waiting.'

Kiba chuckled quietly and, after thanking him, took his stance again. And in that moment, he changed. In Jin's eyes, he became different. The lightness was gone, the prince's smile vanished. His face became focused, almost predatory. And around his body, a strange, faint dark aura began to appear and swirl.

None of the girls in the hall saw it. For them, Kiba had simply gotten serious. But Jin saw it. He felt it.

'Magic!' it flashed through his mind, and a long-forgotten feeling stirred in his chest—faint excitement. 'Finally. Something interesting.'

He carefully observed this dark matter enveloping his opponent. It was dense, viscous, yet alive. It smelled of ozone, of night, and of something elusively bitter. It was the power of demons, concentrated, more... sharp, like the edge of a blade. Without showing a hint of his slight excitement, he tightened his grip on the shinai's hilt, preparing to receive a real blow.

Kiba lunged forward again. This time, his speed was otherworldly. This was no longer just a fast lunge. It was a demonic dash. His figure blurred, and the strike was so powerful it created a light breeze that rustled the hair of the watching girls.

SNAP!

Instead of the usual sound of wooden swords colliding, there was a sharp, deafening crack, like a gunshot. And in the next instant, the two wooden blades, unable to withstand the collision of two monstrous forces, broke in half and fell to the floor with a clatter.

The entire hall burst into applause. The girls from the kendo club were screaming and clapping, their eyes shining with delight. They were stunned by what they had just been allowed to witness. This was a completely new level, one that none of them had ever seen while sparring in the club or even in competitions. And some were captivated by something else—by the two handsome boys who looked so cool holding swords, by their demeanor, by their power.

Jin stood with a slightly surprised expression, looking at the fragment of the shinai in his hand. He had expected the sword to hold. It seemed that even wood reinforced with demonic magic had its limits.

Yuuto, meanwhile, was gravely serious. He wasn't looking at his broken sword. He was looking at Jin's still-unwavering hand, which was gripping the hilt as if nothing had happened. His hand. It hadn't trembled. Not even after such a blow.

 

[VukPauk]

Splinters of bamboo scattered across the mirror-polished wooden floor with a dry crack, shattering the dojo's perfect geometry. In the deafening silence that cut short the enthusiastic applause, Kiba Yuuto stood motionless, his hand still gripping the useless fragment of the shinai. His face, which just a moment ago had been focused and predatory, was now a mask of absolute, genuine astonishment. He wasn't looking at the broken sword; his piercing green gaze was riveted on Jin, who was examining his own half of the weapon with a slightly surprised expression.

"You..." Kiba began, his voice sounding hollow and strained, but he couldn't finish the sentence.

At that moment, the fragile stupor was shattered by a new wave of enthusiasm. The girls from the kendo club, recovering from their initial shock, formed a tight ring around the two sparring partners, their eyes burning with genuine admiration. Cries of "Incredible!", "I've never seen anything like that!", and "That was cooler than a movie!" merged into a single enthusiastic roar, finally washing away the remnants of combat tension and returning the atmosphere of a school club.

Kiba, hearing their voices, seemed to snap out of it. He blinked several times, his face quickly adopting its usual friendly expression, and his signature, disarming prince's smile appeared on his lips. He skillfully took control of the situation, unwilling to show his true confusion in front of his many admirers.

"Well, it seems today's practice was a bit too intense even for our equipment," his voice sounded light and casual, as if breaking two swords with a single blow was an everyday occurrence. He looked at the fragments with regret. "These shinai should have been retired long ago; they're completely worn out. My apologies, Izayoi-san, for such an unfortunate incident."

Jin just huffed, playing along. He could see that beneath this ease lay deep surprise and a multitude of questions, but he decided not to dwell on it.

"However," Kiba continued, and a competitive spark flashed in his eyes again, "I can't let our match end on such a note. That would be disrespectful to such an interesting opponent. How about a real spar? Outside, in the open air, where it won't be so cramped. I'm sure we can find a couple of swords that can withstand our pressure."

Jin accepted the idea with obvious pleasure. He tossed the shinai fragment to the floor and looked at Kiba with a predatory, anticipatory smile.

"I'm all for it."

A few minutes later, the scene moved to the spacious training ground in front of the dojo. The evening sun bathed it in a soft golden light, and a light breeze rustled in the nearby bamboo grove. The girls from the kendo club, as well as a few random students drawn by rumors of the duel, lined the edge of the field, forming a living circle of spectators.

Kiba Yuuto, having exchanged his broken shinai for a new, sturdy one, stood in the center, his figure the embodiment of grace and power. He assumed a perfect stance, his body taut like a string, his gaze focused on his opponent.

Jin, on the other hand, didn't display his showy disdain this time. He stood for a few seconds, as if recalling what they had shown him in the dojo, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, settled into the classic kamae stance. Under normal circumstances, for a normal person, this stance was a necessity—it allowed one to balance the body, distribute weight, compensate for weaknesses, and prepare for an attack or defense. But for him, whose body was a perfect instrument devoid of human limitations, this formalized pose was more of a hindrance. It restricted his movements, forced him to operate within the bounds of a specific technique, made him more predictable. But he accepted the challenge. Kiba was serious, and meeting his seriousness with equal seriousness, even within the confines of this imposed game, seemed right to Jin. He tightened his grip on the new shinai's hilt, and a quiet, barely audible creak of bamboo came from under his fingers.

It was decided to hold a three-round match according to kendo rules—first clean hit wins. Murayama, the club captain, proudly took on the role of referee. She stood between the two fighters, her face serious and focused. All the spectators held their breath. Murayama held her gaze on Jin for a few seconds, then on Kiba, and, confirming their readiness, gave the signal to begin with a sharp wave of her hand, stepping aside.

Contrary to the crowd's expectations, they didn't rush at each other immediately. A second passed, then another. They stood motionless, like two statues separated by a few meters of empty space, only their gazes meeting in a silent duel, studying, assessing, searching for the slightest gap in the opponent's defense.

Kiba moved first. It wasn't a sharp lunge, but a smooth, almost dancing glide forward. His feet barely touched the ground, and the shinai in his hand seemed an extension of his body. He closed the distance and struck—a fast, precise thrust aimed at Jin's wrist. A classic kote-uchi. Jin reacted instinctively; his body, accustomed to speeds surpassing human comprehension, easily moved off the line of attack. He took half a step back, and Kiba's sword sliced through empty air with a whoosh. However, Kiba hadn't expected to hit on the first try. This was reconnaissance, a test of reactions. Without giving Jin a moment to breathe, he immediately launched a new attack, his shinai whirling in a series of feints, deceptive movements, trying to confuse Jin, to make him open up.

Jin, however, didn't fall for the provocations. He moved minimally, his defense economical and effective. He didn't try to counter-attack; he simply observed, adapting to this unfamiliar fighting style, to Kiba's rhythm, to how the bamboo sword behaved in his hand. He felt clumsy, constrained by this "crutch" that prevented him from using his main weapons—the speed and strength of his own body. But a game was a game.

Seeing that the feints weren't working, Kiba decided to switch to direct pressure. He unleashed a hail of blows on Jin, aiming for his head, his torso, his hands. Every strike was precise, every swing accompanied by a powerful kiai. Jin was forced onto the deep defensive. He parried the blows, blocked the thrusts, but his technique was crude, intuitive. He was relying not on swordsmanship, but on his superhuman reflexes and strength, which allowed him to stop Kiba's attacks where anyone else would have been struck.

The spectators watched the duel, mesmerized. They saw Kiba's elegant, technical style clash with Jin's raw, primal power. It was like a fencer's dance with a wild beast.

And at some point, the beast made a mistake. Too focused on blocking another attack, Jin left his left side open for a fraction of a second. Kiba noticed it instantly. His body lunged forward, and the shinai, tracing a lightning-fast arc, landed a clean, sharp strike against Jin's torso.

"Do!" Murayama announced loudly, raising her flag.

The first round went to Kiba. He had won through technique, experience, and the ability to find and exploit his opponent's weaknesses.

After a short pause, the second round began. Jin looked more collected. He understood his mistake—he couldn't just passively defend. He had to impose his own rhythm, his own style.

When Murayama gave the signal, he moved first. His movement wasn't as graceful as Kiba's, but it was fast and unpredictable. He closed the distance and struck. The blow was strange, almost ridiculous by kendo standards—a strong, direct thrust, more like a spear jab than a sword cut. Kiba easily parried it, but he felt the monstrous power behind the clumsy movement.

Jin began to attack, using the shinai as an extension of his arm. He struck from the most awkward, unnatural positions, relying on the flexibility and strength of his body. He could strike from a near-crouch, or lunge while twisting in a way no normal human could. His style was chaotic, devoid of all technique, but incredibly effective. He forced Kiba to be constantly on edge, deflecting attacks flying from the most unexpected angles.

Kiba, however, didn't lose his composure. He was a master of his craft. He retreated, parried, counter-attacked, his movements flawless. He was waiting. Waiting for this wild beast to make another mistake, to get carried away by its own furious but unsystematic assault.

And the moment came. Jin, after landing another powerful overhead strike that Kiba barely deflected, lost his balance for an instant. That fraction of a second was enough. Kiba lunged, his shinai flying toward Jin's head. It should have been a clean men. The winning blow.

The spectators gasped, anticipating the conclusion. But it never came.

At the very last moment, when the tip of Kiba's sword was just a centimeter from Jin's forehead, something unimaginable happened. Jin, instead of trying to dodge or make a classic block, made a sharp, almost invisible movement with his wrist. His shinai jerked forward, and the sword's guard—the tsuba—met Kiba's flying blade.

Clink!

A short, sharp sound rang out. The blow was stopped. Not by the blade, but by the small, round piece of wood at the hilt. This wasn't just unorthodox. It was impossible. A block like that required inhuman reflexes and precision.

Kiba froze, his eyes wide with shock. He couldn't believe what had just happened. And while he stood, paralyzed by surprise, Jin took advantage of his confusion and landed a counter-strike. A short, sharp, almost lazy jab with the tip of his shinai, which precisely touched his wrist.

"Kote!" Murayama announced, her voice trembling with amazement.

The score was 1-1.

The final round. The tension reached its peak. Now they were both more active. They moved around the field, exchanging fast, furious blows. The clash of shinai filled the air. Jin felt the thrill of the fight surge through him. The speed of their exchange was child's play to him. He saw Kiba's every move, every feint, every shift in stance. He knew that if this were a real fight, he would have won long ago, simply by bypassing his guard and striking with his fist. But this "crutch" in the form of a sword made the game fun. It forced him to think, to find new, unconventional solutions.

Kiba, for his part, was completely focused. He understood he was facing an opponent on a whole different level. He used his entire arsenal: changing stances, striking from different angles, trying to catch Jin in a mistake. His swordsmanship was flawless, honed like a blade. Jin, meanwhile, continued to rely on his monstrous strength and reflexes; his strikes were strange, but every one carried a threat.

Their blades crossed again and again. The spectators, holding their breath, watched this incredible dance of power and technique.

In the end, experience won out. In the heat of another furious attack, Jin, getting carried away, again made a microscopic error, winding up for a strike just a little too wide. And Kiba didn't miss his chance. His body shot forward, and the shinai, like a snake's fang, landed a precise, measured blow against Jin's torso.

"Do!" Murayama shouted.

The third round went to Kiba.

They lowered their swords and, approaching the center of the field, bowed to each other.

"This time, the victory is mine," Kiba said, his usual, warm smile returning to his face.

Jin just snorted in response.

'Damn show-off,' flashed through his mind, but he couldn't deny that it had been... fun. For the first time in a long time.

 

[VukPauk]

Night had once again taken hold, enveloping Kuoh Town in a cool, damp blanket. For Jin, the days had blurred into a sequence of pointless lessons and tense, solitary training sessions, where he tried not so much to develop as to rein in the monstrous power seething in his new body. This routine, this deceptive calm, was oppressive, breeding a dull, almost physically tangible irritation. He needed an outlet, any little thing that could snap him out of this apathy. And that little thing came in the form of an empty refrigerator.

He ambled slowly through the quiet streets, heading toward that same island of light in the night's gloom—the 24-hour kombini. The air smelled of ozone after a distant storm and freshly cut grass from someone's lawn. His thoughts were lazy and detached, but in the depths of his consciousness, a light, almost subconscious curiosity stirred. Would she be there tonight? That same girl with the chestnut ponytail and the frightened, yet curious eyes. The thought was so alien, so out of place in his new reality, that he involuntarily huffed, shaking his head.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft chime, and he walked inside. Behind the counter, diligently wiping it down, stood her. Misaki. He'd learned her name by chance, overhearing a coworker call out to her. Upon seeing him, she flinched, her movements becoming stiff, and the familiar blush instantly appeared on her cheeks. Jin gave her a silent nod of greeting and headed for the drink coolers, feeling her intense, flustered gaze on him. He grabbed a bottle of cold tea and approached the counter.

