The morning bell of Kuoh Academy rang with the same cheerful tone I remembered from the anime, but experiencing it in person was surreal. Two months of intensive training with Ddraig had left me functional—barely. Energy suppression was proving to be the hardest skill to master.

  "Remember, steady breaths," Ddraig's voice rumbled in my mind as I approached the school gates. "Imagine your power as water behind a dam. Control the flow."

  "Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath, earning a curious glance from a passing student. "You're not the one trying to hide a dragon in plain sight."

  The campus was exactly as I remembered it—pristine grounds, elegant architecture, and a student body that was predominantly female. After being a private all-girls school until recently, the ratio still heavily favored the female population. No wonder the original Issei had been so excited to attend.

  I paused outside the main building, taking a moment to check my reflection in a window. The face looking back at me was still strange—young, Japanese features that belonged to Issei Hyoudou rather than Andrew Slayn, the twenty-one-year-old security officer I'd been before the accident. Two months hadn't been enough time to fully adjust to this borrowed existence.

  A quick survey confirmed no one was watching before I pulled out my sketchbook from my bag. Flipping past detailed drawings of combat stances and martial arts forms, I found my latest project—a greatsword design inspired by my Dark Knight main in Final Fantasy XIV. The sleek, curved single-edged blade was drawn in exquisite detail, with notes about balance and materials carefully annotated in the margins.

  "Not exactly standard school equipment," I murmured, running my fingers over the drawing. "But it beats improvised metal pipes."

  "You should focus on energy suppression first," Ddraig advised. "Weapon designs can wait until you're not at risk of accidentally revealing yourself."

  He had a point. I'd spent my summer break surviving a heart transformation and mastering the basics of controlling draconic energy, yet I still struggled with maintaining perfect suppression when distracted or emotional. The last thing I needed was to flare supernatural energy in the middle of a classroom.

  As I tucked the sketchbook away, a familiar voice called out behind me.

  "ISSEI!"

  I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Matsuda and Motohama—the other two-thirds of what the student body called "The Perverted Trio."

  I suppressed a sigh. In my past life, I'd handled drunk businessmen and aggressive clubgoers. Somehow, I suspected these two would be more difficult to manage.

  "Where have you been all summer?" Matsuda demanded, his bald head gleaming in the morning sun as he threw an arm around my shoulders. "We texted you like, fifty times about our ultimate summer peeping plan!"

  "And you missed our traditional end-of-summer porn marathon," Motohama added, adjusting his glasses with a suspiciously perceptive glare. "Are you dying or something?"

  I carefully extracted myself from Matsuda's grasp, keeping my expression neutral. "Been busy. Had some... health issues to deal with."

  "Health issues?" Matsuda repeated skeptically. "Like what?"

  "Heart stuff," I replied vaguely, which wasn't entirely untrue. The draconic heart that had replaced my human one during the transformation could certainly be classified as a "heart issue."

  Motohama studied me with narrowed eyes. "Since when do you have heart problems? And why do you look... different?"

  I'd forgotten how perceptive he could be behind that perverted fa?ade. The original Issei had valued his ability to instantly measure a girl's three sizes, but his observational skills extended beyond that particular talent.

  "Exercise," I explained, which was at least partially true. My training regimen had included physical conditioning to better channel draconic energy. "Doctor said it would help with my condition."

  "Exercise?" Matsuda looked at me as if I'd spoken a foreign language. "You mean like... intentional physical activity? For health?"

  "That's generally what exercise means, yes," I replied dryly.

  Motohama suddenly grabbed my arm, rolling up my sleeve to reveal muscles that were indeed more defined than the average teenager's. "Holy shit, you weren't kidding. You've actually been working out!"

  I pulled my arm back, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "It's not a big deal."

  "Not a big deal?" Matsuda exclaimed. "Dude, the Issei we know considered walking to the store for a new porn mag his workout for the week!"

  The warning bell rang, saving me from further interrogation. "We should get to class," I said, grateful for the interruption.

  As we walked toward our classroom, I felt Motohama's analytical gaze on me. Unlike Matsuda's overt disbelief, his scrutiny was more methodical, cataloging the differences between the Issei he remembered and the person walking beside him now.

