The abandoned storage unit looked exactly as I'd left it after my heart transformation—concrete walls bearing scorch marks from that first ordeal, the floor still stained with dried blood from where I'd clawed at it in agony. I'd brought more supplies this time: water bottles, protein bars, a sleeping bag, towels, and a first aid kit that would prove largely useless against what was coming.

  "Are you certain you're ready?" Ddraig asked as I secured the metal door behind me. "The lung transformation is less traumatic than the heart, but still dangerous. Especially with your date with the fallen one scheduled for tomorrow."

  "All the more reason to do it now," I replied, laying out the sleeping bag in the center of the room. "I need every advantage I can get before facing Raynare."

  I'd told my parents I was staying at a friend's house for a study session—a lie they accepted with surprising enthusiasm, perhaps glad their son was focusing on academics rather than his previous perverted pursuits.

  "How long will this take?" I asked, removing my shirt and sitting cross-legged on the sleeping bag.

  "Approximately eighteen hours," Ddraig responded. "Unlike the heart, which required three days, the lungs can transform more quickly. Still painful, but more manageable. The recovery should be faster as well."

  I nodded, taking deep breaths to prepare myself. "And the benefits?"

  "Draconic lungs will allow you to breathe in environments that would kill a human. Water, smoke, toxic gas—all will become tolerable, if not comfortable. You'll also be able to hold your breath for extended periods and potentially channel flame attacks eventually."

  "Useful against light-based attacks," I noted, thinking of Raynare's weapons.

  "Indeed. Light elements can be neutralized by sufficient draconic flame, though you're not quite at that level yet."

  I closed my eyes, centering myself as Ddraig had taught me. "Alright. Let's begin."

  "Focus on the amulet. Like before, it contains the connection point."

  I touched the crimson amulet hanging from my neck, feeling its warmth against my palm. The emerald eyes seemed to glow brighter as I channeled energy through it, creating the circuit that would allow the transformation to begin.

  "I'm ready."

  The pain started subtly—a burning in my chest that might have been mistaken for heartburn if I hadn't known better. Within minutes, however, it had intensified to an inferno that spread through my ribcage, consuming my lungs cell by cell.

  I fell forward onto my hands and knees, gasping as each breath became increasingly difficult. Unlike the heart transformation, where the pain had been concentrated in one place, this agony moved through my entire torso, making every inhale feel like swallowing broken glass.

  "Can't... breathe..." I managed, my voice barely audible.

  "Your human lungs are dying," Ddraig explained, his voice strangely calm through my suffering. "The draconic replacements are forming simultaneously. There will be moments when neither functions properly."

  That was an understatement. My vision darkened at the edges as oxygen deprivation set in. I clawed at my chest, instinct overriding reason as my body desperately fought for air.

  The first hour passed in a blur of agony and periodic asphyxiation. Each time I thought I would lose consciousness, a sudden rush of oxygen would flood my system as the partially-formed draconic tissue momentarily functioned, only for the process to begin again.

  By hour three, I was alternating between gasping coughs that brought up flecks of blood and strange, deep inhalations that seemed to pull more oxygen from the air than should have been possible. My chest burned constantly, the sensation of tissue dying and regenerating unlike anything I'd experienced even during the heart transformation.

  "You're progressing faster than expected," Ddraig noted during a brief moment of clarity. "Your body has already adapted somewhat from the heart transformation."

  "Lucky me," I croaked, wiping blood from my lips.

  Hour six brought a new dimension to the suffering—my ribs began to shift and expand slightly to accommodate the growing draconic lungs. I could feel the bones creaking, ligaments stretching as my chest cavity slowly reconfigured itself.

  I lost track of time after that, my world narrowing to the rhythm of pain and the increasingly strange sensations of breathing. Sometimes I would inhale and feel as though I could detect every molecule in the air—oxygen, nitrogen, traces of dust and concrete particles. Other times I couldn't breathe at all, my body convulsing as it fought for air that my transitioning lungs couldn't process.

  At what must have been around hour fourteen, I suddenly found myself able to breathe more deeply than ever before. The inhalation seemed to go on forever, my new lungs expanding to capacities no human could achieve. The pain remained, but something else accompanied it now—power flowing through my system with each breath, energizing my blood in ways that felt alien yet invigorating.

  "The worst has passed," Ddraig confirmed. "Your draconic lungs are functioning at approximately seventy percent capacity. The remainder will complete over the next few hours."

  I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling as I experimented with breathing. In, out. Deep, shallow. Each breath carried more energy, more awareness than before.

  "This is... different from the heart," I observed, my voice stronger now despite hours of coughing and screaming.

  "The heart powers your body. The lungs connect you to the world around you," Ddraig explained. "Dragons sense much through breath—it's why we can detect lies, fear, and other emotions from those nearby."

  By hour seventeen, I could stand again, moving carefully around the storage unit as my body adjusted to its new respiratory system. The pain had faded to a dull ache, and each breath felt like drawing in not just air but energy itself.

