Well.
After a couple of days of gathering your bearings as Howzer and familiarizing yourself with your new surroundings which mostly involved walking into walls because you weren't used to being this tall, and also because having a cape was a genuine tripping hazard you finally figured out what current events were happening.
Turns out, being a Holy Knight came with perks.
One of those perks was access to mission briefings, internal memos, and a surprising amount of gossip that sounded exactly like office politics but with more swords and less passive-aggressive emails.
The other perks included a decent salary, a nice room, and the fact that people saluted you when you walked by, which was still deeply weird.
Stop saluting me, you wanted to yell every single time. I failed a group project in college because I was too anxious to speak up.
I cried over a jar of pickles last year. I am not leadership material. I am a fraud in a cape.
But you didn't yell that. Because that would be suspicious. So you just nodded stiffly and tried not to trip over your own cape.
Again.
At the moment, it seemed like the Seven Deadly Sins had already started gathering.
Which was terrible news, because you'd been hoping for at least a few weeks of training montages before the plot kicked in.
Maybe a fun filler arc where you learned to control your powers by doing something mundane, like using tiny wind drills to carve sculptures, or open stubborn jars, or finally defeat that pickle jar that had haunted you in your past life.
But no.
The universe said no.
The mission to draw the Sins toward the Vaizel Fight Festival using Diane's sacred treasure, Gideon, as the prize was already in motion.
You overheard some of the other Holy Knights talking about it during lunch. They were excited. They thought it was a trap.
You knew it was a trap that was going to fail spectacularly, because the Sins were monsters and your colleagues were about to get absolutely folded like laundry that had been left in the dryer too long.
And the worst part?
You were probably going to be sent on that mission in the next day or two. With the New Generation. The other Holy Knights who thought they were hot stuff because they drank some demon blood. Not to call out any names or anything, but Guila, Jericho, and the list goes on.
Great, you thought. I get to watch canon happen in real time while pretending I don't already know how it ends. Love that for me. Love that so much.
You continued walking through the Holy Knight HQ, trying to look like you belonged here and not like a panicked college student who had been isekai'd by a slow truck, when the thoughts finally spilled out of your mouth.
"Well, shit," you muttered under your breath, keeping your voice low so the passing knights wouldn't hear.
"It really seems the plot has already started. We're already at the point of the Vaizel Fight Festival approaching, and I just got to this new world. What kind of bullshit is this? I didn't even get a training arc. Where's my training arc? I demand a training arc. I want to speak to the manager of isekai."
A young knight walked past you and saluted.
You saluted back automatically, then immediately felt stupid.
Stop saluting, you screamed internally. You're not a military person. You're a guy who once ate instant ramen for two weeks straight because he forgot how to cook. You have no authority here.
The knight walked away, none the wiser.
You kept walking, your cape swishing behind you dramatically. You hated the cape. It kept getting caught on door handles, on chair legs, on nothing sometimes, just tripping you out of pure spite. But everyone said it looked cool, so you were stuck with it.
The things I do for aesthetics, you thought mournfully.
You eventually found an empty training courtyard. A small, secluded one that didn't have any witnesses. And you decided to do what any reasonable isekai protagonist would do in this situation.
Panic quietly.
Then practice.
You held out your hand and focused. The wind responded immediately, swirling around your palm like an eager golden retriever that had just seen a tennis ball.
It was easier now than it had been the first day. More natural. Like the magic had always been there, and you were just remembering how to use it. Like breathing, but spicier.
A small drill formed above your fingers. Thumb-sized. Spinning lazily, almost cutely.
Okay, you thought. Let's see what I can do.
You flicked your wrist, and the drill shot forward—straight into a training dummy. It hit with a soft thwack and dissipated, leaving a small dent in the straw.
"...That's it?"
You tried again. Bigger this time. A drill the size of your fist, spinning faster, humming with that familiar frequency that vibrated in your teeth. You threw it like a baseball.
It hit the dummy and kept going.
The drill bored a hole straight through the straw and out the other side, then smashed into the stone wall behind it and left a nice, satisfying crack in the masonry.
