Chapter Text
"You smell like rust."
The girl said it as if commenting on his choice of soda, not… whatever that was. Her tone was bright, but her eyes were too intent, too focused—like a predator politely pretending to be a customer.
Issei Hyoudou, eighteen, professional orphan and part-time convenience-store cashier, stopped mid-motion. A single coin slid off his palm and pinged against the counter.
"Rust?" he repeated. "That's… a new one."
She leaned forward until the fluorescents glinted off strands of her choppy black hair, and her voice dropped slightly, adding weight to her words, making her seem more ominous and unpredictable.
"Uh."
That was all his brain offered. Exceptional.
Her mouth curved—not a smile, exactly, but something close enough to make him uneasy. "Don't worry. It suits you."
She plucked the remaining coins from his palm, her thumb brushing his skin with deliberate slowness. Her touch wasn't gentle. It felt like a test.
She held his gaze for one second too long. Then the bell over the door chimed, and she vanished into the evening as if she'd been explicitly invented to ruin his peace.
The cashier—a middle-aged man who had seen too much and cared too little—let out a low whistle.
"Kid," he said, flicking the register shut, "you either attract the weird ones or they can smell the trauma on you."
'I do not smell like trauma,' Issei muttered, though a faint, unnatural sensation prickled at the back of his mind.
"You look like you argue with stray cats at midnight."
"That happened once."
The man shrugged. "Told you. Trauma."
His reflection in the glass freezer door caught his eye—just wrong enough to make his stomach dip.
He inhaled slowly, trying to steady his nerves, exhaling even slower.
Not now. Not when he was on shift.
Not when he'd worked so damn hard to seem normal.
Being an orphan already set him apart.
Being… whatever this was… would make him something else entirely.
The night air tasted like spring and electricity. Kuoh Academy's back gates rose ahead, tall and Gothic, casting long shadows across the street. The cherry blossoms swayed, petals drifting like confetti from a celebration he hadn't been invited to.
Issei walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets. The town was quiet. Too quiet.
His jaw ached again. A deep, familiar ache that pulsed through his molars whenever the wrong kind of supernatural thing was nearby.
He'd told himself it was stress.
He'd told himself lots of things.
The cherry blossoms adorned the park like delicate pink clouds floating above, their petals drifting down in a slow, graceful waltz, each one catching the light of the streetlamps before kissing the ground in a soft, fragrant blanket.
The air was thick with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the crispness of the evening, creating a heady mixture that pulled Issei in with each breath he took.
As Issei stepped into the flickering light of the streetlamp, shadows deepened around him, stretching and curling like dark tendrils seeking to ensnare him.
The path beneath his feet, worn and uneven, whispered of countless footsteps that had come before him—some joyous, others burdened with sorrow.
The cool breeze tugged at his clothes, wrapping around him like a gentle reminder that he was still part of this world, even if he often felt like a ghost drifting through it.
He quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing softly against the pavement, the sound swallowed by the deepening night.
With each step, the silence pressed down on him, amplifying each heartbeat until it pulsed in time with the flickering of the streetlamp.
In this quiet, the vivid memories of his childhood played like a film reel in his mind; hot summer afternoons at the playground where laughter rang like crystalline bells, resounding against the backdrop of a carefree world he felt perpetually excluded from.
As he neared the pizza joint, the warm glow from the windows spilled out onto the sidewalk, revealing a group of friends huddled together, their faces alight with shared stories and laughter.
The gentle clinking of glasses and the mouthwatering aroma of baked cheese and spices wafted through the air, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, yet only amplifying the ache in his heart.
It was a scene of warmth and connection that felt so foreign, like watching a play in which he had no role.
For a fleeting moment, he froze, captivated by the scene inside; a boy with hair like sunlit wheat tossed his head back in laughter, and it struck Issei like a physical blow. He felt the tightness in his chest—a reminder of the friendships he longed for but never quite reached. “Keep moving,” he muttered to himself, forcing his feet to continue down the path, desperate to shake off the suffocating feeling of isolation that clung to him like a shadow.