  "Try it," Ddraig suggested. "Focus on your breath, then direct the energy downward, toward your diaphragm."

  I followed his instruction, inhaling deeply and channeling the gathered energy to the base of my lungs. Something shifted, a muscle I didn't know I had contracted, and suddenly the air expelled from my lungs was visibly heated, creating a shimmer in the air before me.

  "Not quite fire-breathing yet," I said with a weak smile.

  "That will come with practice and further transformation," Ddraig assured me. "For now, your lungs can super-heat air and potentially neutralize some magical attacks. With training, you'll achieve more."

  As the eighteenth hour approached, the transformation completed with a final surge of pain followed by a strange sense of settlement, as if the new organs had finally decided to accept their place in my body.

  I collapsed onto the sleeping bag, exhausted beyond measure yet somehow more energized than ever. Each breath felt like drawing in pure vitality, the efficient draconic lungs extracting more from the air than human ones ever could.

  "It's done," I whispered, placing a hand on my chest. I could feel the difference—my ribcage had expanded slightly, the muscles between the ribs denser and more responsive.

  "Well done," Ddraig rumbled with approval. "Few hosts survive multiple transformations. Your determination serves you well."

  I nodded, already planning how to incorporate these new capabilities into tomorrow's confrontation with Raynare. The fallen angel would be expecting a helpless human boy. Instead, she would face something far more dangerous—a being with a dragon's heart and lungs, prepared for her every move.

  "Rest now," Ddraig advised. "Tomorrow brings its own challenges."

  As I drifted into exhausted sleep, I couldn't help thinking that "challenges" was a rather mild term for a date that would end in attempted murder.

  Monday: The Aftermath

  Mathematics had never been my strongest subject in either of my lives, but today's calculus lesson was particularly challenging—not because of the complex derivatives on the board, but because of the war being waged inside my chest.

  "Your body is still adapting to the lung transformation," Ddraig's voice resonated through my mind as I gripped my pencil tighter, trying to focus on the equations. "The increased draconic energy is putting strain on your human systems."

  "That doesn't sound like a good thing," I whispered under my breath, earning a curious glance from the student beside me.

  "It is both beneficial and dangerous. You have more power now, but your body is struggling to contain it properly until the adaptation completes."

  I nodded subtly, writing numbers that made less and less sense as the pressure in my chest increased. The sensation had started as a dull throb during morning classes, but now, halfway through mathematics, it felt like molten metal was spreading through my veins. Sunday's confrontation with Raynare had gone according to plan, but it had taken more out of me than I'd anticipated, leaving my control mechanisms weakened.

  "Hyoudou, could you solve the next problem?"

  Mr. Tanaka's voice cut through my pain-fogged mind. I stared at the equation, the symbols swimming before my eyes.

  "I... need a moment," I managed, rising from my seat unsteadily.

  The first spasm hit without warning—a violent contraction of my draconic heart that knocked the air from my lungs and sent me crashing against my desk, scattering papers and pencils across the floor.

  "Issei!"

  I'm not sure who called my name. The classroom blurred around me as I clutched at my chest, fighting to maintain my energy suppression despite the agony. If I lost control now, the entire room would be bathed in draconic power, exposing me to every supernatural entity in Kuoh Academy.

  "Hyoudou, are you alright?" Mr. Tanaka was at my side now, his voice distant through the haze of pain.

  "I'm fine," I gasped, straightening with effort. "Just need a minute—"

  Another spasm ripped through me, stronger than the first. Sweat beaded on my forehead, running down my temples as I gripped the edge of the desk to stay upright. I tried to focus on my breathing exercises, but my lungs—still adapting to their draconic transformation—suddenly rebelled. A violent cough erupted from my chest, and to my horror, flecks of blood spattered across my hand and desk.

  "You are clearly not fine," a female voice said firmly. Through watering eyes, I recognized Tsubasa Yura—one of Sona's Rooks and a member of the Student Council. "I'm taking you to the nurse."

  "That won't be—" I started, but my protest dissolved into a grimace as another wave of pain radiated outward from my heart.

  "I insist," Tsubasa said, already supporting my weight with surprising strength. Of course—her Rook status granted enhanced physical abilities.

  As she guided me toward the door, I caught sight of Yuuto Kiba watching intently from his seat near the window. His handsome face showed genuine concern, but there was calculation in those eyes—the Knight of Rias Gremory was filing this incident away for his King.

  I also noticed Murayama and Katase exchanging worried glances as I passed their desks. Their expressions held none of the contempt I was accustomed to seeing—just confusion and what appeared to be genuine concern. Katase's eyes widened as she noticed the blood on my hand, which I quickly wiped on my dark pants.

  The hallway offered blessed quiet after the murmuring classroom. Tsubasa adjusted her grip on my arm, taking more of my weight as another spasm nearly sent me to my knees.