You stared.
Okay. That's more like it.
You spent the next hour experimenting.
Small drills. Big drills. Drills that split into multiple smaller drills mid-flight like a shotgun made of spinning death. Drills that hovered in place like spinning turrets, waiting for you to give them a target.
You even tried making a drill around your entire body, which resulted in you spinning uncontrollably across the courtyard like a beyblade from hell until you crashed into a flowerpot and ate approximately three pounds of dirt.
Note to self, you thought, spitting out a leaf and questioning all your life choices. Full-body drill needs more practice. Also, flowerpots are the enemy.
But the more you used it, the more natural it felt. The wind wasn't just responding to your commands it was responding to your emotions. When you were calm, the drills were steady and precise. When you got excited, they spun faster and hit harder. When you thought about the future about the battles to come, the Commandments, the Demon King the wind around you grew angry, whipping into a frenzy until you forced yourself to calm down.
This power is dangerously emotional, you realized. I need to get my mental game together, or I'm going to accidentally blow someone through a wall.
Then again, that might be useful in a fight.
You filed that thought away for later.
You were about to try another experiment something involving a spinning barrier of wind, like a drill-shaped shield when you heard footsteps behind you.
You turned.
A familiar face was walking toward you. Young then you for sure, pink hair, wearing Holy Knight armor that looked slightly too big for him, like he was still growing into it. Confident stride. Slightly punchable expression.
Oh no.
It's one of the New Generation kids.
Not Gilthunder, thank god. You didn't need that kind of drama. But definitely one of the younger knights.
You hadn't learned all their names yet here were too many, and honestly, you'd been bad with names in your past life too but you recognized the type.
Eager, ambitious and thinks they're the main character.
You could already tell this guy was going to be annoying.
"Lord Howzer!" the knight called out, jogging over with way too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning. "There you are! I've been looking for you!"
Lord Howzer. You still weren't used to that. You were pretty sure you'd never be used to that. Every time someone said it, you looked behind you to see if they were talking to someone else.
"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual and not like a complete fraud who had been spinning around a courtyard like an idiot five minutes ago. "What's up?"
The knight stopped in front of you, barely out of breath. His chest puffed out like a pigeon trying to impress a mate. "Lord Hendrickson has called a briefing for all New Generation members. It's about the upcoming mission. The Vaizel Fight Festival."
Your heart did a little flip.
Here we go.
"Right," you said, nodding like you'd been expecting this. Like you hadn't been hoping for a training montage and a filler arc. "The mission. With the... thing. The Gideon thing."
The knight gave you a weird look.
"The sacred treasure," he said slowly, like he was explaining something to a child. "Gideon. Diane's hammer. We're using it as bait to draw out the Seven Deadly Sins."
"Yeah," you said. "That. I knew that. I was just testing you. To make sure you knew. Good job. You passed."
Smooth, you thought. Real smooth. You're a natural at this.
The knight continued to look at you weirdly, but he didn't question it. Probably because you outranked him. Rank had its privileges, apparently.
"The briefing is in ten minutes," he said. "East wing. Don't be late."
He saluted of course he saluted and walked away, his too-big armor clanking with every step.
You watched him go, then looked down at your hands. The wind was still swirling around your fingers, restless and eager, like a dog that had heard the word "walk."
Ten minutes, you thought. Ten minutes until I officially step into the plot.
No pressure.
No pressure at all.
The briefing room was packed.
You stood near the back, arms crossed, trying to look cool and aloof while internally screaming at a volume that would have shattered glass.
The other New Generation knights were talking with excitement, chatting among themselves like they were going to a sporting event instead of a potential death match.
They talked about capturing the Seven Deadly Sins like it was going to be easy. Like the Sins were just regular criminals and not a group of walking apocalypses wrapped in trauma and dramatic backstories.
They have no idea, you thought, watching a young knight enthusiastically pantomime punching Meliodas in the face. They have absolutely no idea what's coming. Bless their innocent, soon-to-be-humbled hearts.
