Soft, melodic tunes drifted from a discreet speaker blending with the distant murmur of voices outside, creating an oddly serene atmosphere. The golden evening light slipped through the partially drawn curtains, casting long shadows against the pristine white walls. The air smelled of antiseptic, masking the faint scent of clean linen from the freshly changed bedsheets.
Hiro Satoru stirred.
A sharp, pulsing pain throbbed in his skull, forcing his eyes open with a wince. His vision swam for a moment before settling on the ceiling. The sensation of bandages tightly wrapped around his head brought back flashes of memory—the sweeping motion of the kick, the terrifying glint in his eyes, and then... darkness. His fingers twitched as he reached up, tracing the lump.
The soft music did little to soothe the turmoil brewing within him.
He had been taken down in one move, in public, by Hyoudou Issei.
I wasn't expecting it. I was distracted. I am sure I could defend if I was ready…
Excuses piled up in his mind, but none of them sat right.
A question kept swirling in his mind. What now? What did this mean for his hard-earned reputation?
The sound of the door creaking open snapped him from his thoughts. A figure stepped inside, the sharp click of polished shoes echoing against the floor.
Hiro flinched, his fingers clenching the sheets beneath him.
It was the person he least wished to see right now… A second-year student in Kuoh College Academy, his martial arts teacher, and most importantly… the person who warned him not to mess with Hyoudou Issei.
Loup Garou stood near the doorway, his towering frame blocking out the light from the hallway. His silver-gray hair fell messily over his sharp, yellow eyes, which were devoid of warmth. Dressed in a sleek black coat over his Kuoh Academy College uniform, he exuded a presence that sent a chill through the room.
Garou's steps were slow, deliberate, as he approached Hiro's bedside.
He didn't sit—he merely stood there, gazing down at his student with an unreadable expression.
"Hiro Satoru." His voice sounded colder than usual.
"You did the very thing I warned you not to," Garou said, his voice like steel wrapped in ice. "What were you trying to accomplish?"
"Master," Hiro began, his voice hoarse, "I—It wasn't me! He struck first!" Hiro's words tumbled out, desperate.
Garou's stare did not waver. "And you're telling me you did nothing to provoke that strike?"
Hiro opened his mouth, but no words came. He could feel Garou's disappointment pressing down on him, suffocating in its weight.
A rough hand reached out, tilting Hiro's chin. Garou examined the bandaged wound, fingers tracing the spot where the kick had connected. His gaze darkened for a moment, as if seeing something beyond the injury itself.
For just a moment, something close to amusement flashed in his yellow eyes.
"...Golden Arc?" he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Hiro to hear.
Hiro stiffened. "What?"
Garou released him and turned away. "Nothing."
He took a few steps toward the window, staring out at the setting sun.
A brief period of silence ensued.
"The Hyoudou brothers are not people whom you can handle at your current level," he finally broke the silence with that sentence.
"Sir? Pardon me, but Hyoudou Izo is one thing but Hyoudou Issei is… I mean yes, he did catch me off guard but in a more serious setting—"
"Satoru."
Hiro shut his mouth.
Garou let out a faint sigh.
A moment later, his head lifted slightly, as if a thought had just surfaced.
"Do you believe you can win against Hyoudou Issei?"
"Eh- yes! Yes, I am sure I can!"
"Then go ahead. Chase your pride. I won't stop you this time."
He continued.
"If you manage to secure victory against Hyoudou Issei. We will patch up our teacher-student relationship and I will actively train you once again."
Hiro's eyes lit up. He could not believe his ears. That buried spark within him reignited.
His mind drifted back to the old training ring.
The sound of gloves smacking against focus mitts. The rhythmic shuffle of footwork across the mat. His arms had been trembling after rounds of drills, but he'd finally done it—a clean left hook that stopped Garou's mitt mid-air.
Garou hadn't said a word.
But Hiro remembered the way he paused, just for a second.
That faint nod.
The quiet gleam of approval in those usually unreadable yellow eyes.
We can go back to that…? Really—
"However, if you lose…"
The atmosphere went instantly cold.
Garou didn't say more. He didn't need to. The silence left behind was louder than any threat.
***************************
Distant car horns echoed faintly into the second floor of the Hyoudou residence. The crescent moon hung quietly in the sky, casting a soft glow over the rooftops. The contrast between the peaceful residential silence and the distant city noise created an atmosphere one could easily lose themselves in.
However—
Tap Tap
Attempt #31: Target was just over 2 meters from point A. Result: Under 1.8 meters.
Hyoudou Issei let out a breath and dropped to the floor, nudging the measuring tape aside with his foot.
He had gained something extraordinary.
