Motohama was trying—with every ounce of willpower left in him—to stay true to his usual role: the intellectual pervert.
The genius who measured female measurements.
The human database containing detailed stats on every girl at school.
But lately… even breathing required the self-control of a Tibetan monk.
Faking normality wasn't enough anymore.
Every now and then, he had to stop in the middle of the hallway, close his eyes, and activate his improvised spiritual camouflage—an invisible layer of Reishi he mentally called "NPC Sleep Mode"—just to avoid attracting things far worse than teachers with wooden rulers and synchronized PMS.
The real problem was inside.
He was a complete mess of unprocessed emotions, repressed desires, and reincarnation trauma.
All that confidence he'd displayed before?
Pure illusion.
He had already died more than ten times.
That's right. Ten.
And every death?
Memorable.
Not for glory.
But for pain.
Desperation.
And that unmistakable existential emptiness that only someone who's thought:
"Ah, this time it's gonna work!"
...can understand—just before taking a sword through the spleen three seconds later.
Every single attempt to change fate ended the same way:
Failure. Blood. Screams. Death.
He tried leaving school early with his friends: they died crossing the street.
Tried going to karaoke: they died between "Zankoku na Tenshi no Teeze" and "Blue Bird."
Tried changing the route home: they died in every alley, on every corner… even in front of a daycare center.
"This maniac is relentless," he thought, as he activated Spiritual Defense Protocol #16.
Motohama had Quincy powers.
He had learned how to manipulate Reishi, create spiritual bows, and much more—including a few techniques from variant Quincy classes.
In his hands, he carried the mark of the heir, allowing him to pull off incredible feats without even needing a Quincy cross.
But still… the gap was colossal.
The enemy always seemed ten steps ahead—with the script in hand and spoilers from next season.
Each defeat, however, came with random rewards, like the universe had been coded by some drunk RPG developer:
Ten Shadows Techniques (which he still couldn't summon properly—sometimes a pigeon-shaped shadow popped out… and that was it);High Martial Arts Talent, which was great… if he actually had time to train without dying halfway through;
...And, of course… the legendary… Beauty Coupon.
(He still wasn't sure if the coupon was a bug… or a punishment.)
Apparently, Kurogane had earned the Martial Arts Talent after killing Matsuda, and Motohama only got it because Kurogane killed him too.
The coupon had an obvious effect: skin smoother than an Instagram filter, more refined facial features, and hair with that shampoo commercial shine.
But for some reason…
No one seemed to notice.
His neighbors acted like nothing had changed.
Issei and Matsuda didn't seem to notice anything different either.
Maybe it was the outdated haircut… the one he'd had since childhood. Or maybe… it was the fact that everyone was just too used to seeing him as "the guy with the glasses... the school's resident pervert."
Until… something changed.
In the hallway, after a brief breeze swept through and shifted his hair just enough to reveal more of his face—his eyes catching the light behind the lenses—a second-year girl stopped mid-step.
Then another.
And another.
"Wait… has Motohama… always been this… handsome?"
"Like… I never noticed before, but… he's got this mysterious ikemen vibe, right?"
"Guys… and that jawline?! Since when does he have that?!"
Suddenly… the collective female perception at school glitched.
It was as if everyone received a reality patch update at the same time:
Motohama: Common Skin > Upgraded to SSR Ultra Rare with passive charisma bonus.
Now… the stares lasted longer than usual.
The whispers became more frequent.
One girl dropped her pencil case after catching a glimpse of him from the side.
Another tripped over her own feet while trying to sneak a peek to check if he was still wearing cartoon-printed boxers.
(Spoiler: he wasn't anymore.)
Motohama pretended not to notice.
Inside… he kinda liked the attention.
But the memories of pain… of dying again and again… always came back.
There was no way he could let himself enjoy the opportunities in front of him… knowing that some psychopath would soon come to kill him and his friends all over again.
And abandoning his friends?
Out of the question.
He didn't betray his friends. He wouldn't just let them die…
…At least, he would do everything he could to stop that from happening.