  "Your breathing exercises aren't working," she observed clinically. Her eyes narrowed as I coughed again, and she quickly handed me a handkerchief from her pocket. I pressed it to my mouth, and when I pulled it away, crimson spots stained the white fabric.

  "Some episodes... are worse than others," I managed, focusing on controlling the power fluctuations within me. The new draconic lungs were pumping too much energy into my system, and the last thing I needed was to flare draconic energy in front of a devil who would report directly to Sona.

  Tsubasa's cool gray eyes assessed me with unnerving precision. "You're soaked with sweat, and I can feel your muscles spasming. This seems much more serious than what you described to Kaichou."

  I tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. "I didn't want to seem dramatic."

  "There's a difference between drama and medical reality, Hyoudou."

  We reached the nurse's office, thankfully empty except for Ms. Higurashi, the school nurse—a middle-aged woman with a perpetually tired expression who had treated Issei's injuries from kendo club beatings more times than I could count.

  "Again, Hyoudou?" she began, before taking in my condition and quickly ushering me to an examination bed. "What happened?"

  "Heart condition," I explained through gritted teeth. "Diagnosed recently. Having an episode."

  The nurse frowned, pressing a stethoscope to my chest. Her eyes widened slightly at whatever she heard—or didn't hear. The draconic heart didn't beat like a human one, and now with the transformed lungs, my breathing pattern would be even more unusual.

  "Your heartbeat is... unusual," she said cautiously. "Very slow, but powerful. And there's an unusual rhythm."

  "That's what the doctors said," I confirmed, seizing the opportunity to reinforce my cover story. "They're still running tests to determine the exact condition."

  Ms. Higurashi's frown deepened. "I should really call an ambulance. This doesn't sound like something that should be managed in a school setting."

  "No!" I said, more forcefully than intended. "No ambulances. No hospitals. The specialists already told me what to do during episodes."

  The skepticism on her face was clear, but before she could argue further, I added, "My parents have all the medical documentation. I'll have them send copies to the school."

  "I'll get you some water," she said finally, clearly not satisfied with my explanation but unwilling to force the issue. "Try to rest. If it gets worse, I'm calling emergency services, parental permission or not."

  As she stepped out, Tsubasa moved closer to the bed, her expression unreadable.

  "Your symptoms don't match typical arrhythmia," she said quietly. "The spasming, the sweating—it's more consistent with some kind of energy rejection."

  I stiffened slightly. "Energy rejection? What does that mean?"

  "Just an observation," she replied, though her eyes remained calculating. "Kaichou will want a full report on this incident."

  "I'm sure she will," I agreed, forcing myself to relax against the pillow. "Tell her I'm still up for chess whenever she wants a rematch."

  A hint of surprise crossed Tsubasa's features before she regained her composure. "You're an interesting case, Hyoudou. Not at all what your reputation suggested."

  "People change."

  "Not this dramatically without reason," she countered. "Not this quickly."

  Before I could respond, Ms. Higurashi returned with water and some basic pain medication that I knew would do nothing for my condition. Still, I accepted them gratefully, using the distraction to end my conversation with the too-perceptive Rook.

  "You should return to class, Tsubasa," the nurse instructed. "I'll keep Hyoudou under observation for now."

  With a final assessing look, Tsubasa nodded and left, undoubtedly heading straight to report to Sona rather than returning to her own class.

  "The devil is suspicious," Ddraig noted as I closed my eyes, focusing inward on the chaotic energy swirling around my heart and newly transformed lungs.

  "Of course she is," I murmured once the nurse stepped away. "My cover story only goes so far when my symptoms don't match any human condition."

  "The adaptation to your new lungs is making suppression more difficult. Your system is trying to integrate the increased energy flow."

  "Can you stabilize it?"

  "Temporarily. But we should train more intensively tonight. Your body needs to adapt faster if we're to maintain this deception."

  I nodded slightly, feeling the dragon's power envelop my heart and lungs like a protective cocoon, dampening the pain to manageable levels. The respite wouldn't last long, but it would get me through the school day.

  As I rested in the quiet of the nurse's office, I couldn't help wondering how long I could keep this charade going. The devils were watching more closely after my surprising survival against Raynare yesterday. The fallen angels would be regrouping, confused by their failed assassination attempt. And now my own body was threatening to expose me at every turn.

  Time was running out.

  Sona Sitri frowned as she reviewed the stack of paperwork before her, but her mind wasn't on the budget proposals or club requisition forms. Her thoughts kept returning to the concerning report Tsubasa had delivered an hour earlier.

  "You're certain he was coughing blood?" she asked, setting aside her pen and looking up at her Rook, who stood at attention before her desk.

  "Yes, Kaichou," Tsubasa confirmed, placing the bloodstained handkerchief on the desk. "Not a large amount, but definitely blood. His breathing exercises seemed ineffective, and he was in visible pain."

  Sona picked up the handkerchief, examining the stains with a frown. "And the nurse's assessment?"

