Rael Gremory didn’t cry when he was born. Not the first time, and definitely not the second.

  He came into the world silent, eyes open, scanning the white marble ceiling of the Gremory estate’s birthing chamber like he was assessing a threat. No one noticed it at the time—just a quiet baby born seconds after his twin sister, Rias.

  But Rael knew.

  He knew this wasn’t Earth. Not the one he remembered, anyway. The air tasted different. The magic in the walls, the pressure in the room, even the way people moved—it was all just… off.

  He kept his mouth shut.

  Now, seven years ter, Rael sat cross-legged in the training yard behind the mansion, hands resting on his knees, back straight. His eyes were closed, but he could still see.

  Veins pulsed around his temples. His vision extended out in a dome—faint outlines of the guards walking their patrol routes, the zy sway of a maid brushing dust off a balcony, even the subtle shift of power deep beneath the estate where some artifact hummed in its vault.

  He didn’t know what these eyes were, only that they weren’t normal. His parents thought it was some dormant devil trait. Rael knew better. They weren’t devil-made. He'd had a gut instinct for this kind of thing ever since he woke up in this body.

  The Hyūga would’ve called this the Byakugan. But that world was fiction. This one… was something else entirely.

  “Rael!”

  He opened his eyes. Rias came running across the wn, red hair bouncing, face red with annoyance.

  “You promised you'd help me practice my summoning circle!”

  “I said I’d help after my training,” Rael said, rising calmly. “You're early.”

  “You're weird,” she muttered, puffing out her cheeks.

  “You’re soft,” he replied.

  She stuck out her tongue. He didn’t respond.

  The Gremory household tolerated Rael. His parents, Lord and Lady Gremory, were proud of their children, sure. But even they couldn't quite figure him out. He didn’t cry as a baby, didn’t babble nonsense, walked and talked months earlier than expected, and had this unsettling stare—like he was judging everyone around him.

  In truth, he was.

  Rael had spent 28 years as a U.S. Marine. He wasn’t built for tea parties or noble etiquette. He’d been in deserts, in forests, in cities turned to ash. He’d seen men break, and he’d broken a few himself.

  Being reborn into a devil noble family wasn’t on his bucket list, but here he was.

  Later that evening, during dinner, Rias was yammering on about wanting a familiar—something “majestic and cute.” Their father listened with a smile, nodding like a good dad. Their mother added, “Just don’t summon anything with acid breath again, darling.”

  Rael said nothing, cutting his meat in perfect squares.

  Lord Gremory turned to him eventually. “And you, son? Any thoughts on what you'd like to summon when the time comes?”

  Rael swallowed his bite before answering. “Something useful. Tactical. Agile. Flying, maybe.”

  “Flying?” Rias raised an eyebrow. “You afraid of walking?”

  Rael stared at her. “I’m afraid of wasting time.”

  The table went quiet for a second, then Lord Gremory let out a soft chuckle. “You always have such… practical answers.”

  “I think too much,” Rael replied ftly.

  That night, he snuck out into the woods behind the estate. Not to train. Not exactly.

  He needed to test something.

  The Byakugan—he didn’t call it that out loud, but that’s what it was to him—let him see chakra points, pressure lines in the body, even through walls. But there was more. Sometimes, when he focused too hard, time slowed for a breath. Not real time, but his reaction speed. Like in a gunfight, just before the trigger pull. That moment of pure crity.

  He wanted to know if he could control it.

  Rael found a clearing, drew a circle in the dirt, and began his stance. It wasn’t magic. It was muscle memory. Marine close-combat drills, modified for a shorter, younger body.

  He activated the eyes.

  The world sharpened. Trees pulsed with natural energy. Insects hummed like engine noise.

  He threw a punch. Then another. Then kicked, pivoted, spun. It wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t aiming to impress.

  He was testing response time, mobility, field of vision. This was recon. Data collection. A seven-year-old boy in devil’s skin, moving like a trained killer.

  Then something moved behind him.

  He stopped. Eyes still active.

  A figure stood at the edge of the clearing—tall, lean, and cloaked in faint magic. One of the house’s guards, watching him.

  “You shouldn't be out this te, young master,” the man said, tone polite.

  Rael didn’t move. “You're tailing me?”

  “Protecting. Orders from Lord Gremory.”

  “Next time, make less noise. You breathe too hard through your left nostril.”

  The man blinked. “…Understood.”

  Back in his room, Rael stared at his reflection. Pale, vender eyes stared back—veins still faintly visible.

  He had theories. Maybe this world mixed with others. Maybe the ws of physics didn’t care what made sense.

  But more than that, he had a hunch.

  These eyes weren’t a blessing. They were a warning.

  Something had put him here. Something had given him this ability. And sooner or ter, it would come knocking.

  He just hoped it gave him a fair fight.