As he walked on, the branches of the trees loomed overhead, their leafless fingers reaching out like skeletal hands, casting eerie shapes in the moonlight. The night deepened, and every gust of wind whispered the haunting questions that lingered in his mind: Would he ever find a place where he truly belonged? Or would he forever remain on the fringes, a mere spectator in the theater of life?
A flicker on the clock tower roof revealed a silhouette—winged, haloed.
His heart jolted.
"That's new," he whispered.
He blinked. The figure was gone.
"…Or I'm losing it. Also possible."
But he already knew he wasn't hallucinating.
Hallucinations didn't make his bones vibrate like plucked strings.
He walked faster. His backpack straps creaked ominously with each step, like they sensed he wasn't entirely… contained.
The shortcut through the park was pitch-black; the streetlights here had died weeks ago, and no one had bothered to report it.
Issei stepped into the darkness anyway. He didn't like this path, but he hated the long way home more. Apartments were expensive. Orphans had budgets.
He made do.
Shadows writhed where they shouldn't. The air felt too warm against his skin, like someone breathing down his neck.
A twig snapped behind him.
He didn't turn. "If you're a mugger, good news—I'm broke. If you're a ghost, take a number. If you're a Fallen Angel, at least say hi first."
Silence.
Then—laughter. Soft, velvety, dangerous.
"You talk to ghosts?" a voice murmured in his ear. "How charming."
He spun around, heart pounding, and there she was-Raynare inches away, smiling with all her teeth, her presence radiating danger and familiarity at once.
"You again," he breathed.
"Me," she said, delighted. "I knew you'd understand metaphors."
She caught his wrist before he could react. Her grip was firm—too firm—but her expression wasn't mocking this time.
Her gaze searched his face, hungry and confused at once. "You changed. The rust wasn't rust. It was a warning."
"…You realize you're not helping your case, right?"
Her lips twitched. "And yet, you're not running."
He wasn't.
He hated that he wasn't.
"You should run," she whispered, but her grip tightened as if she needed him close.
Behind her, two more figures materialized from the dark—Dohnaseek grinning like he'd been waiting all day to hurt someone, and Kalawarner twirling her knife with the boredom of someone picking at a scab.
Raynare didn't step aside.
Her wings rustled, not with pride.
With fear.
Kalawarner struck first, lazy and lethal.
The blade kissed Issei's ribs, slicing him open. Warm blood spilled—then hissed when it hit the ground.
"Cute trick," she purred. "Bleeds like a human, steams like something else."
Dohnaseek lunged.
Issei raised his arm to block—
—but Raynare slammed into Dohnaseek, wings flaring.
"Back off!" she snarled. Her voice cracked in the middle. "He's— he's under my jurisdiction."
Dohnaseek's eyebrows shot up. "Since when?"
Raynare didn't answer.
Her halo flickered—fractured, panicked.
Issei stared at her. "Why are you helping me?"
She didn't look at him. "Because you smell like a storm that remembers being a god."
"…What does that even mean?!"
"I don't know!" she snapped, voice breaking. "I just know Azazel wants you dead before you figure it out!"
That landed like a punch.
Before he could process, Dohnaseek thrust his spear.
Issei's instincts surged.
Something deep and ancient uncoiled in his chest.
Boost.
Light erupted from his arm as the seal burst open. Emerald fire curled around his skin, forming plates of crimson armor.
He didn't remember summoning the Boosted Gear.
His body did.
Raynare stared at him with recognition so raw it hurt.
"You…" she whispered. "I know what you—"
Her words were cut off as Dohnaseek's spear impaled her from behind.
Her breath hitched. She sagged into Issei, fingers trembling against his chest.
"Stupid boy," she whispered, voice fading. "I told you to run…"
Kalawarner's knife hit next.
Red feathers exploded.
Issei screamed. His bones shifted, cracking outward. Wings tore from his back—scaled, massive, primal.
The explosion of power wiped out the clearing.
And when it ended…
Nothing moved but the fire.