"You're limping again," my mom said, not even turning from the sink. Her back was to me, but I could hear the edge in her voice—part worry, part suspicion.
I froze in the doorway, caught like a kid sneaking in past curfew. My arms were scratched up again. The bruises on my legs hadn't completely faded. And yeah, I was walking like I'd fought a lawn mower and lost.
"I tripped," I lied.
"Three times this week?" she replied, setting the dishes down and turning toward me with that look. You know the one. The kind mothers give when they already know the truth.
I sighed, stepping into the small kitchen and lowering myself into a chair. "I'm… trying something new. Something to make myself stronger."
"Stronger?" she asked, drying her hands with a faded towel. "Motohama, you're not in danger, are you?"
I met her gaze, and for a moment, I thought about telling her. About devils and powers and the storm I could feel brewing just beyond the walls of our tiny apartment. But I couldn't drag her into it. Not when she was already drowning in bills and double shifts.
"I'm not in danger," I said gently. "But the world isn't as safe as it looks. And I don't want to be helpless anymore."
Her face softened. She walked over, knelt beside me, and cupped my cheek like I was still ten years old. "You've changed. I don't know how, or why, but… I see it. I'm proud of you, sweetie. But promise me, if it ever gets too much… you'll come home."
I gave her a lopsided smile. "I will. I promise."
But deep down, I wasn't sure that would be possible anymore.
Later that day, as I walked the cracked road toward the outskirts of Kuoh, the air grew still. The usual hum of cicadas faded into silence. My body ached from the past weeks—endless dodging drills, balance exercises, and sprints up the cliff behind the dojo. I was still weak, still slow, but something inside me was changing.
The Yami Yami no Mi—the fruit of darkness—was like holding a caged beast in my chest. Wild. Hungry. If I lost focus, it lashed out. But I was learning to tame it, shape it into something precise. Something deadly.
The Gura Gura no Mi, though… that was different. Less like a beast, more like a god's whisper. The raw, unfiltered force of earthquakes. Every time I used it, even a flick, the world cracked back. I had to respect it. I had to fear it.
And then there was Haki. My Observation was sharpening, letting me sense movements before they happened. My Armament still flickered, but it was enough to let me stand toe to toe with my master—for a few seconds, at least.
But none of this made me invincible.
This world… wasn't a shonen story. It was High School DxD. And behind the fan service and light-hearted chaos were devils, fallen angels, dragons, and gods. Each capable of reducing entire cities to rubble.
I wasn't the protagonist.
But I refused to be canon fodder.
The dojo looked the same as always—old wood, faded banners, quiet stillness. But the moment I stepped inside the courtyard, I knew something was wrong.
The teacup on the porch—shattered.
No incense burning.
No sound of his staff tapping along the wood.
"Master?" I called out.
No answer.
My instincts screamed.
I dropped my bag and sprinted around the back—toward the cliffside clearing where we usually trained.
That's when I heard it—a deep, guttural chuckle, followed by a cruel voice. "Look at you now. No students, no strength. Just a washed-up relic."
I ducked behind a tree, peeking through the branches—and my blood froze.
A hulking Stray Devil stood in the clearing, holding Master Ishiguro by the collar like a toy. Its body was jagged and monstrous, eyes glowing like molten lava. Clawed feet dug into the earth. Horns curved upward like a crown.
"You're still standing?" the devil growled. "You really pissed me off last time. Thought I'd repay the favor."
Master coughed, blood staining his chin. "Should've stayed gone."
"Oh, I would've—but I smelled the stink of weakness. Had to see it for myself."
I felt my fist clench.
My legs moved on their own.
I burst from the trees, shadows already snaking from my hands.
"Black Spiral Bind!"
Tendrils of darkness shot forward, wrapping around the devil's leg and yanking it off balance.
It staggered. Master slipped free and dropped to the ground.
I rushed forward, haki coating my arm. "Pulse Shot!" A tiny burst from the Gura Gura no Mi cracked into the devil's ribs, sending a wave through its side like ripples in glass.
It screeched. I rolled out of the way just as it swiped at me with claws long enough to tear through a car.
"You little pest!"
"Motohama—RUN!" Master barked from the ground. "This thing's out of your league!"
I looked back at him, breathing hard. "Then I guess I'll have to climb."
Darkness pooled under my feet as I focused again. I couldn't absorb it whole—not yet—but I could suppress parts of it. I forced shadows to form quick, jagged spikes from the ground, slowing the devil's movement just enough to give me space.
Another hit. Another dodge.
But I was running out of time.
The devil lashed out, catching my shoulder and throwing me across the clearing. I crashed against a tree and fell hard, groaning.
"Stupid brat," it snarled, looming over me. "I'll enjoy ripping you apart."
"...I won't leave him," I muttered, forcing myself to stand. "I won't be weak again."
Just as the devil raised a claw—just as I thought I'd die—
Just as the devil raised a claw—just as I thought I'd die—
The world exploded in light.
BOOOOM.
An eruption of power tore through the clearing like a storm made of stars. The Stray Devil screamed as it was launched into the cliff face, stone crumbling from the impact.
I turned, shaking, and saw him—Master Ishiguro—staff in hand, robes fluttering from the shockwave, eyes glowing with an eerie, ageless light. The air shimmered with arcane energy, thick as fog, the ground scorched beneath his feet.
He stepped forward slowly, shoulders squared despite the blood on his lips.
"Let no man presume that silence means weakness," he said, voice steady, like a blade unsheathed. "Even a fading ember remembers the fire it once commanded."
I stared at him, speechless, heart still hammering in my chest.
"…Damn."