  Walking these familiar hallways triggered another memory cascade—Issei's first day at Kuoh, his excitement at the favorable gender ratio, the plans he'd made with his friends to "establish perverted dominance" in this former all-girls school. The feelings came with such clarity that for a moment, I could almost believe they were my own: the nervous anticipation of a teenager entering high school, the plans and dreams that seemed so important at that age.

  It was disorienting, this blending of perspectives—my adult security professional's mindset suddenly intersected by the emotional landscape of a teenage boy. Ddraig had explained that the soul fusion would integrate memories over time, but he hadn't mentioned how visceral those memory transfers would feel, how they would bring not just information but emotional attachments I hadn't earned yet somehow inherited.

  "This is weird," he finally said. "You're not talking about breasts. You haven't mentioned Rias-senpai's oppai once. And you're walking... differently."

  "Differently how?" I asked, genuinely curious.

  "Like... I don't know. More alert? Like those guys in action movies who are always ready for something to happen." He frowned. "The heart thing must be serious if it's changed you this much."

  I didn't reply immediately, struck by his unexpected concern. In the anime, the Perverted Trio's friendship had been portrayed almost entirely through their shared degenerate interests. This glimpse of genuine worry reminded me that there was more to these relationships than I'd given credit for.

  And then it hit me—a wave of memories that weren't fully mine. Motohama standing up for Issei in middle school when older kids had bullied him about his height. Movie marathons at Matsuda's house when Issei's parents were away, the three of them falling asleep amid empty snack containers and wild boasts about their future harem plans. A shared umbrella on a rainy day, laughter during school festivals, whispered encouragement during difficult exams.

  Years of friendship, camaraderie, and genuine brotherhood washed over me with such intensity that I had to swallow past a sudden lump in my throat. These weren't my friendships—and yet, they were. The emotional connection was real, even if I was experiencing it secondhand through our merged consciousness.

  "I'm fine," I assured him, softening my tone considerably. "Just... reassessing some priorities."

  Matsuda scoffed, his moment of concern passing quickly. "As long as 'priorities' still includes our sacred peeping spot by the kendo club's changing room. We've got first-years to evaluate!"

  And just like that, my momentary sympathy evaporated. Some things, it seemed, hadn't changed at all.

  Class was as mundane as I remembered high school being, though the material was significantly easier the second time around. When the teacher called on me to solve an equation, I answered automatically, earning surprised looks from both students and faculty alike. The original Issei had apparently been a below-average student at best.

  During a particularly boring lecture, I found myself opening my sketchbook again, adding details to my sword design. The weight distribution would need adjustment to accommodate the energy channeling I had in mind. Perhaps a specialized grip to better conduct draconic power...

  "Mr. Hyoudou."

  I looked up to find the teacher standing over my desk, eyes fixed on my drawing.

  "While I appreciate your newfound interest in artistic pursuits over your... previous extracurricular activities," she said dryly, "perhaps you could wait until after my lecture to continue?"

  A few students snickered, and I felt heat rise to my face. How had I let my guard down so easily? Security training was supposed to have made me more situationally aware than this.

  "Sorry, sensei," I murmured, closing the sketchbook.

  As she walked away, I noticed Murayama watching me from across the classroom, her expression curious rather than hostile. Our eyes met briefly before she looked away, but not before I caught the slight furrow of her brow—the look of someone trying to solve a puzzle.

  Another sudden flash of the original Issei's emotions surged through me—embarrassment and a strange mix of fear and excitement. The memory of being caught peeping at the kendo club changing room last year surfaced with crystal clarity: Murayama's furious expression as she'd swung her shinai, the pain as it connected with his skull, his desperate scramble to escape while she shouted threats that made even Matsuda pale.

  But underneath that memory lay something else—a genuine admiration for her skill, for the graceful strength with which she wielded her weapon. The original Issei had respected her abilities even while objectifying her, a contradiction I hadn't appreciated from just watching the anime.

  The kendo captain had always been perceptive. Had she noticed something beyond just my changed behavior?

