As Mom starts scrolling through online catalogs, deep into her "back-to-school" frenzy, I casually step into the kitchen and drop a line before she can click "Buy" on anything.
"Hey, when you order my uniform, get it a size up."
She looks up, confused. "Why? That won't fit you properly."
I shrug. "I'm going for a sleek build. Always been a dream of mine—leaner, sharper, more fitted silhouette. Trust me, it'll look better in the long run."
She rolls her eyes, mutters something about me being difficult, but nods and goes back to her ordering spree. I walk away before she can ask about colors, shoes, or any of the fifty things she thinks I care about.
It's early. Quiet. The perfect time to scout.
No crowds. No Issei running his mouth. Just cold air and concrete. I toss on a hoodie, keep my cursed energy locked down tight, and start heading toward Kuoh Academy.
As soon as I get within range of the school's perimeter, I feel it.
That hum.
That unmistakable buzz in the air like something unnatural is breathing just under the surface. The kind of presence that tickles your instincts if you've been around enough cursed energy or battlefields. It's devil energy—dense and ancient, but diffused like background radiation.
Not dangerous to me, not even close. But irritating, like a fly buzzing in your ear when you're just about to fall asleep. Not enough to provoke a reaction, but definitely enough to be noticed.
I stop just outside the front gate. Kuoh Academy stands tall, clean-cut and almost too pristine—like it's hiding something. And of course, it is. This place is crawling with supernatural secrets. I can feel them like static in the wind.
I take a deep breath, center myself, and close my eyes.
Time to see what I'm working with.
I push out a whisper-thin thread of cursed energy, just enough to scan the area. Can't get flashy. The last thing I want is to show up on someone's radar before I've even stepped foot in the building. Low emissions. Controlled pulse. Surgical.
The cursed energy unfurls around me like a web—silent, cold, searching.
And then I feel it.
Two power signatures. Two groups.
One is centered in the east wing of the school. Larger. Almost like what I felt in the forest. This has to one of the devils. There energy's are strong but unrefined and for some reason. Feels like there is a lot of emotional luggage there.
The second? It's on the opposite side of the school. Smaller. Sloppier. But it's older. Not in the "wise elder" way—more like a young pretending to be old way. Low profile, but weak. A different devil faction? Or someone hiding something they shouldn't have?
Wait. I thought there was only one devil group here. That was supposed to be Issei's circle—the harem squad. So what the hell is this second presence?
Damn it. I should've watched more anime. Or at least paid attention to the world mechanics if this is some isekai. For all I know, I could be in an alternate timeline where factions are splintered and chaos is just a transfer student away.
Either way, I'm not a damn creep. I'm not here to peek into locker rooms or sneak around clubrooms. I just need intel. Tactical awareness.
That said… if someone does catch wind of me?
Then whatever. Let them. I'm not scared.
Viltrumite physiology. Sukuna's cursed energy. That combination alone makes me an apex predator in a room full of house cats. No disrespect to the devils or whatever, but I'm built different.
Still… I should be careful. Overconfidence gets you killed faster than a blade to the spine. That killer instinct—the Viltrumite battle reflex, the lingering curse inside me that wants to dominate—it keeps whispering that I'm untouchable. But that's how people get humbled in chapter three.
Stay calm. Stay low.
For now, I'm just another student. Another uniform. Another kid with potential. If I can help it, I'll keep it that way. At least until I understand the political terrain of this place.
As I finish my sweep of Kuoh Academy, I glance back one last time.
I smirk to myself.
This place is home. Home to me. Home to Invincible
Cue the title card.
Yeah, okay… I'm funny. I make myself laugh. Helps me stay sane.
I turn and head home. Intel gathered. Mind focused.
The game hasn't started yet… but I already know I'm not playing by their rules.
Morning hits. The first official day of school.
I roll out of bed, not exactly excited, but mentally prepared. The silver lining? Mom actually listened for once. My uniform's hanging on the closet door—a size up, just like I asked. It's not baggy, but loose enough to keep my physique hidden. Perfect. A sleek build has always been the goal—more dangerous when underestimated.
I shower, towel off, and slip into the uniform. I take a glance in the mirror. The fabric sits just right—not too snug, not too sloppy. Nothing that screams "I work out like a god." Just plain, clean, and nondescript. Exactly how I want it.
As I come downstairs, the smell of breakfast hits me—and not in a good way.
I stop dead at the table.
A tiny ass plate. One scrambled egg, a sad-looking piece of toast, and a single slice of tomato like this is some hotel buffet ration.
This is it?
Depression is real, and it has arrived. Right now. I stare at the plate, insulted. This isn't breakfast—this is a prelude to starvation.
I sit down anyway. What else am I going to do?
Three bites. That's all it takes. My "meal" is gone. I'm sitting there in silence, stomach still growling, questioning what decisions in life brought me here.
I push the plate away and start to get up, ready to head out early—maybe swing by a corner store and grab something that won't leave me feeling like a malnourished squirrel. But then—
"Nissei, wait!"
I freeze.
Mom's voice. Sweet, innocent, about to ruin my day.
"You and Issei should walk to school together."
I close my eyes and let the pain sink in. Of course. Of course she would say that.
I slowly turn back toward her and give the most subtle facepalm I can muster without breaking my nose.
Issei, naturally, takes that as his cue to jump in like some overhyped anime sidekick. Wait exactly what kind of world am I in again. A fucking anime world where it's about overly sexualize and titty lovin universe.
"Yeah! Me and bro walking together! I can show him how to pick up them ladies!"
Dear God, please strike me down. End it now. Send a meteor. A lightning bolt. Anything.
Issei doesn't stop. He keeps going. "Plus, my boys are gonna meet us on the way there. The whole trio's back together again!"
