So.
"Do devils need to take a shit?"
That was the first thing I asked my supposed master. Yes, "master." As in, I'm technically owned now. Welcome to my magical girl-boss hellscape.
The crimson-haired, busty girl across from me blinked, clearly not expecting that particular line of inquiry. Her name? Rias Gremory. The main female protagonist of High School DxD, a show I absolutely, 100%, definitely did not binge-watch at 3 a.m. while pretending I was only "interested in the lore."
And by "lore" I mean boobs. Big anime ones. That show had more underboob than plot, and I couldn't name a single character after finishing it. Only cup sizes.
Now, you might be wondering: how did I, a former Orthodox Christian boy with a sensible fear of eternal damnation, get here? Excellent question, dear reader.
Reincarnation. The concept's been around for ages, from the endless cycle of samsara in Hinduism and Buddhism to the more bureaucratic reincarnation paperwork of some Chinese folk beliefs. Even Plato had some weird ideas about the soul doing laps in the metaphysical gym until it got swole enough for enlightenment.
I, however, didn't expect any of those. Raised Christian, I was betting my afterlife on some combination of harps, clouds, and a final judgment. I died expecting either heaven, hell, or if God was feeling ambiguous, purgatory.
What I got instead? A second go at life. In Japan. With functioning memories of my past life and an intact sense of irony.
I woke up as a baby, obviously confused, but fluent in my new parents' Japanese by the age of four thanks to the magical combo of prior adult cognition and immersion. No whining. No "why me?" existential tantrums. I got a second chance, and I planned to use it. Like a sensible reincarnated protagonist, minus the dense brain fog and harem magnetism.
Armed with all the knowledge from my first life, I immediately went into grindset mode. I, Haruki Yamashiro, wasn't about to let this anime world turn me into comic relief or someone's tragic backstory.
Academics? Dominated.
Athletics? Excelled.
Extracurriculars? I was the extracurricular.
Trophies in poetry, art, creative writing, debate, natural science, math—you name it, I won it. Violin, piano, martial arts, tennis, horse-riding, and interpretive dance for some reason. I was a one-man Renaissance fair with better skin.
Money? My family was loaded. Like, private tutor in every subject loaded. Bless their melodramatic hearts. My mom cried when I left for high school, my dad begged me to get a girlfriend like we were bartering over livestock, and my little sister made a shrine to my empty bedroom. I kid you not.
But none of that mattered. Because fate, also known as lazy anime writing, had already marked me for something else.
So I got into Kuoh Academy on scholarship. Apparently, it used to be an all-girls school, which explains the 70:30 female-to-male ratio and why every girl looks like she fell out of a dating sim. But whatever, I was here to study, not to... okay, fine, I did notice the plot armor walking around with DD-cup power levels.
Things took a hard left turn yesterday. There I was, walking home, when I saw a girl with crimson hair—yes, that crimson hair—fighting four... cyclopses? Cyclopsi? Whatever.
She wrecked three of them with energy blasts like she was casually doing her Tuesday cardio, but then made the classic shonen mistake: underestimating the last boss. Got caught in a trap.
So naturally, being the overachieving meathead I am, I jumped in. Used my gymnastic martial arts ballet-fu to land a kick.
Spoiler: it did nothing.
Dude punched me in the gut so hard I think I briefly saw the Windows XP startup screen. Bones? Gone. Dignity? Missing in action. But the distraction gave Crimson Queen enough time to finish the fight.
I should've died.
But no.
She shoved a glowing bishop piece into my chest like she was installing a graphics card. Boom. Devilified.
Cut to the present. Me, sitting on a couch in Rias Gremory's overly elegant room, next to some brown-haired guy named Issei Hyoudou. I recognized him immediately, the original protagonist, certified Boob Enthusiast. He looks thrilled to be a devil. Probably thinks this is his true isekai awakening. My guy really out here living his best hentai-adjacent life.
Me? I'm mentally filing HR complaints against reality.
Rias is explaining the rules now. Something about "Evil Pieces", basically magic chess. She's the King (of course), and her peerage is her... well, let's not mince words: Slaves. Bishops, Rooks, Knights, Pawns, the whole crew.
"So I get rewarded for saving your life by becoming your eternal slave?" I ask, deadpan.
"Technically, you died," Rias says, "so I saved your life."
