As the white light faded, a figure appeared on the dark red sand.
Genichi's heart hammered in his throat. Every muscle tensed; blood rushed to his head, and his vision darkened with the strain of it.
He stared at the person opposite him, his mind racing through countless terrifying scenarios:
Will it be a Jedi wielding a lightsaber? A sorcerer chanting arcane spells? A hulking martial artist?
But—
The opponent who appeared was nothing like what he'd feared.
The figure stood hunched, unstable on their feet, swaying like they'd topple with the next gust of wind.
They wore what looked like a high school uniform—though ornate patterns decorated it—but the midsection was heavily stained with an ominous, sticky-red that continued to spread.
Genichi's gaze was riveted to the wound:
A hole.
A hole, fist-sized, piercing from front to back.
Through that horrific wound, Genichi could even faintly see the dark red sand behind.
Perhaps the edges were cauterized, burned by some overwhelming force, sparing him the spectacle of spilling viscera. But it was clear—life was draining away fast.
The other Genichi's face was deathly pale, lips bloodless, unfocused eyes with dilated pupils. Only sheer momentum—or perhaps the arena's transferal force—kept him upright. He shakily tried to raise a hand to cover the wound, but his arm dropped limply halfway up.
His mouth opened, but no words came, only a trickle of blood and foam from his lips.
At last, his unfocused gaze met Hanyu Genichi's.
There was no fighting spirit or killing intent in those eyes—just endless pain, confusion, and a faint emptiness that Genichi could not decipher. Perhaps it belonged to someone at the very edge of death.
"Wh—"
Genichi's mind went completely blank, thunderstruck.
Then, in an almost absurd flash, euphoria exploded within him, obliterating his fear and despair in an instant.
He felt dizzy from the abrupt swing in his emotions.
Is this opponent dying?
No, beyond dying—one breath away from death!
A hole like that, unless God intervenes on the spot, there's no way to survive!
Does this arena have a matchmaking protection mechanism?
A weakling's first fight is against an even weaker opponent, or one already at death's door?
No, that wasn't mentioned in the message.
Was it just dumb luck?
Even as these confused thoughts raced through him, the doppelganger's body convulsed violently.
A shattered breath rasped out, the last remaining strength failing.
He fell forward, crashing heavily onto the red sand, raising a puff of dust.
Then—all was silent.
Genichi held his breath, too afraid to move, staring at the body. Seconds felt as long as centuries.
Then—he saw it.
The corpse began to shine.
Not from any external light, but from within—it radiated soft, pure white light from the depths of every cell, every fragment of its soul.
At first the points of light were faint, but they grew rapidly brighter and more saturated.
The corpse—meat, bone, clothing—all seemed to dissolve from within, turning into a glowing river of motes, not scattering at random but drawn together by some invisible force.
The light flowed, slowly but inexorably, toward Hanyu Genichi.
He tried to step back instinctively—but his feet were rooted to the ground.
The light was not harsh, but instead radiated a warm, magical attractiveness.
He watched as the first mote touched his skin. He felt nothing—just a faint, cool sensation, like water being absorbed by a sponge. And then it was gone—or rather, melted into him.
The second mote came.
The third…
Then a whole river of light swept him up.
Instantly, a tsunami of memories, emotions, knowledge, and experience surged through his consciousness…
Masses of information—not his, but still essentially his—rushed into the depths of his being.
He had become Hyoudou Genichi.
No—more precisely, he now existed as two lives at once.
His sense of self in the peaceful, everyday world was clear. He was both observer and participant. But at the same time, he was plunged into another, more passionate life.
His other self, in an alternate world, had reincarnated into "High School DxD", swapped bodies with Hyoudou Issei, and become the Red Dragon Emperor's host.
He felt as if he was Hyoudou Genichi, experiencing every event of his life from childhood to adulthood.
So as not to disrupt the plot, Hyoudou had acted cautiously, quietly waiting for the right moment to be reborn as a devil—entering Kuoh Academy, forming the Perverted Trio, accepting Yuuma Amano's confession, going on a date, receiving a magic summoning circle from a familiar, being stabbed in the stomach by Yuuma Amano's light spear, and finally being reincarnated as a devil by Rias Gremory in the park…
At this very moment, his consciousness contained two lives, two memories, and two emotional matrices.
There was no split personality or confusion; the arena's rules seemed to guarantee the winner's consciousness would be primary, while the memories of the loser were like new books tucked into a library—there to read or use, but never replacing the main self.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Those eyes looked different now.
