Kazuya stared at the bathroom mirror with the expression of someone who'd just realized they were the protagonist of an anime blending mythology, politics, and… fanservice.
His reflection stared back with an almost mocking air, and with good reason. Snow-white hair (he'd been in the dark earlier and thought it was silver, or maybe it was his old bedroom mirror?), tousled just right, the kind of messy that seemed meticulously planned by an invisible team of stylists. Pale, almost luminescent skin, as if he'd been born under a moonbeam. His muscles? Well, there was a reason people whispered "how is that possible?" whenever he took off his blazer in the locker room. Defined torso, broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong legs… and at the center of it all: an abdomen worthy of a poster banned for minors.
Kazuya glanced downward and let out a short, satisfied chuckle.
"Still epic…" he muttered, like someone checking their mana reserves before a boss fight.
It was comforting. Even after the reincarnation, the chaos of possessing a [Fate Gacha], and the revelation that he carried a legendary Longinus, that part of him was still there. Solid. Present. Disproportionate.
He stepped into the shower as if it were a purification ritual. The hot water cascaded down, tracing his broad back, flowing over the chiseled muscle lines as if acknowledging a body that wasn't human but sculpted by the hands of gods.
After the shower, he donned the Kuoh Academy uniform with almost military precision. Crisp white shirt, perfectly ironed. Black blazer draping over his shoulders with the elegance of a prince fresh from a Versace runway. The uniform pants, unfortunately, did little to disguise his "heroic presence," but that wasn't his fault. It was genetics.
He left the house, his black shoes echoing cleanly against the sidewalk. The sun was still lazy in the sky, casting golden hues through the treetops. The residential street was like a Japanese watercolor painting: gentle cherry blossoms swaying in the breeze, unlit paper lanterns hanging from some porches, and an atmosphere of tranquility.
On the way to school, he passed housewives sweeping sidewalks, elderly men exercising in the corner park, and cats watching from atop walls.
Kuoh Academy loomed in the distance like a modern fortress: imposing, with refined architecture, surrounded by elegant black gates and obsessively trimmed gardens.
And then the show began.
Stares. So many stares.
Groups of students freezing mid-conversation. Girls tripping over their own feet. The murmurs started as soft waves but grew into a full tide.
"Does he look even hotter today?"
"It's, like… supernatural."
"It's the White Prince! The prince has arrived!"
Kazuya ignored the stares with the serenity of someone who'd given up on understanding why his mere presence caused a commotion. The "White Prince" title had been slapped on him from the first day, probably by some incurable romantic from the second year. And it stuck. Hard. Like gum on a shoe sole.
He crossed the Kuoh Academy campus with the ease of a king in conquered territory.
Birds sang, sunlight filtered through the trees like natural Instagram filters, and a gentle breeze made his blazer flutter just right. It was all very anime. Very "shoujo opening scene with romantic music and a 360° camera spin."
He sighed while adjusting his tie, passing a group of third-year girls whispering as loudly as a pack of hyenas at a birthday party.
"Did he look this way? I saw it! I felt it!"
"I felt my soul leaving my body…"
Kazuya didn't react. The most he offered was a slight eyebrow raise, like someone appreciating a painting in a museum but too busy to linger. He was used to it; this was the price of existing as himself.
Well, his predecessor, this world's version of him, was lucky to be born with such looks, and he was starting to get narcissistic inheriting them…
And then, turning a corner by the sports gym, he saw them.
Three figures crouched behind a poorly placed bush. An amateur camera. Heavy breathing. And the muffled sound of bamboo swords coming from the open window of the women's kendo club.
Kazuya stopped.
Crossed his arms.
"You guys again?" he said, like someone finding a cockroach in the cupboard twice in the same week.
Issei, the leader of the shame brigade, turned with a cynical and entirely unconvincing smile.
"K-Kazuya! This isn't what it looks like!"
"Of course not…" he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're just doing field research, right? On women's martial arts and… applied anatomy?"
"Exactly!" Motohama raised a finger as if he'd scored a debate point. "You understand the importance of empirical observation…"
"Shut up," Kazuya cut in, curtly.
He approached the trio. Over the week, he'd caught this group more times than he could count. Which was ironic, considering Issei seemed genuinely offended every time Kazuya foiled their plans. As if *he* were the villain for ruining their festival of testosterone and voyeurism.
"This is why I never took *DxD* seriously…" he thought, eyes narrowed, watching Issei with contained disgust. "This guy's the protagonist? Worse than Shirou Emiya. And that's saying something. At least Shirou gave speeches before being insufferable…"
He snapped his fingers.
A faint blue glow sparked at the tip of his index fingernail. Subtle, restrained, but sharp as an unspoken promise. A glimmer of the [Alphecca Tyrant].
"Will it work…? Just a quick test… nothing drastic. Maybe rewrite some… impulses?"