  "Inconclusive. She noted his unusual heartbeat and breathing pattern but couldn't determine a cause. Hyoudou insisted it was his pre-existing condition and refused further medical attention."

  "Pre-existing condition," Sona repeated thoughtfully. "The heart issue he mentioned during our chess matches."

  "Which doesn't explain the blood," Tsubaki Shinra, Sona's Queen, observed from her position by the window. "Human heart conditions rarely cause hemoptysis without severe pulmonary complications."

  Sona nodded, setting the handkerchief aside. "And you detected energy fluctuations during the episode?"

  "Yes," Tsubasa confirmed. "Not clear enough to identify, but definitely supernatural in nature. They were strongest when he was coughing."

  Sona stood, moving to the window with uncharacteristic restlessness. "Hyoudou continues to be an enigma. Academic improvement, behavioral changes, and now these episodes with unexplained energy signatures." Her brow furrowed with genuine concern. "Whatever is happening to him seems to be worsening."

  "Should I increase surveillance?" Tsubaki asked.

  "Yes, but discreetly," Sona replied. "And arrange for me to have another chess match with him tomorrow. I want to assess his condition myself."

  "Do you think he'll still be interested in chess given his condition?" Tsubasa asked with slight surprise.

  A small smile crossed Sona's face. "When I asked him that after his last episode, he said 'it helps me focus on something besides the pain.' There's more to Issei Hyoudou than any of us realized." Her expression grew serious again. "And I intend to find out exactly what that is before his condition deteriorates further."

  As her peerage members left to carry out her instructions, Sona returned to the bloodstained handkerchief, a genuine worry filling her normally analytical gaze. Chess matches and friendly competition aside, she didn't like seeing any student suffering—especially one who had shown unexpected depths beyond his notorious reputation.

  The rooftop had become my sanctuary during lunch periods—away from curious eyes and supernatural surveillance, at least for brief periods. The eastern corner, partially shielded by the stairwell housing, offered privacy for my midday meditation sessions.

  I sat cross-legged, back straight as Murayama had corrected during our previous rooftop encounter, focusing on the steady rhythm of my draconic heart and the new sensation of my transformed lungs. After the morning's episode, maintaining perfect suppression required extra concentration.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Better," Ddraig commented as I reached the optimal balance. "Though we should consider accelerating your adaptation training. Your encounter with the fallen one yesterday demonstrated both your progress and your limitations."

  "I know," I replied, my eyes still closed. "Tonight we'll—"

  The rooftop door banged open, shattering my concentration. Familiar voices and footsteps approached—Matsuda and Motohama, practically vibrating with excitement.

  "Dude! We've been looking everywhere for you!" Matsuda exclaimed, skidding to a stop in front of me.

  I opened my eyes slowly, maintaining my meditative posture. "I've been here."

  "Well, you need to come with us right now," Motohama insisted, adjusting his glasses with a gleeful expression. "We found the perfect spot to watch the girls' swim team practice!"

  "They're doing endurance training in the outdoor pool," Matsuda added, practically drooling. "All those wet swimsuits, the bouncing as they climb out of the water—"

  "I'm not interested," I said firmly, closing my eyes again.

  "What do you mean, not interested?" Matsuda's voice rose in disbelief. "This is a once-in-a-semester opportunity!"

  "I mean exactly that. I'm not interested in peeping on girls who haven't consented to be seen that way."

  The silence that followed was deafening. I could practically hear their mental gears grinding to comprehend my statement.

  "Okay, the heart thing has officially damaged your brain," Motohama declared. "Did you seriously just use the word 'consent' in relation to peeping? That's literally the opposite of the point!"

  I opened my eyes, fixing them with a steady gaze. "Which is exactly why I'm not doing it anymore."

  "What are you, some kind of saint now?" Matsuda demanded, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. "Last semester you were the one who built the peephole in the kendo club changing room!"

  That had been the original Issei, not me—but the guilt settled on my shoulders nonetheless. I had inherited not just his body but the responsibility for his actions.

  "I'm not claiming moral superiority," I said, rising to my feet. "I'm just saying I've reconsidered some things."

  "Like what?" Motohama pressed.

  "Like the fact that what we were doing is basically visual assault," I replied, the words coming from a place of genuine conviction. "Those girls never consented to be seen that way. They have a right to privacy, to feel safe at school. And we were violating that for our own gratification."

  The disgust in my voice wasn't feigned. In my previous life, I'd worked security at venues where I'd caught peeping toms and gropers. I'd seen the trauma and violation on victims' faces. Now I found myself on the wrong side of that equation, branded as one of the perpetrators.

  Suddenly, a wave of foreign emotions crashed over me—the original Issei's feelings, memories, and desires surging through our shared consciousness. Images of past peeping excursions, the thrill of the forbidden, the camaraderie with his friends built around these shared activities—all of it flooding my mind with startling intensity.

  I staggered slightly, fighting against this emotional tide. These weren't just echoes; they were powerful imprints of the original soul, responding to the confrontation with his closest friends.