  "The brown-haired one has spiritual sensitivity," Ddraig commented, confirming my suspicions. "She can likely sense something different about your energy, even if she doesn't understand what she's perceiving."

  Great. Another complication I didn't need. I focused on suppressing my energy more carefully, minimizing any leakage that might trigger her awareness.

  When lunchtime arrived, I declined Matsuda and Motohama's invitation to join them in "tactical surveillance" of the tennis club's practice, choosing instead to find a quiet spot on the roof where I could practice meditation and energy control.

  The rooftop was mercifully empty, allowing me to settle into a cross-legged position against the wall, hidden from casual observation by the stairwell housing. Closing my eyes, I focused on the steady rhythm of my draconic heart, far slower and more powerful than a human heartbeat.

  Breathe in. Visualize energy flowing smoothly through your circulatory system. Breathe out. Contain any excess within the core, around the heart. Breathe in. Feel the boundaries of your aura, check for leaks or flares. Breathe out. Smooth any irregularities, maintain consistent suppression.

  I'd been practicing this daily since the transformation, yet perfect control still eluded me. Every time I thought I'd mastered it, some emotional trigger or physical strain would cause a momentary lapse—a flicker of crimson energy visible to supernatural beings, a brief pulse of power that any devil or fallen angel would immediately detect.

  "You're improving," Ddraig noted, his ancient voice resonating through my mind. "Two months ago, you couldn't maintain this level of suppression for more than a few minutes. Now you're holding it for hours."

  "Not well enough," I replied quietly. "I felt at least two devils monitoring me during morning classes. They suspect something."

  "Inevitable," the dragon rumbled. "This is their territory. Their detection wards would have registered your arrival the moment you stepped onto campus, regardless of how well you suppress your aura."

  He was right, of course. My original plan to fly under the radar until I was ready was probably doomed from the start. The plot demanded that Rias and Sona take interest in me—though in the original timeline, it had been purely for my Sacred Gear potential rather than my partially draconic nature.

  A small, nagging thought surfaced as I meditated. Why exactly was I trying to avoid them? In the anime, becoming a devil had exponentially increased Issei's power and given him crucial allies. Was I letting my security training's emphasis on self-reliance override tactical common sense?

  "Independence has its advantages," Ddraig responded to my unspoken thoughts. "Devils serve their masters for centuries. Freedom is no small thing to surrender, especially for one who carries a dragon's heart."

  Before I could reply, the rooftop door banged open. My eyes snapped open as I instinctively reinforced my energy suppression, ready for a potential threat.

  Instead, I found myself facing Murayama and Katase, the kendo club's top members. They froze upon seeing me, clearly not expecting anyone else to be there.

  Something strange happened in that moment—a sudden surge of emotions that weren't entirely my own. My heart rate increased, and I felt a rush of complicated feelings: nervousness, excitement, and a flash of appreciation for the way their school uniforms hugged their athletic figures. These weren't my thoughts—they were echoes of the original Issei's reactions, bleeding through the fusion of our consciousness.

  "The original soul's emotions occasionally surface when encountering significant people from his memories," Ddraig explained privately. "The integration is still ongoing."

  I pushed the foreign feelings aside with effort, disturbed by their intensity. It wasn't just physical attraction—though that was certainly part of it—but also a complex web of memories: the thrill of peeping expeditions, the fear of being caught, the admiration for Murayama's kendo skills mixed with the original Issei's perverted appreciation of her figure. All of it crashed through my mind in an instant, disorienting in its sudden clarity.

  "Hyoudou?" Murayama's surprise quickly shifted to suspicion. "What are you doing up here? This isn't another of your perverted schemes, is it?"

  I stood slowly, keeping my movements casual to avoid appearing threatening. "Just getting some fresh air. Needed a quiet place to think."

  Katase glanced around, as if expecting Matsuda and Motohama to jump out from hiding. "Alone? That's unusual for you."

  "People change," I replied with a slight shrug, moving toward the door. "I'll leave you to your lunch."

  "Wait." Murayama's voice stopped me. "Your breathing just now... that was a meditation technique, wasn't it?"

  I turned back, surprised by her observation. "You recognize meditation postures?"