Hendrickson a guy with a stern face, blue hair, and the kind of energy that made you want to take a shower stood at the front of the room, going over the mission details. His voice was calm, measured, and completely devoid of humor.
The plan was simple. Use Gideon as the prize for the fighting tournament at Vaizel. Announce it loudly. Wait for the Sins to show up. Capture them.
Simple. Clean. Doomed to fail.
You kept your mouth shut.
After a while, the briefing finally finished. Knights filed out in small groups, still chattering excitedly.
You hung back, pretending to read a mission report on the wall it was just a supply inventory, but no one needed to know that while your eyes drifted toward a small cluster of people near the front.
Princess Veronica, Griamore and Hendrickson, huddled together, speaking in low voices.
You knew what they were discussing. That goddess stone. The one that could capture evil beings. The one Veronica was planning to use when she got close to Meliodas so she could "rescue" Elizabeth.
Spoiler alert, you thought. It doesn't work. Nothing works. You're all going to get folded.
Hendrickson's head turned. His eyes found you in the back of the room, sharp and assessing.
Uh oh.
"Something on your mind, Howzer?" he asked. His voice was polite, but there was something underneath it. Something that reminded you that this guy was not a good person, even if he looked like one.
Everything, you thought. Everything is on my mind. I'm from another world. I have spiral powers that run on anime logic. I know how this ends, and it's not good for us. Also, I tripped over my cape three times today and I'm pretty sure someone saw.
"Just thinking about the mission," you said instead, keeping your voice steady. "The Sins are dangerous. We should be careful."
Griamore big, loyal, earnest Griamore nodded slowly. "Agreed. But we have the element of surprise. And we have you."
You blinked. "Me?"
"Your wind magic is some of the best in the kingdom." Griamore said it like it was a fact, like he wasn't even questioning it. "If anyone can at least keep the Sins at bay, it's you."
Oh no.
Pressure.
I don't want pressure.
I want to go home and eat leftover ramen and watch anime from the safety of my couch.
"Right," you said, nodding like you hadn't just had a minor existential crisis. "Me. The wind guy. Definitely. I'll... keep them at bay. With wind. That's what I do."
Griamore clapped you on the shoulder hard enough to stagger you, because of course he did, the guy was built like a refrigerator and walked out.
Veronica gave you a look you couldn't quite read, then followed.
Hendrickson lingered for a moment longer, his eyes still on you.
"You seem... different lately, Howzer," he said quietly.
Your heart stopped.
"Different how?" you asked, trying to sound casual.
Hendrickson studied you for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
"More focused," he said. "More determined. It suits you."
He turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the empty briefing room.
You stood there for a long moment, the weight of the world settling onto your shoulders like a very aggressive cat that refused to move.
Dawn tomorrow, you thought. The plot begins at dawn.
I am so not ready for this.
That night, you couldn't sleep.
...
You lay in your bed a surprisingly comfortable bed, you had to admit, being a Holy Knight had its perks and stared at the ceiling.
The moonlight came through the window, showing silver shadows across the room like nature's own nightlight.
Okay, you thought. Let's review.
One. I'm in an anime.
Two. I'm a side character who's about to become a main character through the power of drills and stubbornness and probably a lot of screaming.
Three. The plot is starting tomorrow, and I have approximately zero combat experience outside of some light experimentation in an empty courtyard and one unfortunate incident with a flowerpot.
Four. I'm going to have to fight the Seven Deadly Sins eventually.
Five. I'm probably going to lose. A lot. Before I get good.
Six. The cape is still stupid.
Seven. ...I really miss my mom's cooking.
You groaned and rolled over, shoving your face into the pillow.
Believe in the you that believes in yourself, you repeated silently. Believe in the you that believes in yourself.
It sounded good in theory. Inspiring, even. In practice, it was a lot harder when you were lying in the dark, alone, with nothing but your own anxiety for company and a pillow that smelled vaguely of someone else's laundry detergent.
But then you thought about the drill. The way it had felt in your hand solid, real, yours.
The way the wind had responded to your will, your determination, your stubborn refusal to give up, even when you were spinning uncontrollably across a courtyard like an idiot.
