Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
The school bell rang like it always did—less like a sign of freedom and more like the death knell of another day wasted.
Eiji Kuroryuu sighed from the depths of someone emotionally bankrupt since middle school. He leaned back in his seat, arms stretched high above his head, back cracking like old wood. No one turned. No one noticed.
Par for the course.
In the classroom of thirty, Eiji was student number thirty-one. Technically present, practically air.
The only ones who ever acknowledged his existence were those who somehow ended up orbiting his life like budget satellites.
"Oi, Eiji," called one of them—Taka, a loudmouth with spiky hair and the emotional maturity of a squirrel on energy drinks. He tossed an empty juice can across the room like a buzzer-beater in the finals. Thunk. It hit the bin. He raised his arms in fake glory. "Still reading that ecchi trash? You're walking nosebleed?"
Eiji didn't even flinch. With practiced elegance, he pulled a manga from his bag. The cover art was shameful—comically busty heroine, sparkly eyes, some magical panty-based transformation.
"Hey, hey," Eiji replied with mock offense, holding the volume like sacred scripture. "It's called 'Bikini Knights: Quest for the Holy Cup Size.' It's art. Culture, even."
Taka snorted. "Culture, my ass."
"You say that," Eiji said, sliding the book back into his bag, "but you cried during Volume 7."
"Shut up, that was a powerful arc!"
Behind them, the third member of their makeshift group, Hiro, strolled up with his usual slouch, headphones around his neck, and the world's most unimpressed face. "You guys argue about this crap every day. Feels like déjà vu, but dumber."
"Because it's tradition," Eiji said, shouldering his bag. "Now come on, my social battery's down to 2%, and I need to recharge with bad ramen and worse anime."
The three laughed—not loudly, unlike the center-of-attention crowd, but in that quiet, familiar way that only half-outsiders knew. The kind of laughter that didn't echo in halls but stayed close between people who didn't need to try too hard.
They stepped out into the cool afternoon air. The sky was painted with streaks of soft orange, and the wind carried just enough bite to remind them summer had finally given up.
Eiji tilted his head up. For just a moment, things felt…
Normal. Simple. Almost good.
It is the moment you want to take a mental snapshot of because somewhere deep down, you know it won't last.
"Hey," Taka said, nudging him. "You're zoning out again. What, fantasizing about your manga waifus?"
"Shut up," Eiji muttered, smiling a little. "You wouldn't get it."
And maybe he wouldn't.
But it didn't matter.
When he was returning home after separating from his friends, a strange chill danced across his spine as Eiji glanced at the school building behind him—the kind that whispered not if but when something would go wrong.
But good things never lasted.
The walk home should've been just that—a walk.
Eiji had earbuds and manga in his bag. He was playing an anime idol game with a vague plan to microwave leftover curry and ignore his homework like a responsible high schooler. The streetlights buzzed softly, casting sleepy glows across the pavement.
Then the sky… twitched.
Literally. It was like someone nudged reality and said, "Oops, I didn't mean to hit that setting."
Colors bled wrong. Clouds spun into violet spirals that corkscrewed against logic. Stars blinked like they were glitching out of existence.
Eiji stopped mid-step. "...Okay. That's not ominous at all."
The air thickened—hot and cold at once, like being wrapped in static and thrown into a freezer.
And then—
CRACK.
The sidewalk split beneath him. The ground shattered like glass under a god's fist. A jagged, screaming wound in reality opened at his feet, a chasm made of writhing light and something darker underneath.
"Oh, come on—"
Too late. The world fell away.
Eiji plummeted into the Rift.
There was no up. No down. No left or right. It's just… falling through a kaleidoscope of madness.
Fragments of infinite worlds ripped past him like broken mirrors. Planets larger than galaxies imploded beside floating cities built on the backs of sleeping gods. Storms raged with laughter, and titans made of thought devoured entire civilizations in seconds.
He fell through fire that whispered his secrets, oceans made of memory, and mountains forged from forgotten names.
His body—his entire existence—couldn't keep up.
Skin peeled, reformed, and then shattered again. Muscles mutated. Blood became stardust, then fire, then data. His mind was torn apart, rewired, and rebooted; still, he fell.
And every so often… something looked at him.
Something big. Something old. Something that didn't blink because blinking was too human.
He faced trials, not like RPG boss fights, but cruel, cosmic exams.
He battled horrors born from dead timelines, solved puzzles made of paradoxes, and walked through fields of corpses that all bore his face.
He screamed. He fought. He survived.
Again. And again. And again.
He forgot who he was—then remembered. Then, I forgot again.
Until one day—or century, or eon—he stopped running.
He stood.
And something inside him awoke.
His left eye burst open with a pain so deep it felt like his soul cracked in half. Runes spiraled. Patterns shifted. The Omniverse Eye had formed.
Not from destiny. Not from bloodlines.
But from desperation.
A power born in suffering—designed to copy, fuse, and evolve anything it encountered: sword, magic, essence, memory, soul.
If it existed, he could make it his.
And still, he kept falling.
