Lucien died before he ever truly lived. Yet even in a life cut short, he had always remained honest and tried to live his life to the fullest.
Orphaned at five when a plane crash stole his parents, Lucien grew up under the shadow of his grandfather, a retired war general whose iron will had forged an empire. The old man raised him with discipline, not coddling, yet every night he sat by Lucien's bed, reading aloud from dog-eared comics until the boy's eyelids grew heavy.
At age nine, the real betrayal came from his own body. A rare, incurable disease wrapped his nerves in barbed wire. Limbs that once raced across manicured lawns now refused to obey. Pain became his constant, merciless companion.
Doctors and specialists arrived in waves from Tokyo, Zurich, Boston, each promising miracles his grandfather paid for without blinking. Money was never the barrier. Time was.
Yet Lucien smiled through the morphine haze. Because in the quiet hours, when machines hissed and monitors blinked, his mind escaped. Manga stacks towered on the windowsill: Solo Levelling, Tensura, High School DxD worlds where the weak became gods, where devils loved fiercely, where second chances burned bright.
These stories were his escape.
Using his family's fortune, he began to support struggling authors. Small manga studios, unknown web novelists, aspiring comic artists. He poured money into their dreams, naming it his isekai investment fund. He asked that his name never appear in the news, but Lucien was a silent guardian angel for those creators.
The machines slowed their rhythm, each beep stretching longer than the last.
Nurses lingered in the hallway. Their eyes were bloodshot. They spoke in whispers, wondering why someone so gentle had to leave so soon. His grandfather sat rigid, his general's posture cracked at the edges. His hand engulfed Lucien's callused, trembling hand, holding on as if sheer force could tether a fading soul. The old man didn't say a word; he just held on, silently begging any god who would listen.
Lucien's voice rasped, thin as paper. "Grandpa… don't cry. The pain's finally letting go."
The old man's throat worked silently. No words. Just a tighter grip.
"Promise me," Lucien continued, each word costing breath. "The money you spent trying to save me… use it on children who still have time. Sponsor orphanages that need light. Fund schools that can shape futures. Give someone the chance that I couldn't take."
The old man choked back tears and made a silent promise.
Lucien inhaled paper, ink, antiseptic, and faint cherry from his grandfather's cologne. Regret bloomed sharper than any ache: he'd never walk those worlds he loved. Never fight beside Rimuru, never banter with Rias.
He couldn't take those worlds with him.
His only wish was simple:
If there's another life… let it be one of those. Magic. Devils. Dragons. Adventure.
His eyes shut.
Then—
⸻
The Voice
["You who devoured their stories… shall now live their truths."]
No tunnel of light. No gentle farewell.
Only raw, ancient fire scoured his soul, twisting and reforging it in chaos and divinity.
Lucien burned.
Knowledge and shadows spun around him.
Then… silence.
⸻
[Underworld – Gremory Mansion, Years Later]
Grayfia Lucifuge, the Silver Queen… the strongest Queen, cradled her newborn with the same precision she wielded high-level magic. Her silver hair caught enchanted light like frost on steel, but her steel-blue eyes held something softer: wonder and maternal pride.
Sirzechs stood close, crimson gaze fierce with love and quiet awe. "He's special. I feel it in his power."
Grayfia inclined her head. "He's ours… but he has eyes that seem to gleam more than any normal infant should."
The infant stirred, crimson hair tipped with silver shimmered softly.
Lucien opened his eyes. No… not just Lucien anymore. Weak in body, but unbroken in mind. He looked at the woman holding him.
Grayfia Lucifuge, the Silver Queen… the strongest Queen,
Sirzechs Lucifer… The Crimson Satan.
…My parents?
I know how this world is supposed to end if no one acts. Kokabiel. Rizevim. Trihexa.
Tiny fingers clamped Grayfia's with unnatural strength. A spark of demonic power flickered, crimson-edged.
This time, I protect them. Rias. The family. Even if Issei plays his part… I'll carve my own path.
⸻
Life as a Devil Prince
Lucien's childhood was unlike any other.
The first child was born to the Crimson King and the Ice Queen. A symbol of power. Legacy. Hope.
He was raised with the weight of nobility on his shoulders, endless lessons in magic, tactics, etiquette, and devil history. Every move was observed. Every mistake was noted.
But Lucien met it all with quiet focus.
Only one person ever saw the real him.
Rias Gremory.
She was just a month older, technically his aunt, but titles didn't matter to them. From the day they met, they were partners in chaos.
"Lu Lu, if you stole my pudding again, I swear."
"It was in my fridge. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Ri Ri."
Their bond was forged not through blood but through friendship. Trust. And something else.
⸻
Otaku Royalty
Lucien never forgot his old life. Not the books. Not the authors. Not the dreams.
He asked his parents to seek out specific books and comics from the Human World, providing exact titles and vivid descriptions as if each story were a thread he longed to reclaim. Sirzechs and Grayfia, curious and indulgent, managed to acquire them through both diplomatic channels and magical means. Eventually, limited edition volumes of manga and manhwa began to appear in the Underworld.
He introduced Rias to them, and she devoured the stories with the same hunger he once had. Their late-night reading marathons were sacred rituals clashing over who'd triumph in impossible crossovers, mourning fallen heroes, and conjuring stories that felt more real than sleep.
They debated Rimuru vs. Ainz. Plotted rewrite arcs for Solo Levelling.
Rias Gremory, technically his aunt, practically his twin in mischief, found him one night buried in Your Lie in April.
"Lu Lu, if you spoil the ending—"
"Too late, Ri Ri. He dies. Tragically."
She tackled him. Pillows flew. Laughter echoed through the mansion.
Later, tears over the finale. "Why do good stories hurt so much?"
To the rest of the Underworld, they were noble heirs.
To each other?
Supreme otaku royalty.
But there was one title Lucien never found in this world.
High School DxD.
The one story that should exist… didn't.
The story lived in his memories… but not in this world.
As if the world itself refused to acknowledge its own script.
⸻
The Eve of Change
Years passed.
Lucien and Rias neared their coming-of-age ceremonies. Soon, they would receive their Evil Pieces. Soon, they would form peerages. Forge legacies.
But Lucien had trained for more than ceremony. He prepared for threats no one even knew existed. Kokabiel. Rizevim. Trihexa. And the silent wars fought behind dimensions.
He didn't want to control the story.
Just protect the people in it.
This world gave me a second chance. I won't waste it.
High above, unseen, an ancient presence observed not the Crimson Satan, not the Gremory heir.
Waiting.
Its attention is fixed not on Sirzechs.
Not on Rias.
But on the boy with memories of another life.
⸻
He was Lucien Lucifuge-Gremory.
Son of the Crimson King.
Heir of the Silver Queen.
Scion of two worlds.
And this time…
He wouldn't follow the story.
He would rewrite it.