He had even… somehow… managed to get over the initial shock of seeing his own status screen.
Name: Kusanagi Motohama
Race: Human (Quincy) — Because someone's gotta be the apocalypse intern, right?
Title: Heir of Yhwach — Yep, THAT Yhwach. The Quincy boss. And guess who inherited it? That's right… the guy who can't even pass PE class.
Sacred Gear: None — Because apparently, trauma, chronic bad luck, and a dysfunctional sense of humor already count as "mystic equipment."
Rank: E — "E" for "Error Protagonist"… or "Eek, here he goes dying again.".
Class: Quincy / Minion (Still unregistered) — Basically, he's the guy who showed up at the event without a ticket and is pretending to know someone famous to get in.
Unique Abilities:
「RE:START」
— Dies, goes back in time, tries to fix everything—and fails spectacularly at least three times before getting close.
A "Groundhog Day" with more nightmares and fewer cute marmots.Essence of the Heir Yhwach
— A cosmic inheritance full of bugs: absurd powers, mystical visions, existential meltdowns, and the passive ability to attract trouble like he's got a built-in disaster GPS. Oh… and guaranteed dramatic wind effects every time he draws a spiritual bow.
Description:
Motohama is the kind of character who looks like a background NPC until the story does a backflip and dumps a tragic, overpowered destiny on his lap.
Mediocre. Socially invisible. Professionally perverted. Certified loser. He was the classic glasses-wearing extra no one expected to see in the final arc. But thanks to some cosmic accident (or a divine inside joke), he ended up reincarnating with fragmented memories, latent psychic talents, and the karma of someone who accidentally clicked "Insane Mode" during character creation. After his first tragic death (and yes, it's just the first), he unlocks the ability 「RE:START」—a free pass to die, reset, and try not to suck next time. Spoiler: It doesn't always work.
As Yhwach's heir, Motohama was handed a power that no sane being would ever trust him with—and for good reason. Even so… he tries. Between paranoia breakdowns, sleepless nights, and desperate attempts to look more badass than he actually is, he starts to become something between a reluctant strategist, an anti-champion… and a walking meme.
Oscillating between moments of sheer brilliance and absolute disaster, he's the result of an Isekai, a spiritual calculation error, and a school comedy crashing at 200 km/h. More potential than good sense. More power than mental stability. And a future death counter so high even Subaru from Re:Zero would give him a sympathy hug.
Ok... he almost cried in the bathroom after seeing that for the first time… but he pulled himself together… more or less.
But the hardest part… oh, the hardest part… was not strangling the new transfer students.
Especially that unfortunate soul now sitting at the desk next to his, disturbing his existence like a fly stuck on the lens of his glasses.
Hitsugaya Shirou.
Half Japanese, half Western, half too good-looking for Motohama's taste—the guy looked like he'd stepped straight out of a shoujo manga cover: white hair, pale skin, green eyes, and that cursed natural charm that made the girls sigh like they were watching a K-drama.
Worse than that? Only the fact that Shirou carried the exact same annoying vibe as the psychopath who had once killed Motohama and his friends… before he turned back time, of course.
Yes… because Motohama's life now?
A crazy cosmic fanfic with time travel and spiritual powers.
And to complete the nightmare package, Shirou was that kind of guy who genuinely believed he was the defender of morality, ethics, chastity, and purity—basically, a real-life RPG paladin… but infinitely more irritating.
To make matters worse, he'd managed to join the kendo club.
The Perverted Trio hated Shirou so much that, collectively, they started a subtle campaign, spreading nasty rumors that he "liked playing with swords", since he never showed interest in the girls at school.
Motohama, discreetly, activated his "Analysis" skill, wearing his usual blasé expression, while only one thought ran through his mind:
"Let's see what this cosplay protagonist is all about…"
Name: Hitsugaya Shirou
Race: Hybrid (Human/Shinigami) — Because being just human is way too mainstream.
Sacred Gear: Frozen Dragon (Oh great, just what we needed… Toushirou 2.0)
Rank:D — 'D' for 'Definitely not overpowered… yet.'