  She nodded. "My grandfather taught traditional kendo. Proper breathing and mental focus were part of the training." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "But I wouldn't have expected you to know anything about that."

  "Like I said, people change." I hesitated, then decided to offer a partial truth. "My doctor recommended meditation techniques to help with my heart condition. Helps regulate the episodes."

  "Heart condition?" Murayama said, her tone more concerned than hostile. "Katase mentioned she ran into you during break. She said it looked serious that time."

  "It's manageable," I assured them, maintaining my cover story. "The episodes come and go. The meditation helps regulate them."

  Katase nodded, her previous hostility noticeably diminished. "It was pretty scary, honestly. You looked like you were in serious pain that day near the shopping district."

  "That explains the breathing exercises in class," she said slowly. "I thought you were just falling asleep with your eyes open."

  "It's also why I've been exercising more," I added, though they already knew this part from Katase's previous encounter with me. "Continuing with the cardio strengthening."

  "Seems to be working," Katase observed, studying me more carefully now. "You actually look stronger than before break."

  Murayama nodded in agreement. "The training regimen must be intense. You move differently now—more balanced."

  Her observation was surprisingly astute. The draconic heart had indeed improved my physical coordination significantly, beyond what normal exercise could achieve.

  "Basic martial arts forms help with the coordination," I explained, providing another partial truth. "The doctor recommended them for overall wellness."

  "Martial arts? You?" Katase couldn't fully hide her skepticism despite her newfound concern. "That's quite a change from... your previous interests."

  "As I told you before," I replied with a small smile, referencing our conversation during the summer break, "near-death experiences have a way of adjusting priorities."

  An awkward silence fell between us. These girls had spent the previous year chasing me—or rather, the original Issei—with shinai whenever he was caught peeping. This was possibly the longest civil conversation we'd ever had.

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  "Well," I said finally, "I should go. Sorry to intrude on your lunch spot."

  As I reached for the door, Murayama spoke again. "Your posture is wrong."

  I turned back, confused. "Excuse me?"

  "Your meditation posture," she clarified. "You're too tense in the shoulders. It restricts proper breathing." She demonstrated the correct position, her back straight but relaxed, shoulders dropped naturally. "Like this."

  I blinked in surprise at the unexpected advice. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

  Her eyes met mine directly, that same puzzled expression returning. "You're different, Hyoudou. Not just the meditation or the health thing. Something else."

  For a moment, I wondered if her spiritual sensitivity was stronger than I'd initially assessed—if she could somehow perceive the fundamental change in my soul, the fusion of Issei and Andrew that had created something entirely new.

  "Good different or bad different?" I asked lightly, deflecting with humor.

  "Just... different," she replied, still studying me intently. "It's strange."

  "I'll take that as a compliment," I said with a slight bow that would have been out of character for the old Issei. "Ladies."

  As I descended the stairs, I could feel their eyes on my back, their confusion almost palpable. The interaction hadn't gone as expected—neither the hostility I'd anticipated nor the complete indifference that might have been easier to manage. Instead, there had been a spark of something like recognition from Murayama, as if some part of her sensed the changes within me on a level beyond conscious understanding.

  "The kendo girl could be problematic," Ddraig observed. "Her spiritual sensitivity seems to be developing naturally, even without formal training."

  "Or she could be an asset," I countered quietly. "Allies with different strengths improve survival odds."

  "True. Though hunting for allies seems premature when you've yet to master basic energy containment."

  I couldn't argue with that. One step at a time. First, survive the school day without exposing my supernatural nature. Then worry about potential allies, devil recruitment attempts, and fallen angel assassination plots.

  Just another Monday at Kuoh Academy.

  The afternoon classes dragged on, though I found myself occasionally aware of being observed. A white-haired first-year—Koneko Toujou, Rias's Rook—appeared outside my classroom window at one point, her expression impassive as she studied me before disappearing. During physical education, I deliberately held back, performing at an above-average but not superhuman level despite my enhanced capabilities.

  As the final bell rang on our third day of the new term, I was gathering my things when a Student Council member approached my desk.