The original form of the Alphecca Tyrant allowed the wielder to attack using nails made of Holy Power and could brainwash a person, though it required them to listen to a conversation for several minutes while inserting certain keywords and was limited to humans. This earlier version of the Alphecca Tyrant was said to have no apparent limit to the number of humans it could control, with a previous unnamed instructor dominating an entire city.
But in his possession, it was a Longinus, basically. He still needed to test its limits, but he felt he could do far more, something on Meredith's level easily, and perhaps beyond, since she didn't have a soul shaped like a living miracle: True Magic from *Fate*.
The nail glinted in the air with a silvery shimmer, and a micro-spark of [Holy Power] shot out in an invisible zigzag, hitting the three.
Issei scratched the back of his neck.
"Hm… have you guys ever noticed how Kiba has… a really well-defined jawline?"
Motohama's eyes widened.
"…and those eyes! It's like he's seen our souls."
Matsuda blinked, stunned.
"His voice… it's, like… firm but kind, you know?"
Kazuya smiled. Nothing malicious, just a light, satisfied smile. Like someone fixing an annoying bug in the code.
He turned his back, ignoring the trio's awestruck comments, now enamored with the blonde model of their class.
Of course, he knew using the [Alphecca Tyrant] on ordinary humans was technically an abuse of power. But considering the level of degeneracy he'd seen in Issei, he considered it a form of purification.
At the very least, public service.
"If this ability was used to weaken Issei in the future, then I just got a head start."
Kazuya headed to the main building, his mind already elsewhere. Like the possibility of summoning a new Servant with the [Fate Gacha] tomorrow, but for now, he set that aside and focused on his current educational plan.
It was a typical Monday morning at a Japanese school.
Kuoh Academy, of course, followed the Japanese standard with almost eerie precision. Classes started at 8:00 AM and ran until 3:30 PM, with six periods a day, each lasting about fifty minutes. Between the second and third periods, there was a ten-minute break, useful for bathroom runs or lethal gossip exchanges. After the fourth period came lunchtime: forty minutes when the cafeteria turned into a silent battlefield, where those who didn't bring bentos fought for decent curry and bottles of iced tea.
In the afternoon, the last two periods. And after that? Clubs. Lots of clubs. In Japan, a club was almost an extension of a student's soul. From basketball to calligraphy, kendo to "paranormal research" clubs (read: an excuse to stay late in suspicious buildings), every student was pressured to join one.
Kazuya, of course, wasn't part of any official club, having only started at the school about a week ago.
He climbed to the third floor of the main building, where the senior classes were. Room 3-B was his classroom, a spacious area with large windows overlooking the sports field, desks aligned with surgical precision, an immaculate whiteboard up front, and a TV mounted in the corner, rarely used for anything other than evacuation instructions.
His seat? Back row, by the window. Classic. Because, of course, it was the only one free when he transferred here.
He sat with the ease of an emperor claiming his throne, propping his chin on his hand while gazing at the sky beyond the window.
"Monday… Today's math, then classical literature, chemistry, lunch… then English and Japanese history…" He sighed. "Nothing like starting the week with algebra and samurais."
Students trickled in, filling the room with low murmurs, discreet laughter, and the constant sound of chairs scraping. Kazuya, as always, was the center of veiled attention. No one dared speak to him directly (except desperate bullies or the boldest girls), but everyone stole glances. As if they were dealing with a mythical creature about to unleash a lightning bolt just by existing.
And then, they entered.
The door opened with a faint creak, and as if time had decided to move in slow motion, Rias Gremory and Akeno Himejima stepped into the room.
Rias Gremory. President of the Occult Research Club. The kind of beauty that didn't seem human—and, well, technically wasn't. Pale, flawless skin like porcelain, long crimson hair like noble blood, cascading gracefully over her shoulders and down to her waist. Her eyes, a clear blue like sapphires bathed in moonlight, held the quiet power only an underworld noble could exude. Her walk was firm, confident, her posture radiating royalty. Her ample chest swayed gently under the tight uniform, marking each step with a movement as hypnotic as it was indecent. The top button of her shirt was, as always, deliberately undone, revealing a glimpse of the deep valley between her firm, voluptuous breasts, which threatened to escape with any sudden movement. The red tie at her collar contrasted with her fiery hair, and the black skirt with white accents moved discreetly, yet mesmerizingly.
The short skirt, standard for the school, barely reached mid-thigh. Rias's wide, firm, powerful hips swayed with the lethal grace of a woman who knew the effect of every step, revealing the flawless, alabaster skin of her thighs, while her polished shoes made a soft sound on the floor, like a carefully choreographed soundtrack.