Class: Shinigami / Rookie
Mark: Silver (Because of course the handsome, mysterious new guy gets a shiny seal right from the start.)
Unique Abilities:
• Wheel of Fate (a typical gacha roulette of luck)
• Essence of Bleach (Essence of Shinigami)
Description:
Transmigrated from a normal world to the supernatural land of DxD, Shirou was blessed with everything a generic light novel protagonist needs: a stoic face, stylish ice powers, a goddess guide, and a burning determination to "change the world with his own hands."
Low tolerance for perverted jokes, hyperactive waifus, and anything off-script.
Life goal: to own a personal kingdom/dimension and marry a kind, normal, probably fictional girl.
Motohama took a deep breath, grinding his teeth.
"Knew it… just another one of these transmigrated types. They're everywhere now… but what's with these descriptions? Why was mine so much worse!?"
Now it made sense why Shirou's presence felt more irritating than a spam notification during a boss fight.
Half-Shinigami. Perfect.
Another one to add to Kuoh's supernatural circus.
And him? Quincy.
"Now all that's missing is a Hollow showing up in class asking for a glass of water to complete the party… Oh wait, never mind. Kurogane's already filling that role. Half-Hollow, half-show-off, 100% unbearable."
The whole situation was starting to feel like a bad anime spin-off:
"The Perverted Trio and the Supernatural Transfer Student Club."
"Alright… I just need to keep my distance from this premium background character…", Motohama thought, adjusting his seat, determined to ignore Shirou until lunch was over.
Or… at least… he tried.
— "So, did you guys get it?" — Shirou started, with that serene, superior voice worthy of a LinkedIn motivational coach.
— "If you keep acting like perverts, the girls will feel disgusted by you… The ideal would be to improve your image. Stop being seen as the school creeps."
Motohama closed his eyes and began mentally humming the opening theme of "Blue Bird" just to hold onto his patience.
— "And as for building harems… well, I'm kinda against it. I don't believe that…" — Shirou continued, with that smug little smile of someone who thinks he's the messiah of teenage emotional health.
That… was the last straw.
Messing with their dream was crossing the line.
Motohama, who had been enduring this attempted "conversion" all morning—and worse, for the SECOND TIME, since he clearly remembered this happening before he reset the timeline—stood up with the calm dignity of a monk deciding to abandon humanity.
Shirou smiled, confident, thinking Motohama was finally seeing the light.
— "Hm? Motohama-san, are you done?"
Motohama adjusted his glasses, gathering his things with the cold precision of a secret agent.
— "Yes… There's something I'd like to do before lunch ends."
— "EEH?! But I still had so much to discuss with you guys!" — Shirou protested, forcing a smile as fake as a toothpaste commercial.
Motohama stopped, turned, and gave him that kind of expression you only see seconds before someone drops an internet-meme-worthy quote:
— "Look… I'm smart enough to know you're just trying to score points with the girls in our class, trying to 'influence' us. But honestly… I'm not a fan of pretending to be someone I'm not."
Suddenly… every student nearby stopped what they were doing… as if witnessing the final speech of a sports anime.
— "If I'm going to get involved with a girl, it'll be as myself. With all my flaws and qualities. I won't lie to anyone, or make some innocent girl believe I'm someone else. That would just bring pain… for me and for her. As the saying goes…"
Motohama paused dramatically.
The wind blew through the window.
And everyone present, inexplicably, stopped chewing their lunch.
— "Nothing will bring comfort to the heart of a great human being… except the acceptance of their own truth."
"I accept who I am… and I want to be honest about it."
— "Those words… they moved me…" — Issei murmured, eyes glistening, raising a clenched fist like he was about to punch destiny itself.
— "Huh?!" — Shirou blinked, utterly shocked.
— "The path… of a real man…" — Matsuda whispered, holding back tears like he was at his best friend's wedding.
— "W-Wait…" — Shirou turned to Matsuda, completely disoriented.
— "This… this is the Tao…" — a random classmate declared, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
— "WHERE DID YOU EVEN COME FROM?!" — Shirou shouted, totally lost.