  "Hyoudou Issei?" she asked formally. "Kaichou would like to speak with you in the Student Council room."

  So it begins, I thought. Three days of consistently improved academic performance and changed behavior had been enough to pique Sona's interest—earlier than in the original timeline, but still following a logical progression.

  "Of course," I replied, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Lead the way."

  As we walked through the hallways, I prepared myself mentally for the coming conversation. Sona Sitri was formidably intelligent and perceptive. In the anime, she had always been portrayed as the more analytical, less emotional counterpart to Rias's passionate leadership style. Maintaining my cover story would be challenging but essential.

  The Student Council room was exactly as I'd imagined it—immaculate, formal, with large windows overlooking the school grounds. Sona sat behind an elegant desk, her posture perfect as she reviewed documents with practiced efficiency. Beside her stood Tsubaki Shinra, the Vice President and Sona's Queen, her expression as formal and reserved as her King's.

  "Thank you for coming, Hyoudou," Sona said, setting aside her papers and adjusting her glasses with a precise motion. "Please, have a seat."

  I took the offered chair, maintaining a relaxed posture while staying alert. "Is there a problem, Kaichou?"

  "Not precisely," she replied, studying me with analytical violet eyes. "I've noticed some irregularities in your attendance records from last term, followed by reports of unusual behavior since your return."

  "Unusual how?" I asked, though I could guess.

  "For one, your academic performance has improved dramatically," she noted, gesturing to a file that presumably contained my records. "Your teachers report a sudden engagement with material you previously showed no interest in. You've also been observed practicing breathing exercises during classes, and your physical education performance has changed markedly."

  I nodded, deciding that honesty—or at least, partial honesty—would serve better than denial. "I was diagnosed with a heart condition over the break. It's required some lifestyle adjustments."

  "A heart condition," she repeated, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp. "Yet you've increased your physical activity rather than restricted it."

  "Controlled exercise strengthens the cardiovascular system," I replied. "Under proper medical supervision, of course."

  "Of course," she echoed, though her expression suggested she didn't entirely believe my explanation. "And the breathing exercises?"

  "Help regulate my heart rate during episodes," I explained. "It's a management technique my doctor recommended."

  Sona exchanged a brief glance with Tsubaki—a silent communication that spoke volumes. They weren't buying my story completely, but they couldn't disprove it either.

  "I see," Sona said finally. "Well, regardless of the cause, your improved academic focus is commendable. I understand you've also distanced yourself from certain... disruptive activities that previously occupied your time."

  I couldn't help but smile slightly. "If you mean peeping, then yes. Near-death experiences have a way of adjusting priorities."

  Her eyebrow rose fractionally at my directness. "Indeed. Though I'm curious what new priorities have replaced your former interests."

  I considered my response carefully. "Self-improvement, mainly. Physical conditioning, better study habits, exploring interests beyond the, uh, human form."

  "Such as?" she prompted.

  "Strategy games," I replied truthfully. Security work had taught me to stay as close to the truth as possible when constructing cover stories. "Chess, specifically. I've been teaching myself during recovery periods."

  This seemed to genuinely surprise her. "Chess? That's an unexpected interest for someone with your previous reputation."

  "I find it relaxing," I said with a slight shrug. "The clear rules, the tactical thinking—it's a good mental distraction when dealing with physical discomfort."

  Sona studied me for a long moment, her analytical mind clearly reassessing whatever conclusions she'd previously drawn. "How interesting. I happen to be something of a chess enthusiast myself."

  "So I've heard," I acknowledged. "Your reputation precedes you, Kaichou."

  "Perhaps we could play sometime," she suggested, though her tone made it clear this was more than a casual invitation. "I'm always looking for worthy opponents, and they're unfortunately rare at Kuoh Academy."

  A test, then—to further observe my strategic thinking and behavior up close. In the original timeline, Issei had never interacted significantly with Sona until much later, after joining Rias's peerage. This deviation presented both risks and opportunities.

  "I'd be honored," I replied, "though I should warn you I'm entirely self-taught. Probably no challenge for someone of your caliber."

  "One never knows," she said, a hint of genuine interest entering her voice. "Talent sometimes emerges from unexpected places."

