I came back home to stay with my dysfunctional family. Summer's almost over, and I've got a set of weights to lift that'll probably snap my spine in half before I see any gains. Still, that's my only form of sanity now.
The second I walk in, I'm greeted with that familiar tension—like the house itself is holding its breath, waiting for someone to explode. I try to keep it chill and make some small talk with Mom. She's in the kitchen, probably pretending things are normal, humming like she doesn't live in a psychological warzone. But then I glance over at the living room, and that's when the calm crumbles.
There's Issei, slouched on the couch like a king in his crusty little throne, eyes glued to the TV. And what's on the screen? Not just some random anime—no. The man-child is watching full-blown cartoon porn. In the living room. In broad daylight. On the family TV. Like it's just Saturday morning cartoons or something.
I stop mid-sentence and stare. I blink, thinking maybe I misread the situation, but no—it's definitely pixelated moaning and ridiculous cleavage. I turn to Mom, eyes wide, and ask, "Is he seriously allowed to watch that?"
She barely even looks up. Just lets out a laugh like it's no big deal. "It's just cartoons he likes. Nothing wrong with it," she says casually, like we're talking about Scooby-Doo and not some perverted harem fantasy.
My jaw nearly dislocates. I am stunned. Not confused—stunned. How the hell is this okay? How is this being normalized? I feel like I've walked into a parallel universe where the rules of decency don't apply anymore. Wait I am in another world fuck my life.
I try to keep my cool. Deep breath. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and start Googling how to report this kind of content—maybe to some parental authority hotline or hell, even the FBI if I have to. Because seriously, this doesn't feel right. It doesn't even feel real.
But before I can finish typing, Mom snatches my phone right out of my hand. No warning. Just yoink—like she's catching me mid-crime.
She looks at me with this face. Not disappointment. Betrayal. Like I'm the one doing something wrong here.
"Why can't you just let your brother enjoy his time while he's still young?" she says. "He'll grow out of it."
Grow out of it? Are we talking about a phase or a fetish? I mean, what are we even doing here?
I'm speechless. I want to scream, or at least come up with some cutting response that'll shake her back to reality. But nothing comes out. It's like my brain hits the emergency brake and just stalls.
Then, of course, Issei joins in. Because why not? Apparently, this circus doesn't operate with an off-switch.
He turns around, smirking like the protagonist of some delusional anime fantasy and says, "What, man? You jealous I'm gonna be the harem king and you're gonna be nothing?"
I stare at him. I stare at Mom. I wait. I need her to say something—anything—that'll bring some kind of justice or at least restore basic morality in this household.
Nope.
She just pockets my phone and walks off like nothing happened.
That's it. That's the moment. The mental snap. Something in me breaks in silence.
What the actual hell is my life?
I give up. I turn around and walk to my room like a ghost. I don't slam the door. I don't yell. I just lie down, stare at the ceiling, and let it sink in.
This is the environment I've returned to.
And so, for the rest of the summer, I'll do the only thing I can control: hit my workouts hard, keep my headphones on, and build the kind of strength that might one day let me lift myself out of this madness—literally and metaphorically.
Let Issei have his pixelated harem.
I proceed with life like I don't have a mother or a brother—not emotionally, anyway. As far as I'm concerned, unless they come looking for trouble, they don't exist in my world. After what happened, it's safer for my sanity if I just tune them out completely.
Back in Alaska, things make more sense. It's just me, the cold air, the silence, and the iron. My sacred routine begins with a monster lift. I grip the bar, steel cold against my palms, and prepare to lift all 900 tons of sheer defiance from the frozen earth. It's not just a workout—it's a declaration of war against weakness.
As I start pulling, I swear to God, I feel my spine shift like tectonic plates. My back cracks with a sound that could've been mistaken for a gunshot. For a second, I'm not even sure if I'm still aligned correctly. My vision goes a little blurry. But the weight is in the air—just barely. I'm shaking like a teenager who just realized he left his vape at home before school.
I steady my feet, grit my teeth, and push into what might as well be a vertical bench press. I force out six shaky reps. Each one feels like it's carving years off my life. On the sixth, my arms give out, and the weight crashes down, sinking into the dirt like a meteor. Now I've got to dig it out and reset. Brilliant.
So I start thinking—how the hell do I transition this thing into squats? I can't rack it, and I don't have a squat cage, so I improvise. Since I can generate my own force and manipulate mass mid-air, I create a center of gravity that anchors across my chest, holding it in place like a steel harness. My own personal makeshift "cleavage," if you will. Functional, not fashionable.
Once it's secured, I drop into squats. Each rep feels like my femurs are whispering threats. I don't count anymore—I just go until the burn overtakes the numbness. Until my legs feel like molten iron. Until standing is no longer an option.
Eventually, I collapse onto the ice-packed ground, unable to walk. I don't care. I crawl—drag myself—over to my stash. Time to cook. Protein, carbs, fats, all slammed together in a calorie bomb that could scare off a dietitian. Steak, eggs, canned beans, powdered shake mix—whatever's on hand. I consume like a man possessed.
I make a mental note: I need to restock. Soon. I'll have to make another run—haul supplies. I don't care. I need the fuel.
This becomes my life for the rest of the summer. I train until I can't feel my limbs, eat like an apex predator, and sleep like I'm recovering from surgery. Rinse, repeat.
By the end of it all, I've transformed.
Still the same height. But now I weigh in at 207 pounds. Solid. Not fat, not bloated—pure, unapologetic American meat-eating muscle. The kind that looks carved out of concrete. I look in the mirror and see someone who could probably wrestle a grizzly bear and make it tap out. This isn't just physical—this is spiritual. This is the body of a man who's endured chaos, tuned out the noise, and chosen discipline over dysfunction.
Mom calls me into the kitchen, and to my surprise, Issei is already sitting there—grinning like he just lost his virginity five minutes ago. How do I know that look? Because I had the same exact smile in a past life… minus the post-nut clarity and the creeping horror of what I did and who I did it with.
I already know something's off.
Mom turns to me, her expression far too pleasant for this household. "Nissei, I wanted to let you know that you and Issei will be switching schools. You'll be attending one that's much closer."
What the hell is she talking about?
"Uh, what's wrong with our current school? I don't see a reason to change. And if there was a closer one, why didn't we go there from the start?"
She keeps smiling—that unsettling, overly practiced kind of smile that tells you there's some bullshit coming. And then she drops it:
"Well, you see… this school used to be an all-girls school. But this year, they've decided to go coed."
Of course. This wasn't her idea. It was the horn dog's. He's still smiling like Diddy staring at LeBron—way too happy, like his fantasy just became law.
I take a deep breath, trying not to combust. Okay, stay calm. Let's hear her out before I throw a chair.
"But Mom," I say, struggling to keep my voice even, "our current school is fine. There's no reason to switch."
Still smiling—almost too much now—she goes on. "Well, I didn't know about it, but Issei found out while he was out with his… friends. Turns out, they're all enrolling there, too. And I think it'd be good for you two to go to the same school. I want you nearby."
Of course. He was probably ogling the girls there, drooling like a cartoon wolf, and somehow used that as a justification to drag me along.
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts in again.
"Oh, and I heard it's actually one of the top-ranked schools in the country."
Yeah, right. Sure. And pigs fly.
This isn't about academics. It's about Issei living out his harem fantasy in real-time. But then something clicks.
Wait… isn't that the school where all the devils hang out? The one where the story starts?
Damn.
So this is it. I'm being pulled into the High School DxD world whether I like it or not.
Looks like things are about to get complicated.