"I have given what you need."
Only now did he begin to understand what those words truly meant.
He stood, walking back to his makeshift start point (point A)—a paperweight resting on the floor. Ahead of him, exactly two meters away, stood a pen holder. His target.
He took a steady breath, lowering his body, feeling every muscle coil with anticipation.
Fwhoom—
A ripple of dark energy burst from within him and collapsed back just as fast—erasing him from view.
A split second later, Issei reappeared beside the pen stand.
"Phew…"
He had been given the power to run away.
At first, he thought it was some hyper-realistic dream or something.
Setting aside the absurd revelation that something unfathomable like the supernatural world actually exists behind the scenes of this reality he lived in… the person who saved him—Ophis—did something to his body. Whatever it was, it gave him a fever, and not just any fever—it was the worst he'd felt in years. He hated it. The weakness, the heat, the dizziness—it messed him up more than he expected.
His initial excitement from defeating something that was nothing short of an entity to him… yeah, all of that just fizzled out. The confidence, the thrill—it just kinda disappeared while he was stuck in bed feeling like crap.
Any initial curiosity he'd felt toward Ophis had soured into something else. Unease. Maybe even fear.
And as if that wasn't enough, his idiot brother apparently had a Longinus. One of those. A top-tier sacred gear. Meanwhile, he had a sacred gear too—except, oops, it was a fake. A sleeping one, they call it. Dormant, unrevivable. Might as well call it 'dead' and be done with it.
Then came Hiro Satoru—at the worst possible time. Maybe it was the fever, the fatigue catching up to him after so long. Whatever it was, Issei slipped. Lost control. Broke a promise he'd made to himself a long time ago.
The next thing he knew, Hiro's guys were down, and he had already fled the scene.
Contrary to what he expected, though, he didn't get expelled.
Instead, the principal called him in like he was some kind of hidden prodigy.
Apparently, being able to beat the shit out of his star student's gang counts as "talent."
Issei couldn't agree more. He was talented. Talented in violence. And it felt good—having someone sharp enough to acknowledge it, besides himself.
However, the principal wanted to harness that potential into something useful, a.k.a represent the school in high school level competitive martial arts tournaments and win some trophies, the very stage Issei had once sworn never to return to.
The answer was obviously, hell no.
The incident with Hiro was a mistake. The fake relationship with Rias might very well end in a breakup because of that fuck up.
In a normal situation his mind would be full of all that above. But right now? It was just background noise. He was too busy trying to figure out this weird new skill.
He didn't notice it right away, but after the whole Hiro situation, he started feeling... better. Maybe beating some guys up really was therapeutic. By the time he got home, the fever was almost gone, and his head felt a lot clearer.
But then, something weird happened.
He almost fell down the stairs.
Except… he didn't. One second he was tipping forward, the next he was already at the bottom.
That's when it hit him—Ophis had given him the ability to... vanish.
The power to 'run away.' And she even, knowingly or not, made it look like he was doing instant transmission from his favorite anime.
Leaving aside the very real possibility that she might be using him for some kind of supernatural reality show… Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.
Combat Review: Hyoudou Issei vs Raynare—Why brains beat brawn (barely)
If a critical reviewer watched the boss fight between Issei and Raynare, there are two points they'd be sure to bring up:
1. "She let her guard down. If she'd been even a little more cautious—and not so full of herself—and actually did something about her wounds, then Hyoudou Issei would've lost."
2. "Surprisingly enough, Hyoudou Issei displayed greater skill in combat than the low-class Fallen Angel, who far outclassed him in speed, destructive power, and durability. So guerrilla warfare, the strategy Issei chose, was the ideal one. But let's not pretend this wasn't a coin toss of a fight."
With that brain-dead, blunt way of talking, Issei figured Ophis was the dumb-but-broken type of character. But the fact that she spotted that weakness… where the hell was she hiding when all that went that shit with Raynare went down?
The only thing that bothered Issei was that the teleportation skill didn't seem super spammable.
By the sixteenth attempt, fatigue was creeping in. His muscles ached, his breath came in shallow bursts. Still, he pushed—pausing only for quick breaks—until he hit attempt number thirty-two.
Now, he was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his back, chest rising and falling like a drumbeat.
As he typed down the results of his thirty-second try—
Knock.
"—!"
A sharp knock cracked through the silence, making him flinch.
"Mom and Dad are waiting downstairs. They want to talk to you."
Izo's voice came from the other side of the closed door.
"...I'm coming," Issei muttered. Izo's voice faded from the other side of the door.
*****
As I made my way downstairs, I realized just how long it had been since something like this happened.
One year? Two?