— "So… honest…" — another boy muttered, hugging his friend beside him.
— "ANOTHER ONE?!" — Shirou no longer knew whether to laugh, cry, or just run away.
— "Accept… your own truth…" — whispered yet another classmate, kneeling as if having an epiphany.
Shirou sighed, crossing his arms and muttering in defeat:
— "…You guys are hopeless…"
Meanwhile, Motohama walked out of the classroom, carrying the aura of a man who had just won a war without lifting a single hand.
"Now I just need to hope nothing unexpected happens… and that the next transmigrated idiot takes their time before making a move. I already have something prepared for him."
Something unexpected had, in fact, happened.
Motohama had worked hard to follow his usual script: the same thick-glasses nerd, the same shameless pervert, the same friend who pretended not to hear Issei's screams for help while he was being ritually sacrificed—I mean, disciplined—by the kendo club.
A school tradition, practically a cultural heritage… and let's be honest, the best hands-on training those girls could ever get.
He even endured the presence of the school's devils… though he had nearly thrown up earlier when Kiba and Kurogane passed within ten meters of him.
Kiba's presence was almost as bad as the rotten egg smell he carried, and the same went for the other reincarnated devils at school.
Kurogane's aura, in particular, irritated Motohama like they were natural enemies, but both Kiba's and Kurogane's shared one thing in common: disgusting... yet still somehow faintly human.
The worst by far… was the presence from the student council.
Her aura was just as negative as Kurogane's, but even more repulsive than that of the reincarnated devils.
And that sulfur smell… probably stronger coming from her than from the others combined.
It was hard enough to stay calm and act normal whenever any supernatural being full of negative energy walked past him.
Surprisingly, there were a few humans with special abilities or latent talents at Kuoh.
Probably… they hadn't gotten into the academy just by exam scores, but because those two pure-blood devil girls had spotted some hidden potential... useful if no better recruits showed up.
Somehow, in the end, he had stuck to the script: talked to the same people, stayed discreet—or at least tried to whenever the girls left him alone—and no… definitely no major timeline-divergent events.
Or at least… that's what he thought.
Now, here he was… sitting in an absurdly fancy café, the kind that looked like it had jumped straight out of a midnight shoujo anime: elegant curtains, stained glass windows, soft classical music in the background, and…
Yozora.
A woman so stunning she looked like the perfect fusion between a demonic conglomerate CEO and a goddess of seduction.
Voluptuous figure, plum-colored hair cascading in dangerously soft waves, bangs hiding her left eye like it contained a universe-ending secret… and a women's business suit that didn't just scream "power" but also whispered, "Come to me… if you dare."
She smiled enigmatically, that typical smile of someone who always knows more… who's always five moves ahead…
The same kind of smile Motohama had only seen once before… back when, in a past life, a colossal nine-tailed Kitsune reduced his village to rubble.
And there he was again… face to face with another fox.
Or maybe… the same one?
— You still haven't answered… how would you like your tea? — she asked, with a smile that, to Motohama, looked like that of a sly fox about to steal not just his wallet… but maybe his soul, too.
He swallowed hard, looking away for a second.
— "She looks like a giant nine-tailed fox…" — he thought, with a shiver.
— Giant? How rude… — Yozora retorted with melodic teasing, bringing the cup to her lips with hypnotic elegance — I'm in perfect shape, if you must know.
And to drive the point home, she crossed her legs with the precision of someone who knew exactly the impact she was having.
Motohama's eyes widened for a second, but he quickly frowned.
— "Ah… she reads thoughts…"
Immediately, he mentally raised his strongest telepathic shield: mental walls, reinforced gates, magical chains… the full package.
Yozora let out a quiet chuckle, like someone watching a kitten trying to scare off an ancient tiger.
— Too young to block me… maybe try again in a thousand years — she teased, taking another sip of tea like she was sunbathing on a spring morning.
Motohama sighed in resignation.
There was no defense against someone like her.
Meanwhile, across the café, hidden behind a strategically placed pillar, Issei and Matsuda watched the scene in a state of shock—and pure envy.