Beside her was Akeno Himejima. Vice-president of the club. Beauty from another world, but of a different kind. If Rias was refined, noble fire, Akeno was thunder wrapped in seduction. Long, black hair tied in a high ponytail that swayed gently with each step. Her smile was kind, almost maternal—until you looked into her eyes and saw a hint of sweet cruelty. A charm almost dangerous. Her tall, slender body had proportions so absurd they seemed drawn by a particularly inspired artist. Her bust, equally generous, jutted forward as if daring the world to keep their eyes on her face. The white blouse was as tight as Rias's, leaving little to the imagination. The fabric molded to the contours of her round breasts, compressing them just enough to form a cleavage that seemed sculpted by divine hands. Her walk was softer, almost floating, with her long black hair dancing like liquid shadows around her waist. The skirt, slightly shorter than Rias's by sheer tailoring whim, showcased long, toned legs, perfectly proportioned. Her narrow hips moved with a rhythmic, provocative sway, never losing elegance.
Kazuya glanced at the two, one corner of his mouth lifting in a near-imperceptible smile.
Rias looked at him. Just for a second.
But that second was enough.
There was a faint blush. Subtle, but visible. Followed by a slight nod, restrained, noble.
Akeno followed her gaze and smiled in that way only she could. Slow. Provocative. Innocent and wicked at the same time.
Kazuya returned it with a raised eyebrow and went back to staring out the window.
It was in that first week that he, or his predecessor, ended up thrown into a group project for Japanese history class. The teacher, in an act of pure sadism or perhaps just disorganization, decided to mix students randomly.
Result?
Kazuya and two of the school's most terrifyingly famous girls, on the same team.
Recalling this, his suspicions grew even stronger.
At the time, his predecessor thought he was going to die. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like "death by sudden nervous-induced heart attack."
But the surprise came when, after five minutes of awkward silence where he could only think of phrases like "can she read minds?" or "what if I have yakisoba sauce on my face?", Rias broke the ice with a comment so out of context yet comforting, about anime.
And that was enough.
A bond formed there, fragile, subtle, but present. Rias Gremory, heir to one of the seventy-two pillar families of the underworld, shared the same addiction to Japanese animation as a random transfer student. They talked about anime openings, voice actors, and even games.
As for Akeno…
Akeno was different.
She didn't say much at first, just watched with that calm, almost maternal smile that left you unsure if you were being comforted or seduced. But at some point, when Kazuya dropped an obscure anime reference, she laughed. Not a forced laugh. She genuinely laughed, as if she couldn't help it.
At that moment, the old Kazuya thought he was dreaming. He didn't know the two were demons. He didn't yet know about the supernatural, the wings, the contracts, and all the rest.
Everything seemed simple.
How naive…
The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Excuse me…" said a firm, controlled voice.
Kazuya didn't even need to look. That tone could only belong to Sona Shitori, the student council president, but he glanced toward the door anyway.
Souna Shitori, or Sona Sitri, had a beauty like a perfectly solved equation; no excess, no distractions, just an impeccable result. Rectangular glasses framed piercing violet eyes that carried the weight of responsibility and above-average intelligence. The Kuoh Academy uniform didn't bother hiding her curves; the tight shirt outlined her slim waist and modest but firm bust. The standard skirt revealed long thighs.
Beside her, Tsubaki Shinra was the perfect shadow.
Tall, with porcelain-pale skin and eyes hidden behind oval glasses that revealed less than they showed, Tsubaki exuded a cold, almost threatening sensuality. Her dark hair, tied in a low ponytail, left her neck provocatively exposed, an apparent vulnerability that contrasted with her rigid posture. She was tall, with legs made for runways and a gaze that could freeze time if she wanted.
Her expression was impassive, but the details didn't lie: the faint lip gloss accentuating her perfectly shaped mouth, the top button of her shirt always fastened, as if daring anyone to imagine what lay beneath.
Sona walked as if she were always ten steps ahead of the world. Tsubaki, as if she were always one step behind, but ready to act at the exact moment.
"A commander and her lieutenant."
Kazuya observed the two for a moment as they headed to their reserved seats at the back of the room, not far from him. And then, inevitably, the memory returned.
The accident.
It was in his first week of school. The old Kazuya had knocked over an entire shelf of books in the library. By reflex (or stupidity), he tried to catch them mid-air, tripped over his own shoelace, and fell on top of the student council president.
Books flew.
Sona fell.
Her glasses ended up on the other side of the room.
And the embarrassment, my friend… that went down in the Student Council archives as a war crime.
The funniest part was that the original Kazuya wasn't exactly shy. Just quiet. Reserved. Someone who preferred to observe rather than act. A loner by choice, much like himself, the only difference being that he was just more charming and a bit more sarcastic and confident, but that was merely who he chose to be; both had the same mindset but made different choices in how to act…
Parallel version divergences, huh…?
Shaking it off, Kazuya shook his head and looked out the window at the sky, lost in thought.