"I wish I could live in this moment forever."
Naturally, it is impossible to determine the greatest moment of your life until you are looking back on everything from your deathbed.
But I was certain that everyone has wished for something similar at least once.
It is human to wish for fun times to continue; to want to relive a moment of glory.
It is human to want to cling to the here and now.
Even if its luster eventually fades, it is still better than losing it. The known is comforting;
the unknown, frightening.
Everyone must have experienced this kind of anxiety at some point. After all, up until then, my life had been more than comfortable.
It may have been boring and mundane, but I was satisfied with it continuing that way forever. If time flies when you're having fun, then the simplest solution would be not to have fun in the first place.
It would be better to avoid the unknown and stick to the conventional path. Who can imagine what kind of problems you might encounter on the road less traveled?
To be enchanted enough with my current environment to actually have fun, rather than just be entertained, is actually an absurd notion.
Turning your back on the unknown and seeking only the known—you could describe it as playing a game while following a walkthrough.
That was my lifestyle; the Hyoudou Issei way of being. It was always like that, and I hoped it would remain that way forever.
I realized I could keep my internal sense of time on "slow" if I continued to think this way.
After all, stopping time is completely impossible.
So, you could consider this philosophy of mine a kind of compromise. The realistic approach is the most likely one.
I thought I understood that.
That nothing lasts forever.
That for something to be finite means it can end at any moment.
It is impossible for something to last forever…
However… that ephemeral vision he had. It was something that could soothe the soul and take the breath away of a common person…
"She is….."
Heavy breathing. Cold sweat. His eyes snapped open.
The white ceiling of his room seemed more distant than usual—as if the world around him was taking its time to reconnect with his mind. His body throbbed, even though nothing was hurt. The only thing remaining was a void... and a strange, heavy feeling against his neck. As if a chain were holding him there.
He tried to pull something from the dream he'd had... but everything was hazy.
"Tch... what a bizarre dream."
He ran his hand over his face, trying to wipe away the cold sweat. His fingers trembled slightly, but he pretended not to notice.
The morning announced itself with the faint singing of birds outside and the soft aroma of freshly cooked rice in the air.
"Ise-kun, breakfast is almost ready! Get up, hurry!"—came his mother's cheerful and familiar voice, echoing through the house.
That voice pulled him back to reality. He got up slowly, feeling the wood creak beneath his feet. As he passed the mirror, he glanced quickly at himself: messy brown hair, slightly sunken eyes, bored expression. No trace of the warrior he had glimpsed in the dream.
Just an ordinary boy... perhaps even too ordinary.
He put on his uniform lazily. Even without remembering the dream, he still felt unsettled.
In the kitchen, the warm figure of Miki Hyoudou, his mother, smiled while arranging plates on the table. Her dark brown hair swayed slightly as she hummed something, wearing a floral apron.
"Did you sleep well? I called you about three times; it sounded like you were having a good dream."
Issei blinked, frozen for a second by the coincidence of the words.
"Yeah... I... dreamt a lot, I think."
"Oh? Was it about some little girl from school?" she giggled softly, with that slightly naive and teasing manner.
"N-No! I mean... I don't remember! It wasn't that!" he replied, blushing, turning his face away with bread still in his mouth.
The truth is... that perverted streak still lived inside him, even if much more hidden. He was no longer the idiot shouting "Oppai!" in the middle of the street, having buried those instincts a long time ago.
Quickly dismissing this, he sat down and began to eat in silence, while his mother sat across from him. Both ate silently, but content in a way; it was a normal day for both of them.
"Ah– wasn't today your field trip to a museum, Ise?" The words spoken by his mother paralyzed Issei for a moment.
…
"DAMMIT, I'M LATE!"
And so, his totally desperate morning sprint to arrive at Kuoh Academy began his ordinary day.
Perhaps it is naivety, perhaps a remnant of some kind of "decency" in him, but… perhaps if he had missed school that day… he could still have lived an ordinary life…
◇◇◇◇
By some twist of [fate], he managed to arrive in time for roll call and the headcount, and so he managed to participate.
"Dude, you almost missed this chance!"
"Hey, Issei! Did you wake up watching that new anime with the big tits again?"
"Give it a rest, Motohama, Matsuda," he grumbled while sitting in his seat on the school bus, trying to ignore the two idiots he met at the beginning of the year who self-proclaimed themselves his "friends." Issei didn't really have anything against them; it was even good, as it prevented him from being seen as a pitiful loner. But having his reputation dragged through the mud because of them was stupid. That's why he usually restricted his contact to school.
"Hyoudou!"
"Daaammit."
Moaning and banging his head against the window, Issei shuddered upon recognizing the authoritative voice calling him.
"Good morning, President."
The girl in front of him, the "president," was a young woman with glasses, a slender figure, short and elegant black hair, and violet eyes. Despite her slender body and certain curves, her personality was too rigid for Issei to appreciate.