Getting into a fight… and then being called down for the "talk."
A small chuckle slipped out of me.
This shitty feeling hasn't changed. Not one bit.
I sat on the sofa across from my parents. Izo stood behind them, arms crossed—like a soldier guarding a throne.
"So," Gorou Hyoudou, my father, began, his tone laced with mockery, "back to your old ways, huh?"
His voice felt dry.
"No. It was a mistake this time."
"You say that like this is the first," my mother snapped.
I let out a breath and dove into the explanation—light on the fists, heavy on the fact that he started it.
As I talked, the three of them just stared at me. Unblinking and disturbingly silent.
Were they even human?
The thought crept in uninvited and refused to leave.
Ophis had said sacred gear users were human. So Izo… Izo had to be, right?
But Raynare shattered every assumption I had.
If she could pass as a shy schoolgirl, who's to say others weren't just... wearing faces? Pretending?
Just how many people I saw every day—on the sidewalk, in the classroom, passing by on the road—were actually human?
And right now, I didn't know what unsettled me more—
The memory of Raynare turning from a shy waifu to a biblical nightmare...
Or the silence of the three people sitting across from me.
"The injuries were only severe enough to end this with a small suspension…"
I wrapped up my explanation, downplaying the mess as much as I could.
My parents didn't say a word.
Just looked at each other… and whispered.
That.
That little whisper.
For some reason, it scratched at my mind—digging up a memory I'd much rather have kept buried.
_About 10 years ago_
The staff room smelled of ink and age-old dust.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted through dust-coated blinds, casting warped lines over worn-out desks and aging posters about kindness and community. But none of it reached the far end where we sat.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hyoudou," the teacher said tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose. A stack of discipline reports lay in front of her like a police file. "This is already the second time this month..."
"We apologize, Ma'am," my father answered with practiced remorse. "I will make sure to severely scold him this time."
"You said that last time too…" she sighed.
"Issei, apologize." My mother nudged me, and I bowed toward my teacher.
"I'm sorry."
I glanced at my parents. Heads bowed in rehearsed shame.
Not a word was said to me as we left the office, walked through the echoing hallways, and got into the car. Just silence. Heavy, expectant silence.
But like always, as soon as we reached home—
""How did it go?!""
Their voices lit up like kids seeing the New Year's otoshidama envelopes.
They'd sit me down like I'd just returned from war, shove chocolate bars into my hands like medals, and lean in, eyes wide.
"Who hit first?"
"Did you win?"
"How did you feel during the fight?"
I was strong. Too strong for other kids. Not something a teacher could understand.
But my parents—they loved it.
"So then—" I'd start, practically bouncing in my seat, "—this guy calls his friends, like that was gonna change anything, hahaha! One of 'em tried to throw sand in my face! So I went for him first and cracked his nose with my elbow, and boom—he went down!"
My hands would fly through the air like I was back there again.
"You should've seen their faces! Like they finally understood I wasn't someone they could mess with, hahaha!"
I'd tell them everything. Every detail. The way the teacher froze up. The blood. The silence after.
And my parents would beam.
While I spoke, they'd whisper back and forth, eyes glowing like I was blooming into something rare.
They always whispered like that. Even back then.
But unlike now... those whispers came with something else.
Approval.
Pride.
Love—
…
"Issei."
My name snapped me out of it.
"This is your final warning," my dad said. "No more fights. This isn't Shitou or Sengai. This is Kuoh. Your antics don't belong here."
"…"
"Say something, damn it! Do you even realize who you laid hands on? That boy you beat up—he's a Hiro. The youngest son of that family. Do you even get what you've done?"
"Yes," I said flatly.
I just didn't care.
Dad's face twitched. He clearly didn't like that.
"For all I know," he muttered, "the police could show up tomorrow and arrest you for something you didn't even do. That's how much power the Hiro family has in this country."
I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes.
"Your other son went after that same guy's gang last year. Funny—I don't remember you freaking out like this back then."
Their eyes tightened in unison. My mom's jaw clenched. My dad's voice snapped like a whip.
"So we've reached the age where you talk back now, huh?" he said. "And yes, we warned Izo too. But do you see him throwing fists every time he's pissed off?"
I stood up.
"Well then, I guess I just cashed in my first-time warning card. Congrats to me."
Their yelling chased me up the stairs. I didn't look back. Didn't care.
If anything, I wanted to walk right back down there and jab my fingers into that bastard brother's eyes for staring at me like that.
SHUT
I slammed the door behind me.
And just like that, silence again.
The thrill I had earlier—the rush of teleporting like my favourite anime character—was gone.
I glanced at the screen where my logs file sat. All my teleport attempts.