  "Listen to yourself!" Matsuda exploded, misinterpreting my momentary weakness. "Visual assault? Rights? Privacy? You sound like those feminists in the debate club!"

  "Maybe they have a point," I replied, struggling to maintain my composure as another wave of Issei's emotions washed through me—guilt, frustration, and beneath it all, a kind of mourning for the simple pleasures he'd once enjoyed without question.

  Motohama stepped closer, studying my face as if searching for evidence of possession. "You're not even Issei anymore. Who the hell are you?"

  The question hit closer to home than he could possibly know. I maintained my composure, but the words stung with their unintentional accuracy.

  "People change, Motohama. Sometimes it takes a wake-up call."

  "This isn't change," Matsuda insisted, his voice rising. "This is a complete personality transplant! First you stop hanging out with us, then you start getting all serious about grades, and now you're lecturing us about consent? What's next, joining the disciplinary committee?"

  I shrugged, fighting back another wave of the original Issei's conflicted emotions. "I'm just trying to be better."

  "Better than us, you mean," Motohama said, his voice lowering dangerously. "Too good for your friends now, huh?"

  "That's not what I—"

  "Save it," Matsuda cut me off. "Come on, Motohama. Let's leave Saint Issei to his meditation or whatever holy crap he's doing."

  They stormed toward the door, Matsuda pausing only long enough to throw one final barb over his shoulder: "Don't bother sitting with us at lunch anymore. Wouldn't want our perversion to contaminate your new perfect life."

  The door slammed behind them, leaving me alone in the suddenly silent rooftop.

  The pain hit without warning.

  My draconic heart contracted violently, as if responding to the emotional turmoil of the confrontation and the surge of the original Issei's memories. I dropped to one knee, clutching my chest as waves of agony radiated outward from my core.

  "Damn it," I gasped, feeling power surge dangerously beneath my skin. Crimson energy flickered across my fingertips before I could suppress it.

  "Control it!" Ddraig's voice thundered in my mind. "Your emotions and the original soul's memory backflow are destabilizing your energy control!"

  I focused through the pain, fighting to contain the rebellious energy threatening to explode outward. Sweat poured down my face as I channeled everything into suppression, into containing the maelstrom building in my chest.

  "I didn't think... losing friends... would affect me this much," I managed between ragged breaths.

  "The original soul's connections run deep," Ddraig explained urgently. "And your dragon heart responds to emotional stimuli differently than a human one. Anger, isolation, rejection—these trigger defensive reactions. Power surges designed to protect."

  "Great timing... for that lesson," I growled, finally regaining some control. The pain receded slightly, enough for me to realize I wasn't as alone as I'd thought.

  "You have observers," Ddraig informed me. "Behind the stairwell entrance."

  I extended my senses, catching the faint sound of controlled breathing and the subtle scent of bamboo sword oil that I'd come to associate with the kendo club.

  Murayama and Katase had witnessed not only the confrontation but also my subsequent episode.

  I straightened slowly, wiping sweat from my brow with shaking hands. Had they seen the energy flickering around my fingers? Had I exposed myself?

  I didn't acknowledge their presence, instead returning to my meditation position and closing my eyes with far more effort than before. Let them make what they would of what they'd heard and seen. I had more pressing concerns than high school drama and potential exposure.

  Still, as I focused on stabilizing my heart and lungs, I couldn't help feeling a pang of regret that wasn't entirely my own—the original Issei had known he was disappointing his parents but hadn't been able to control his perverted impulses enough to change. Now, losing his friends was triggering a surge of his emotions that threatened my control.

  "Focus," Ddraig rumbled. "Sentiment is a luxury you cannot afford right now."

  He was right, of course. With Raynare's failed attempt yesterday and devils watching from every corner, emotional attachments were a distraction at best, a vulnerability at worst.

  I pushed away thoughts of friendship and loneliness, concentrating instead on the power flowing through my veins and the battles that lay ahead.

  The rhythmic sound of wooden swords striking practice dummies echoed through the kendo dojo as club members worked through their afternoon drills. Murayama, her brown hair tied back in a practical ponytail, delivered a particularly vicious strike that split the bamboo target.

  "Whoa!" one of the first-year members exclaimed. "Senpai, that was amazing!"

  Murayama blinked, seeming to return to herself from distant thoughts. "Sorry. Got a bit carried away."

  "You've been distracted all practice," Katase noted quietly as they moved to the side for water. "Still thinking about what happened at lunch?"

  Murayama nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. "It's just... weird, right? Issei Hyoudou, of all people, lecturing about consent and privacy."

  "Super weird," Katase agreed, taking a long drink. "But did you see him in class this morning? That didn't look fake."

  "The sweating, the shaking... it looked really serious," Murayama admitted. "And what Motohama said about him improving his grades—I noticed that too. He actually answered correctly in English last Friday."

  "And then we found him meditating on the roof that day," Murayama recalled. "Remember how he was doing those breathing exercises? He said it was for his heart condition."