Time blurred. He became a myth in a thousand worlds. A villain. A god. A shadow. It's a glitch in reality.
And then—
Silence.
A ripple.
A breach.
He found a crack between the dimensions—a path home.
He dove through it with everything he had left.
And hit the concrete.
THUNK.
Face-first into the same damned sidewalk. Same street. Same flickering lamppost.
Same day.
Same minute.
It was like nothing had happened.
Eiji groaned, lifting his head. "Okay, what the actual—did I just get reverse-isekai'd?"
He sat up, coughing dust, dazed. A crow stared down from a power line, looking way too judgmental.
His clothes were intact. His body… felt normal. But the moment he tried to summon the Eye—
Nothing.
Pain lanced through his head. The Eye refused to open.
Locked. Sealed.
"Are you kidding me?" he muttered. "I went through cosmic hell for a billion years, and I come back nerfed? This is worse than gacha rates."
He looked around, heart racing.
Everything was normal.
But he wasn't.
Eiji Kuroryuu had returned.
And something inside him had changed forever.
Earth spat him out like a cat coughing up a hairball.
One second, he was blazing through dimensional slipstreams like a cosmic comet with anger issues—and the next, he was kissing the pavement in front of a FamilyMart, with gravel embedded in his cheek and the faint smell of fried chicken in the air.
Eiji Kuroryuu groaned, rolled onto his back, and blinked at the sky.
Blue. Normal. No spirals. No dragons. No eldritch horrors whispering about his innermost fears.
"…Huh."
He sat up, brushing dust off his pants and checking his limbs like someone expecting to find a tentacle. Miraculously, he was still human-shaped, mostly. His body felt lighter, almost soft.
The Eye?
He tried activating it.
Nothing.
A sharp migraine slapped him like a disapproving parent.
"Yup. Sealed," he muttered, wincing. "After centuries of evolving, conquering, and crying in multiversal bathrooms, I'm back to being just another hormonal high schooler with Huh."
He stood, stretched his back with a satisfying crack, and took in the familiar surroundings: the same old street, the same vending machine that never worked, and the same billboard still advertising that trashy idol anime game he was playing before falling into the rift.
"…I'm back."
And then he laughed. Not a crazy laugh—well, maybe a little crazy—but more like someone on the edge of a breakdown who decided to throw hands with fate.
"Well," he said to no one in particular, hands on his hips like a man ready to retire at 17, "time to live the life I always dreamed of."
He threw up a finger dramatically.
"A quiet, peaceful life—eating microwave curry, watching anime with jiggle physics, and never talking to anyone with godlike powers again."
The universe was listening.
And it was already planning its counterattack.
A few moments later.
Eiji stepped out of the convenience store with a steaming nikuman and a plastic bag swinging at his side.
His wallet was lighter. His heart was whole.
"Ahhh~ This is the life," he sighed, biting into the bun. "No cosmic horror. No existential screaming. Just me, carbs, and cleavage-based comedy anime waiting at home. I'm living the dream."
The wind rustled.
The sky dimmed a little—just a shade darker. Enough to notice, not enough to panic.
He kept walking.
Another bite. Another sigh. "All that power, and what do I want? It's just one harem anime without a tragic backstory. That's not too much to ask, right?"
The wind stopped.
He blinked. "Wait."
The birds fell silent.
"Okay. No. Nope. I know that soundless sound. That's the 'plot twist loading' silence. I've heard it in too many isekai episodes to ignore it."
CRACK.
The air behind him screamed—a shrill, tearing wail like reality stubbed its toe.
Eiji froze mid-step. His drink hit the ground with a pathetic thunk.
"What's happening, he said
He turned.
Behind him, the world had split again.
A new Rift spiraled into being, violent and erratic, like a cosmic wound being forcibly reopened.
Not again.
He stared at it, dead-eyed.
The sky twisted. Lights blinked out—screams of forgotten dimensions leaked into the world like static.
Eiji sighed, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.
"Can't a guy just enjoy steamed pork in peace?"
The Rift pulsed louder. Closer.
He narrowed his eyes, exasperated.
"…Fine. You wanna drag me back in? Bring it on. But I'm finishing this damn nikuman first."
He took one last bite as the Rift surged.
His few moments of peace.
That was all he got.
A Monster crawls out of the Rift.
It slithered—like wet rope dragging through a meat grinder.
A creature—if you could call it that—stepped into the world on too many legs and not enough rules. Its skin pulsed, black and veiny, as nightmares stitched it together. No eyes. Just… teeth. There are so many teeth. Writing, overlapping, layered, a smile like a sadist.
Eiji took one step back.
"Oh, hell no "
SHLUNK.
The thing lunged. No sound. No warning. Just motion.
It's a limb-claw? Tentacle?—pierced his chest like a hot knife through resignation.
He gasped. Blood sprayed. His legs gave out.
He collapsed.
Hard.
Pain burned. Then… numbness. The world blurred.
Lying on cold asphalt, throat bubbling with blood, Eiji looked at the Rift pulsing in the sky.
