The walk home from the Occult Research Club felt surreal. Every step along the familiar route, drawn from Issei's memories, was overlaid with my own sense of trepidation and a strange, foreign longing. This wasn't my home. These weren't my parents. And yet, for all intents and purposes, they now were. The weight of that deception sat heavily on my shoulders, alongside the ever-present knowledge of the system and the threats to come.
I paused outside the Hyodo residence, a modest but well-kept home that felt both alien and intimately familiar. Taking a deep breath, I slid the door open.
"I'm home," I called out, the phrase feeling awkward on my tongue.
The immediate response was the sound of rapid, frantic footsteps. Miki Hyoudou came rushing into the genkan, her face a canvas of relief and lingering worry. Her eyes, so much like Issei's, were slightly red-rimmed.
"Issei! Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. She didn't just stand there; she closed the distance and pulled me into a tight, warm hug.
I froze.
The physical contact was unexpected. In my first life, I'd been… independent. Solitary. This kind of open, unconditional affection was a foreign language. But the body I was in knew this language. A deep, instinctual warmth spread through my chest, a sense of safety and belonging that was entirely Issei's, yet it washed over my own lonely soul. Slowly, hesitantly, I brought my arms up and returned the hug.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," I said, my voice muffled against her shoulder. The apology was genuine, for both the worry I'd caused and the identity I was stealing.
She pulled back, holding me at arm's length, her hands on my shoulders as she looked me over. "That phone call was so sudden! An overnight study session? Since when are you so dedicated?" she teased, but her eyes were searching, scanning my face. Her smile faltered just a fraction. "Issei… are you okay? You look… different."
Before I could formulate a response, a calmer presence appeared. Gorou Hyoudou stood in the doorway to the living room, holding a newspaper. He offered a quiet, steady smile. "Leave the boy alone, Miki. He's home safe, that's what matters." But even his observant eyes lingered on me a moment too long.
Dinner was a quiet affair, but the atmosphere was warm. Miki had made katsudon, Issei's favorite. The food was delicious, a comforting taste that felt like a memory and a new experience all at once. I ate quietly, listening to Miki chatter about her day and the neighbors, while Gorou offered the occasional comment.
I spoke less than the original Issei would have. I was more measured in my responses, my laughter softer, my gaze more observational than impulsive. I could feel their silent, worried communication passing between them over the table.
Later, as I was about to head upstairs, my mother stopped me, her hand on my arm.
"Issei," she said, her voice soft but serious. "Did something happen on that date? You've been so quiet since you got back. You seem… older."
I met her gaze, and the love and concern I saw there was a physical ache in my chest. This was what I never had. This was what I was now tasked with protecting, all while living a lie.
I gave her the best, most reassuring smile I could muster. It felt strange on my face. "Nothing bad happened, Mom. I promise. I just… I think I'm just growing up a little. That's all."
She searched my eyes for another long moment, then her expression softened into a sad, understanding smile. She reached up and patted my cheek. "My boy is becoming a man. Just… don't grow up too fast, okay? You'll always be my son."
The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. *You'll always be my son.*
I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and headed up to my—to *Issei's*—room.
Closing the door, I leaned against it, the weight of the day finally crashing down. The system interface glowed faintly, a silent reminder of the cosmic game I was playing. But down here, in this small, human house, was a different kind of power. A simpler, more terrifying one.
I had a family. People who loved this vessel I now inhabited. The memory of Miki's worried face, the feel of her hug, the sound of Gorou's steady voice—these were not data points in a mission. They were anchors.
I looked around the room at the posters of pin-up models. The dreams of the original Issei were still here, but they felt like relics. My purpose had been sharpened, given a desperate, personal edge.
I had to get stronger. Not just to survive Raynare, or to face Vali, or to master the system. But to protect the worried smile of a mother who wasn't mine, and the quiet pride of a father I'd never known. This was no longer just about surviving in a new world. It was about defending a home I never knew I wanted.