"Good evening," her voice was thin and trembled slightly as she took the bottle. Her fingers brushed his for a moment, and she snatched her hand back as if burned. "Y-you're visiting us again..."

"Yeah," Jin replied curtly, counting out his coins. "I live nearby."

"O-oh, really?" she perked up a little, her curiosity overcoming her embarrassment. "I... I live nearby too... with my parents. You go to Kuoh Academy, don't you? I've seen you in the uniform."

He raised a surprised gaze to her. She was more observant than she looked.

"I do, as of recently," he confirmed.

"I... I used to go there too," she said, a note of sadness in her voice. "I graduated last year. It's a good school, isn't it? Though, it must be hard for you to settle in, being new and all?"

Her attempt to make conversation was so sincere and clumsy that Jin, contrary to his usual self, decided to humor her.

"It's tolerable," he shrugged. "Too noisy, though."

"Noisy?" she blinked in surprise. "Is that a bad thing? I think it's fun! The clubs, the festivals, friends..." she faltered, realizing she was talking too much. "Sorry, I'm probably holding you up."

"No," Jin said, surprising even himself. "It's fine."

An awkward pause hung in the store. Misaki fidgeted with the hem of her uniform, not knowing what else to say. Jin watched her silently, and his violet eyes lacked their usual icy detachment. There was something else. Interest?

"You know," she finally ventured, her cheeks flushing crimson again. "There's a festival in the town center soon. With fireworks, and lots of food... I... I was planning to go with my friends this weekend, but they can't make it..." she blurted it all out in one breath and squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to hear the answer. "Maybe... maybe you... you... would want to go?"

Jin froze. A direct invitation. From a girl he'd only seen a few times in his life. It was so... normal. So human. And it was precisely this normality, this simplicity, that won him over.

"Alright," he said, and his voice sounded unexpectedly soft. "Let's go."

Misaki's eyes flew open. They were filled with such genuine, puppy-like happiness that Jin couldn't help but smile. A real, warm smile that completely transformed his face, melting his coldness and revealing just a handsome guy. That smile made Misaki melt completely.

The following days passed in a strange, almost pleasant state of anticipation. Jin declined another "unexpected" invitation to the Occult Research Club. He had no desire to get involved in their problems.

He watched Issei from the sidelines. After his triumphant announcement about his date, the guy had been walking around school like a beaten dog. In the cafeteria at lunch, Jin witnessed his desperate attempt to share his experience with his only friends.

"...and then she just changed!" Issei proclaimed hotly, waving his chopsticks. Matsuda and Motohama listened with open boredom. "Do you get it, guys? She was so sweet all day, so gentle... We walked in the park, she laughed at my jokes, we even ate crepes together! I thought it was the best day of my life! I was already imagining how we'd... well, you know..."

Matsuda sighed and adjusted his glasses.

"Issei, have you been playing too many of your eroge again? Wings, spears of light... Do you even realize what nonsense you're spouting? You just had a nightmare after staying up all night."

"Totally!" Motohama chimed in, finishing his rice. "Or it was revenge for you trying to take pictures of Murayama-sempai's panties. She probably cursed you."

"No! It was real! Her name was Amano Yuuma!" Issei exclaimed desperately.

"Who?" Matsuda looked at him, confused. "We don't know any Amano Yuuma. Issei, are you really okay? Maybe you should see a doctor? Did you hit your head?"

Issei deflated. He realized no one believed him. The memories of her, of his first date, of his death—all of it had been erased from his friends' minds, leaving him alone with his terrible secret. He stared glumly into his plate.

Jin, sitting at the next table, had heard every word. He calmly finished his curry, his face betraying no emotion. But inwardly, he understood everything. The date had happened. Issei had been killed. And then resurrected by Rias Gremory. The canon had taken effect. And this idiot, without even knowing it, had stopped being human.

The weekend greeted Kuoh with warm, sunny weather. Jin met Misaki at the entrance to the park. She was wearing a simple summer dress that suited her well, and she looked a little shy, but happy. Their date was surprisingly easy and natural. They strolled down shady paths, ate cotton candy, and Jin, to his own surprise, won her a large plush toy at a shooting gallery, demonstrating inhuman marksmanship which he passed off as "luck."

They talked a lot. Or rather, Misaki did most of the talking, telling funny stories about her job, her family, her dreams. And Jin, to his surprise, listened. He asked questions, occasionally making short, sarcastic, but not unkind comments that made her laugh. He felt... almost normal. Almost like a regular guy on a date with a cute girl. It was a strange, but pleasant, feeling.

In the evening, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, they were walking through the park again.

"Thank you for today, Jin-kun," Misaki said, her voice quiet and sincere. "I had a lot of fun. I haven't laughed like that in a long time."

"Me too," he replied, and it was almost the truth.

They approached the large fountain in the center of the park. And there, sitting hunched over on the fountain's rim, was Issei. He looked lost, bewildered, and was muttering something under his breath, as if searching for someone.

"Hm?" Misaki noticed. "What's wrong with him? He looks upset."

Issei heard her voice and turned. Seeing Jin, and then the girl beside him, he blinked in surprise.

"Jin? What are you..."

He didn't get to finish. In that moment, the world changed.

The air turned sharply cold and thick. The sky above the park, orange just a second ago, was veiled in an unnatural violet haze. Around them, like a soap bubble, a shimmering, iridescent barrier rose, cutting them off from the rest of the world. Misaki cried out in fear and clung to Jin's arm, understanding nothing.

A figure emerged from the shadow of the trees. A fallen angel, a tall man with an unpleasant smirk and feathers as black as a crow's wing on his back.

"So, you're finally caught, spawn," he hissed, and a spear of pure, blinding light materialized in his hand. "Raynare didn't finish her job. I'll have to."

With those words, he threw the spear. It cut through the air with a whoosh, heading straight for Issei's chest.

He froze, his face twisting with the horror of recognition and helplessness. He was reliving the nightmare of his first "date."

But the spear did not reach its target.

Time, for everyone, seemed to slow down. Jin, without a second's thought, burst from his spot. His movement was so fast he blurred. In a fraction of a second, he was between Issei and the flying spear.

A dull, dry thud rang out. The spear of light stopped, an inch from Issei's chest, its tip caught easily, almost carelessly, in Jin's palm. The radiance from the holy weapon washed over his hand, but it didn't cause the slightest harm.

A deathly silence fell over the park.

Issei, saved from certain death, stared at Jin's back with his jaw hanging open. Misaki, hands pressed to her mouth, couldn't utter a word, her mind refusing to believe what was happening. Dohnaseek, the one who threw the spear, froze in shock, his face a mask of absolute bewilderment.

Jin, for his part, slowly looked down at the spear clamped in his hand. He twirled it with mild curiosity, as if assessing its quality. And then his lips twisted into a wry smirk, one full of universal exhaustion.

"Shiiiiiiiiit," flashed through his mind. "He's died twice."

 

[VukPauk]

In the deafening silence that fell, broken only by Misaki's frightened breathing and Issei's muffled groan, Jin continued to impassively hold the spear of light. He clenched his fingers. A quiet sound, like cracking ice, rang out. Thin dark fractures ran along the shining blade, quickly spreading across its entire length. A moment later, the holy weapon shattered with a soft chime into a myriad of glowing shards, which, after swirling in the air, melted away without a trace, leaving behind only the faint smell of ozone.

The tension in the distorted space of the barrier became almost palpable. Jin slowly turned his head toward Issei, who was still sitting on the fountain's rim, staring at him with his jaw hanging open. A universal weariness was written in Jin's gaze.

"Well, what are you doing here?" he asked, and his voice held not a drop of surprise or panic, only a dull irritation.

'Great,' it flashed through his mind as he glanced sideways at the pale, uncomprehending Misaki. 'Now I'll have to explain to a normal girl why the sky is purple and all the rest. What a goddamn headache.'

He hadn't even finished the thought when, in another part of the park not far from them, a bright crimson light flared. From a magic circle that tore open in the air, bearing the crest of a griffin's head, stepped a group of teenagers. In the lead, with the air of a queen surveying her domain, walked a girl with incredible, fiery-crimson hair, her figure, clad in a school uniform, the very picture of aristocratic pride. Following her was a tall beauty with blue-black hair in a long ponytail; her sweet smile and curvaceous figure gave a deceptive impression of softness, but her movements held the dangerous grace of a predator. Beside her stood a petite girl with ash-blond hair and an almost doll-like, impassive face; she silently scanned the scene with large hazel eyes that held no emotion.

'Of course they'd show up,' Jin sighed wearily again, rolling his eyes internally. The theater of the absurd had just been joined by its main cast.

"Fallen Angel!" the crimson-haired girl's voice rang out, imperious and cold, echoing off the barrier's invisible walls. "I, Rias Gremory, heiress of the Gremory clan and mistress of this territory, demand an explanation! What are you doing here, and by what right do you attack a student of my academy?!"

Dohnaseek, having recovered from his initial shock, sneered contemptuously.

"Demons… And a Gremory, no less. I have no intention of answering to spawn like you! I am here to finish the job Raynare failed to complete!"

Unwilling to waste time talking, he roared, and a spear of light flared to life in each of his hands. With one sharp, powerful motion, he hurled them toward Rias's group. Akeno and Koneko reacted instantly: the priestess of thunder created a shield of lightning before her, which absorbed one spear with a crackle, while the petite Rook simply stepped aside, and the second spear harmlessly embedded itself in the ground where she had just stood. Dohnaseek himself, not waiting for the result, rushed toward his original target. He hoped that while the demons were distracted, he could finally finish Issei.

Creating a third spear in his hand, he drew back, but Jin once again stood in his path. This time, the fallen decided not to throw his weapon. He poured all his fury and power into one chopping blow, turning the spear into a semblance of a shining blade aimed at cutting Jin in half.

Jin looked seriously at the fallen charging him. He didn't dodge or retreat. Instead, he made a subtle movement, turning halfway toward the attack, as if giving the blade more room to strike. Time, for everyone, seemed to slow down again. The shining blade of the spear approached with a whoosh, its sharp edge, vibrating with holy energy, was already centimeters from his body. And at that very last moment, Jin raised his hand. He simply put it in the blade's path, palm open. A hissing sizzle rang out, like the sound of red-hot metal being plunged into water. The holy blade slammed into his palm and... stopped. Jin had caught it. Simply caught it, like catching a thrown ball. His fingers closed around the shining matter, and the energy raging in the spear began to die, as if being sucked into a bottomless abyss. No burn, no scratch. Only a wisp of smoke rising from his palm.

Misaki, still standing behind him, let out a choked sob, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief. Issei, Rias, and her peerage froze, stunned by what they had seen. Even Kiba, who already knew of Jin's incredible strength, couldn't hide his amazement. To catch a chopping blow from a spear of light with a bare hand... this was beyond anything they knew to be possible.

Dohnaseek froze half a meter from Jin, his hand still gripping the shaft of the useless weapon. A mask of absolute, animalistic terror was frozen on his face. He understood. Before him was a monster. Something that did not obey the laws of this world.

This realization broke his will. He let go of the spear, which immediately dissipated in Jin's hand, and, without a word, spun around sharply. With a flap of his black wings, he shot away at a desperate speed, crashing into the barrier wall. With a sound of cracking, the fallen angel broke through the magical barricade and disappeared into the night sky.

The barrier, having lost its source, flickered and disintegrated. The violet haze over the park dissipated, returning the ordinary nightscape. The silence, broken only by the splashing of the fountain, became normal again, not ominous. But for Misaki, the world would never be the same.

She stared at Jin, her body wracked with tremors. The purple sky, the winged man, the glowing spears, the boy catching them with his bare hands... Her mind refused to accept this reality. It was a dream, a nightmare. She recoiled from Jin, her face twisted in horror.

"You... who are you?... What... what was that?..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Misaki, calm down, I..." Jin began, taking a step toward her, but she cried out and stumbled back even further.

In his violet eyes, which held no magic, she now saw something monstrous. In his calmness, a threat. He wasn't human. He was one of them. One of those monsters.

Terrified by his gaze, by his outstretched hand, she turned and, sobbing, bolted away, fleeing from the park, from this nightmare, from him.

Jin froze with his hand outstretched, watching her go. He felt nothing. No regret, no anger. Only a dull, heavy emptiness.

