"So, what's the name of the student who hasn't been showing up?"
Sona's voice was calm but laced with a note of displeasure as she glanced toward Tsubaki, who stood nearby with a clipboard clutched neatly in both hands.
"Jeanne d'Arc. Second-year. A transfer student from France," Tsubaki replied crisply, her eyes scanning the paper before her. "She hasn't attended a single day since the school year began—two full weeks of unexplained absence."
Sona's brows lifted, her normally composed expression giving way to subtle surprise.
"Jeanne d'Arc? The French Saint?"
Tsubaki gave a firm nod, her gaze meeting Sona's.
"I thought it strange as well. Especially with this being Kuoh Academy, under devil jurisdiction. But I double-checked everything. Her records are clean. No ties to the supernatural, no magical residue—just an ordinary student, as far as the system is concerned."
Sona narrowed her eyes slightly, her fingers curling under her chin in thought.
"Hmm…"
Her hum was low, thoughtful. The name alone carried too much weight to be taken lightly.
"There's been some subtle movement among the Grigori recently," Tsubaki added, her tone cautious. "But nothing that suggests a direct threat. For now, it's quiet."
Sona gave a short nod, but her frown deepened.
"Has d'Arc given any reason for her absence?"
Tsubaki's lips tightened into a thin line as she shook her head.
"We tried reaching out to her directly. When that failed, we contacted the emergency number listed on her file. Still no response."
Sona's expression darkened, her usual composure showing signs of tension.
"Has anyone been dispatched to her residence yet?"
"Not yet," Tsubaki admitted. "I was waiting for your directive."
Sona let out a soft, weary sigh and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"Then it seems we'll be putting in extra hours tonight."
--+--
KnockKnock
'…Hmm?'
Jeanne's eyes flicked toward the door, her body tensing at the unfamiliar noise that broke the silence of the house.
A delivery?
She tilted her head slightly, rising from the throne-like gaming chair she had practically fused with over the past few days.
It hadn't been that long since she ordered pizza… or had it? She glanced at the time and shrugged.
Maybe she just got lucky.
It had been exactly three weeks since she had—without warning or explanation—transmigrated into this world.
One moment, she was hyped about the upcoming Fate/Grand Order update. She had just seen the reveal of Metatron Jeanne, and was already dreaming of rolling her with the nonexistent pity or luck—whatever came first.
The next moment?
She woke up in a strange room, a sealed letter resting on the bedside table like some ominous RPG tutorial prompt. It told her she was expected to attend school starting next week.
She had stared at the paper in disbelief.
School? Again?
No way. She had already graduated high school. Why would she ever go back?
But the name on the letterhead made her pause—Kuoh Academy.
Her stomach dropped.
Wait. Isn't that…
It was. Kuoh Academy. From High School DxD.
She blinked.
No way. Draconic Deus? Seriously?
Did she know anything about it? Not really.
She only recognized the name because her friends wouldn't stop raving about how the show was all boobs and demons. She'd tried watching it once, maybe twice, but couldn't get into it. The protagonist annoyed her too much.
Still, she'd forced herself through until Season 4, skimmed a few fanfics here and there, and retained only the most essential facts:
God was dead.
Dragons powered up through breasts.
And, apparently, aliens were going to destroy the world.
Some of that felt oddly familiar, actually.
When she became Jeanne—this Jeanne—it wasn't just a change of scenery. She had inherited the original Jeanne d'Arc's memories… and, apparently, Metatron's too.
Metatron.
Even now, that name sent a strange tremor through her thoughts.
She didn't know much about Metatron—she hadn't played far enough in FGO to really understand the character rather it hadn't even been released! All she remembered from her last-minute googling was something about being the Scribe of God, born from Enoch, and wielding divine authority related to contracts and judgment.
It all sounded… OP.
So of course, when the powers kicked in and she could feel that, her first thought was: Shii, I'm broken.
But when she tried even the smallest fraction of Metatron's divine toolkit—just a thread of that holy authority—something in her wilted. Her motivation flatlined.
Gone was the righteous fury to march into a fantasy world and rewrite the plot.
Originally, she'd scoffed at the idea of going to school. But once she realized she might actually get to see characters she'd only ever seen through a screen, a curious flicker of excitement stirred in her. Combine that with the inherited sense of duty from the real Jeanne d'Arc, and she'd… kind of made peace with the idea.
