The harsh, fluorescent light of the bathroom flickered.
In the Kazuma household, the silence of the night was broken by the violent, sickening sound of retching. Jin knelt on the cold tile floor, gripping the porcelain rim of the toilet as he vomited his guts out. His knuckles were bone-white, his body trembling violently as another wave of severe nausea hit him.
It wasn't a physical illness. It was his own mind rejecting his body.
Finally, the spasms stopped. Jin spat the bitter taste of bile from his mouth and slowly pushed himself up. He flushed the toilet and leaned heavily against the sink, gripping the edges so hard the ceramic cracked.
He looked up into the mirror. He looked like a corpse.
His skin was deathly pale, heavily contrasted by the dark, bruised bags under his eyes. When he blinked, his irises violently flashed—one moment they were the blood-red, calculated pinwheels of the Mangekyou Sharingan, and the next filled with bloodlust.
His mind was tearing itself apart.
Jin stumbled out of the bathroom and made his way into the dark, silent living room. He collapsed heavily onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands as a splitting migraine threatened to crack his skull open.
He was having a total mental breakdown.
In the past, he had found a shortcut, a trick to rapidly increase his template synchronization: he simply accepted the character's core beliefs as his own. At first, it was a flawless strategy. His first template had made him analytical. His second had made him steadfast and determined. Those traits naturally harmonized with his survival instincts.
But then came the Wolverine template. It had flooded his nervous system with the instincts of a berserker—impulsive, aggressive, and ruled by raw, animalistic rage.
And then, he unlocked Itachi Uchiha. The complete, polar opposite. A man of unbound love turn into a stoic, tactical patience.
That was where the catastrophic clash began. To fight head on against Bikou at the peace summit , to show his worth. Jin had committed a fatal error. Instead of blending the templates, he had forcefully partitioned his mind. He had locked Wolverine in a cage to let Itachi fight, effectively creating a dual persona within himself.
He had stopped the integration process.
In his mind, as a transmigrator, he understood the concept perfectly. It was like the Limitless technique. He possessed the chaotic, repulsive force of 'Red' and the calm, attractive force of 'Blue.' But because he had kept them separated, they were colliding, erroring out his nervous system. He needed to merge them. He needed to let the conflicting ideologies consume each other and become 'Purple' so they wouldn't overwhelm him.
But to do that, to bend those conflicting energies to his will like Aang, his own core spirit had to be completely unshakable. He had to become the anchor.
And that begged the terrifying, age-old question: Who am I?
Who was Jin Kazuma? Was he just a grieving son, hell-bent on burning the Underworld to the ground for revenge? Should he embrace the lustful desires of a transmigrator, taking advantage of his power to claim the beauties of the DxD world? Was his true ambition to become the absolute apex of humanity, just to see what heights a mortal could reach among Gods? Or was he simply a vessel of past regrets, blindly adopting the ideologies of fictional characters because he had no true identity of his own?
He was lost in a labyrinth of his own making. But even amidst the blinding confusion, one emotion stood head and shoulders above the rest.
The desire for revenge.
It had been two months since the peace summit.
Two entire months, and he hadn't heard a single word from Sirzechs Lucifer regarding the Great King Faction noble who ordered his mother's death.
That deafening silence had made the feral, impulsive nature of the Wolverine template almost impossible to suppress. Jin had tried to work on his mental stability during those sixty days. But he had failed , well that not surprise to him he had only stop pouring oil in his flame of revenge but he was still fanning it. His patience was fraying into violence.
To distract himself from his decaying psyche, he had thrown himself into external affairs. He had successfully enrolled Valerie in Kuoh Academy, forcing her
make friend and create distance between them.
The meeting to secure her admission in Sona Sitri's Student Council room had been nothing short of a event.
When Gasper Vladi had seen Valerie—the childhood friend he had left behind in the Tepes faction—the timid half-vampire had tried to apologize. Jin had shown no mercy. He had told damphir to stop his crocodile's tear. As he had abandoned Valerie to a life of misery and experimentation when he easily had the power to save her, if he had said anything to rias .
Jin's words had left the boy devastated beyond measure, sinking into a catatonic depression on the council room floor. It took Valerie's genuine forgiveness and Rias's frantic comfort to pull Gasper back from the brink of total mental collapse.
Then came the debate with Sona. Seeing Valerie's immense potential, Sona had smoothly proposed taking valrie into her peerage.
The ensuing argument between Jin and Sona had been a verbal war .
And he hadn't stopped at the school.
Driven by his growing aggression, Jin had paid a visit to the remaining Japanese human clans and Onmyoji factions who had dared to align against him. He gave them what he privately called the "Toji Fushiguro Treatment."
Leaving only yokai in kyoto.
He had even swallowed his pride and cashed in a favor with Rias Gremory, asking her to press her brother for updates.
And still. Nothing.
Sitting in the dark living room, the migraine finally receded, replaced by a cold, numbing clarity.
Jin slowly stood up from the sofa.
He had covered all his bases. He had secured his territory and eliminated any loose ends for his next plan.
His patience had run its course.
He want blood now.