"It's better this way."

Rias Gremory's confident, melodic voice sounded from behind him. She approached, her peerage following her.

"Ordinary humans shouldn't touch our world. It's too dangerous for their sanity. Don't worry, we'll find her later and erase her memories of this evening. For her, it will be nothing more than a bad dream."

She stopped in front of him, a polite but slightly predatory smile playing on her lips.

"And now, allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Rias Gremory. And it seems we have finally met, Izayoi Jin. I've heard a lot about you."

Jin slowly lowered his hand and sighed heavily again, staring down the dark path where Misaki had disappeared. New problems. And new, annoying acquaintances.

 

[VukPauk]

The park sank into silence, broken only by the splashing of the fountain. The barrier had vanished, returning the night sky to its usual starry pattern, but for those who remained in the clearing, the world would never be the same. Jin stood in the midst of this fragile, restored calm, feeling several pairs of eyes on him, filled with a mix of shock, curiosity, and latent hostility. He slowly turned his head, and his cold violet gaze bored into the group of newcomers. Especially the one at the front.

Rias Gremory. He looked at her, and memories from his past life surfaced with cold clarity. She was exactly as he remembered her from the "canon." Incredibly beautiful, with a mane of fiery-red hair that seemed to emit its own glow even in the dim lamplight. A proud posture, a confident, almost arrogant gaze in her blue-green eyes, which spoke of power inherited by birthright. She was a product of her world—a spoiled aristocrat, accustomed to the world revolving around her, to her word being law, and to any problem being solvable through the power of her clan or the influence of her older brother.

And now, she was looking at him the same way—like a proprietor who had encountered an incomprehensible, but potentially useful, phenomenon on her territory. Her words about erasing Misaki's memory, spoken with such ease, with such condescending certainty in her right to dispose of others' fates, triggered a wave of dull, icy irritation in Jin. Yes, perhaps she was right. Perhaps for a normal person, encountering the supernatural was a trauma best forgotten. But the way it was said, with such contempt for human will, the way she looked at people—as if they were fragile, irrational children she had to clean up after—infuriated him to the point of grinding his teeth.

"Erase her memory?" Jin broke the silence, his voice even, but it held a coldness that made everyone standing nearby flinch involuntarily. "What a convenient solution. A toy breaks, so you just roll it back to factory settings. Is this how you manage your territory, Gremory?"

Rias narrowed her eyes slightly, surprised and annoyed by his tone. She had expected gratitude, perhaps even subservience, but certainly not a reprimand.

"It's for her own good," she clipped, her voice gaining a steel edge. "And yes, I maintain order in my territory. Which, it seems, can't be said for your timely intervention. Do you even realize that by appearing, you've only aggravated the situation?"

"I saved the life of your future servant," Jin countered. "Or is 'order' when students from your own academy are murdered with impunity on your territory? If so, you're a lousy ruler."

The gauntlet had been thrown. The atmosphere grew tense again. Rias, her pride wounded, drew herself up, her demonic aura beginning to slowly seep out, making the air heavy. She still didn't understand who she was dealing with. Strong? Yes, undoubtedly. But most likely, just a human with a rare and powerful strength-type Sacred Gear. She had seen them before. They were physically strong, but vulnerable to magic and lacked an understanding of this world's true hierarchy.

"You dare speak to me like that?" she hissed, her blue-green eyes darkening with anger. "You, a simple human who doesn't know his place?"

Akeno Himejima, standing behind her, took a subtle step forward, a polite but dangerous smile playing on her lips, tiny sparks already crackling between her fingers. Kiba Yuuto, maintaining his outward calm, placed a hand on the hilt of an invisible sword. They were ready to defend the honor of their Queen.

Jin swept his gaze over them—the proud Rias, the battle-ready Akeno, the tense Kiba. And he couldn't hold back. He laughed. Not loudly, but quietly, almost silently, shaking with internal amusement.

"Oh, of course…" He wiped away a tear of laughter. "'A simple human.' 'Doesn't know his place.' And this whole display of power… Gremory, you are so predictable. So… ridiculous. Your Queen is in danger! Knights, to arms! Now comes the dramatic speech about clan honor, and then you'll all try to 'put me in my place.' Do you really think this cheap spectacle will have any effect on me?"

He stopped laughing, and his gaze turned to ice. He took a step forward, toward their group. His aura, previously hidden, began to slowly seep out. It wasn't like the pressure of Rias's demonic energy. It was something else. Oppressive, alien, something that made one instinctively want to flee.

"I'll show you what a 'real place' is," he said quietly, taking another step.

Akeno and Kiba tensed, ready for battle. Rias clenched her fists, concentrating her Power of Destruction.

And at that very moment, just as a clash seemed inevitable, Issei scrambled out between them like a frightened fawn.

He was pale, shaking, looking from Jin to Rias and her peerage. Horror, shock, bewilderment—it all mixed in his eyes.

"What… what the hell is even going on here?!" he yelled hysterically. "Spears of light?! Fallen angels?! Rias-senpai, you… you have bat wings! Akeno-senpai, too! And you, Jin… you… you caught that thing! With your bare hand! Who are you people?! What was that?! Explain it to me!!!"

His desperate cry, full of genuine confusion, shattered all the tension. All eyes—Jin's and Rias's group—focused on him. On the simple guy whose world had just been turned upside down. Under these gazes, Issei's outburst instantly died. He cringed, feeling incredibly stupid, and took a step back, hiding behind Jin.

Jin looked at the terrified Issei, then at the stunned Rias. His entire fighting spirit, all his irritation, evaporated. He didn't see demons or enemies before him. He saw a group of teenagers and one complete idiot who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fight them? Put on a show of force? That would be... stupid. And pointless.

He exhaled, theatrically, with exaggerated weariness.

"What a drag…"

Turning, he ignored Rias's surprised shout: "Wait! We're not done!" Pushing off the ground with force, he launched into the night sky, becoming a blurred silhouette, and vanished from sight a moment later, leaving only stunned silence and a multitude of questions behind.

The next day at the academy was surprisingly calm. No one from the Occult Research Club approached him. Even the shadows of observers he'd occasionally noticed before were gone. It seemed Rias Gremory had decided to take a pause and think things over. Jin was only too glad.

After classes, he headed home as usual. But before he reached the school gates, a familiar voice called out.

"Jin! Wait!"

It was Issei. He caught up and walked beside him for a time in awkward silence. It was clear he wanted to say something but didn't know how to start.

"Well?" Jin finally snapped.

"I…" Issei took a deep breath. "I wanted to say… thanks. For yesterday. You… you saved my life."

Jin just huffed in response.

"After you left," Issei continued, staring at his feet, "Rias-senpai… she explained everything. About demons, angels… about her being a demon. And that I… I am too. That the girl, Yuuma, killed me, and Rias-senpai resurrected me… as her servant. It's… it's all so wild. I still can't believe it."

He fell silent, processing his own words.

"And what are you going to do now?" Jin asked, his voice devoid of any sympathy, a simple statement of fact.

"Rias-senpai invited me to her club. She said it's my new family now," Issei looked up at Jin. "I accepted. It's not like I had much choice. But… I don't regret it. She saved me. I owe her."

They walked another few meters in silence. Issei continued to stare at Jin until he stopped, annoyed.

"What?"

"Jin…" Issei chose his words carefully. "I know you don't want to talk about it… But… who are you? You're not a demon, are you? But you're not a normal human, either. The way you moved… it was… incredible."

Jin gave him a long, heavy look.

"I'm a normal 'human,' Issei," he said, emphasizing the word 'human' with an intonation that said the opposite. "And you don't need to know any more. You have enough to worry about right now. Deal with your new life, with your new master. Stay out of my business."

Issei understood he wouldn't get an answer. He sighed, but didn't back down.

"Okay… I get it. But… Rias-senpai… she really wants to talk to you. Normally. Without fights or threats. She asked me to invite you to the club."

Jin sighed wearily again. It seemed there was no getting out of this.

"I'll think about it."

The next day, as he was about to head home, Akeno Himejima blocked his path. Her usual playful smile seemed more restrained today, and a serious interest was visible in her violet eyes.

"Ara-ara, Izayoi-kun, always in such a hurry," she purred, her voice soft as silk, but with a note that brooked no argument. "Rias-buchou would like to speak with you. Would you spare us a little of your precious time?"

Inside the spacious clubroom, they were already waiting for him. Rias Gremory sat in her queenly chair, her crimson hair cascading over her shoulders. Kiba stood nearby, and Koneko was curled up on the sofa. Issei, who had arrived earlier, looked guiltily at the floor. The atmosphere was tense.

"Have a seat, Izayoi," Rias gestured to the chair opposite her. Her voice was calm, but held an undercurrent of steel. "Akeno, tea, if you would."

Akeno silently withdrew as Rias steepled her fingers and stared intently at Jin.

"Last night, you saved Issei. And you interfered in matters that did not directly concern you. I want to know why."

"Do you need a reason to help a classmate who's about to be skewered by a glowing stick?" Jin replied evenly, meeting her gaze without a trace of unease.

Rias's eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't believe him, but she didn't argue.

"Be that as it may, you've demonstrated your power again. And again—on my territory. Do you understand that this creates certain… complications?"

"Those are your complications, Gremory. Not mine."

"You're mistaken," her voice hardened. "As long as you are in this city, you are part of the equation. An unknown variable that could disrupt the entire balance. Your interference could have provoked a full-scale conflict."

She leaned forward, her blue-green eyes glittering.

"I cannot allow an uncontrolled power of your level to operate in my territory. It's dangerous. For me, for my servants, for the entire city. Therefore, I want to make you an offer."

There it is. Jin smirked internally.

"I don't make deals," he cut in.

"This isn't a deal. It's an offer that I believe you won't be able to refuse," Rias's voice held aristocratic confidence. "Izayoi Jin, I, Rias Gremory, heiress to a great house, offer you a place in my peerage."

Silence fell in the room. Issei and Kiba looked at their Queen in surprise.

"I see your power," Rias continued, her gaze turning appraising, almost possessive. "It's vast. A raw diamond. Under my guidance, under the banner of the Gremory clan, you could reach incredible heights. I will give you status, protection, wealth. We will be your family. Your shield. All that is required is that you pledge your loyalty to me."

She spoke, and her voice resonated with power and temptation. For anyone else, it would have been the offer of a lifetime.

Jin listened to her, and a crooked, mocking smile slowly spread across his face. When she finished, he laughed quietly.

"Family? Protection? Status?" He shook his head, his laughter growing louder. "Gremory, do you really think I need any of that? You're offering me a golden collar and telling me it's a crown."

He leaned forward, his violet eyes flashing coldly.

"Let me explain something to you. I don't need your protection, because there is almost no one in this world who can threaten me. I don't need your status, because I stand above all your clan hierarchies. And I certainly don't need your 'family.' I am on my own. And I serve no one. Especially not a spoiled demoness who only sees power as a tool to strengthen her own position."

His words were like slaps. Rias's face flushed with anger and humiliation.

"How dare you…!" she began, but Jin raised a hand, and she instinctively fell silent.

"I dare because I can," his voice turned to ice. "Now that we've dealt with your generous offer, let's talk about the real situation. You're worried about the state of the city, and you're afraid I might become a catalyst for conflict. Correct?"

Rias was silent, but her pressed lips were more eloquent than any words.

"Here is my counter-offer, Gremory," Jin continued. "I will not become your piece. But I can be… an ally. A temporary and very conditional one. I won't interfere in your petty squabbles. But if someone truly interesting appears in this city… someone who can dispel my boredom… I might just join in on the fun. In exchange, you will grant me full access to your library and your knowledge, and you will stop spying on me."

It was audacious. He hadn't just rejected her; he had dictated his own terms. Rias struggled with herself. Anger, pride, humiliation. But she was a pragmatist.

"Fine," she finally forced out. "I accept your terms."

"Then it's settled." Jin stood up. "When can I visit your library?"

"I'll send for you," Rias replied curtly.

"Excellent." He headed for the exit, tossing over his shoulder: "And Rias. Next time you want to recruit someone, make sure you have something to offer besides pretty words and a golden cage."

 

[VukPauk]

The deal, struck in the electrified air of the clubroom, left a strange aftertaste. Jin felt neither triumph nor relief. He had gotten what he wanted—access to information—but the price was clear: he had been dragged into their world. His quiet, detached life as an observer was over. Now he was a "special ally," a piece on the board, albeit one with the right to make his own moves.

Rias Gremory, true to her word, did not keep him waiting. A day after their conversation, Akeno gave Jin an invitation to visit the clan library.