The letter had even stated explicitly: as long as she didn't channel any of Metatron's powers in public, the world would treat her like the Heroic Spirit Jeanne d'Arc. Noble Phantasm included.
She didn't even know if she could transform into her Alter version yet—and honestly, she was only a little to find out. While Jeanne had only minorly influenced her head, who knew if the Altered could do something more? Not worth the risk right now.
So long as she didn't invoke miracles or holy weapons, she was basically just a highly devout woman with above-average strength.
Sure, Servants were busted. Even a "B-rank" Heroic Spirit could wipe the floor with most Mid-Class Devils. Maybe even High-Class. She was confident she could body Riser with just physical ability.
But if she didn't pray, didn't chant, didn't channel, then she was just… abnormally strong.
So despite her reluctance, her pre-transmigration slacker side had started to lose the argument. The excitement of seeing an anime world up close, plus Jeanne's divine sense of obligation, had slowly nudged her toward agreeing to attend school.
That is, until she tested her power.
The house—clearly designed for her—had a barrier allowing her to try things out without blowing anything up. But the second she felt the rush of divinity, her whole vibe collapsed. Motivation: zero.
And thus began her life as a chair potato.
Fortunately, the chair was state-of-the-art. A curved RGB monitor, mechanical keyboard, and gaming mouse were already set up like someone had known she'd want it. It was God's Throne after all.
So she gamed. Slept. Scrolled. Repeated.
Who was going to stop her?
God?
God was dead.
Anytime Jeanne so much as considered the idea of becoming a functional member of society, the skill known as Bestowal of Seven Sins would kick in like a divine slap across the face.
You want to work?
Boom—narcolepsy.
She would be out cold within seconds, face first into her desk, chair, or bed—whichever surface happened to catch her. Honestly, it was a miracle she hadn't suffocated in her sleep by now.
And while the mysterious letter had generously provided her with enough money to live comfortably, it also stripped her of any excuse to step outside. Besides food deliveries, she had no real reason to engage with the outside world. No responsibilities. No obligations.
Which was why, when the doorbell rang again and she lazily ambled to the front entrance, she wasn't expecting them.
She peeked through the peephole—and froze.
Sona Sitri and Tsubaki Shinra.
Her breath hitched in mild surprise.
Jeanne quickly looked down at herself, scanning for any stray traces of holy energy she might be unconsciously leaking. A sigh of relief escaped her lips—nothing. She looked perfectly mundane.
She furrowed her brows.
Wait. Why am I even bothering to hide again?
The answer came as soon as the question left her mind.
Ah, right. Because it's a pain in the ass to be hunted down like a glowing religious icon.
Jeanne gave a slow, solemn nod to herself.
Technically, Metatron was supposed to be dead—obliterated during the Great War. The current official narrative was that only four Seraphs remained: Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, and Raphael.
Which made her presence in this world a theological nightmare.
She, Jeanne d'Arc, could now manifest the Throne of God itself—a direct conduit of divine authority, capable of speaking and acting in God's name.
She wasn't just a Saint anymore. She was His Voice.
And, in all honesty, she probably had more raw authority than Michael ever would. Not that she planned to challenge him or anything. That sounded like effort.
But one thing had always bugged her.
If Thou Shalt Not Kill was one of the Ten Commandments… shouldn't all the Angels who killed during the Great War have fallen by now?
Like—was no one keeping track of the hypocrisy?
Her musings were cut short as the knock came again, sharper this time.
"Miss d'Arc," came a composed yet firm voice from the other side, unmistakably female. "We know you're in there. We heard your footsteps."
Ah, right. The guests.
Jeanne blinked, then opened the door with all the urgency of someone hitting skip on a cutscene.
Sona stood at the threshold, her expression prim and clearly annoyed, while Tsubaki stood silently at her side, eyes sharp behind her glasses.
Their gazes flickered as the door creaked open—just slightly—but it was enough.
Jeanne noticed their eyes widen, if only for a moment. A brief flash of recognition, surprise, maybe even… awe?
She raised an eyebrow.
"…What?" she asked flatly, not really understanding what they were reacting to.
--+--
She truly does look saintly…
That was the mutual thought that passed through Sona and Tsubaki's minds the moment the door opened fully.