"I see you almost missed school again today, Hyoudou-san! I hope you become more punctual and stop sleeping whenever it suits you, especially during important events."
"Yes, President," he grumbled as he tuned out the rest; it was recurring at this point.
Souna Shitori was the student council president, and one of Issei's "jailers." In his words, of course, not that she knew. Issei had a habit of trying to skip classes, and usually, that ended with her or her faithful secretary dragging him back. As a result, it was common to see him being reprimanded by one of them.
"—anyway, be more responsible with your schedule, Hyoudou-kun."
"Yes, President." Sighing, Issei tuned out again as he watched her walk away. Despite being schoolmates with tense relations, Issei held nothing against the President, although he thought she exaggerated her duties greatly.
"Well, that's not my problem…" Shrugging, he leaned back to sleep until they reached the museum. Who knows, maybe there would be something interesting there.
²
"And here we are! These are historical blades from our country and some found in lost treasures of the West. Of course, some are exact replicas, as the originals could not be donated or recovered. Some of them are known as the treasures of—"
The teacher continued explaining as Issei walked past them; honestly, it gave him the creeps. Issei was never really close to things like swords—although there was a Kendo club he sometimes visited because he knew some girls there—it wasn't something that interested him. However, it was still genuinely curious how he could approach them out of sheer boredom.
Anyway, I just followed the crowd as they took a tour of the blade museum. I couldn't explain my apathy and distaste for them; it wasn't something simple like "fear," but I couldn't describe it regardless. Well, either way, it was while wandering aimlessly that I came across… that…
"–blood."
"!!!" Suddenly my body went cold, my palms sweated, and shivers ran down my spine.
"W-What?" I stammered before what I had heard.
A voice had echoed.
"—capitation."
"W-Where?—"
Suddenly, as if hypnotized, I began to follow that voice. It was clearly a chant, but from where? Who was singing in the middle of a museum? In any case, I walked with quick steps, moving further and further away from the mass of students and heading toward a more isolated part of the museum.
And that was when, after a few tense and strange minutes, I found it. There, standing by an isolated and empty wall, with no trace on the map guiding to it as part of the event. It was surrounded by chains, betraying that it was clearly not part of the exhibition, but even so, I had been guided to its form.
What was this? Well—
"Guillotine…"
I don't understand or know what attracted me to it. The blade was simple; it had nothing special or any adornment. It was a blade of erratic shape, pure and simple, made precisely and solely for its purpose of efficiently and quickly claiming its prisoners. But still…
"It smells like foul blood," Issei grunted, wrinkling his nose; he narrowed his eyes. An iron miasma coming from blood seemed to bathe that terrifying blade. Whatever its origin, it was clear it had bathed in the blood of hundreds of souls. Maybe that's why it wasn't on display? Anyway, it didn't seem to have anything special; it was, in its simplicity, an execution weapon—nothing more, nothing less.
In fact, the proximity now allowed him to hear better. Unlike before, which was just the remnants of a mumbled whisper, now he could hear it as if it were truly a whispered chant.
"Huh!—does it have a name?" Looking below the enormous irregular blade, he noticed an inscription on a plaque at its base.
"Bois de Justice" was written there.
"So that is your name?... Bois de Justice?" He pronounced it confused; he understood that "justice" was justice in English, but "Bois de"? Maybe he could look it up when he got home–
"Hmm?"
Suddenly, his vision began to blur and cloud over. Whatever it was, he felt like he was on a sinking ship. Tense and dizzy.
"H-How? What the h-hell!"
Almost as if listening to his plea, suddenly a pale, ghostly light began to materialize in front of the Guillotine. As if it had answered some call from the other plane to this one. And so, she revealed herself…
"You… are… just like him."
….
In that moment, I reflected:
what if I hadn't listened to it? What if I hadn't gone to that museum? What if I had ignored everything and left?
What if... what if... what if…
But living only in "what ifs" was useless. That figure would still find me; after all, that was the story being told on the stage, and as protagonists, we should always dance as the story narrates.
"If you are like him… then… thou shalt also become… Za■■■■■"
The girl before me had skin as white as snow; in fact, her whole being was devoid of a "living" color. It was like looking at a portrait of the deceased, but that did nothing to cover the supernatural beauty she possessed—a sight capable of rivaling the infamous "Onee-sama" of Kuoh. However, her undeniable beauty contrasted with a crimson stain around her neck that was etched into my eyes.
I wanted to believe it was some kind of necklace, but no—the jagged cut was undoubtedly a scar originating from a decapitation. Probably caused by the very Guillotine this ghost now haunted. Perhaps it was destiny that united us. But I also knew this wasn't chance.
On that day, the mark of the beginning of the Opera for the Apocalypse was initiated.