"Rias-buchou is waiting for you this evening," she said with her unchanging, enigmatic smile. "I hope you find what you're looking for there, Izayoi-kun."

That evening, Jin once again found himself in the old club building. No one was there except Rias. She stood by a massive bookshelf, which, as it turned out, was not just a piece of furniture. Muttering a few words in the demonic tongue, Rias touched one of the books. The bookshelf slid silently aside, revealing a dark passage from which wafted a cool air and the scent of old paper.

"This way," she nodded. "Our library isn't just a room. It's a small pocket dimension, connected to our ancestral estate in the Underworld. It's safe here, and time flows a little differently."

Jin stepped into the passage. The world behind him vanished. He found himself in an enormous, circular hall, its walls lined from floor to the high, domed ceiling with shelves of books. Thousands, tens of thousands of volumes in leather and cloth bindings, with gold and silver embossing, ancient scrolls, dusty folios. In the center of the hall stood a large reading table, illuminated by a soft, magical light that hovered in the air.

It was impressive. Not the magic—he was already getting used to that. But the sheer amount of information gathered here. Concentrated knowledge, accumulated over centuries by one of the greatest demonic houses.

"You may study anything here," Rias said, her voice echoing in the silence. "The history of our world, bestiaries, treatises on magic, research on Sacred Gears. It's all at your disposal."

Jin walked slowly along one of the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of the books. His enhanced memory allowed him to absorb information at an incredible speed. He was looking for information about this world, its rules, its players, and their weaknesses. He pulled out one volume—The Chronicles of the Great War. He flipped through a few pages. Angels, demons, fallen. Battles that destroyed worlds. Names he knew from his past life were not myth here, but history.

"Interesting reading," he remarked, closing the book. "A lot of drama over ideological differences."

Rias smiled slightly at his cynical tone.

"It is our history. A history that continues to this day."

After spending about an hour in the library, Jin felt the information beginning to overload him. The knowledge was useful, but sitting in one place was tiresome.

"Enough for today," he said, putting the volume back. "My head is buzzing. I'm going for a walk."

"As you wish," Rias nodded. "The door will be open for you anytime."

Stepping out of the pocket dimension and back into the silence of the club, and then out onto the street, Jin inhaled the cool evening air. Twilight was already deepening over Kuoh. Instead of going home, he wandered aimlessly through the city, turning into quiet, deserted alleys where the streetlights barely pierced the darkness. He needed to digest the information he'd received and just be in the quiet.

On the way toward his neighborhood, he decided to stop by the familiar kombini again for something cold. The street was almost empty, with only the occasional car passing, its headlights snatching his solitary figure from the darkness. A man emerged from a side alley, walking toward him. Tall, in a long, tattered trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. Jin cast a brief, indifferent glance at him and walked on. Something about the man's figure seemed vaguely familiar, but he paid it no mind. As they drew level, Jin caught a sharp, unpleasant smell from the stranger—a mix of ozone and something sickeningly sweet. The man passed by without lifting his head. After taking several dozen steps, he stopped. Then he slowly turned his head, and in the light of a distant streetlight, a mad, predatory smile flashed across his face, baring teeth that were too sharp. He adjusted his hat, hiding his face, and turned into the darkness.

The kombini was bright and quiet. Misaki was behind the counter again. Seeing him, she smiled politely, as she would at any other customer, and a light, barely noticeable blush appeared on her cheeks, the kind any girl gets when seeing a handsome guy.

"Good evening," she said in a steady, calm voice.

No recognition. No memory of the purple sky, winged monsters, or the boy who caught spears of light. Just polite detachment. Jin nodded silently, grabbed a bottle of water, and approached the counter. He held out the money, their fingers brushing for a moment. She didn't react. He looked at her face, at her eyes, which held no shadow of memory of that evening in the park. Only the usual curiosity for a mysterious customer. Rias had kept her word. They had erased her memory.

He took his water and his change. He felt a strange emptiness. A part of him, the one that had felt something warm during their date, felt a light but sharp pang of disappointment. He was just another customer to her. A ghost with no past.

"Thank you for your purchase," she said as he was already turning to leave. "Please come again."

Jin stopped. He didn't turn around.

"Unlikely," he tossed out quietly and left the store, leaving behind a girl who was surprised by his strange behavior.

He walked through the dark streets, and the disappointment slowly grew into a cold, dull anger. Not at Rias. Not at Misaki. But at this world, at its rules, at himself. He decided to cut through a dark, abandoned park to shorten his route. Tall trees obscured the moonlight, creating almost absolute darkness.

"Hallelujah! What a fortunate meeting on such a lovely night!"

The voice, full of mad, theatrical delight, rang out from the darkness directly in front of him. The same man in the coat and hat leaped onto the path, blocking his way. He threw off the hat, and the moonlight, breaking through the leaves, illuminated his face. White hair, crazed eyes, scars, and a maniacal smile. Freed Sellzen.

"I was starting to think I'd have to search the whole city for you, you little sinner," he licked his lips, his gaze hungry. "I was following the scent. You absolutely reek of that disgusting demonic rot! You must be one of their little henchmen, eh? Like palling around with the spawn of hell?"

Two objects appeared in his hands, as if from thin air. In one, a long, serrated blade glowing faintly with a white light. In the other, a large-caliber pistol.

"But don't you worry! Father Freed is merciful!" he theatrically raised his eyes to the sky. "I will deliver your lost soul from its suffering! I will cleanse you with fire and steel! I will grant you a great mercy and send you straight to hell, to your beloved demons! Hallelujah!"

Jin stopped, looking at him with undisguised boredom. All his anger, all his disappointment, vanished instantly, replaced by a universal exhaustion.

"Are you finished with your monologue?" he asked, his voice perfectly flat. "I was starting to fall asleep."

"What?! How dare you, you filthy heretic?!" Freed shrieked, his face twisting in rage. "I will offer your head to the Lord!"

He lunged forward, his movements chaotic, unpredictable, like a rabid beast. The light-sword traced intricate patterns in the air as he simultaneously fired the pistol, bullets wreathed in holy energy flying from all directions.

Jin didn't even move. He just stood there, and the bullets, as they approached him, fell to the ground as if hitting an indestructible wall. Freed, seeing this, only became more incensed. He ran in close, his sword whistling as it came down on Jin from above.

Jin lazily raised a hand and caught the blade by its edge. A hissing sound rang out, but his palm remained unharmed. Freed froze in shock. Jin clenched his fingers. The sword cracked and shattered into pieces.

"My... my holy blade?!?!" Freed stammered, staring at the hilt in his hand.

"A toy," Jin stated, and struck. A simple, short punch to the stomach.

Freed doubled over, the air driven from his lungs in a whoosh. He was thrown back several meters, slamming into a tree trunk and sliding to the ground, coughing up blood.

"Im... impossible..." he wheezed, trying to get up.

Jin slowly walked toward him.

"I'm not in the mood for games tonight," he said coldly. "So let's end this quickly."

He drew back his leg, intending to crush his skull. But Freed, in a last desperate lunge, pulled another pistol from his coat and fired. Not at Jin. At the ground next to him. The bullet exploded in a blinding flash of light and smoke. When the smoke cleared, Freed was gone. He had jumped aside, deeper into the woods that began just beyond the park.

"Hee-hee-hee! Thought you could catch me so easily, you demon-worshipper?!" his mad laughter drifted from the trees. "Let's play tag!"

Jin clicked his tongue in irritation. He'd have to run. He shot into the forest, his speed so great he became a blur, easily weaving between the trees.

The chase was short. Jin quickly caught up to him in a small clearing. Freed, realizing it was useless to run, turned, his face a mask of fear and mad determination.

"That's it, sinner! You've pissed me off! Now you'll know true pain!"

He drew another, more powerful sword and charged again. But this time, Jin didn't play. He met his lunge, broke the sword, then broke his arm with a single blow. Freed howled in pain. Jin struck again—a leg snapped. The exorcist collapsed. Jin walked over and stepped on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

"Does it hurt?" he asked dispassionately.

"G-go... to hell... heretic..." Freed wheezed, choking on blood.

Jin pressed down harder. A crack of ribs. Freed screamed.

"You know, I just wanted to kill you and go home," Jin said, looking down at him. "But you're too loud. And too hard to kill. Types like you are always crawling out of your cracks, sowing chaos. It's tiring."

Freed, despite the pain, laughed maniacally.

"Hee-hee... think you've won? You know nothing... I... I'll be back... And I'll find you... And that cute little clerk from the store... the one you were chatting up..." he grinned, his eyes burning with hatred. "I'll be sure to pay her a visit, too... Teach her a lesson about how dangerous it is to get involved with types like you..."

He didn't get to finish.

Jin's gaze changed. All the fatigue, all the boredom, all the indifference vanished in an instant. His face became completely blank, like a mask of polished stone. And in his violet eyes, a coldness flared, such a bottomless, primal fury that even the madman Freed faltered and fell silent, feeling an icy terror run down his spine.

The exorcist realized he had made a fatal mistake. He quickly pulled a small crystal from his pocket and, with a desperate cry, threw it at the ground. A teleportation crystal. His last chance at escape.

Time slowed. The crystal flew toward the ground, its facets glinting in the moonlight. It was supposed to touch the moss, shatter, and carry its master away...

But it didn't touch it.

A moment before the crystal hit the ground, a hand intercepted it. But not the one that had thrown it.

Freed stared, stunned, at the crystal clamped in unfamiliar fingers. Then his gaze traveled slowly up the arm, to Jin's face. He was standing right in front of him, though a second ago he'd been several feet away. His face was still just as blank and terrifying. Looking into his eyes, his breath caught, and his heart froze in terror.

"I told you," Jin's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it resounded with absolute, irrevocable finality. "I'm not in the mood for games tonight. Did you think I'd let a piece of trash like you escape again and cause more problems? You're mistaken."

He clenched his fist. The teleportation crystal crumbled to dust.

"I will rid this world of you. Once and for all."

...

When Rias's group, drawn by the powerful surge of holy energy and then its abrupt disappearance, teleported to the clearing, they found only the aftermath. In the middle of the scorched and torn-up earth, in a pool of his own blood, lay what had once been Freed Sellzen. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his body covered in horrific wounds. He was alive, but barely breathing, his eyes lifeless, staring at nothing. He was physically and morally broken.

Rias and her peerage froze in shock, staring at the sight. They knew who had done this. And they knew that the power that had wrought such a thing was far beyond their comprehension.

And somewhere far away, a tall, blond youth was walking home through the night streets of Kuoh. In his eyes, there was no longer any boredom or irritation. Only a cold, calm emptiness. He had made his choice and had ceased to be an observer.

 

[VukPauk]

Kuoh Town had sunk into a deceptive lull. For some, it was a long-awaited respite; for others, a return to dreary routine. And for me, Izayoi Jin… it was a reminder that even in a world of demons and magic, most of the time is taken up not by epic battles, but by corrosive boredom.

Kuoh Academy. Several Days Later

The school corridors buzzed with their usual, almost serene life. Sunbeams danced on the linoleum, breaking through the tall windows and illuminating the flickering figures of students. Somewhere, girls laughed merrily, whispering about the latest school news; elsewhere, guys heatedly discussed yesterday's game or the new manga releases.

Exams were approaching, and the air was saturated with a mix of mild academic panic and the sweet anticipation of summer vacation. Nothing, it seemed, betrayed the recent clashes with mad exorcists, bloody altars, and shadows of a forgotten past. Freed Sellzen was dead (or gone, which was all the same to me), and the city had put its mask of normality back on.

I strolled leisurely down the corridor, hands in my pockets. The noise of the crowd flowed around me without touching my consciousness. I felt like a stranger at this celebration of life, a spectator who had accidentally wandered into a movie theater in the middle of a boring melodrama.

'Lessons again, empty talk again,' the thought flashed through my mind as I passed a classroom where a teacher droned monotonously about Heian-era poetry.

This quiet was irritating. Not that I craved blood or destruction every second, no. I just needed… a shake-up. An event, a challenge, something that would force me to use my gifted power not for swatting away school bullies and not for secret training in wastelands where the only opponent was the air. I needed a goal worthy of my might, or at least entertainment capable of dispelling the creeping apathy.

During the break, Issei Hyoudou caught me. He looked more cheerful than usual, though a shadow of the uncertainty left after our first serious clash with an enemy still splashed in the depths of his eyes. But now it was overshadowed by some feverish enthusiasm.

"Hey, Izayoi!" Issei slapped me on the shoulder with a swing. "How's life? Everything quiet?"

"Too quiet," I grunted, shaking off his hand. "Why do you look so pleased? Find a porn mag on the road?"