Jeanne stood before them like a portrait stepped out of a cathedral painting—long golden-blonde hair draped in two loose braids, one lazily tossed over each shoulder. Despite the haphazard styling, there was an almost intentional grace in the way they framed her face, as if the chaos had been artfully choreographed.
Her face bore the innocence of a village maiden, but the noble elegance of a princess lingered beneath that half-drowsy expression, creating a surreal harmony between humility and divinity. The sleepy fog in her eyes only made her look more otherworldly, as though she had just awoken from a sacred vision instead of a nap.
And her attire—simple yet serene. A white nightgown, pristine and without blemish, paired with a cozy jacket of pale blue and white stripes. Her socks, pure white and trimmed with delicate frills, peeked from under her hem like petals from snow. It wasn't quite what one would wear to greet guests, but it radiated a soft, domestic warmth.
Still, she hardly looked like someone with a compelling excuse for skipping school.
Sona's brows subtly knit together as she continued observing Jeanne. Despite earlier suspicions—despite the whispers of something divine in her file and energy—there had been no sightings of her leaving the house. Even her neighbors had confirmed it.
There was no sign of devout ritual or religious intensity.
Until she spoke.
Jeanne offered them a gentle, almost amused smile, the corners of her lips turning up with the serenity of a nun and the mischief of someone who knew too much.
"What can I do for you? Surely both I and the Lord have answers."
Her voice—soft and melodious like a morning lark—drifted toward them like a hymn.
Sona visibly winced. So much for not being devout.
She cleared her throat and spoke with the clarity of someone on official business.
"We're from the Student Council of Kuoh Academy—your school. We came to ask why you haven't attended a single class since the term began two weeks ago."
Jeanne blinked in confusion. Her expression remained blank for a moment longer… then shifted in slow horror.
"…Two weeks?"
Her voice cracked slightly in disbelief.
"Surely you must be exaggerating…"
Tsubaki, efficient and firm, shook her head.
"Two full weeks. Ten absences. We attempted to contact both your emergency contact and yourself. There was no response from either, which left us no choice but to visit you in person."
Jeanne looked away, guilt blooming across her face like ink soaking into paper. She gave a low, sincere bow.
"I'm so sorry! I-I truly thought it had only been a few days..."
Sona frowned.
"What do you mean by that?"
The apology was quick and genuine, which she appreciated. But it was baffling. What kind of person just forgot how time passed?
She inwardly entertained the idea of Jeanne being a female version of Falbium Asmodeus—a Lord of Sloth. The mental image amused her briefly, though she wisely kept the comparison to herself. Jeanne didn't seem the type to appreciate being likened to a Satan.
"O-oh!" Jeanne's head perked up. "I don't think I notified the school, but I have this condition… what was it called again…? Ah! Narcolepsy!"
Sona and Tsubaki exchanged a glance, nodding in cautious understanding.
Narcolepsy—sudden, uncontrollable sleep episodes and daytime drowsiness. Sona wasn't sure if that alone could explain a complete loss of temporal awareness, but she supposed it was plausible in more severe cases.
"I see…" Sona's tone softened. "Do you think you'll be alright attending classes from now on?"
Jeanne paused, as if listening to something deeper within herself, then nodded with a small smile.
"It only happens occasionally," she assured them. "I just… didn't expect this episode to last so long."
There was guilt in her voice. It was clear she wasn't trying to avoid school—she genuinely hadn't noticed the days slipping by.
"That's fine then," Sona replied. "Will you be able to return by next week?"
Jeanne gave a firm nod.
"Yes."
"Good. In that case, make sure to stop by either the Student Council office or your homeroom teacher to collect your missed work."
"Of course. Thank you for informing me."
She bowed again, lower this time, more composed.
Then she straightened, her voice light and full of reverence.
"Surely the Lord has guided you here to knock sense back into me."
Another wince. Tsubaki's lips twitched. Sona held her composure, but only barely.
"…Then we'll expect to see you Monday," Sona said, taking a step back.
Jeanne nodded once more.
"Thank you for everything."
The door closed with a soft click.
--+--
The soft click of the door echoed in the silence that followed. For a moment, Sona and Tsubaki simply stood there on the porch, the quiet hum of the neighborhood settling around them like a blanket. Birds chirped faintly in the distance. A breeze rolled through, rustling leaves and tousling Sona's midnight-blue hair.