Ah, yes. The ol' "I saved you, so now you belong to me" clause. Classic anime ethics. Somewhere in the distance, Stockholm Syndrome is quietly applauding.
She continues, listing the benefits of becoming a devil: "Devils have long lifespans, about 10,000 years and you can learn to use demonic power to do virtually anything."
Now that caught my attention.
Magic. Literal do-anything energy fueled by imagination. That's not just fantasy game mechanics, that's the key to my freedom. Because make no mistake: this devil hierarchy is shady as hell. Even if you climb the ranks and become a High-Class Devil yourself, you're still beholden to your King.
And don't get me started on the whole "trading pieces between Kings" thing. Because if that doesn't sound like a magical slave auction, I don't know what does.
The cherry on top? Stray Devils.
Apparently, if you try to dip and live your best free-Devil life, you get hunted like a rabid Pokémon. Stray Devils are considered unstable and dangerous, she says. No nuance. No appeal process. Just "Oops, you wanted autonomy? Die."
So yeah. I'm keeping my head down, playing nice, smiling when they ask me to, and quietly planning my exit strategy like a teenager at a family reunion.
Let's rewind to the my earlier question:
"No, devils don't need to… relieve themselves," Rias said, frowning slightly, clearly thrown by the absurdity of the question
"Good," I replied. "That means I don't have to worry about hemorrhoids or finding a magical treatment for them."
"...Hemorrhoids?...How do you normally treat them?" she asks, caught in the conversational slipstream.
"With contempt," I answer.
She laughs. Which is good. Keep her relaxed. Never let them suspect the prisoner is picking the lock.
She offers to teach me devil magic. I say yes, of course. Tomorrow. I'll learn everything, how to shape energy, how to teleport, how to atomize an enemy with a snap. All in the name of "helping my King," of course.
I glanced around the room. Akeno stood off to the side, quiet, composed. She's the one who sucked Issei's finger in that one episode, which is somehow both erotic and confusing in context. She had that whole Yamato Nadeshiko thing going on: long black hair, refined voice, polite smile, and probably enough voltage in her fingertips to barbecue an elephant.
There was also Koneko, the white-haired, permanently unimpressed loli. Speaks in monosyllables.Yuuto Kiba, the handsome blond swordsman. Polite, calm, and humble. Basically the guy you should root for in every anime but never do because he's not chaotic or perverted enough.
And of course, Issei Hyoudou, the actual protagonist. Energetic, perverted, surprisingly competent in battle. Obsessed with boobs and totally okay with being a devil. He's dreaming of building a harem and probably thinks indentured servitude is a fair trade for jiggle physics. I don't blame him.
Me? I'm the spare piece. The extra bishop no one asked for, slotted into place not out of strategy, but inane sense of debt. A glorified accessory in a game I never agreed to play.
They speak of magic like it's wonder incarnate. Power drawn from imagination, shaped by will, limitless in theory but leashed in practice. What they fail to mention is that this gift comes with a collar. Velvet-lined, perhaps. But a collar all the same.
Because while they speak of eternal life and the wonders of demonic power, what I hear is obligation without escape. Servitude, gilded and perfumed. A prison with stained-glass windows.
I see it now, how this world moves. A simulacrum of myth and genre convention, dressed up in high school uniforms and cleavage-heavy diplomacy. The devils wrap hierarchy in pageantry and call it tradition. What they've built is not a society, but a cage gilded with power fantasies, where loyalty is mistaken for purpose and servitude is rebranded as belonging.
I intend to leave it. All of it.
But intentions without means are delusions dressed in ambition.
So I will listen. I will nod. I will learn. But I am no bird; and no net ensnares me. I am a free human being with an independent will.
Freedom is not granted. It is constructed. Slowly. Brick by brick. From power. From leverage. From the refusal to kneel, even when you're already on the ground.
They see a new servant. A loyal piece on the board.
Let them.
For now.
AN: So I did the reasonable thing and started another High School DxD SI fic. My other one, where I got isekai'd into Riser, kind of spiraled into something I didn't plan. Don't worry, it's not abandoned, but let's just say Riser turned into a power-hungry, morally bankrupt lunatic, and now I need emotional balance.
Enter: Haruki. This time I'm aiming for a decent human being. Someone who won't commit war crimes by chapter ten. Hopefully.
Will it stay that way? Who knows. Let's find out together.