"Oh, shut up!" Issei grinned his trademark guileless smile, letting the jab slide. "Just glad no one's trying to kill us. I'm training a little bit. Buchou says I'm making progress with the Boosted Gear."

I just huffed. Issei's progress was obvious, but his methods… Let's just say they were specific.

"By the way!" Issei lowered his voice, looking around conspiratorially. "Tonight I have my first 'serious' job! A solo contract! Some guy wants me to help him… you know, deal with a ghost in an old house. Buchou said it's excellent practice for a beginner like me."

"A ghost?" I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit cliché for a world where fallen angels and dragons walk the streets? Sounds like a cheap horror movie."

"Well, Buchou says it's most likely just a poltergeist or residual energy, nothing dangerous," Issei shrugged, but then broke into a dreamy smile. "But hey, experience! And what if there's a cute ghost girl there? Or the lady of the house is so grateful to her savior that… heh-heh-heh…"

Issei's eyes shone with a greasy luster. Classic. This guy's perversion was a constant that neither mortal danger nor common sense could change.

"Good luck," I tossed out, preparing to leave. Listening to his wet fantasies was not in my plans.

"Hey, wait!" Issei hesitated. "Listen, don't you… want to drop by the club today? Buchou was asking about you. Akeno-san was also… interested."

I stopped. The Occult Research Club. Rias Gremory's citadel. The place where they tried to tame me with tea, cookies, and polite smiles.

"No," I cut him off. "I'm not a member of your little circle, Issei. And playing happy demon family doesn't interest me. Tell your Buchou I have more important things to do than eat sweets."

"Well, suit yourself," Issei looked disappointed but didn't insist. "Then I'm off! I still need to prepare!"

He dashed away, burning with determination to prove his coolness (and likely hoping to meet some beauties), and I watched him go.

'Let him have his fun. Maybe he'll actually learn something. Or get his ass kicked. That's experience too.'

...

Evening descended on the city slowly and thickly. The sky was painted in crimson tones, as if portending trouble, but the city didn't notice, lighting up the first neon signs.

I didn't go home. Sitting within four walls was unbearable. My legs carried me away from the center on their own, toward the old districts where the shadows were deeper and the people fewer. I just walked, enjoying the cool air and letting my senses scan the area. It had become a habit—keeping the "radar" on.

And then I felt it.

At first, it was like the faint smell of burning carried by the wind. But it wasn't a smell. It was energy. A sharp, unpleasant, "cold" surge. It cut across my perception, making me stop in the middle of the empty street.

This sensation… I remembered it.

"Fallen…" I muttered, looking toward the outskirts.

The signature was weaker than that psychopath Freed's, but distinctly hostile. Again.

And next to this cold, prickly sensation, something else pulsed. Weak, but pure, filled with light and warmth. A strange, contradictory combination. As if someone was trying to start a fire in the middle of an icy desert.

'What the hell?'

I tuned into my superhuman senses, filtering out the noise of the city. Sounds of a struggle. They were coming from the direction where, by all appearances, the abandoned district was located. The very place where Issei seemed to be heading for his "ghost."

I smirked.

"A ghost, you say? Uh-huh."

Part of me wanted to turn around and walk away. This was Issei's problem, and his master Rias's. I had made it clear I wasn't going to be their nanny.

But another part… the part that had been languishing in boredom all these days, the part looking for a challenge… it had already made a decision.

Someone was disturbing my peace again. Someone was waving holy weapons around on my territory. And if it was the Fallen, they might turn out to be interesting enough punching bags to brighten up this dull evening.

I bolted from my spot.

The asphalt crunched pitifully under my feet. My speed was such that to a casual passerby, I would have been just a gust of wind. I raced through alleyways, vaulting fences, cutting corners. The sensation of hostile energy became clearer, pressing on my temples, causing not fear, but cold rage.

The sounds of the fight grew louder: the tinkle of something like glass, muffled cries, malicious female laughter.

And then I was there.

I froze in the shadow of a dilapidated wall, assessing the situation. A small two-story house, clearly abandoned by its owners a decade ago. The windows gaped black; the yard was overgrown with weeds.

And in front of the house, a familiar, almost comical in its predictability, scene was unfolding.

Issei Hyoudou, his Boosted Gear flickering dimly on his left arm, was desperately fighting off a woman. A beautiful woman with long jet-black hair and… equally black wings on her back. A Fallen Angel. A spear of light blazed in her hand.

"Die, worthless demon!" she hissed, her face twisted with malice. "Your power will be ours!"

Issei retreated. He was wounded—a fresh burn smoked on his shoulder, his clothes were torn. He tried to counterattack, shouting "Boost!", but his movements were clumsy. He clearly lacked experience.

"Damn… President…" he whispered, stumbling over a piece of rebar.

The woman wound up for the final blow. The spear of light flared blindingly bright, ready to pierce him through.

I watched this, and a cold wave of irritation rose inside me. Not at the Fallen. At Issei. At his weakness. But letting him die here would be… wasteful.

Besides, that strange, warm energy I felt wasn't coming from him. It was hiding somewhere nearby, behind the house. Curious.

'Time to end this circus, I suppose,' I decided.

I didn't shout or give a warning. I just took a step forward, stepping out of the alley's shadow onto the moonlit patch of ground in front of the house. My aura, which I had been concealing until now, spilled out in a heavy, crushing wave.

The Fallen Angel, already bringing the spear down on the fallen Issei, froze abruptly. Her wings twitched. She felt it. She felt the presence of someone more dangerous than any "ghost."

She whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise as they met my indifferent gaze.

"Who the hell are you?.." she hissed, instinctively taking a step back from Issei.

 

[VukPauk]

Night had wrapped the outskirts of Kuoh Town in a thick, velvet blanket. Lanterns lazily strained their dim light onto the cracked asphalt and weed-choked sidewalks. The air was still, filled with the scent of damp earth and something elusively unsettling. And in this silence, a scene was unfolding—one painfully familiar to this world: demon versus fallen angel. Only this time, the roles were a bit muddled.

My appearance was sudden, like a clap of thunder from a clear sky. The fallen, who had raised her shining spear over a half-dead Issei, spun around. Her beautiful face twisted into a mix of surprise and poorly concealed fear. The crow-black feathers on her back trembled nervously.

"And who are you?.." she hissed, instinctively backing away. Her voice, which a moment ago had been full of furious confidence, now rang with anxiety.

Issei, sprawled on the ground and gasping for air, barely managed to lift his head. Seeing me, he muttered in disbelief, "Iza… yoi?.."

I ignored him. My gaze was locked on the fallen. A mid-rate opponent, judging by her aura. No match for Freed and his artifacts. But still... a fallen angel. A being originally created from light, but one that had chosen darkness. There was always a special, perverted malice in them.

"Just a passerby," I replied lazily, taking another step forward. The asphalt under my boots cracked faintly from the pressure. "I don't like it when people make noise outside. Especially when they're trying to kill my... acquaintance."

A faint smirk touched my lips. Yes, Issei was mostly a burden who was always stumbling into trouble, but he was part of that weird crew that managed to alleviate my boredom, at least somewhat. Besides, this fallen angel was clearly connected to that holy energy I sensed earlier. And that meant she might be the key to something more interesting.

The fallen narrowed her eyes. The fear in her gaze battled with pride and disbelief.

"Acquaintance? This brat is a demon! A lowly spawn that needs to be exterminated! And you... you reek of such power... You're not human! What are you?!"

"The one who's about to break your pretty little wings if you don't get lost." My voice was even, but it held a coldness that would have frozen the blood in any ordinary creature's veins.

That seemed to enrage her. A fallen angel's pride overruled her self-preservation.

"Insolent wretch!" she shrieked. "You think you scared me with your aura? I am Kalawarner, one who serves the true order! I will destroy both you and this whelp!"

She raised the spear of light again. The tip flared blindingly, the air crackling with holy energy. The strike was aimed directly at my chest—fast, sharp, and calculated to pierce any defense.

Issei screamed, "Watch out! That thing burns!"

But I didn't even flinch. I just held out my palm. Casually, as if swatting away a pesky fly.

BAM!

The spear of light slammed into my palm with a deafening crack. The holy energy howled, trying to sear my flesh, but it met an invisible barrier—my own power, my ultimate defense, which simply... erased it. Sparks scattered, showering the ground in glittering dust. The tip of the spear trembled and... disintegrated into tiny fragments of light, which immediately winked out.

Kalawarner froze, her mouth agape. Her eyes, wide with horror, darted from my unharmed palm to the broken shaft in her hand.

"Im... impossible... My spear... Holy power... You..."

"Boring," I cut off her sputtering. "I expected more. Is this all fallen angels are capable of? Throwing glowing sticks?"

My words hit like a slap. Fury flooded her face again, displacing her fear.

"You bastard!" She tossed aside the useless fragment and rushed me. Her movements were fast, honed by years of training. Clawed fingers (she'd clearly transformed her hands) lunged for my eyes, her black wings flapping, kicking up dust and adding to her speed.

But to me, it was all in slow motion. I easily dodged her lunge, simultaneously delivering a short, almost imperceptible elbow strike under her ribs.

CRACK!

A distinct crunch of breaking bones echoed. Kalawarner howled, her body doubling over as her attack choked. She flew back several meters, crashing hard to the ground, spitting up blood as she coughed. Her wings splayed uselessly across the dusty earth.

"Gah... khh... You... broke... my ribs..." she wheezed, staring at me in horror.

"Could have been worse," I shrugged. "I could have broken your neck. Or your spine. Or just ground you into paste. But I'm too lazy."

I walked over, towering above her crumpled figure. Issei, having somehow staggered to his feet, just watched with wide eyes, unable to say a word.

"Why did you attack him?" I asked, nodding toward Issei. "Just hatred for demons? Or was there a more... interesting reason?"

Kalawarner spat blood. "That whelp... he's the wielder... of something dangerous... My mission... was... khh... to eliminate him... before he became a problem..."

"'Wielder?'" I frowned. The Boosted Gear? Looks like the fallen sniffed something out, even if they don't grasp the full picture. "And who gave you that task? Your boss? Azazel? Or someone else?"

"None of your... business..." she hissed, trying to get up, but the pain forced her down again.

"You're mistaken. It's very much my business." I crouched beside her, my voice growing quieter, and all the more sinister for it. "See, I don't like it when feathered hens like you stir up trouble in my city and attack people I know. It disturbs my... peace. And when my peace is disturbed, I get bored. And when I'm bored... I start breaking things. Like fallen angels."

I pressed a finger lightly against her broken rib. She howled again, tears of pain and humiliation squeezing from her eyes.

"Alright... alright, I'll talk!" she wheezed. "The order... it was from Kokabiel... He... he wants a war... He wants to provoke... a new conflict... Eliminating the Red Dragon wielder... was... the first step..."

Kokabiel... I'd heard the name from Rias. One of the Grigori Cadre, known for his warmongering. Looks like something big is brewing. "So, you're just a pawn in his game. Pathetic."

I stood up. Kalawarner stared up at me, primal terror swimming in her eyes. She understood I could do anything I wanted to her.

"What about that other energy?" I asked suddenly. "On my way here, I felt another spike. Pure, warm. Holy. Who was it? An accomplice? Or your target?"

Kalawarner's face twisted. For a moment, something other than fear flashed across it—malice, disgust.

"That... girl... The nun... She... she was here... Healing... that demon..." she nodded at Issei. "Her power... it's disgusting... We were supposed to... capture her... her Sacred Gear... Twilight Healing..."

Twilight Healing? A healing Sacred Gear? And a nun? So that warm energy belonged to her. And she was helping Issei? Interesting.

"Where is she now?" I demanded.

"She fled... khh... When you showed up... she... she hid... In that old church... on the hill..." Kalawarner pointed with a trembling hand toward the silhouette visible in the distance.

"I see," I nodded. "So you failed the mission on all fronts. Didn't kill the demon, and lost the Sacred Gear. Kokabiel won't be pleased."

I turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kalawarner called out weakly. "You... you're just letting me go?"

I glanced back over my shoulder, regarding her with cold indifference. "Why would I kill you? You're not a threat anymore. You're broken and pathetic. Crawl back to your Kokabiel and give him my regards. Tell him there's someone in this town who really doesn't like his peace being disturbed. And if he pokes his nose in here again... actually, no, I'll welcome him with open arms. I'll personally pluck every one of his feathers, tear off each wing, and show him that being cast out of heaven wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to him. Now get lost, before I change my mind."