He gazed down at his left hand:
Normal, with neatly trimmed nails and smooth, translucent skin.
Yet inside this arm, this body, slept a fearsome, overwhelming power:
The Boosted Gear, Red Dragon Emperor's Gauntlet.
One of the Sacred Gears, housing the soul of Ddraig, one of the Heavenly Dragons.
Its power doubled its wielder's might every ten seconds—endlessly, in theory, until the body itself reached its limit.
It also had the power to transfer accumulated strength temporarily to others or to objects.
Its forbidden state, the Scale Mail, massively increased both attack and defense, granting power enough for a human to defeat gods and devils alike.
And now, all this power, and Hyoudou Genichi's experience, belonged to him!
"Oh..."
A soft laugh slipped from Hanyu Genichi's throat, breaking the deathly silence of the colosseum.
There was anxiety in the gentle, growing laughter at first—as if testing the truth of this absurd reality.
But quickly it swelled—louder, wilder, until it became uncontrollable, almost hysterical.
"Heh... hahaha... HAHAHAHAHA!!!"
He covered his face, his body shaking with laughter, eyes ablaze with near-maniacal fire through the gaps in his fingers.
Lucky! What luck!
Just minutes ago, he'd been convinced he was the weakest prey, doomed to be trampled underfoot—as sacrifice, as cannon fodder.
He'd steeled himself for a tragic end.
Yet in an instant, fate had handed him a monumental surprise!
No—a miracle!
By some twisted providence, a top-tier artifact had been delivered straight into his hands, along with the chance for limitless future potential!
Without lifting a finger, without fighting a single savage battle, he'd gained the coordinates of a powerful world and inherited a god-level tool locked within his soul.
This was more than just survival.
This was the start of an epic ascent!
The ecstasy was like the strongest liquor, surging through every nerve.
His soul trembling, Hanyu rejoiced at this windfall.
But after the initial euphoria passed, he noticed something else:
This power was now his.
But how to use it?
To activate and wield a Sacred Gear required the host to possess magic or divine power.
But at his core, he was still an ordinary soul from the everyday world—no super energy anywhere.
For now, the Red Dragon Emperor's Gauntlet lay dormant, a super-engine without fuel.
He could sense the dragon's presence, feel a trace of its blazing, majestic strength—but to truly awaken and use it would take a magnificent energy.
Secondly, the arena's rules...
He looked around at the endless, deathly silence.
He had been incredibly lucky in this first match. What about next time?
Would his next foe be another self on the brink of death? The odds were vanishingly slim.
Much more likely, his next opponent would be a powerful, fully grown version from one of his alternate worlds.
He might own a premium weapon now, but as a user, he was pathetically weak—powerless even to unleash its might.
Even against a low-magic world's fighter, he'd be an ordinary man standing before a dragon's hoard, unable to use any of its treasures—a sitting duck.
Danger was far from over.
His sentence had been commuted from immediate execution to suspended death, granting him a path—risky, arduous, but a chance nonetheless.
The mad laughter gradually subsided.
Lowering his hands, his face returned to a state of almost excessive calm.
But deep in his eyes, ambition, cunning, and resolve flickered.
He crouched, picking up a small clump of red-black sand at his feet.
It was rough, cold, smelling of rust.
"Hyoudou Genichi."
His words echoed softly across the empty arena.
"Thank you for the gift. I'll carry out your wish, your resentment, your unfinished ambitions."
The ground beneath his feet began to glow with a teleportation's white light—this time, to send him back.
Hanyu Genichi straightened, fixing a sharp, final look at the ancient colosseum where his destiny had changed.
"I'll come back."
"Next time, I won't be a lamb led to slaughter."
The white light wrapped him around.
…
Consciousness returned.
Hanyu Genichi jerked awake, finding himself still leaning against his apartment door, standing inside the narrow entryway.
What had just happened felt surreal—like a hyper-real dream.
But he knew it hadn't been a dream.
He could recall every detail of Hyoudou Gen's life, and feel the power hidden deep in his soul.
Furthermore, he felt the coordinates—if he concentrated, two clear "worlds" floated in his mind:
One, his everyday reality.
The other, the world of demons, angels, and fallen—High School DxD.
He could travel there.
He had, as winner, gained the right to freely cross to Hyoudou's world, per the rules.
His heart started pounding again—this time, not from fear but from excitement and anticipation.
Let's go!
Activate the magic weapon!
There's a tremendous energy system there.
This was his crucial starting point—the road to escape his fate, and forge a path toward becoming the one and only.
…