  "Yeah, but he wasn't coughing up blood then," Katase pointed out, lowering her voice further. "Did you see his hand when Tsubasa was taking him out? Definitely blood."

  A younger club member approached, her practice sword held respectfully at her side. "Um, senpais? Is something wrong? You both seem preoccupied."

  Katase waved dismissively. "Just discussing strange occurrences. The Perverted Trio seems to be down to a duo lately."

  "Oh! I noticed that too!" the younger girl exclaimed. "Usually they'd be trying to peek at new members by now, but there hasn't been a single incident this week."

  "That's because Hyoudou isn't leading the charge anymore," another girl added, joining the conversation. "I heard he collapsed in class today. Some kind of heart problem."

  "Where did you hear that?" Murayama asked sharply.

  "My friend's in his class. Said he went super pale and started shaking, then that Student Council girl had to practically carry him to the nurse. There was blood too—he was coughing it up."

  The girls exchanged glances, processing this information.

  "Coughing blood is serious," Murayama said, her voice betraying more concern than she'd intended. "That's not just some minor condition."

  "I never thought I'd say this," Katase said slowly, "but I'm actually worried about Hyoudou."

  Murayama nodded, surprising herself with her agreement. "Something's definitely changed. The way he talked on the roof today—it wasn't just what he said, but how he said it. Like he actually meant it."

  "Maybe the heart thing scared him straight," one of the other girls suggested. "Near-death experience or whatever."

  "Maybe," Murayama murmured, but she didn't sound convinced. The Issei she'd glimpsed on the rooftop—calm, articulate, principled—seemed like an entirely different person from the infamous pervert she'd been fending off for years.

  "Should we stop calling him a pervert if he's really changed?" one of the first-years asked innocently.

  "Let's not get carried away," Katase replied with a short laugh. "One week of good behavior doesn't erase two years of being the school's biggest creep."

  But as they returned to practice, Murayama found herself dwelling on the question. People could change—she believed that. But change this dramatic, this sudden? It was unsettling, like discovering the sun had decided to rise in the west.

  As she moved through her forms, her mind kept returning to the image of Hyoudou clutching his chest in class, face contorted in genuine pain, the alarming sight of blood on his hand, and later, the calm conviction in his voice as he spoke about consent and respect.

  Two versions of the same person that couldn't possibly coexist—and yet, somehow, they did.

  Twilight painted Kuoh in shades of amber and gold as I made my way home, mentally reviewing the day's events. The heart and lung adaptation episode had drawn more attention than I would have liked, but it had also reinforced my cover story. The confrontation with Matsuda and Motohama was unfortunate but inevitable—our paths had been diverging from the moment I arrived in this world.

  As for Murayama and Katase overhearing my perspective on consent... well, that was an unexpected complication. The last thing I needed was the kendo club developing a sudden interest in Issei Hyoudou's moral evolution.

  I was so absorbed in these thoughts that I almost missed the footsteps falling into pace behind me. Almost.

  "Hyoudou."

  I turned, genuinely surprised to find Murayama standing there, her school bag clutched tightly in front of her. Without her usual entourage or kendo equipment, she looked younger, less intimidating.

  "Murayama," I acknowledged with a cautious nod. "Something wrong?"

  She shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable. "I... I wanted to ask if you're feeling better. That episode in class today looked serious." She hesitated, her eyes flickering to my hands as if checking for traces of blood. "Especially the coughing."

  Ah. So that was it. "I didn't think you'd care."

  "Just because we're not friends doesn't mean I want to see you collapse in math class and cough up blood." She hesitated, then pressed on. "Are you okay? That didn't look like something minor."

  The concern in her voice seemed genuine, which caught me off guard. In all my knowledge of the series, I couldn't recall Murayama ever showing concern for Issei outside of plot-critical danger moments.

  "I'm managing it," I replied after a moment. "The doctors are still figuring out exactly what's happening, but the episodes usually pass quickly."

  She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's... good to hear."

  An awkward silence fell between us. In the distance, a train whistle sounded.

  "Why do you care?" I finally asked, genuinely curious. "I thought you hated me."

  Murayama's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in consideration. "I hated what you did," she said carefully. "Not who you are."

  The distinction surprised me. "That's... a nuanced perspective."

  "Don't sound so shocked," she replied with a hint of her usual sharpness. "I'm not just a shinai-wielding vengeance machine."

  I couldn't help the small smile that formed. "Could have fooled me. You've got a mean strike."

  "Years of practice," she said, a ghost of pride crossing her features before uncertainty returned. "Look, this is awkward, but... Katase and I were on the roof today. We heard what you said to Matsuda and Motohama."

  I kept my expression neutral, though internally I was weighing response options. "Ah."

  "Did you mean it? About the consent thing?" Her eyes searched mine, looking for signs of deception.

  "Yes," I said simply. "I meant every word."

  She studied me for a long moment, as if seeing me for the first time. "You really have changed, haven't you?"