I watched as she, fighting through the pain, struggled to her feet, leaning against the wall of the house. Her black wings were tattered, one twisted at an unnatural angle. Shooting me one last look full of hatred and fear, she flapped her wings and limped into the night sky, quickly disappearing from view.

I watched her go. A pawn, then. But useful information. Kokabiel... War... And this nun with a healing Sacred Gear.

I turned to Issei. He was still standing there, staring dumbfounded, first at the sky where the fallen had disappeared, then at me.

"You... you just... let her go?" he stammered. "But she... she almost killed me!"

"She was boring," I tossed out. "And broken. Finishing off trash like that is a waste of time. Besides, she gave me some information."

"Information? What kind?"

"None of your business." I walked over and inspected his shoulder. The burn was nasty, but not fatal. "You look like shit. Where's that nun who was healing you?"

Issei flinched, remembering.

"She... yeah, there was a girl... dressed as a nun... She found me wounded after I tried to handle that 'ghost,' which turned out to be Kalawarner's trap... The nun started healing me with her power... and then that winged bitch showed up... She patched me up a bit, and then... I think she ran off when you appeared... I just thought she got scared..."

"I see." I glanced toward the old church on the hill. "So, she's there. Curious."

I turned and started walking out of the alley.

"Hey, wait!" Issei yelled. "Where are you going? What about me? I could... y'know, use a hand..."

"Call your Buchou," I threw over my shoulder. "Have her send someone to pick you up. I have more interesting things to do than babysit a hapless demon."

 

[VukPauk]

Leaving the whining Issei and the cooling traces of the battle with the fallen behind, I headed for the hill where the silhouette of the old church loomed black. The night was thick and quiet, only my footsteps echoed off the walls of abandoned houses. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of decay and… something else. That same pure, warm energy I had sensed earlier. It beckoned, like a lost will-o'-the-wisp in the darkness. Not that I cared about its fate, but curiosity—the only thing that could still stir my bored soul—took over.

The climb up the hill was short. An old stone staircase, overgrown with moss and weeds, led to the church's massive wooden doors, blackened by time. One door was torn from its hinges and lay nearby; the other clung on by a thread, creaking pitifully in a wind that barely existed. A spectacle of decay and desolation. The perfect place to hide... or to die.

I stepped inside without hesitation. The church's interior was a sad sight. Dust lay in a thick layer on everything: on the pews with their peeling paint, on the floor littered with fragments of stained glass, on the altar, long since stripped of all its holy items. Moonlight, breaking through holes in the roof and shattered windows, snatched dancing columns of dust motes from the gloom, creating a ghostly, almost unreal atmosphere. It smelled of old wood, mold, and... incense? No, more like that same warm, bright energy. It was emanating from somewhere deeper in, from behind the altar.

I moved forward, my steps echoing loudly under the vaults of the ruined temple. The dead silence pressed in on my ears, broken only by my own movement and the rare creak of rotting beams.

And there, in the gloom of the chancel, I saw her.

A girl. Barely more than a child. She was kneeling before the remains of the altar, her small figure in a simple nun's habit seeming fragile and lost in this kingdom of ruin. Light, almost golden hair spilled over her shoulders, framing a pale face with large, frightened green eyes. She was praying. Her lips moved, almost silently, her hands clasped in a gesture of prayer. That same soft, warm glow emanated from her—an aura of pure, untainted holy power.

She flinched upon hearing my footsteps and spun around. Terror flashed in her eyes as she saw me—a stranger, emerging from the darkness. She instinctively recoiled, pressing herself against the altar's cold stone.

"W-who are you?" her voice trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind.

I stopped a few steps away, looking her over. A nun. Very young. Frightened. And the wielder of a rare Sacred Gear—Twilight Healing, as the fallen angel had said. An interesting combination.

"The one who saved you from the company of the feathered bitch outside," I answered evenly, my voice sounding unexpectedly loud in the dead silence of the church. "You don't have to thank me."

She stared at me, not understanding. Fear mixed with bewilderment in her eyes.

"A f-fallen angel… You… you chased her away?"

"Let's just say I convinced her to change her location," I smirked. "She mentioned you. Said you were healing that half-wit demon. Why?"

The question was blunt, no frills. I wasn't about to beat around the bush.

The girl flinched again, her gaze darting to the exit as if seeking escape. But she stayed put, only lowering her head.

"He… he was hurt," she whispered. "I couldn't just walk by… My power… it's meant to help… everyone who is suffering… It doesn't matter if he's a demon or…"

"Even if that demon might have eaten you for breakfast?" I raised an eyebrow. "Naive."

"God teaches mercy…" her voice was barely audible, but it held an unshakable conviction. "I believe that even in a demon, there can be… something good…"

I huffed. What touching nonsense. In this world, kindness often bordered on stupidity and rarely went unpunished. This girl was living proof. Exiled from the Church for daring to heal the wrong person. Now hunted by the fallen, who wanted her power. All while her beloved God has long been dead. And all because of her "mercy."

"Twilight Healing, right?" I asked, watching her reaction.

She started, her eyes widening with surprise and a new wave of fear.

"How… how did you know?"

"That feathered chatterbox was quite talkative under pressure," I explained. "A valuable artifact. No wonder you're being hunted. Does Kokabiel want it? Or was it that… Kalawarner's… own initiative?"

"I… I don't know…" she whispered, hugging herself as if to ward off a chill. "I… I was exiled… I just wanted to find a place where I could help people… And then… they appeared… The fallen angels… They said my power was a sin, since I healed a demon… They wanted… to take it…"

Tears glistened in her green eyes. She looked so defenseless, so lost. Usually, scenes like this just made me itch or annoyed me. But now… something was different. Maybe it was the purity of her aura, her sincere, albeit naive, faith in good amidst this rotten world… it stirred a strange, almost forgotten feeling. Not pity, no. More like… curiosity. And a vague respect for her stubbornness.

"What's your name, nun?" I asked, softening my tone by a fraction.

"A-Asia… Asia Argento…" she stammered, still not daring to look up at me.

"Asia, huh," I repeated. "Well, Asia Argento, it looks like you're in deep. The fallen angels won't leave you alone as long as you have Twilight Healing. Especially if someone like Kokabiel is behind this."

I glanced around the ruined church.

"And hiding here isn't the best idea. This place is too obvious."

"But… where can I go?" Despair was in her voice. "I have no one… The Church renounced me…"

I shrugged.

"Not my problem. You could try the demons. That guy, Issei, serves Rias Gremory. She's a piece of work, sure, but she usually protects her servants. Maybe she'll take you under her wing."

Asia looked at me in horror. "To… demons? But… they're…"

"They vary," I cut her off. "Some are worse than the fallen, some are better than angels. Rias Gremory, at least, is somewhere in the middle. Spoiled? Yes. But she doesn't abandon her own. Your healing power would be useful to her. And she can give you protection. Not the worst option. Think about it."

I was about to turn and leave. My curiosity was satisfied. I'd found out who the wielder of the warm aura was, learned her name, and a bit of her story. The rest wasn't my concern. Let her decide her own fate.

But just then, I felt them again.

Several spikes of energy outside the church. Sharp, cold, full of malice. Fallen angels. More than just Kalawarner. And they were clearly heading here.

"Looks like your pursuers are back," I stated, turning toward the exit. "And it seems they brought reinforcements."

Asia scrambled to her feet in panic, her face white with terror. "Oh no… They found me… What do I do?…"

I stopped in the doorway, looking at the approaching shadows outside. There were three of them. One of them… her aura felt vaguely familiar. Stronger than Kalawarner's. More… vile.

"What to do?" I turned back to the trembling Asia. A wry smirk was probably playing on my face. "You can keep praying to your God. Or you can get behind me and hope I don't get too bored dealing with these feathered bastards."

A mocking female voice rang out from the darkness outside, the same one I'd heard once before, lost on the edges of memory.

"Oh-ho, look what we have here. The little saint and… who's this with her? A new protector? How sweet. But it won't help you. Twilight Healing will be ours!"

A figure appeared in the doorway. Raynare. The same fallen angel who had once killed Issei. Her face was beautiful but twisted in a cruel smirk. Behind her stood two more fallen, their spears of light already burning with an ominous fire.

They had come for Asia. And I was in their way.

'Well,' I thought, feeling the thrill of a fight begin to course through my veins. 'Looks like the evening just got interesting.'

 

[VukPauk]

The night froze. The air in the ruined church seemed to empty out, growing heavy and viscous. Moonlight, breaking through the gaping holes in the roof, painted bizarre patterns of light and shadow on the dusty floor, turning the old temple into a surreal arena. And on this arena, predator and prey had met. Well, or so it seemed at first glance.

Raynare. The name surfaced in my memory on its own when I saw her—the fallen angel who had sent Issei to the next world in his past, human life. The very same bitch with an angelic face and a rotten soul. Her beauty was cold, predatory, and her dark eyes brimmed with contempt for all living things. Now, surprise and poorly concealed malice were added to that contempt. She clearly hadn't expected to meet someone here capable not just of opposing her, but of radiating an aura that must have made her feathers stand on end.

Looming behind her were two other fallen—male figures, faceless extras in this drama. Their faces were tense, and the spears of light in their hands trembled, ready to launch an attack at any moment. They sensed my power, but orders were orders.

Asia Argento, pale as a sheet, was frozen behind me, clutching her nun's habit. Her eyes were wide with terror; she was barely breathing. A pathetic sight. But right now, she was under my... well, let's call it my temporary and very conditional protection.

"Oh-ho, look what we have here?" Raynare drawled, her voice dripping with venom and mockery. She was trying to regain control of the situation, to hide her own uncertainty. "The little saint and… who's this with her? A new protector? How sweet. But it won't help you. Twilight Healing will be ours!"

"You want a lot, feather-brain," I tossed out, not moving from my spot. My voice rolled evenly under the church vaults. "This Sacred Gear is out of your league. As is this girl. As am I."

"You?!" Raynare jutted her chin, her beautiful lips twisting into a vicious grimace. "You think I'm afraid of you? I saw your fight with Kalawarner! She was just a weakling! But I'm different! I'll take what's mine! Boys, take him! Don't harm the nun!"

The two fallen behind her lunged forward. One threw a spear of light, aiming for my chest; the second tried to flank me, coming from the altar side to cut off my path to Asia. Standard tactics, designed to split an opponent's focus. Stupid.

I made an imperceptible movement to the side, evading the spear's line of attack. It whistled past and embedded itself in the wall behind me, leaving a smoking mark on the old stone. Simultaneously, I turned to the one trying to flank me.

My speed was something beyond their comprehension. Before the second fallen could even react, my fist crashed into his jaw. The sound was disgusting—a crunch of bone mixed with a wet smack. The fallen's head snapped to an unnatural angle, his eyes rolling back. He collapsed to the floor like a sack of bones, not even uttering a sound. Done.

The first one, who had thrown the spear, froze, stunned by his partner's instant fall. He tried to form a new spear, but I was already on him. My strike hit him in the solar plexus. Not too hard—I didn't want to kill him outright. Just to knock the wind out of him and show him the difference in our levels.

The fallen doubled over, a choked rasp escaping his throat. Air left his lungs in a whoosh. I grabbed him by the hair, yanked him up, forcing him to look me in the eyes. Animalistic terror swam in his gaze.

"Tell your boss, Kokabiel," I hissed right in his face, "that his games in this city are over. Next time, I won't be so... merciful."

And I threw him aside like a useless rag. He hit a pillar and slid to the floor, writhing in pain and lack of air, but alive. For now.

It all happened in a fraction of a second. Raynare, standing in the doorway, hadn't even had time to intervene. She stared at her fallen subordinates, then at me. Her face was pale, her lips trembling. The arrogance had vanished, leaving only pure, unadulterated fear.

"You… you're a monster…" she whispered.

"Possibly," I agreed, walking slowly toward her. "But you brought this on yourself. You wanted Twilight Healing? You wanted to play the hunter? Fine."

I walked without hurry, giving her time to realize her predicament. She retreated, backing toward the exit, her wings twitching nervously.

"Stay back!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. She tried to form a spear of light again, but her hands were shaking so badly that the energy dissipated before it could take shape.

"Too late to be scared." I was already very close. I reached out, not touching her, but my aura pressed down on her, making her cringe. "You're the one who killed Issei, aren't you? Enjoy playing with the lives of weaklings? How do you like playing with someone several orders of magnitude stronger than you?"

I saw the panic flood her eyes. She understood there was nowhere to run. That I could do whatever I wanted to her. Crush her like a bug. And no one would come to help.

"I… I didn't want to… Kokabiel ordered…" she stammered, trying to make excuses.