— Why… him?! — Matsuda whispered, eyes so wide they looked ready to pop out of his face.
— I… I don't know… — Issei answered, nearly crying — How… HOW did he land a date with a woman like that?! Look at her! She looks like she founded the Heartbreak Club!
— She looks like a sexy CEO from the underworld… — Matsuda added, already sobbing.
While the two twisted in emotional pain, Yozora, completely ignoring the Jealousy Interns, leaned slightly over the table, shrinking the distance between her and Motohama even more.
Her sweet perfume, laced with dangerous and seductive undertones, wrapped around his senses like an invisible embrace.
— I came here because of a mutual friend… your uncle — she said, her voice soft as velvet and sharp as a blade.
Motohama's eyes widened.
— My… my uncle?
She nodded with the grace of someone who had just confirmed that yes, she was the type to steal hearts and topple empires before breakfast.
She set her cup down with a delicate "clink" that, to Motohama, sounded more like a death sentence bell.
— And your former legal guardian too, right? He's… been missing for a while now.
Motohama instinctively clenched his fists, swallowing hard, fighting the urge to drop his camouflage and let his powers flare right there.
It was a topic he hadn't touched for months…
Yozora, as casually as talking about the weather, pulled a black envelope from inside her blazer and slid it smoothly across the table to him.
— He asked me… before he disappeared… to give you this… if you showed signs of being ready.
Motohama stared at the envelope like he was staring down a live grenade.
— What is it?
Yozora smiled, amused by his expression, and answered with a voice that was pure silk… and pure poison.
— An invitation… to the Dimensional Battlefield.
Motohama frowned, about to ask more, but she continued:
— A place where… if you score enough points… you can get anything you want.
She leaned in even closer, her bangs fully concealing her left eye, while her right eye glowed with a disturbingly sensual, supernatural light.
— Power… revenge… knowledge… even… bringing back those you've lost.
Motohama felt a shiver, like an invisible hand just ran down his spine.
He knew exactly what she meant.
— My aunt… he went to try and bring her back, didn't he? — Motohama asked, pulling the envelope closer, already feeling its metaphysical weight.
— Yes, he did — Yozora replied, leaning dangerously close to his ear, whispering with a voice that dripped with mystery — And he probably succeeded… he's grown a lot since he started… even more in these last few months while I helped him master his Sacred Gear… people from your family always surprise me…
Motohama's skin prickled, and he wasn't sure if it was from fear… or excitement.
Across the room, Issei and Matsuda continued their silent saga of suffering and indignation.
— She leaned in! SHE'S LEANING IN! — Matsuda nearly choked.
— This… this isn't fair… — Issei sobbed, looking like a puppy left out in the rain.
Motohama took a deep breath, trying not to get swept away—which was, frankly, nearly impossible with that woman sitting across from him.
— And what do I need to do? — he asked, looking her straight in the eye, unwavering.
Yozora smiled, pleased like someone who had just hooked another prey.
— Just accept the invitation… and be ready to fight. There… every action, every choice, will decide whether you live like a god… or die like a fool. Even… a Quincy could easily meet his end there… if he's not strong enough.
She then reclined calmly in her chair, as if she'd just suggested a casual walk in the park.
Motohama looked at the envelope again, knowing deep down that no matter what choice he made… his life would never be the same.
Yozora raised her tea cup again, finishing with that voice full of charm and menace:
— Now… would you like sugar… or poison in your tea?
Motohama smirked, raising an eyebrow, fully committed to playing along:
— If we're gonna be dramatic… leave it plain.
Yozora let out a low, satisfied laugh, like someone recognizing a worthy player when she sees one.
Meanwhile, Issei and Matsuda were practically flailing like two fish out of water.
— IS THIS A SUPERNATURAL ROMANCE ANIME?! — Issei shouted, suffocated by reality.
— THIS ISN'T FAIR!! — Matsuda shrieked, clutching his chest like he'd just taken a fatal blow.
And with that… Motohama's story was only just beginning.