  Our conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Tsubaki moved to answer it, revealing Rias Gremory standing in the doorway, her crimson hair unmistakable even from my seated position.

  "Sona, about the—" Rias began, then stopped as she noticed me. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

  "We were just concluding," Sona replied smoothly. "Hyoudou-kun was explaining some recent changes in his academic performance."

  Rias's turquoise eyes settled on me with newfound interest. "Issei Hyoudou? I've heard your name mentioned by several faculty members recently."

  I stood and bowed slightly, maintaining my respectful student persona. "Gremory-senpai. I hope what they've mentioned has been an improvement over previous reports."

  A smile touched her lips. "Significantly so. It's always refreshing to see students taking their education more seriously."

  The energy in the room had shifted perceptibly with Rias's arrival. Though both she and Sona maintained perfect human appearances, I could feel the subtle pressure of their supernatural presence—two high-class devils assessing a potential piece for their respective peerages.

  "Careful," Ddraig warned in my mind. "The red-haired one is particularly interested in your energy signature. Maintain steady suppression."

  I focused on my breathing, ensuring no leaks in my containment. "If there's nothing else, Kaichou, I should be going. I have a training session scheduled this afternoon."

  "Of course," Sona nodded. "Though do consider my invitation for a chess match. Perhaps tomorrow after classes? The Student Council room will be available."

  "Tomorrow works," I agreed, recognizing that declining would only increase their suspicion. "Thank you for your concern regarding my attendance records."

  As I left, I could feel both devils watching me—two predators observing potential prey, though neither yet realized that what they were watching was a dragon in human clothing rather than just another Sacred Gear user.

  The most disorienting flash of original-Issei emotions hit me as I passed Rias in the doorway—a powerful, almost overwhelming wave of pure admiration and lustful appreciation that nearly made me stumble. The intensity of his feelings for Kuoh Academy's "Great Onee-sama" was staggering—not just physical attraction, though that was certainly powerful, but a kind of reverent worship of her beauty, kindness, and status.

  For a moment, I could see her through his eyes: the perfect crimson hair, the gentle smile that had once made his heart race, the way her school uniform highlighted curves that had dominated his fantasies for two years. The original Issei had constructed elaborate rescue scenarios where he would save Rias from danger, earning her eternal devotion and, in his hormone-driven imagination, physical affection.

  I had to pause in the hallway after the door closed, taking several deep breaths to separate his emotional reactions from my own more tactical assessment of her as a powerful devil and potential ally or adversary.

  The walk home gave me time to process not just the day's events but these emotional echoes that were becoming increasingly frequent. My interactions with Matsuda and Motohama had triggered surprising depths of friendship memories. The kendo girls—particularly Murayama—had shown unexpected perceptiveness while simultaneously triggering complex emotional responses from the original Issei's consciousness. And now both devil heiresses had taken notice of me earlier than in the original timeline, with Rias's presence unleashing a particularly potent wave of inherited emotions.

  The quiet suburban street offered no answers as I approached the Hyoudou residence—a modest two-story home that had belonged to the original Issei and now served as my borrowed dwelling. The thought of "home" still felt strange after two months. In my previous life, I'd lived in a small apartment close to the security firm where I'd worked, its spartan furnishings reflecting my practical nature and long work hours.

  "I'm home," I called out of habit as I entered, removing my shoes at the entryway.

  "Issei!" My mother's voice carried from the kitchen, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. She appeared in the hallway, a kitchen towel in hand and a look of surprise on her face. "You're back early. I thought you'd be out with your friends."

  The expression was becoming familiar—that mixture of confusion and cautious hope whenever I did something contrary to the original Issei's established patterns. It made me wonder exactly how problematic her son had been before my arrival.

  "Just some studying to do," I replied, setting my bag down. "Exams this term are supposed to be challenging."

  Her eyebrows rose even higher. "Studying? Voluntarily? Are you feeling alright?"

  "I'm fine," I assured her with a small smile. "Just trying to be more responsible."

  She studied me for a moment, maternal concern evident in her eyes. "You've been different since that episode over the summer. The doctor said your heart condition is stable, but sometimes I wonder..."