"I don't give a damn about orders." My voice was ice. "You made your choice. You came here to kill and to take."

I grabbed her by the wing. The black feathers were soft to the touch, but beneath them, I felt strong bones. Raynare shrieked in pain and fear, trying to pull away.

"No! Please! Don't!"

"I must," I said, and yanked. Hard.

There was a sickening crunch. The wing twisted unnaturally, the bone snapping with a dry crack. Raynare screamed so loud it felt like the windows (if any were left) should have shattered. It was a scream of agony, terror, and complete, absolute humiliation. She collapsed to her knees, clutching the mutilated wing, her body wracked with sobs.

I looked down on her. At her tears, at the blood dripping from the broken wing onto the dusty floor. No pity, no compassion. Only a cold satisfaction that the opponent was broken. And a slight annoyance—she was weaker than I thought. I didn't even have to try hard.

"Now get out," I tossed out, turning away. "Crawl back to your Kokabiel. Maybe he'll sew you on a new wing. Or maybe he'll just throw you out, like the useless trash you are."

Raynare, sobbing, struggled to her feet. Leaning on the wall, she staggered to the exit, dragging her broken wing behind her. Her beautiful face was twisted in pain and hatred, but most of all, it held fear. She knew she had gotten off easy. That I could have done far worse.

She disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving behind only a few black feathers on the floor and the stench of fear.

I turned around. Asia was still standing by the altar, hands pressed to her mouth. Her green eyes were huge, reflecting the moonlight and the horror of what she'd seen. She was looking at me as if I weren't a savior, but a monster who had just torn another creature apart before her very eyes.

And perhaps she was right.

I walked over to her. She flinched and recoiled.

"It's over," I said, just as evenly as before. "They're gone. For now."

"You… you…" she couldn't find the words, her voice trembling. "You broke her wing… So… cruelly…"

"She came to kill you and take your power," I reminded her. "Cruelty is the language types like her understand best. Consider it a lesson taught. Besides, isn't the mercy I showed her exactly what you people prize above all else?"

I looked her over. Fragile, terrified, but in her eyes, beyond the fear, something else flickered. Stubbornness? Or that same holy faith that wouldn't let her hate even those who had wronged her?

"What will you do now?" I asked. "Stay here and wait for Kokabiel to send someone stronger? Or will you finally follow my advice and seek protection from the demons?"

Asia was silent, staring at me with wide eyes. She was clearly in shock, unable to make a decision.

I sighed. This situation was starting to tire me out. I had dealt with the immediate threat, satisfied my curiosity. What happened next wasn't my problem.

"Fine, do what you want." I headed for the exit. "But if they catch you again, I might not be around."

I walked out of the ruined church, leaving Asia Argento alone in her sanctuary of dust and fear. The night wrapped me in its silence once more. The fight had been short, almost disappointing. But it had brought answers and new questions. Kokabiel, war, Twilight Healing…

I walked the dark streets, feeling the faint aftertaste of battle—a mix of adrenaline and cold emptiness. And somewhere deep inside, a thought stirred: "What if they come back? What if her power falls into their hands?" But I pushed the thought away. Too many "what ifs."

Let them sort it out themselves.

 

[VukPauk]

I was walking the deserted streets, returning from the district with the old church. The air was cool, but a faint spark still burned inside me—the aftertaste of a short but brutal skirmish. Raynare's broken wings, her humiliated wail, the fear in the fallen's eyes… It was… almost amusing. They came as predators and crawled away like beaten curs. Weaklings.

I stopped under a dim streetlight, mulling over the information I'd received. Kokabiel. One of the upper echelons of the fallen angels, one who craved war. It looked like he'd decided to stir up the hornet's nest, starting by eliminating the wielder of the Red Dragon—Issei. And, while he was at it, get his hands on a valuable Sacred Gear—Twilight Healing, possessed by that naive nun, Asia.

Kokabiel's plan was bold, but predictable. Old warmongers always dream of a rematch, of reclaiming past glory through blood and destruction. Boring. But dangerous. A war between the factions would mean chaos, which would inevitably spill over into this city, disrupting my fragile semblance of peace. And I couldn't allow that. Not out of altruism, of course. Simply because it would create needless trouble for me.

This meant the information about Kokabiel was worth passing on to those who could actually deal with it. To Rias Gremory. She, with her demonic peerage and connections, was better equipped for such games. Let them deal with the fallen's intrigues. My job is to crush those who stand in my way.

And what about Asia? The nun with the healing power, exiled by the Church, hunted by the fallen… Her fate didn't particularly concern me. I gave her advice—go to Rias. Whether she follows it is her business. I wasn't about to save every lost sheep. Although… something about her naive faith, her desperate attempt to do good in this rotten world, struck a strange chord. Perhaps just the contrast with the surrounding filth.

It was time to head back. Not to my apartment—that was too far and pointless. It was worth dropping in on Issei. Not to help him, but to make sure he'd contacted Rias and raised the alarm. And, perhaps, to toss in a few details about what happened, without getting into the specifics of my "conversation" with the fallen.

...

When I got back to the abandoned house, the scene was different. Rias, Akeno, and Kiba were already there, standing next to Issei, who was still sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall and wincing in pain. A magic teleportation circle glowed dimly nearby, dispersing the night's gloom.

Rias stood over Issei, her face pale with rage, but her voice remained deceptively calm, though it rang with steel.

"Issei, can you talk? What happened here? Who attacked?"

"B-Buchou…" Issei struggled to lift his head, his gaze clouded by pain. "Fallen… angels… One… with black wings… a spear of light… She said… her name was… Kalawarner… Wanted… to kill me…"

Akeno was already kneeling beside him, her hands glowing softly with healing magic, trying to ease his pain and close the burn on his shoulder.

"Fallen angels… again," Rias hissed, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. "They dared attack my servant! On my territory!"

Kiba was inspecting the battle site, his face serious.

"There are traces of strong holy energy here. And… someone else's. Very powerful, but not demonic or angelic."

He looked up and his gaze met mine. I was standing a short distance away, in the shadows, observing the scene.

"Izayoi?" Kiba raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You were here?"

Everyone turned to me. Rias bored into me with her blue-green eyes.

"Yeah, was passing by," I answered casually, stepping out of the shadows. "Heard a noise, decided to check it out. Caught the end of the show. One of the feathered types was trying to finish off your Pawn."

"And you intervened?" Rias's voice was tense.

"Had to. I don't like all the noise." I shrugged. "The one who called herself Kalawarner turned out to be a weakling. I… roughened her up a bit. She flew off. There were two others, but they were complete trash. One got knocked out, the other… isn't in great shape either. Looked like he scrambled off after his friend."

I intentionally kept quiet about Raynare. No need for them to know all the details of my "entertainment." The result was what mattered.

Rias looked from Issei back to me. "You drove them off? Alone?"

"There were only three. Hardly an army," I huffed. "By the way, that Kalawarner mentioned a name. Kokabiel. Looks like he's the one who gave the order to eliminate Issei."

The name Kokabiel made Rias and Akeno tense up even more.

"Kokabiel…" Akeno whispered, her smile gone, replaced by a cold fury. "That madman… he really does want to start a war."

"Attacking my Pawn is a direct declaration of war on the Gremory clan!" Rias declared, her voice gaining strength and authority. "They've crossed the line!"

"There was someone else," Issei added, recovering slightly under Akeno's magic. "A girl… a nun… She was healing me… before the fallen attacked…"

Rias and Akeno exchanged a look. Kiba frowned.

"A nun? Here?" Rias looked at me. "Did you see her?"

"I did," I confirmed. "Blonde, green eyes, dressed like a nun. She was radiating a warm, holy energy. The fallen were hunting her, too. They wanted her Sacred Gear—Twilight Healing."

"Twilight Healing?!" Rias exclaimed. "One of the rarest healing Gears! No wonder Kokabiel sent his dogs after her! Where is she now?"

"She fled to the old church on the hill when I showed up," I answered. "I dropped in there. Talked to her. Name's Asia Argento. The Church exiled her. The fallen are after her. I advised her to seek you out for protection."

Rias listened intently, her gaze turning thoughtful.

"Asia Argento… An exiled nun with the power to heal… And Kokabiel, thirsting for war… This situation is getting more serious."

She looked at Akeno and Kiba.

"Akeno, stay with Issei, help him get to the club. You can give him proper treatment there. Kiba, you're with me. We have to find this girl, Asia. Her power could be invaluable, and we cannot let her fall into Kokabiel's hands."

Kiba nodded.

"And you, Izayoi?" Rias looked at me again. "Will you help us? You've already saved her once."

I smirked.

"I did what I felt like doing. Save her again? Why? These are your demonic squabbles."

"But Kokabiel is a common threat!" Rias retorted. "If he starts a war, it will affect everyone! Including you. Besides, this girl, Asia… she doesn't deserve this fate."

"Fate is a funny thing," I muttered. "Fine. I have nothing better to do this evening anyway. I can take a walk with you to the church. But don't expect me to be her babysitter. If she gets into another mess because of her own stupidity, that's her problem."

Rias smiled faintly. It seemed she'd expected that answer.

"Very well. Let's go. Kiba, be ready."

Akeno helped Issei to his feet, supporting him.

"Be careful, Rias, Kiba-kun, Izayoi-kun."

 

[VukPauk]

The night breathed cold and desolation. The three of us—Rias Gremory, heiress to a noble demonic line; Kiba Yuuto, her loyal Knight with his sword at the ready; and I, Izayoi Jin, the accidental tagalong—were climbing the broken stone stairs to the old church. The air here was thick, saturated with the smell of mold, damp earth, and that same faint, but pure, holy aura belonging to the exiled nun, Asia Argento. The fallen angels had cleared out, tails between their legs, but the danger hadn't vanished. It had simply gone dormant, waiting.

The church doors met us with a silent yawn. The darkness inside seemed thicker than the night outside. Rias stepped in first, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the gray stone and gloom. She held a small orb of magical light, which illuminated a depressing picture of ruin: overturned pews, shards of stained glass underfoot, cobwebs in the corners, a thick layer of dust on everything. A holy place, turned into a crypt of oblivion. The perfect refuge for a desperate soul.

"Asia! Asia Argento, are you here?" Rias's voice was soft but insistent, echoing off the high vaults. "Don't be afraid. We won't harm you. We've come to help."

The only answer was silence. Somewhere near the ceiling, a bat, disturbed by our intrusion, flapped its wings in panic.

Kiba scanned the surroundings tensely, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He could clearly sense the residual energy from the recent fight and was ready for anything. I, on the other hand, just stood there, surveying this kingdom of decay. I wasn't particularly moved by the girl's fate, but the situation was intriguing. Kokabiel, Twilight Healing, a war between factions… All of it had the potential to be decent entertainment, if the cards were played right. Or just a massive headache.

"Perhaps she's hiding," Kiba suggested in a whisper.

"Asia!" Rias called again, raising her voice. "I am Rias Gremory. The boy you healed... Issei... he is my servant. We know the fallen angels are hunting you. We can offer you protection!"

Silence again. But then... a quiet sob from behind the half-destroyed altar. We headed toward it. Rias's light orb illuminated a small figure, huddled in the darkest niche. Asia was sitting on the cold floor, hugging her knees, her face buried in them. Her shoulders trembled slightly. She was crying. Quietly, bitterly, like a child lost in a frightening forest.

Seeing us, she flinched again, her green eyes wide with terror. She looked at Rias—at her demonic aura, softened though it was by aristocratic manners, at Kiba with his sword, at me… In her eyes, I probably looked no better than the fallen who were ruining her life.

"D-don't come closer!" she stammered, trying to crawl deeper into the shadows. "Go away! Leave me alone!"

"Calm down, child," Rias took a step forward, her voice full of sympathy. She knelt on one knee, trying not to frighten her further. "We aren't your enemies. I know you're afraid of demons, but believe me, not all of us are the same. The ones who attacked you... the fallen angels... they are our common enemy."

"Common enemies?" Asia looked at her, disbelieving. "But… you're demons… And they are… angels, even if fallen…"

"The world is more complicated than they teach in church, Asia," Rias said softly. "There are different powers, different factions. And right now, one of those powers, led by a madman named Kokabiel, wants to start a war. They are hunting you for your Sacred Gear, Twilight Healing. They won't stop until they have it. Or until they kill you."

Asia listened, her lips trembling. She was clearly on the verge of hysterics.

"But… why me? What did I do to them? I just… wanted to help…"

"Your power, Asia," Kiba interjected, his voice calm and firm. "Your gift of healing is incredibly rare and valuable. It can save thousands of lives. But in the hands of those like Kokabiel, it can become a terrible weapon or a tool to achieve their filthy goals. That's why they're hunting you."