"…Thoughts?" she asked without looking at her companion.
Tsubaki adjusted her glasses, her brows furrowed in restrained curiosity.
"She's… not what I expected."
"That makes two of us," Sona murmured, gaze lingering on the door as if it might reopen any second.
What had she just witnessed?
The girl before them had practically oozed sanctity. Even without sensing any holy aura—thankfully, for all their sakes—everything about her presence had screamed divine. And yet, Jeanne d'Arc was supposedly just a transfer student. No ties to the supernatural. No irregularities on paper. Nothing but a name that was either a cruel joke or a strange coincidence.
Sona wasn't naïve. She knew better than to trust such convenient coincidences.
"Her spiritual presence is sealed," she said aloud, almost absently.
Tsubaki turned to her.
"You felt it too?"
"Not felt. That's the problem. I didn't feel anything at all."
It wasn't a lack of power. It was an intentional absence. Like a blade hidden behind silk, or a storm tucked behind glass—completely invisible, but always there.
The girl hadn't so much as radiated a speck of divine energy. But Sona's instincts, honed from years of living among devils and navigating supernatural politics, screamed otherwise. That girl was not normal.
"She was polite," Tsubaki offered.
Sona snorted softly. "So are half the devils in Hell."
And yet, that smile…
It hadn't been the smug kind of smile that someone who knew they were hiding something wore. It had been warm. Genuine. Tinged with sleep and mild confusion, sure—but warm.
As if she really had believed they were divine messengers sent to remind her to go to school.
"…She mentioned narcolepsy," Tsubaki reminded gently, watching Sona's expression.
"I heard."
"And she agreed to return to school."
"I heard that too."
Sona let out a sigh, folding her arms as she started walking down the path away from the house. Tsubaki followed in step.
"She's either the world's most convincing delusional shut-in," Sona muttered, "or someone very dangerous who doesn't realize how dangerous she is."
Tsubaki didn't respond. She didn't need to. Sona could tell her Vice-President had come to the same conclusion.
They walked in silence for a while, the warm spring air brushing their uniforms.
Sona glanced up at the sky, thoughtful. "Keep a closer eye on her. Quietly. I want to know what she's doing when she does start showing up."
"Understood."
Jeanne d'Arc. A name out of history, reborn in Kuoh under suspiciously convenient circumstances.
Sona had no idea what kind of story this girl was about to write into their lives. But one thing was certain.
School just got a lot more complicated.
--+--
As the door clicked shut, Jeanne leaned her forehead lightly against the wood, exhaling a long, slow breath.
"…That could have gone worse."
She turned around and walked back inside, her mind still running through the interaction like a replay. As she passed through the hallway into her room, something nagged at the edge of her thoughts.
'It seems I have some Jeanne d'Arc filter.'
She hadn't realized it until just now. How could she? She hadn't spoken to anyone out loud since arriving in this world. But now that she had, it hit her like divine revelation. She used to be relatively agnostic—sure, she believed in some greater force, but it wasn't like she went around preaching. Yet the moment she opened her mouth today, she was talking about the Lord like a missionary fresh out of seminary.
She cringed again, this time harder.
"I feel bad for Sona and Tsubaki…" she muttered, burying her face in her hands. "Just know it wasn't intentional!"
At least now she knew. Unless she was about to go full Divine Spirit Metatron mode, it was safer to stick with the base Heroic Spirit Jeanne d'Arc identity. It had less... heavenly baggage.
But honestly, wouldn't it be better to have options?
She flopped back into her chair again, her eyes unfocused as her thoughts drifted.
If I could somehow access Jeanne Alter too... wouldn't that make me Supreme Jeanne?
The title alone made her grin. Supreme Jeanne. It sounded like a limited banner servant. And let's be real, if anyone deserved that, it was her.
Besides, being Jeanne d'Arc meant she had to be ready to Suicide Attack if it came down to using La Pucelle. No thank you. Not unless she wanted to lose all her EXP and start from zero again. That lazy angel Metatron could stay on the bench for now.
But how does one even change their Saint Graph into an Evil one? she mused. Do you just… think evil thoughts?
Her mind flashed back to the time she dumped 300 Saint Quartz on a banner and didn't get Oberon. Only 4-star servants. A million 5-star Craft Essences.
