The sun hung low behind a blanket of clouds, casting long amber streaks across the school courtyard. Somewhere inside, a soft lo-fi beat trickled from a student's phone speaker, giving the hallway a mellow soundtrack.
Dreyl walked alone, his head down, hoodie up, and hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looked like a thundercloud ready to break—dark, brooding, and simmering with frustration.
"Why'd it have to be that?" he muttered under his breath. "Of all the things it could've thrown at me…"
The Fatebreaker's last roll echoed like a curse in his skull. He hadn't even faced its consequence yet, and it already weighed on him like a chain around his neck.
He rounded a corner and froze.
There she was—Yumi.
The same girl whose body he'd taken over the day before. Technically, the rules of Fatebreaker should've wiped her memory clean. Possessions weren't supposed to leave traces.
And yet, for the briefest moment, her eyes met his.
A flicker of something. Recognition? Curiosity?
"Bingo," Dreyl whispered to himself.
He took a step toward her, ready to test the waters—when a sudden crash broke the tension.
A locker slammed violently just inches from his head.
He didn't even flinch.
Standing in his path with that trademark smirk and cocky posture was none other than Renji Kuroda—loudmouth, wannabe tough guy, and perpetual pest.
"Oi, oi. Sakashita," Renji grinned, using Dreyl's fake human name. "Let's have a little chat."
Dreyl let out a long sigh through his nose. He could already predict how this would go.
"Here we go again…" he muttered.
Renji didn't like that.
He grabbed Dreyl by the collar and lifted him slightly off the ground, holding him up like a trophy for all the passing students to see.
"Shut it! You're going down today, dweeb!"
Dreyl didn't resist. His red eye glimmered under his bangs, calm and cold.
"Do you ever learn?" he asked.
Renji's fist cocked back. "Eat this, punk!"
In a blink, Dreyl vanished.
A gust of wind rushed past.
"Behind you," Dreyl's voice whispered.
Renji turned just in time to feel his legs swept clean out from under him. He crashed to the ground with a loud thud that echoed across the hall.
Gasps rang out. Some students cheered quietly. Others simply watched in awe.
Dreyl walked past the crumpled bully, hands back in his pockets.
"Remember this lesson," he said without looking back, "and heed it well."
He didn't stay to gloat. His eyes returned to Yumi.
She hadn't moved.
She was still watching him.
Then—she smiled.
His heart kicked against his ribs.
No. No. No.
She smiled?! She actually smiled?!
Abort mission! Abort mission!
He stiffened as she approached. Her expression was warm, almost amused.
"Hey," she said. "You're that guy from earlier, right? The one who was late?"
Dreyl scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well… yeah. That's me."
"You fancy going out for lunch Saturday?"
His brain short-circuited.
Holy crap. This is happening.
He forced himself to smirk, somehow keeping it together.
"Yeah. That sounds great."
"Twelve-thirty?"
"Perfect," he replied smoothly.
She gave him one more smile before turning and walking off with her friends.
Dreyl stood frozen for a second longer, then slowly turned away.
"…Did I just get a date?" he whispered. "Is that even allowed?"
By the time the final bell rang, he was still in a daze.
Later that evening, as the sunset bled into the sky with reds and oranges, Dreyl leaned against the stone wall outside the school gate. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the Fatebreaker die. Its surface pulsed faintly, glowing with an ominous red shimmer.
"Alright," he muttered, flipping it through his fingers. "Let's see what kind of hell you've cooked up this time…"
He rolled it across the stone wall.
The die spun, slowed… and landed.
A soft pulse lit up the number.
3: A demon will hunt you down.
His expression tightened.
"…Shit."
Back in his apartment, the mood had shifted.
The heavy blackout curtains sealed out the night. Old, tattered books lay across shelves beside weapons and paper talismans scorched at the edges. A chained gate in the corner flickered with faint red sigils—one of many remnants from the world he came from.
Dreyl paced, teeth clenched.
"Why a demon?" he muttered. "I've already got bounty hunters sniffing around. Now Fatebreaker's just throwing in guests for fun?"
The temperature in the room dropped suddenly. The air grew still.
Then, faintly—
Hsssssshhh.
His eyes snapped to the window.
Nothing there.
Still… he stepped over and locked it.
That sound. That movement. Something was here—or close.
He reached for the dice.
And stopped.
High above his building, a shadow watched.
A figure crouched along the edge of the rooftop—short and lean, arms sleeved in serpentine scales, muscles coiled like a viper ready to strike. His jagged red hair whipped in the wind, and venom-green eyes glowed under the moonlight, slit and predatory.
His tongue flicked out, testing the air.
"There you are…" the boy whispered, smiling with sharp fangs.
He cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers.
A long, bone-made whip hung coiled at his side, twitching like it had a mind of its own.
"Let's see what the Devil's brat is made of."
Without a sound, he leapt.
Glass shattered.
Dreyl barely ducked as a whip snapped through the air and embedded itself in the wall beside him.
Smoke curled off the stone where the blade had struck.
From the swirling darkness, a calm, mocking voice drifted out.
"Nice reflexes. Let's see how long they last."
Dreyl's red eye flared. The Fatebreaker die appeared in his hand.
He rolled it.
6: Survive.
He clenched his fists.
"Wrong night to pick a fight, snake-boy."
The figure emerged from the smoke, grinning wide.
"Name's Viper," he hissed.
"And you're already dead."