You weren't the same person who had been hit by a slow truck because he wasn't looking at the crosswalk.
You were Howzer now. The man with the wind and the drill and the stubbornness to match. The man who was going to pierce the heavens, one spinning attack at a time.
I can do this, you told yourself. I have to do this.
For me. For this world. For the people who are about to get absolutely folded by the Sins and need someone to have their backs.
For the drill that's going to pierce the heavens.
...And for the pickle jar. I will avenge you, old friend.
You closed your eyes.
The wind swirled gently around your body, a soft, spinning lullaby that hummed in the back of your mind.
And finally, finally, you slept.
...
The next morning, dawn broke over Liones like a painting.
Golden light spilled over the castle walls, birds sang, and somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed like it was auditioning for a Disney movie.
It was disgustingly picturesque.
And it was time to move out.
You stood in the courtyard, blinking sleep out of your eyes, as the mission group assembled around you. The knights going to Vaizel consisted of
Jericho, blue-haired, perpetually annoyed-looking, and carrying enough weapons to supply a small army.
Guila, calm, collected, and radiating "I have my life together" energy that made you feel deeply inadequate.
You, trying very hard to look like you belonged here and not like you'd had a nightmare about flowerpots.
Helbram, who looked like he was high and acted like he is too, all sharp movements and sharper glances.
Griamore, built like a brick wall and twice as sturdy, standing protectively near Princess Veronica.
Princess Veronica herself, small, fierce, and carrying a stone that you knew was going to be useless.
And some guy who looked like a roly-poly, round and cheerful and completely out of place among all the sharp edges and serious faces.
You stared at the roly-poly guy for a long moment.
Who is that? you thought. I don't remember him from the anime. Is he original content? Did I miss an episode? Is he important?
He caught you staring and waved.
You waved back, confused.
I'll figure it out later.
Hendrickson and Dreyfus stood at the front of the courtyard, watching the group assemble.
Dreyfus had his usual stern expression, the kind that said "I've seen things and I'm not impressed."
Hendrickson had his usual pleasant smile, the kind that said "I'm going to betray everyone here and feel completely fine about it."
They nodded once, a silent signal.
Showtime.
Everyone mounted up on the flying manta ray creatures because of course the Holy Knights rode flying manta rays, why wouldn't they, this was an anime and took to the sky.
The wind whipped past your face as you soared upward, the castle shrinking beneath you, the world opening up into a vast patchwork of forests and fields and rivers.
You gripped the reins of your manta ray you'd named him Reginald in your head, because he looked like a Reginald and tried not to think about how high up you were.
Don't look down, you told yourself. Don't look down. Looking down is for people who don't have a fear of heights.
You looked down.
Mistake.
You looked back up immediately, your knuckles white on the reins.
Okay. New rule. No looking down. Looking down is the enemy. Looking down is the flowerpot all over again.
Beside you, Jericho glanced over. "You look pale."
"Just excited," you said, your voice slightly higher than usual. "Very excited. Love flying. Love heights. Love being this far above the ground with nothing but a slightly grumpy flying fish between me and certain death."
Jericho stared at you for a moment.
Then she turned away, muttering something that sounded like "weirdo" under her breath.
You took that as a win.
The wind swirled around you as you flew not just the natural wind of the sky, but your wind, responding to your emotions, spinning lazily around your body like a protective blanket.
You held out your hand and let a tiny drill form above your palm, no bigger than a marble. It spun there, cheerful and harmless, catching the morning light.
This is it, you thought. The start of everything.
The Vaizel Fight Festival. The Sins. The battles to come.
And me, the guy with the drill, right in the middle of it all.
You closed your fist, and the drill vanished.
Ahead of you, the horizon stretched out endlessly, blue sky and green earth and the promise of chaos.
Alright, world, you thought. Let's see what you've got.
I've got a drill, a cape I hate, and absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
But I'm going to do it anyway.
Because that's what believing in yourself means.
You smiled a real smile, not the fake confident one you'd been practicing and urged Reginald forward.
The plot was waiting.
And you weren't going to be late.