"…I wanted to throw my phone across the room," she muttered darkly.
Her hair began to shift—shorter, messier. A heat rose behind her eyes.
Her smile disappeared.
She blinked, then turned to the mirror beside her desk.
Standing there wasn't Jeanne d'Arc anymore.
It was her—Jeanne Alter.
Black armor shimmered against pale skin, her expression naturally annoyed, lips in a permanent pout of fury and disdain. A flag of rebellion, not salvation, leaned against her shoulder.
"…Was it really that easy?" she asked the reflection flatly.
Knowledge of Jeanne Alter's lore, skills, and memories surged into her like a loading screen hitting 100%. Her mind filled with memories from the Orleans Singularity, a twisted parody of Jeanne's own path.
She summoned the armor and flag just to be sure. Solid. Heavy. Intimidating.
"If I was still back home, I'd be the best cosplayer in the world," she said, posing once. Twice. Three times.
She clicked her tongue.
Jeanne Alter had Dragon Witch as a skill. And in this world—High School DxD, with actual dragons all over the place—who knew what that meant?
At least she had a Noble Phantasm that didn't require her to martyr herself.
Still, she couldn't help but weigh the power levels. Original Jeanne had Revelation, like Artoria's Instinct. That was clutch. Jeanne Alter had raw power. And Metatron Jeanne? Well, she had literal Divine Authority and the Throne of Heaven.
Simple.
Older Sister Jeanne for early game.
Little Sister Jeanne for mid game.
Metatron Jeanne for final boss fights.
Jeanne Supreme.
Perfect.
Well… until the actual fighting starts. That's when everything usually went to hell.
She eyed herself in the mirror, still in Alter form.
"…How do I change back?"
She tried clearing her mind. Didn't work. She tried faking prayer. Nothing.
Then she had an idea.
"God is Great!"
WOOOSH!
Blonde braids. White armor. Soft blue light.
Back to base Jeanne.
"…Huh."
She frowned.
"God Sucks."
WOOOSH!
Black outfit. Glowing red eyes. Scowl back in place.
"…"
She stared flatly into the mirror.
This is so janky…
She did it one more time just to be sure.
"God is Great!"
WOOOSH!
Back again. She rubbed her temple, deeply unamused.
At least she had to say it. That meant she wouldn't randomly switch forms mid-thought like some spiritual light switch.
Still… whoever had sent her to this world had given her a golden finger so overpowered it practically glowed.
She grinned to herself.
And she'd use it for the noblest cause of all.
To be as lazy as possible.
In God's name!
--+-
A/N: Finally another original fanfiction! And a long ass chapter to commemorate!
Edit: I have just realized that Metatron is actually alive. Welp he's dead in my story so too bad. Also, as the voice of god, why is he so weak in DxD like wuh huh?
We have Lazy Jeanne overhere.
When I layed eyes on Metatron Jeanne, I gained the revelation of god. God's dead in DxD though!
Originally I was planning on keeping it just Jeanne d'Arc and Metatron Jeanne, but I was like.
Possible synergy with the Dragon Witch skill from Jeanne Alter, and I like Jeanne alter too.
I love ALL Jeannes!
Also, DAMN do I love how the japanese pronounce her name. Jan'nu Daruku. Fucking scratchs an itch I never knew I had.
Unlike the Danmachi one, Jeannes just how she is here, just a little more holy. I mean she is a bonafide saint where holy powers are pretty efficient.
This is before canon by the way! Like a few weeks before.
The Jeanne introduction on how she got here is janky asf tho, nothing I can do about that.
Also, while Jeanne is a diligent person, but in the original wiki it's "Jeanne is described as a taciturn and cool girl when acting as a Servant, but her natural self is a plain and quiet nineteen-year-old girl."
The original MC is just a normal college student who enjoys anime and games (who knows how FGO players are normal) who's just a little unmotivated and lazy.
Metatron Jeanne when in Stage 2 is stated in the wiki as "As a result of being cast off from her original self and embodying the sin of sloth, she is lazy, corrupt, and quite slothful"
Jeanne Alter... is just Jeanne Alter.
Is this yuri? Maybe! While I have absolutely no idea on how an Angel is supposed to romance, maybe in the non angel forms like Jeanne and Jeanne alter it's different!