  "It is stable," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. My draconic heart was functioning perfectly—it just wasn't human anymore. "As long as I maintain the prescribed regimen, everything's fine."

  She didn't look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. "Well, dinner will be ready in about an hour. Your father's working late tonight."

  "Actually," I said, struck by a sudden impulse, "would you like some help with dinner?"

  The offer clearly stunned her. "You want to help cook? Since when do you know how to cook?"

  "I've picked up a few things," I replied vaguely. In truth, cooking had been a passion in my previous life—a practical skill that doubled as stress relief during my high-pressure security job. "Thought it might be nice to learn from you."

  The surprise on her face melted into something warmer—a genuine smile that made me realize how rarely I'd seen that expression directed at me since arriving in this world. "I'd like that, Issei. Very much."

  The next hour passed in comfortable domesticity as she taught me (or rather, as I pretended to learn) how to properly prepare traditional Japanese dishes. My muscle memory from years of cooking remained intact despite the body transfer, and I had to occasionally force mistakes to maintain the illusion that this was new knowledge.

  "You're a natural," she commented as I deftly chopped vegetables with practiced precision. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

  "Maybe in another life," I joked, the irony of the statement not lost on me.

  As we worked side by side, I found myself studying her profile surreptitiously. This woman wasn't my mother—my actual parents were worlds away, unreachable across the barrier of death and dimensional transfer. Yet she had raised the body I now inhabited, cared for the soul that had partially merged with mine. The relationship was complicated in ways she could never understand.

  "What?" she asked, catching me watching her.

  "Nothing," I replied. "Just... thanks. For teaching me."

  Her expression softened. "Anytime, Issei. This is... nice. Different, but nice."

  When my father returned home, his surprise at finding me in the kitchen was even more pronounced than my mother's had been. He stood in the doorway for a full ten seconds, briefcase still in hand, staring as if he'd walked into the wrong house.

  As he set down his briefcase, his familiar face triggered another memory cascade—years of his patient guidance teaching a young Issei to ride a bicycle, his proud smile at elementary school achievements that had gradually faded as his son's interests narrowed to perverted pursuits, the disappointment in his eyes during the last parent-teacher conference when Issei's failing grades were discussed. Along with these memories came a flood of emotions: childish adoration giving way to teenage embarrassment, then the complex mix of love and shame that had characterized their recent relationship.

  I felt a surprising pang of guilt 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.

  "Issei's learning to cook," my mother explained, her tone suggesting this was only slightly less miraculous than spontaneous levitation.

  "Is that right?" he managed, recovering slowly. "Any particular reason for this sudden interest in culinary arts?"

  I shrugged, keeping my focus on plating the food. "Thought it might be a useful skill to have. More economical than eating out all the time."

  "Practical thinking," he noted with obvious surprise. "Well. That's... good."

  Dinner itself was a somewhat awkward affair, with both parents clearly unsure how to interact with this new version of their son. The original Issei had apparently been boisterous, single-minded in his perverted interests, and academically disinterested. My more reserved, thoughtful demeanor left them constantly off-balance.

  "So," my father attempted after a prolonged silence, "how was school today?"

  "Fine," I replied automatically, then remembered this was supposed to be a family dinner. "Actually, the Student Council President invited me to play chess tomorrow."

  Both parents froze mid-bite, exchanging glances of utter disbelief.

  "Shitori-san?" my mother clarified. "The honor student who's won national competitions? That Student Council President?"

  "That's the one," I confirmed, continuing to eat normally as if this weren't an extraordinary development.

  "Since when do you play chess?" my father asked, setting down his chopsticks.

  "Picked it up over the summer," I explained between bites. "It's good mental exercise. Helps with focus."

  Another exchange of parental glances—a silent conversation consisting entirely of raised eyebrows and widened eyes.

  "Well," my mother finally said, "that's... wonderful, Issei. I'm sure you'll... do your best."

  The careful neutrality in her tone made me realize they were bracing for disappointment—expecting me to embarrass myself against Sona's legendary strategic prowess. The original Issei would have had no chance, of course, but I'd spent countless hours playing chess during overnight security shifts in my previous life. I was no grandmaster, but I was certainly competent enough to surprise Sona.