"And that is why we offer you protection," Rias finished. "Under my patronage, you will be safe. The Gremory clan has enough power to stand against Kokabiel and his minions. We will protect you."

Asia was silent, looking from Rias to Kiba. In her eyes, fear and desperation warred with… a faint spark of hope? She looked at me, standing a short distance away with an impassive face.

"And... and you?" she whispered, addressing me. "Are you... also a demon?"

"No," I answered curtly. "I am me. And I don't care about their squabbles. But I don't like it when scum like fallen angels make a mess where I live."

My answer, it seemed, confused her even more. Demons offering protection, and this strange, terrifyingly strong guy saying he wasn't a demon but was willing to break angels' wings… Her world was collapsing before her eyes.

"But… how can I… trust demons?" her voice trembled again. "The Church… I was exiled for healing a demon… They said I was defiled… That my power was from the devil…"

"The Church betrayed you, Asia," Rias said firmly. "They threw you to the very wolves who should have been your enemies. Was that fair? Is your gift of healing evil? No. Power is a tool. All that matters is how it's used. We offer you not just safety, but a chance to use your gift for good. To help those who truly need it, not just those hypocritical priests approve of."

Rias's words were convincing. She spoke with sincerity, and Asia sensed it. She was hesitating. The fear of demons, drilled into her since childhood, battled with her desperation and the knowledge that she couldn't survive alone. The fallen would return. And next time, I might not be around.

"I… I don't know…" she whispered, lowering her head again. Tears dripped onto the dusty floor. "I'm scared…"

"It's natural to be scared," Kiba nodded. "But sometimes you have to take a step into the unknown to save yourself. We won't harm you, Asia. Rias-buchou is known for her kindness to those under her protection."

I decided to add my two cents. Not out of sympathy, but pragmatism. This whole affair was starting to tire me out.

"Listen here, nun," I said, a bit more harshly than Rias or Kiba. Asia flinched and looked up at me, frightened. "You have two options. First: sit here, sob, and wait for a tougher crew than the three I scattered today to come for you. And believe me, they will come. Kokabiel isn't the type to give up easily. They'll rip your Sacred Gear out by force, and they'll probably just kill you, like useless trash. Or worse, torture you to break your will."

I paused, letting the words sink in. Asia turned even paler.

"Second option," I continued, "is to go with them. Yes, they're demons. But they're offering you a roof, food, and, most importantly, protection. Strong protection. Rias Gremory isn't a nobody in their world. Your chances of survival are much higher with her than in this hole. The choice is yours. But decide quickly, before your pursuers recover and send a new hunting party."

My words were rough, devoid of any sympathy. But they were true. And that truth, it seemed, affected Asia more than Rias's gentle persuasion. She raised her head, a flicker of resolve in her tear-filled eyes.

"Alright…" she whispered, barely audible. "I… I'll go with you. If… if you promise you won't hurt me…"

"I promise," Rias said firmly, holding out her hand. "You will be safe under my protection, Asia Argento."

Asia hesitated, looking at the demoness's outstretched hand. The hand of one she had been taught to hate and fear. But there was no malice in Rias's eyes, only calm confidence and… sympathy? Taking a deep breath, Asia placed her trembling palm in Rias's.

"I… I believe you…"

Rias gently helped her to her feet. Asia stood, still trembling, but not as frightened. She had made her choice. A step into the darkness, toward the unknown, but away from certain doom.

"Excellent," Rias nodded. "Now we need to get out of here as quickly as possible. Kiba, check the exit. Izayoi, will you cover our rear?"

"No problem," I replied.

Kiba slipped silently to the exit, checking the surroundings. Rias carefully led Asia along, trying to move slowly so as not to scare her further. I walked last, my gaze scanning the shadows of the ruined church. The danger had only passed for now. Kokabiel wouldn't back off so easily. And now, by taking Asia under her protection, Rias Gremory had effectively thrown down the gauntlet.

We exited the church into the cool night mist. The moon lit our path down the overgrown trail leading from the hill. Asia walked between Rias and Kiba, still glancing around timidly.

I walked behind them, lost in my own thoughts. The situation had taken an interesting turn. Now Rias had a valuable healer, and Kokabiel had one more reason for aggression. A conflict was brewing. And it looked like I, once again, would be somewhere nearby.

 

[VukPauk]

A trivial matter for the fallen angels in Kuoh Town had turned into a living nightmare. Plans, nurtured with cold calculation, shattered to pieces against an insurmountable force that had appeared from nowhere. Pain, humiliation, and bone-chilling fear—this was their lot instead of triumph. The darkness, their usual element, now seemed hostile, hiding in its shadows the image of the one who had dared to challenge their order.

Raynare flew, fighting through hellish pain. Every flap of her intact wing sent an agonizing echo through the broken bone of the other. The world blurred before her eyes from tears—tears of rage, humiliation, and panic. That… bastard… he dared! He dared to touch her, Raynare, one of the chosen, a servant of Kokabiel! He had broken her wing as easily as one snaps a dry twig!

'Monster… A monster…' it hammered in her temples. His power was unnatural, wrong. It didn't obey the laws of this world. Holy energy, their primary weapon against demons, had simply… evaporated on contact with him. His fists carried a might capable of crushing stone and bone with equal ease. And his eyes… those cold, violet eyes, which held not a drop of fear or doubt, only a strange contempt… They haunted her even now, in the dark sky.

He had let her go. Just let her go, like a tired toy. Told her to crawl back to Kokabiel. It was more humiliating than any blow. He hadn't even deemed her worthy of killing. Just broke her and threw her away.

'Kokabiel… Oh, Great Kokabiel… what will he say?' The thought of reporting to her master brought a new wave of sickening fear, one that overshadowed even the physical pain. A failure. A complete failure. The worthless demon wielder of the Red Dragon was alive. The nun with Twilight Healing was lost. And she, Raynare, was maimed and disgraced by an unknown monster. Kokabiel did not forgive failure. He valued only strength and results. And she had brought neither.

Struggling to get her bearings, she flew toward the designated rendezvous point—an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts, where they had set up a temporary safehouse. She had to find the others. Dohnaseek, Mittelt… Kalawarner… What about them? Had he gotten to them too?

...

Kalawarner sat on a dusty crate, wincing from the pain in her ribs. That blond bastard had only hit her once, but the blow had been so powerful that she could still feel her bones creak with every breath. She had seen how he'd dealt with Dohnaseek and Mittelt at the church—easily, playfully, as if crushing insects. She had managed to get away while he was busy with the nun, but fear held her heart in an icy grip.

Who was he? Not a demon, not an angel, and definitely not human… His power was absurd, impossible. He simply ignored their holy energy, their main advantage. He moved at inhuman speed, struck with devastating power. And through it all… he'd seemed bored. As if the whole fight was just an annoying distraction.

The warehouse door creaked open, and Raynare appeared in the opening. Kalawarner flinched, seeing her condition. One wing hung limp, caked in dried blood; her face was pale, twisted in pain and horror.

"Raynare! What happened to you?!" Kalawarner jumped up, forgetting her own ribs.

Raynare collapsed onto a nearby crate, breathing heavily.

"He… that monster… he broke my wing…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"The blond one?" Kalawarner asked, a chill running down her. "He got to you, too?"

Raynare nodded, staring into the void with hatred.

"He came out of nowhere… Protected that damn nun… He tossed Dohnaseek and Mittelt aside like puppies… And then… he just… broke me…"

She fell silent, wracked with soundless sobs. Kalawarner moved closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. She understood her terror. She had felt it herself.

"Where are the others?" Kalawarner asked, scanning the empty warehouse. "Dohnaseek? Mittelt?"

"One was unconscious by the church," Raynare rasped. "The other… he just… threw him aside like trash… Maybe they're alive… maybe not… That bastard… he wasn't even trying to kill them… He was playing with us!"

A groan came from a dark corner of the warehouse. It was Dohnaseek. He was sitting slumped against the wall, clutching his head. It seemed he had come to and somehow managed to drag himself here. He looked no better than Raynare—his face bruised, his clothes torn.

"I… I saw everything…" he muttered weakly. "That power… it's not of this world… He… he was just laughing at us…"

Three fallen angels. Three elite warriors, sent on an important mission. And all three—broken, humiliated, and scared to death by a single opponent, whose nature remained a mystery to them.

"We… we have to report to Lord Kokabiel," Raynare managed to say, trying to pull herself together. The fear of her master was stronger than the pain and humiliation.

Kalawarner nodded, pulling a small communication crystal from the folds of her clothes. It glowed dimly in her hand.

"Let's do it… before he changes his mind and comes here to finish us off…"

The crystal vibrated, and a hazy image appeared above it. Kokabiel's face. Sharp, predatory features, eyes burning with the cold fire of fanaticism and contempt. Even through the magical connection, his aura was oppressive, making the fallen cringe.

"Report," Kokabiel's voice was devoid of emotion, but that impassivity held a threat more terrifying than any scream.

Raynare swallowed, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

"Lord Kokabiel… The mission… is a failure…"

Not a single muscle twitched on Kokabiel's face. But the air around the crystal seemed to drop several degrees.

"A failure?" he repeated quietly. "Explain. And you had better have a very good reason for your incompetence."

Stammering, interrupting each other, Raynare and Kalawarner told him everything. About how the demon wielder of the Boosted Gear had been under the protection of the nun with Twilight Healing. About how they had almost captured her, but then he appeared. The blond monster with violet eyes. Incredibly strong, incredibly fast. The one who had toyed with them, broken Raynare's wing, ignored holy power. The one who knew Kokabiel's name and sent him "regards." The one who let them go, like useless trash.

"He… he's not human, Lord," Raynare finished, her voice breaking. "And not a demon… Not an angel… His power… it's wrong… It just… crushes everything…"

Kokabiel listened in silence, his eyes narrowed. When they were finished, he was quiet for several seconds, and that silence was worse than any rage.

"So," he finally said, his voice laced with ice, "you, three of my best warriors, couldn't handle one rookie demon and one nun? And you were defeated by some unknown upstart?"

"Lord, he… he was unbelievably strong!" Kalawarner pleaded. "We couldn't do anything! Our holy power was useless!"

"Useless?" Kokabiel smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Or is it you who are useless? You lost the Red Dragon. You lost Twilight Healing, which will now undoubtedly fall into the hands of that Gremory brat! And you allowed some unknown spawn to humiliate you and send me 'regards'?"

His voice rose, ringing with fury.

"You are a disgrace! A disgrace to the Grigori! A disgrace to me! Your weakness is disgusting!"

Raynare, Kalawarner, and Dohnaseek cowered under his anger, not daring to look up. They knew what was coming.

"This blond one…" Kokabiel lowered his voice again, a thoughtful curiosity creeping in. "Power that ignores holy energy… Physical might that breaks the bones of fallen angels… Interesting… Very interesting… Perhaps a new player on the board. Or an old one we've forgotten. This bears investigation."

He looked at the trio with contempt again.

"But this does not excuse your fiasco. You have failed a key part of my plan. Rias Gremory has now acquired both the wielder of the Boosted Gear and Twilight Healing. This complicates my next steps considerably."

"Lord, we… we will atone…" Raynare began.

"Silence!" Kokabiel roared. "Your time for atonement is past. You are useless. Return to base. Immediately. You will face… disciplinary action. And pray that I am in a good mood when you stand before me. Though, looking at you, I find that hard to believe."

Kokabiel's image vanished, and the crystal went dark.

The three fallen were left sitting in the oppressive silence of the abandoned warehouse. The air was heavy with fear and despair. "Disciplinary action" from Kokabiel could mean anything from brutal torture to a slow, agonizing death.

Raynare covered her face with her hands. Her broken wing throbbed with pain, but the mental anguish was worse. Her pride was shattered. Her future, uncertain and terrifying. And all because of one blond monster who had appeared from nowhere and ruined everything.

Kalawarner trembled, wrapping her arms around herself. The image of Jin, his cold eyes, his inhuman strength—it was all she could see. She realized they had run into something far beyond their understanding of the world. And it terrified her to her core.

DohnaseIK just sat, staring at the wall with a vacant gaze. He was broken. Not so much physically as mentally.

Their mission had failed. Their pride was crushed. Their master was furious. And somewhere out there, in the night city, walked the one who had caused their fall. The one whose name they didn't even know for sure. Izayoi. An enigma. A threat. And, perhaps, the herald of something far worse than the war Kokabiel so craved. For the fallen angels, the night was just beginning. And it promised to be long and full of terror.