"…Seriously?" he rasped, coughing. "All those centuries… all those damn trials… just to Die Pathetically?"
His vision dimmed.
The monster loomed closer.
Darkness crept in at the edges.
And with his last breath, Eiji muttered bitterly—
"…So this is it, huh…? Guess It's the End Huh."
And then—
The air around him changed.
One second, it was blood and smoke and dying breath.
The next, it was… roses. Burning roses. Twisting in flame with the faint scent of silver ash. Sweet and sharp—like perfume at a funeral.
Then, a Female stepped through a magic circle as if she owned it.
No—commanded it.
Her heels clicked softly against the asphalt, each step echoing louder than the monster's shriek. Her presence didn't just enter the world.
It rewrote it.
Wings—obsidian-black, veined with firelight—stretched behind her like a cathedral's shadow, too vast to be real, too beautiful to be safe. Her hair spilled in waves of glistening white, cascading like moonlight down a raven's spine. And with a voluptuous body, crimson eyes glowed with a detached curiosity, as if everything before her was already decided, and she was merely here to observe the aftermath.
The monster turned.
Before he knew it, he got attacked by her and died.
No scream. No struggle.
Just light—pure, violent, Dark light—and the smell of charred regret.
It didn't even get to blink.
Its body evaporated, sucked into a void of flame.
Eiji looked at her and said, "That uniform… is that from the Kusunogi High where I used to study?"
Silence returned.
She exhaled, almost bored. "Pathetic," she said, voice smooth as wine and twice as intoxicating. Ahh, Sorry, I mean The Beast. Not you."
She turned.
Her gaze landed on him.
Eiji lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around him like a failed magic circle. His breath hitched. His vision shook. But even half-dead, something primal in his chest refused to shut up.
"...Are you… An angel?" he wheezed, squinting.
She blinked once. "Not the kind that saves."
He coughed. "Knew it. Too hot to be holy."
She tilted her head slightly, amused. "You're bleeding and can barely even lift a finger, but you still have the strength to babble? Huh"
"Dying, not blind," he muttered. "Also— ow-owowow."
She stepped closer. Her heels clicked beside his head as she knelt. The hem of her long black dress hovered just above the blood, untouched by gravity or grime. Her wings folded behind her with an elegance that made funerals look fashionable.
Her hand reached out—not to help, but to brush back his blood-matted hair with a clinical gentleness that sent chills down his spine.
"Hmm. You are interesting
She smirked. "What a contradiction."
Eiji spat blood to the side, panting. "
"You amuse me," she whispered.
Her eyes narrowed. "Why aren't you begging for Help?"
He looked up at her, half-conscious and still bleeding out, but his voice, ragged as it was, held weight.
"Because I didn't crawl through hell just to die in a parking lot."
That made her pause.
Something flickered in her gaze—recognition? Respect? Or was it just mild curiosity before the squashing?
She stood. Tall. Regal. Terrifying.
"You may live," she said. "For now."
And just like that, the air shimmered. Her wings unfurled once more.
A scent remained.
Burning roses. Silver ash.
And Eiji's faint heartbeat—
The moment she vanished, the silence became too loud.
Eiji lay there, barely conscious, half-dead, in all pain.
And then…
The air hummed.
A deep, ancient vibration rolled through the pavement beneath him. Symbols ignited beneath his body—circles within circles, spinning in reverse, glowing crimson-black, like smoldering embers soaked in blood.
"Oh no," Eiji muttered weakly. "This smells like a plot."
The ground beneath him pulsed. Heat surged. The magic circle carved into the world beneath him began burning into his skin—sharp, precise, purposeful.
Seraphina Falcor, descending like an omen in heels.
She held her hand, pale, elegant, and glowing with runes as old as sin. She touched his chest, right where the creature's wound had torn him open.
The pain didn't explode—it invaded.
Runes spread from her fingers, crawling across his skin like liquid fire, carving themselves into bone and soul. His body convulsed. His voice caught in his throat.
He couldn't scream.
She leaned close, whispering near his ear, cold and quiet:
"I am Seraphina Falcor… heir to House of Falcor."
The rune burned brighter. His heart stopped.
Just for a moment.
"By contrast and chaos… I claim you."
Her fingers pressed into him, triggering the final mark.
"You are mine."
His eyes widened.
Then her voice dropped, dangerous, unyielding.
"From now on… You are my property."
From now on, you will live and die for my sake
There was no warmth in her words.
Only authority. Finality.
But behind the frost… something else flickered. A whisper of something unspoken. Not pity. Not kindness.
Just… will.
She stood, wings spreading behind her like a death sentence disguised as royalty.
"You will be reborn. Not as a human. But as a devil under my house."
Eiji coughed again—the last of his strength slipping.
She looked down at him.
And for the first time, her voice softened—barely.
" I want you to live."
The magic circle blazed. Symbols locked. The pact was completed.
Light devoured him—not warm or gentle, but cold, infernal. Reshaping.
As his consciousness faded, he last heard her voice—sharp, soft, unrelenting.
"Sleep now, my devil."
And with that—
Darkness.
End of Chapter 1