Oh no.
Not the perverted trio.
The unholy trinity of thirst and delusion.
I immediately try to argue. "I'll head out first. I've got errands to run. You can catch up."
But Mom shuts that down real quick with the classic parent line:
"You're his brother. Just walk with him. It won't kill you."
I glance at Issei. He's smiling like this is the best thing to ever happen to him. I sigh—long, loud, and filled with every ounce of resistance I can muster without starting a scene.
Fine.
Let's get this over with.
We step outside, and the air's cooler than expected. Calm. Peaceful.
Until I realize that Issei is already talking. Loudly. Confidently. Like he's narrating his own hentai highlight reel.
Then, as promised, his friends show up.
Motohama and Matsuda.
And within thirty seconds, I regret every life choice.
"Yo, man!" one of them says, walking up like this is Fast & Furious: Virgin Drift. "You wouldn't believe what I was doing yesterday. I had this girl moaning like crazy, feeling her up real good under her shirt—"
"Yeah?" the other cuts in. "I had one chick begging for it, but I told her she couldn't handle me. Gotta set boundaries, you know?"
What in the actual fuck am I listening to?
I look over. Issei is nodding like some kind of perverted sensei, proud of his disciples.
Then, as if the situation couldn't get worse, Issei opens his damn mouth.
"Yo, get this—last week when Mom was out, I brought this chick home. We were goin' at it on the couch, bro. Had her screaming my name!"
The others start hollering, laughing like this is the greatest story ever told.
I blink. Once. Twice.
And then, without a word, I start walking faster. No announcement. No "see you later." I just dip.
Long strides. Straight face. No looking back.
They don't even notice I'm gone right away. They're too busy hyping each other up, completely unaware that I'm already two blocks ahead, praying that none of this sticks to my reputation on the first damn day.
I finally reach the school gate, alone. Quiet.
The sun's still rising. My cursed energy is calm. I exhale.
Back in control.
Let Issei live in his delusions. Let the trio chase whatever fiction they're selling themselves.
After finally arriving at the gates—alone, thank god—I start walking in, keeping my head low and my energy lower. I'm not trying to make a grand entrance. I'm not Issei. I just want to slide in, get my schedule, and find a nice, quiet corner where I won't be dragged into anyone's nonsense.
But of course, that was too much to ask.
Because waiting just a few steps in… is them.
I don't know who they are yet, but I feel them before I see them. That devil energy—light, carefully controlled, but… not particularly powerful. Not raw. It's like someone who was trained to use it, not born into it. Refined on the outside, fragile underneath. Like a glass sword.
I glance up and see two girls standing there, smiling like they rehearsed it in the mirror before sunrise.
Short one's in front. Glasses. Clean uniform. Stiff posture. Looks like the type that reminds the teacher about homework. She steps forward first and hits me with the classic glasses push—two fingers, middle of the bridge, right as the sun hits the lenses like an anime villain intro.
Obvious dramatic effect.
She opens her mouth and starts.
"Hi. Welcome to Kuoh Academy. I'm Sona Shitori, the Student Council President."
Oh great. Most likely a ball buster. Probably has a spreadsheet for how many times people are allowed to sneeze during class.
Then her partner steps up right on cue. Tall, glasses too, black hair with the "I'm dead serious" face. Like she's about to challenge me to a sword duel in a library.
"I'm Tsubaki Shinra, the Student Council Vice President."
Okay yeah—they definitely practiced this. The timing was too perfect. I'm betting there's a mirror somewhere at home with motivational quotes and index cards with rehearsed lines.
Sona picks it back up like she's reading off a script written in her soul.
"We'd like to introduce ourselves. We're happy you've chosen this school, and we hope you'll be good students while attending here. So… what's your name?"
Oh, shit. Of course. Of course a ball buster would play it formal, trying to box me in on the first day. Eyes sharp. Voice calm. Like she's a prosecutor and I'm already guilty of being out of uniform.
But I keep it cool.
Play the part.
"I'm Nissei Hyoudou," I say, nodding just enough to be polite. "And I'd also like to know where I can find out what classes I'm in this year."
Sona does the glasses push again. Same motion. Same fingers. Like girl, the first one landed. You don't need an encore.
She responds smoothly, not missing a beat.
"Yes, I can have one of our people show you where to pick up your schedule. And… just one more thing."
Here we go.
"Your uniform is not the correct size. Please make sure to wear the appropriate fitting attire next time."
I stare for a second.
That's what you want to lead with? That?
I already hate this chick.
"Well, I'm sorry, girl," I say with a shrug, "but I like it this way. It's comfortable. I like to breathe. Unless that's also regulated by the school handbook?"
No smile. No apology. Just straight to the point.
Then—glasses push number three. If this girl doesn't get some contacts soon, I'm gonna start keeping a tally. We're on Glasses Push: Part III – Revenge of the Frame.
Before Sona can respond, her Vice President steps in like a mob enforcer for the Student Council mafia. Clipboard in hand. Eyes narrow.
She starts tapping it.
"You need to address the Student Council President with respect and adhere to her authority."
Like she just caught me trying to graffiti the building.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
You ever reach a moment where you're just… done? Like, mentally, spiritually, universally done? That's me. Right now.
I could be flying around the planet, punching aliens. I could be tearing through dimensions with cursed energy. I could be doing literally anything else.
And instead, I'm getting pressed by two devil-powered hall monitors over my shirt size.
At this point, I'm one inner monologue away from going full Omni-Man and doing a speed-run world tour like he did to the Flaxans.
But I don't.
Because I'm trying to be civil.
Trying.
Instead, I just breathe in, nod once, and keep walking.
Screw it.