Night — the hour when the city sheds its daytime mask of respectability. Jin stood in the middle of his tiny apartment, the single bulb pulling from the gloom a meager set of belongings: a stack of neatly arranged school textbooks on a low table, a lonely futon in the corner, a small refrigerator humming so quietly it seemed afraid to disturb the peace. The air was stale, smelling of mold and old wood.
He had just finished studying the documents laid out in an even fan across the tatami. An enrollment certificate for Kuoh Academy, medical insurance, a resident card. Flawless forgeries, crafting an identity from nothing. "Izayoi Jin. Orphan. Transfer student." A convenient, empty shell.
He slowly sank to the floor, leaning his back against the cool wall.
And now what? — the thought drifted sluggishly, tinged with the old apathy. — I know the plot. I know that perverted idiot Issei will handle everything in the end. Overcoming, losing, but winning. That's the law of this genre. I could just... do nothing. Go to school, collect welfare, sleep at the back desk. Be a spectator. Like always.
The temptation was great. Surrendering to inertia was so easy.
Yet in his memory, a bright flash surfaced: the empty, icy gaze of the official, and the shimmering parchment of the contract.
If he became a spectator again — he would be erased. Permanently.
Jin exhaled sharply, banishing the illusion. In this world, saturated with demonic magic, he was an anomaly. His very presence had already disrupted the initial conditions of the equation. Lying low wouldn't work.
"What a drag..."
The word slipped from his lips easily and naturally. There was no doom in it from his old life. Only the lazy, arrogant irritation of a teenager being forced to crawl out of his own den. He rose in one smooth motion. Sitting within four walls was unbearable — the new blood demanded oxygen and movement.
The night wrapped Kuoh in a cool, damp blanket. Jin ambled unhurriedly through the quiet streets of the neighborhood where he now lived. His memories helpfully supplied the details: this was an old, modest but calm residential quarter. Small two-story houses, pressed tightly against one another, alternated with apartment buildings like his own, housing a few families each. The air smelled of damp earth after a recent watering of lawns, and something elusively sweet — the scent of night blossoms from someone's tiny garden.
The silence was broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant rumble of trains. A perfect place for an "ordinary" life. But Jin saw the underside. He knew that behind this sleepy idyll lay territory divided between two powerful demonic clans. That in any of these dark alleyways, one might stumble not upon a drunken laborer, but a stray demon seeking easy prey. That behind the windows of these quaint houses could live not only humans, but reincarnated servants leading double lives.
His unhurried path led him to an island of light in the nocturnal haze — a 24-hour convenience store. Bright, almost vulgar neon signs promised cheap food, drinks, and salvation from loneliness for night owls. In front of the entrance, squatting on their heels, sat a group of high-schoolers in the rumpled uniforms of another school. They smoked, laughed loudly, exchanging crude jokes. Typical thugs, small-time predators who considered this patch of asphalt their territory.
Jin swept a bored, utterly empty gaze over them and, without slowing his stride, walked through the automatic doors — mere background noise.
Inside it was sterile and bright. He walked past the shelves of magazines and manga, past the drink coolers, heading for the ready-made food aisle. But his gaze snagged on his own wallet, which he had taken from his pocket. Nearly empty. A couple of crumpled bills and a handful of coins. About five hundred yen, no more. The financial possibilities of an orphan on welfare. Sighing heavily, he took a pack of the cheapest ramen and a can of soda.
At the register, a surprise awaited him. Behind the counter stood a girl. Incredibly, almost unnaturally cute for a cashier at a night-time convenience store. No older than twenty, with chestnut hair tied in a high ponytail that bounced amusingly with every movement. A neat, gentle face with large, trusting eyes; average height, a head and a half shorter than him. The store's striped uniform fit her perfectly, accentuating her slender figure.
Damn ero-world, — a weary thought flickered through Jin's mind. Even in a regular convenience store, the cashier looked like a character from a dating sim. He silently set his modest basket on the counter.
The girl raised her eyes to greet the customer, and... froze. Her fingers stopped above the scanner. Her breath hitched. Before Jin's eyes, a deep, almost pulsating flush flooded her pale cheeks.
Jin, who had been lazily studying the street through the glass door, shifted his gaze to her. He saw the girl, motionless, staring at him wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted in surprise. He tilted his head just a little to the side, his violet eyes studying her indifferently yet attentively. This simple gesture broke her from her stupor. She flinched, blushed furiously, and sharply dropped her head, hiding her eyes.
"F-f-forgive me!!!" Her voice came out thin and strangled. "Th-that'll be two hundred and thirty yen!"
Jin, paying not the slightest attention to her reaction, calmly counted out the exact amount, down to the last coin, and placed it on the counter. As he unhurriedly packed the ramen and soda into a thin plastic bag, he felt her glances on him. She stole brief, furtive looks at him, her cheeks still burning. It seemed she desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't bring herself to.
Taking the bag, he headed for the exit. The doors slid apart, letting in the night air. He had already passed the thugs — who followed him with angry, wary stares — and walked a fair distance when the silence of the street was torn by a desperate girlish shout:
"PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!"
Jin stopped and slowly turned around.
The girl had run out to the shop's doorstep, her hands pressed to her chest. She was breathing heavily, and her face bore a mixture of terrible embarrassment and puppyish delight at her own boldness.
Something strange stirred inside Jin. An ironic fondness. It was so stupid and clichéd that it was almost amusing. Instead of ignoring her, as his "old" version would have done, Izayoi Jin allowed the corners of his lips to twitch into a slight, confident smirk. He raised his free hand and waved it lazily, almost regally.
The girl let out a quiet squeak, blushed to the very roots of her hair, and shot back into the store like a bullet.
But this scene did not go unnoticed by one of the high-schoolers. The guy — clearly the leader of this little gang — sat with a face twisted in rage. He watched through the glass as the cashier, now happily and almost skippingly, wiped down the counter, and then shifted his hate-filled gaze to Jin's retreating back.
"That bastard..." he hissed through his teeth.
He fired off a couple of short phrases to his friends. They stubbed out their cigarettes, rose in sync, and, exchanging nods, moved after Jin, melting into the shadows.