The second-year classroom at Kuoh Academy was bright and spotless, the lazy warmth of afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows.
Up on the podium, the math teacher explained trigonotric formulas in a steady tone, chalk tapping out a rhythmic patter against the blackboard.
Most of the students were either listening seriously, stealthily nodding off, or spacing out into the void—your standard slice-of-life school scene.
Genichi, however, sitting by the window, didn't fit the atmosphere at all.
His gaze rested on the open textbook in front of him, but his focus had long since drifted away.
The teacher's voice, the faint rustle of pages turning, the occasional shouts from an athletic club outside the window…
All of it sounded like it was coming through a thick sheet of frosted glass—muffled, distant, unreal.
His awareness had already sunk inward.
Ever since reincarnating as a devil, Genichi could clearly sense what was lodged inside his body: the Divine Dividing Sacred Gear—Boosted Gear of the Red Dragon Emperor.
Carefully, cautiously, he sent a thin strand of consciousness toward that scorching presence.
There was no resistance. No rejection.
As if his consciousness itself was a key, and with the lightest touch—
Boom.
Not a physical sound, but a soul-deep detonation.
The classroom, the sunlight, the blackboard, the teacher…
Everything washed away like a receding tide—blurring, fading, vanishing.
In its place stretched a boundless world of fire.
The sky was a heavy, dark crimson, as though it were eternally trapped beneath dusk or blanketed by war.
Beneath his feet wasn't solid ground, but a flowing sea of liquid fla—so hot it should have been unbearable, yet strangely incapable of harming his consciousness.
Farther out, flas condensed into mountain ridges, rivers, even the warped outlines of palaces—everything burning silently as it shifted, flowed, and changed shape.
Scorching heat. Savage violence. Ancient majesty. Imperial dread…
Indescribable presences saturated every inch of this space.
So this was the inside of Boosted Gear?
Genichi's consciousness-form stood atop the fire-sea, stunned as he turned to take it all in.
Then his attention snapped forward, seized completely by the massive existence that dominated the center of his vision.
A dragon.
A colossal dragon, so vast and imposing that language itself felt inadequate.
It lay coiled in the heart of the fire-sea like a crimson mountain range.
Each scale was as large as a house, gleaming with a tallic, cold-hard sheen—overlaid with incandescent patterns that flowed like living fla.
Its enormous wings were folded at its sides, yet even closed they hinted at a span that could blot out the sky.
Its limbs were thick with power; even at rest, they looked capable of tearing the earth apart.
A long tail lined with vicious bony spines swayed slowly through the flas.
Its head rested on its foreclaws, eyes shut.
Even asleep, the dragon radiated sothing that slamd straight into the soul—ancient pride, battle-worn arrogance, and a violence buried so deep it had beco instinct. It hit Genichi in wave after wave, pressing down until his consciousness felt close to suffocating.
The Red Dragon Emperor—Ddraig.
He reached out on instinct, hand stretching toward the Red Dragon Emperor's dragon soul, close enough to touch—
And the mont his fingers made contact, a strange sensation surfaced in Genichi's mind.
Before he could even react, his body moved on pure instinct, beginning to devour the dragon soul.
Devour…
Perhaps because Genichi had devoured other versions of himself in the Soul Beast Arena, he had awakened an ability to devour souls—an abnormal power that could convert everything within a soul into nourishnt for his own.
Staring at Ddraig, Genichi felt hunger rise from sowhere primal.
A greedy craving for the essence of a powerful soul.
To his instincts, Ddraig's dragon soul was no longer a dragon at all, but a massive, defenseless cake—an unbelievable aroma of temptation wafting from it, irresistibly inviting.
Devour Ddraig's dragon soul?
The idea was horrifying. Blasphemous.
A Sacred Gear's strength, to a large extent, relied on the dragon soul or spirit residing within it.
Devour the dragon soul?
What would Boosted Gear beco?
What would happen to his power?
Would it trigger consequences too dreadful to predict?
Would Ddraig fight back?
With Genichi's pathetic scraps of demonic power and his current soul strength, could he even succeed?
Questions and warnings flashed through his mind in rapid succession.
But…
That violent, instinctive urge to devour—along with the obsessive desire buried in his heart to seize absolute power—crushed every last trace of hesitation.
"Heaven grants and you refuse—then bla yourself for the disaster!"
A cold, crazed voice echoed deep within his consciousness.
This was a gift. A capability he'd been handed.
And right in front of him was an enormous source of power, lying defenseless and unclaid.
If he didn't take it, what—was he supposed to follow the original plot, slowly cultivate his strength, wait, beg for the dragon soul's recognition and charity?
He didn't have the ti.
The Soul Beast Arena's next match could arrive at any mont. The threat of vengeful spirits in the everyday world still hadn't been resolved. He had to beco stronger—fast, and as much as possible.
Risk?
Consequences?
To hell with that.
Power.
He wanted power now.
The most direct, most thorough kind—power that would belong to him completely.
The doubt and calculation in his eyes were wiped clean in an instant, replaced by near-maniacal resolve—like a gambler pushing every last chip into the pot.
"Devour…!"
No shout, just the most ruthless command issued from the core of his will.
That strange force lurking at the center of his soul erupted.
Unlike the passive reception when he devoured Hyoudou Genichi's soul fragnts, this ti it was active—greedy, invasive, violently predatory.
"Mm…"
Ddraig's sleeping dragon soul trembled faintly.
The eyelids over those shut draconic eyes twitched, as if they were about to open.
A vast, star-sea-like defensive will stirred—so instinctive safeguard threatening to awaken.
But it was too late.
Genichi's devouring ability had already swallowed Ddraig's dragon soul.
All he felt was his power spreading like the greediest roots, plunging straight into the dragon soul's boundless spiritual energy and the ocean of mory and information inside it.
Then the frantic extraction began.
The crimson-gold soul essence—scorching and condensed like a star—turned into a roaring flood, surging through an invisible channel into Genichi's consciousness-form, then crashing down into the depths of his own soul to rge and reshape it.
"Rrraugh—!!"
A low, furious dragon roar—heavy with shock and weakness—echoed faintly from sowhere deep within this burning world, then rapidly thinned out and vanished.
Ddraig didn't even manage to truly awaken.
He didn't get to see the invader's face.
He didn't get to unleash a full bellow or hurl a single demand.
His very existence—his vast mories, his pure battle instinct and power as one of the Two Heavenly Dragons—was ripped apart by that unreasonable devouring force, torn free, shredded, and then digested into sothing else.
Genichi's consciousness-form shook violently—not from fear, but because the torrent of mory and energy flooding into him was so massive it nearly burst him apart.
The Red Dragon Emperor's power poured in.
Combat experience poured in.
His soul swelled, transford, underwent qualitative change—like cracked, thirsty earth suddenly drenched by a world-ending flood.
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