  "I'm trying to," I replied, the honesty in my voice surprising even me. "Some days are more successful than others."

  Another silence, less awkward than the first. Somewhere, cicadas began their evening chorus.

  "Well," she said finally, adjusting her bag. "I should go. Just... take care of yourself, Hyoudou."

  "You too, Murayama."

  She turned to leave, then paused. "By the way, whatever breathing technique you're using—it seems to be working. Your aura feels... different. Calmer."

  Before I could process that statement, she was walking away, her figure silhouetted against the setting sun.

  "The girl's spiritual sensitivity continues to develop," Ddraig observed once she was out of earshot. "As I noted on the rooftop during our first encounter, she can sense changes in your energy patterns."

  "Which is both useful and concerning," I murmured. "Another variable to monitor."

  "Or potentially an ally with useful abilities," the dragon countered. "Not all allies need to be supernatural."

  I considered this as I resumed my walk home. Murayama had martial training, spiritual sensitivity, and now, apparently, a willingness to see beyond Issei's perverted reputation. In a world where most humans remained oblivious to the supernatural threats around them, someone like her could be valuable.

  But bringing her into my world would also place her in danger. The original Issei had involved his human friends only after gaining the protection of a devil peerage—protection I was deliberately avoiding.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a prickling sensation at the base of my skull—the now-familiar feeling of being watched by something supernatural. But unlike Koneko's subtle observation, this presence made no attempt to hide its focus.

  A fallen angel was tracking me.

  I maintained my casual pace, making a deliberate show of checking my phone as I rounded the corner onto a less populated street. Through my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of a female figure in another school's uniform—petite build, long dark hair.

  Raynare had finally decided to make her move.

  "She's closing distance," Ddraig warned unnecessarily as I felt the fallen angel's presence growing stronger behind me.

  "Time to give the performance of my life," I murmured, schooling my features into casual unawareness as footsteps quickened behind me.

  "Um, excuse me?"

  I turned, feigning surprise at the sound of a sweet, hesitant voice that couldn't have been more different from the cruel, arrogant tones Raynare used in her true form.

  She stood there in her Yuuma Amano disguise—the picture of adolescent innocence in her neat uniform and shy smile. If I hadn't known better, if I hadn't sensed the malevolent power coiled beneath that human-seeming exterior, I might have been charmed like the original Issei.

  "Yes?" I replied, injecting just the right amount of confusion and interest into my voice.

  "You're Issei Hyoudou from Kuoh Academy, right?" She twisted a strand of hair around her finger nervously—a calculated gesture from a being who had likely been manipulating humans for centuries.

  "That's right," I confirmed, allowing a hint of curiosity to enter my expression. "Have we met before?"

  "No, no!" she said quickly, her cheeks coloring with artificial embarrassment. "I've just... seen you passing by. I go to Nashihara Academy down the road." She bowed slightly. "I'm Yuuma Amano."

  "Nice to meet you, Yuuma," I replied with a carefully calibrated smile—friendly but not overeager. Not the reaction of the perpetually hormonal Issei she was expecting.

  Her eyes flickered with momentary confusion before the sweet smile returned. "This is really forward of me, and I'm so embarrassed to ask, but..." She took a deep breath, playing the part of nervous schoolgirl to perfection. "Would you... would you go out with me this weekend?"

  I allowed my eyes to widen with genuine-seeming surprise. "Go out? Like, on a date?"

  "If that's okay!" she added quickly. "I've just admired you from afar for a while, and I finally worked up the courage to ask. But if you're not interested—"

  "No, I'd love to," I interrupted, letting a smile spread across my face. "I'm just surprised, that's all. This doesn't happen to me every day."

  Relief flooded her features—the predator pleased that its prey was walking willingly into the trap. "Really? That's wonderful! How about Sunday? We could meet at the shopping district station at noon?"

  "Sunday at noon sounds perfect," I agreed, playing the part of the flattered, slightly overwhelmed boy being asked out by a pretty girl.

  "Great!" She clapped her hands together in manufactured delight. "I'll see you then, Issei!"

  As she turned to leave with a cheerful wave, I maintained my fa?ade of pleasant surprise. Only when she was well out of sight did I allow my expression to harden, my eyes tracking her retreating figure with cold calculation.

  "You played that well," Ddraig commented. "She suspects nothing."

  "She will," I replied quietly. "At the fountain, when she doesn't manage to kill me as easily as she expects."

  "What is your plan for the confrontation?"

  I smiled grimly, touching the crimson amulet at my throat. "Let's just say this date is going to end very differently than she's anticipating."

  The dragon's approving rumble resonated through my chest as I continued homeward, mind already mapping out Sunday's confrontation in precise tactical detail.

  Raynare thought she was setting a trap for an unsuspecting, powerless human boy. Instead, she was walking straight into the jaws of a dragon who knew her every move before she made it.

  The game was in motion, and I intended to change the rules.

