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.