  After dinner, I helped clear the table and wash dishes—another behavior that clearly disconcerted my parents—before retreating to my room to study. Not the high school material, which was simple enough to manage without dedicated effort, but rather my notes on energy manipulation and draconic transformation.

  The journal I kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard contained detailed observations of my physical changes since the heart transformation, theories about energy channeling techniques, and sketches of potential weapons designed to conduct draconic power. Tonight, I added notes about Murayama's spiritual sensitivity and the devils' earlier-than-expected interest in my presence.

  "Your plans may need acceleration," Ddraig commented as I wrote. "Both devil houses are watching you now, and the fallen angel has likely detected your presence as well."

  "Raynare," I murmured, the name bringing with it memories of the anime's first major antagonist. "In the original timeline, she approached Issei within the first two weeks of school. We should have a little time before she makes contact."

  "Don't grow complacent," Ddraig warned. "Timeline changes may accelerate certain events even as they delay others."

  "True," I acknowledged. "But a small buffer gives us time to establish routines, develop skills, build potential alliances. Strategic preparation requires patience."

  "And your strategy when she does?"

  I tapped my pen against the paper thoughtfully. "Depends on the approach. If she follows the original script, she'll use her Yuuma Amano persona to ask me on a date, planning to kill me at the end of it. I could either avoid the confrontation entirely or use it as an opportunity to demonstrate just enough power to make her reconsider."

  "The latter option risks exposing your abilities to the devils as well," Ddraig pointed out. "They will almost certainly be monitoring such an encounter."

  "True," I acknowledged. "But completely avoiding confrontation just delays the inevitable. Sooner or later, I'll need to demonstrate what I'm capable of—just not all of it at once."

  I closed the journal and returned it to its hiding place. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges: a chess match with Sona, continued observation by both devil factions, and the ever-present risk of fallen angel intervention. For now, I needed to focus on mastering energy suppression and planning my responses to various scenarios.

  As I settled into bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of a room decorated with posters that reflected the original Issei's interests rather than my own, I couldn't help but reflect on how surreal my situation remained even after two months.

  The most challenging aspect wasn't the supernatural powers or even the draconic transformation—it was the increasing integration with Issei's consciousness. Each day brought new emotional echoes, memory fragments that weren't mine yet somehow were. His connections to friends, family, crushes, rivals—all of them filtering into my awareness with authentic emotional weight that complicated my ability to maintain objective distance.

  When I looked at his parents, I felt both my own careful assessment of them as caregivers of my borrowed body and his lifetime of genuine filial love. When I interacted with his friends, I experienced both my own tactical evaluation of potential allies and his years of shared camaraderie. The boundaries between us were blurring in ways that troubled me during quiet moments like this.

  How much of me was still Andrew, the security professional? How much was becoming Issei? And how much was something new entirely—a fusion that contained elements of both yet was distinct from either? I knew my personality was changing, incorporating aspects of his emotional responses even as I maintained my more analytical approach to problems.

  I was a twenty-one-year-old security professional in the body of a seventeen-year-old pervert, with the heart of a dragon beating in my chest, the knowledge of future supernatural conflicts guiding my decisions, and now the emotional landscape of the original soul increasingly coloring my perceptions. The anime I'd watched for entertainment in my previous life was now my reality—a reality I was actively changing with each choice I made, even as it changed me in return.

  "You should rest," Ddraig advised, his rumbling voice gentler than usual. "Tomorrow brings new challenges."

  "It always does," I murmured, closing my eyes as exhaustion finally overcame me. "It always does."

  As sleep claimed me, I dreamed of chess pieces moving across a board tinged with crimson—devils and fallen angels, humans and dragons, all maneuvering for position in a game where the rules kept changing and the stakes were higher than anyone realized.

  In the dream, I was both player and piece, strategist and warrior, human and dragon.

  In the dream, as in my new reality, I was something entirely unique—a fusion of souls, memories, and powers that had never existed before in this world or any other.

  And whatever came next, I would face it on my own terms.

  Author Note:

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