  The abandoned storage unit had become my training ground, far enough from both school and residential areas to avoid detection. The concrete walls bore scorch marks and impact craters from previous sessions—testament to the growing power I was struggling to control.

  I stood in the center of the empty space, a metal pipe gripped in my right hand. Not the ideal weapon, but a reasonable facsimile for the sword I hoped to eventually craft.

  "Focus the energy through your core first," Ddraig instructed, "then extend it outward through your arm and into the weapon."

  "Like this?" I channeled draconic power from my heart, letting it flow down my arm in a controlled stream.

  "Better. But you're still forcing it. The energy should move like water, not like fire—smooth, continuous."

  I adjusted my approach, visualizing the power as a flowing river rather than an erupting volcano. The pipe began to glow faintly with crimson energy.

  "Good. Now maintain that flow while increasing the volume."

  Sweat beaded on my forehead as I pushed more power through the channel I'd created. The pipe's glow intensified, shifting from crimson to a brighter scarlet edged with green—the color of Ddraig's flames.

  "It's working," I said through gritted teeth, the metal growing warm in my grip.

  "Don't lose focus. Control is more important than power at this stage."

  I nodded, maintaining the flow while adjusting my stance to better balance the energy distribution. My security training had included some weapon work—batons primarily, with some knife defense—but channeling supernatural power through metal was an entirely different skill set.

  The pipe was now glowing white-hot, vibrating slightly in my hand. Despite the heat, my draconic-enhanced skin prevented burns—another benefit of the transformation.

  "How would this fare against a light spear?" I asked, executing a practice swing that left a trail of energy in the air.

  "It would disrupt the light element temporarily," Ddraig explained. "Not destroy it, but potentially create an opening for a counterattack. Against a fallen of Raynare's level, it might be enough—if your timing is perfect."

  "It worked yesterday, at least," I noted, recalling how I'd managed to deflect her first attack. "Though I barely redirected it in time."

  "You survived, which is more than the original timeline offered. But she'll be more prepared next time, and likely bring reinforcements."

  I increased the power flow incrementally, watching the energy coating the pipe thicken into something almost solid, extending the effective length of the weapon by several inches.

  "Careful. You're approaching the metal's tolerance threshold."

  "Just a bit more," I insisted, pushing harder. If I could create a more substantial energy extension, the reach advantage against Raynare's spears would—

  The pipe shattered with a sound like a gunshot, fragments flying in all directions. One shard sliced across my cheek before I could react, drawing blood that sizzled as it met the draconic energy still coating my skin.

  "Damn it!" I hissed, dropping the ruined handle.

  "As I warned. Ordinary metal cannot contain higher levels of dragon energy. You need something forged specifically for this purpose."

  I wiped blood from my face, the minor cut already healing thanks to my enhanced system. "Not exactly something I can pick up at the local hardware store."

  "No. Such a weapon would require magical forging—resources beyond our current means."

  "So I'm stuck with improvised weapons for now."

  "For direct confrontation, yes. But remember, your greatest advantages are knowledge and strategy. Use those first, power second."

  I nodded, picking up another pipe from the small collection I'd gathered. "Again?"

  "Wait." Ddraig's tone shifted. "We're being observed."

  I froze, extending my senses outward. There—a faint supernatural presence at the far corner of the building. Too small for an adult, with the distinctive energy signature of a devil.

  "Koneko," I murmured, recognizing the pattern from my brief encounters with her at school. As Rias's Rook, she excelled at stealth reconnaissance.

  I relaxed my stance, allowing the draconic energy to recede completely. No point pretending I hadn't been training, but I could at least hide the nature of that training. Let her report back to Rias that Issei was practicing with makeshift weapons—unusual, but not supernatural.

  After a moment, the presence vanished. Either she'd left, or more likely, she'd masked her energy more effectively.

  "The devils grow more interested," Ddraig observed. "First the Student Council, now the Gremory peerage."

  "It's not surprising," I replied, gathering the scattered pipe fragments. "In the original timeline, both Rias and Sona had their eyes on Issei for his sacred gear potential. The difference is that now I'm actively hiding that potential while developing it further."

  "A strategy that becomes more difficult with each passing day. Your power grows, as does your body's adjustment to it."

  "Which means more noticeable changes and more difficulty suppressing everything." I sighed, leaning against the concrete wall. "We're running out of time for subtlety."

  "Then perhaps it's time to consider what comes after subtlety fails. Alliances will eventually be necessary."

  "But on my terms, not theirs," I insisted. "I won't be anyone's pawn—devil, fallen, or otherwise."

  Ddraig's rumbling laugh echoed through my mind. "A dragon never is, partner. Not for long, anyway."

  I smiled slightly, appreciating his confidence. Still, as I gathered my things to leave, doubt gnawed at the edges of my determination. The game board was becoming increasingly crowded, with pieces moving in ways I couldn't always predict.

  How long could I maintain independence in a world where nearly every faction would see the Red Dragon Emperor as a prize to be claimed?