I saved the file. Closed it.
Because suddenly, it all felt... familiar.
That feeling of being someone's "favorite."
I've played that part before—back when it was my parents who cheered and rewarded me like a prized little pet for being violent.
But then, for some reason, I stopped being interesting to them.
And now Ophis.
She gave me this power just because I caught her interest—or so she claims.
If I had to put this feeling into words, it felt I was a shiny pull in somebody else's gacha game.
Lucky drop. Seems interesting. Let's pour some resources into him. Let's see what he can do.
I hate how this feels like some messed-up encore.
'I gave you something. Now perform.'
Right now, that's exactly what this 'gift' feels like.
I knew these thoughts weren't fair—maybe even stupid—but at this moment, I just couldn't bring myself to use the power she gave me.
*VIBRATE* *RING*
The phone buzzed, catching me off guard.
But the bigger surprise was the name on the screen.
Rias Gremory.
A pang of guilt hit me in the chest.
"…Hello?"
"Issei-kun."
Her voice sounded faintly relieved.
"You weren't replying to texts. I thought… something might've happened."
"I'm fine. Hiro didn't do anything."
"I see."
"…Yeah."
"…"
Silence.
"…Rias-san. I'm sorry. For today."
"You don't need to apologize."
Her voice softened.
"This happened because of me. I put you in that situation with my foolish plan. I should've known Hiro Satoru wasn't the kind of person who'd back down just because I got a boyfriend."
"No, no, you misunderstand. You see…"
I told her everything.
The fever. The cafeteria. How I snapped.
I couldn't keep up my end of the deal, so the least I could do was not lie.
"…So yeah," I muttered. "I blew it. I escalated the whole thing into a fight. If I'd just shut up, maybe it wouldn't have turned into a fight."
"…"
Silence again.
"…Hello?"
"…You were sick?"
Her voice had dropped to a whisper. Surprised.
"Yeah. But I'm good now."
Another pause.
"I didn't know," she murmured—like she wasn't talking to me at all.
Then she cleared her throat.
"Well… until your suspension ends, stay home. Especially in the evenings."
"…Because of Hiro?"
"Yes. Because—wait."
Her tone shifted.
"Are you unaware of what happened this evening?"
"No? What happened?"
What she told me next—
Made my stomach turn.
******************
Night had settled. The streetlights flickered on, pale and uneven.
Aizawa walked alone.
His steps were unsteady. His uniform was dirty—mud clinging to his pants, a torn sleeve hanging loose.
Blood darkened the front of his collar.
Kagami Aizawa.
His steps were shaky, almost drunken. His school bag was clenched in one fist like a lifeline.
He reached home.
The Kagami household sat in an older part of town—a squat, two-story home with an overgrown lawn and a flickering porch light that hadn't been fixed in months. He slipped the spare key into the lock, turned it slowly, and eased the door open without a sound.
No one in the living room. Just the hum of the fridge and the low ticking of a clock.
He quietly made his way upstairs to his room. He moved past his brother's room, dragging his feet, and slipped into his own.
*Click*
The light flicked on.
Aizawa collapsed to his knees, face twisted in pain.
His shirt was torn. His face was swollen. Dried blood crusted beneath his nose, a faint trail still staining the skin. His knuckles were scraped, and a shallow gash glinted near his jaw.
It hurt to breathe.
He bit back a cry, his back pressing against the wall as the memory returned.
A Few Hours Ago
WHAM!
"ACK—!"
Aizawa was slammed into the wall behind the convenience store.
Toru stood over him, the same third-year thug whose nose Issei broke from the cafeteria. His smirk stretched across his face like a scar.
"Easy there, Toru," said Endou, one of Hiro's guys. "You know how fragile these second years can get, right?"
The alley was tight, boxed in by chain-link fence and graffiti. Eight members of Hiro's gang had cornered several students from Class 2-C. Some stood frozen. Others were already curled up on the pavement, arms over their heads.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," Toru said, tracing the bandage on his nose with a mock pout. Then he grinned, eyes narrowing on Aizawa.
"Wait a sec… Ain't this the little brother of that guy from last year? What was his name again—Kagami Sora? The one who tried to be a hero and got expelled?"
Aizawa's breath caught.
He glared.
That was all it took.
CRACK!
Toru's fist met his face.
"Look at him—got the same fire as brother," Toru sneered, shaking out his fist. "You wanna end up like him too?"
Aizawa, teeth clenched, lunged forward—bit down on Toru's hand.
"GRAHH—YOU LITTLE SHIT—!!"
The reaction was instant.
Toru backhanded him across the alley and the others piled in—kicks, punches, boots to the ribs.
******
Back in his room, Aizawa sat slumped on the floor, body trembling with quiet rage and shame.
He dabbed antiseptic onto his cuts, flinching slightly. Whatever happened today, he was determined to not let his family find out.
He knew why Hiro's gang went this hard on class 2-C students today.
Hyoudou Issei.
That quiet classmate, always hovering near the perverted duo, who out of nowhere took down half of Hiro's gang... including Hiro Satoru himself.
Curious, Aizawa opened the Class 2-C chat group on his phone.
Photos were flooding in—bloody noses, bruises, torn uniforms.
Someone captioned it:
"This chat's basically a crime scene today lol."
It wasn't just the boys who got hit.
There were reports of girls being targeted too. Especially by—Kisaragi Reina, a third-year swimmer and Hiro's so-called attack dog.
Suddenly, his name popped up in the group:
'Aizawa's online!'
'You okay, man? They went hard on you.'
'Sorry we couldn't help… we tried to circle back but—'
'They forced us to leave. Said they'd start round 2 if we didn't leave.'
'He read it… why isn't he replying?'
'Yo wait—did one of those senpais took his phone?!'
Aizawa quickly typed:
'It's me. Just tired.'
The group breathed a virtual sigh of relief.
Then the tone of the chat shifted.
'I told my parents I got hit by a bike. Mom's not buying it though.'
'I said I slipped on the stairs.'
'Same.'
'Same x2.'
'Same x3.'
'My dad found out. Took an hour to stop him from calling the school.'
More messages poured in—everyone trading stories of how they were hiding the truth.
'Only our class got hit today, right?'
'2-C is the new punching bag.'
'Other classes are too happy we're taking the entire heat. No one's gonna do anything…'
'This is all because of Hyoudou…'
'Is he in this group?'
'No.'
'Both of those Hyoudou bastards… what are they even made of?'
'Don't call Izo-kun that.'
'Yeah yeah, chill, Izumi.'
Aizawa, despite the pain, let out a faint smile.
For a moment, it felt like his usual chat group again.
Until—
'Guys—this is serious. Hiro's gang hit us harder than usual. They're pissed because of Hyoudou Issei. What are we supposed to do?'
'They didn't back off even after we offered money…'
'Should I take a medical leave from school?'
'I'm scared to go to school tomorrow…'
Aizawa stared at the screen.
All that noise. All that fear.
His lips curled into a bitter smile.
Nothing's changed…
And yet—
Something felt different this time.
"Hyoudou Issei, huh…"
It had been a long time since someone stood up to Hiro Satoru.
He wasn't sure if it was brave, or stupid… or both.
He slowly got to his feet and walked to the desk.
Opened the bottom drawer.
An old journal sat inside.
A record of his days. Or maybe just his disappointments.
He flipped past page after page—
Each one echoing the same thing.
Stayed quiet. Did nothing.
Until he found a blank one.
He picked up his pen.
And, for the first time in a long time, wrote something different.
Not about himself.
But about someone else:
Today, a quiet classmate of mine did something insane…
*******
SCRITCH—SCRATCH—SCRITCH.
Scribbling echoed through the dim chamber of the abandoned church.
The pews were overturned. The windows long shattered. Candle wax dripped onto scattered feathers.
Dust clung to the stale air. The only light source was a single candle, flickering weakly atop a battered desk pulled up to the altar.
At that desk sat Dohnaseek, hunched low over parchment and ink.
His pen scraped across the paper in sharp, frustrated strokes. Dozens of sheets littered the floor around him—crumpled, torn, rewritten over and over.
He muttered as he wrote:
"My subordinate, Raynare, has been killed by… no. Defeated and eliminated by the devils who now play innocent in this cursed town. Among them, the Red Dragon Emperor, Hyoudou Izo—no… strike that—"
He crossed out the words with trembling fingers.
"Rias Gremory, heir of the Gremory House. Sona Sitri, heir to Sitri. And Hyoudou Izo, the Red Dragon Emperor—"
His hand hovered. The words hung heavy in the air.
He exhaled sharply and slammed the pen down.
"They're the only ones capable of defeating her. Of taking her from me."
The fire in his eyes dimmed for a moment.
"Raynare… my Raynare... she was strong. Too strong to be defeated by trash."
He dug his fingers into his scalp, furious. Ink smeared as he gripped the edge of the parchment.
"Azazel-sama… please grant me reinforcements. Hyoudou Izo will pay for this. I will end him. The Red Dragon Emperor—Sekiryuutei—will beerased!"
The candles flickered.
********************
END OF CHAPTER-5- REPERCUSSIONS