Kuoh Academy, Japan.

Chekhov was seated at a lonely, wooden table. His surroundings were peaceful; only the soft whistling of a gentle breeze could be heard across the grassy field. Every once in a while, he could sense a few students walking by, but no one seemed to take notice of him.

The past morning, Chekhov had rigorously tested his new, reinforced body. His strength, speed, and endurance had all significantly increased, now comparable to the level of an ordinary low-class being.

Although this power wasn’t anything to write home about, it was a big deal to Chekhov. Having a proper means of development meant that he didn’t have to sign a contract and cultivate the powers of another faction.

Furthermore, there was something anomalous about Chekhov’s sweet, caramel eyes…

‘Everything is going too smoothly. I can continue tending my crops for the next couple years. Eventually, I should even be able to break through the high-class realm.’

As it follows, Chekhov was able to siphon the energy of students that were within school grounds. Even by doing nothing, he had estimated that could get enough energy to enter the mid-class realm within a month.

However, he wasn’t getting this energy for free. The inherent nature of plundering and stealing required some type of consequence. In this case, the Kuoh Academy students were being heavily deprived of their lifespan.

Chekhov casually rested his arms on the wooden table, wearing a calm and indifferent expression. Clearly, he wasn’t a slightest bit guilty about this.

‘By the time any suspicion might be placed on me, I’ll be long gone from Kuoh Town.’

At this moment, a chilly autumn breeze brushed past the back of Chekhov’s neck. As the wind flowed upward into his hair, a strange spine-tingling sensation reverberated throughout his body.

Chekhov calmly raised his head toward the sky. His eyebrows started narrowing in a state of full alertness.

Some cultural beliefs insisted that nature had given humans a sixth sense—one that could vaguely detect the premonition of good or bad omens. However, in Chekhov’s view, this was complete nonsense. He believed these so-called “premonitions” were just a culmination of a person’s fears and insecurities.

At this juncture, it seemed as if something—or someone was prying through the very fabric of the universe to peer into his soul. Chekhov was now convinced of the existence of a third-party adversary.

The face of a certain male cashier popped up again. This dark-haired young man, Nobuo, had an unusual aura, as if he was hiding something whether it be unknowingly or knowingly. Yet no matter how much Chekhov had investigated, Nobuo was entirely human and had no supernatural relations.

‘If someone is aware of my transmigration, they should have long surrounded and captured me by now. It’s more likely that I’ve done something suspicious recently. Perhaps… a divination skill is attempting to latch on to me?’

All of a sudden, the tranquility of the air was brazenly interrupted by the raucous clamor of distant voices.

Tilting his head toward the commotion, Chekhov noticed a small group of young men loitering around a school wall. Two of them had their faces pressed against the wooden boards, seemingly peeping through a hole.

“Oh man! I can see everything from here, those jugs are huge!” said one of the mischievous teenagers.

A young man with glasses smirked and replied, “34, 22, 36.”

Chekhov ignored the two strange, young men. Instead, his eyes were focused on a third male student that stood behind the other two. At first glance, he seemed like a scrawny young man with puffy and spiky brown hair. Furthermore, he had two loose ponytails behind his head, giving him a bizarre appearance.

Without a doubt, Chekhov had identified him as Issei Hyoudou, the wielder of a God-Killing Sacred Gear and the protagonist of the original timeline.

‘I can’t sense anything from him, not even Ddraig’s soul. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he was a regular student.’

“It’s my turn. Stop hogging the view!” Issei stamped his foot and loudly protested. He started tugging on the other two’s collars in an attempt to pull them back.

“Aahhh! Who’s there?!”

In a trice, high-pitched and panicked voices started to grow from the other side of the wall.

Exaggerated grimaces could be seen on the two teenagers’ faces as they realized their perilous situation. Without a warning, they jerked backward and started sprinting away as fast as they could.

This quick movement caused Issei to lose his footing. He let out a yelp as he stumbled and fell backward into the hardened cement floor.

“Owww…” Issei growled in a low voice while rubbing his head, “Guys, what’s your problem!”

By the time Issei had propped himself upright, he noticed angry murmurs coming from above him. A small crowd of girls donned in Japanese-style white robes had surrounded him in a circle.

The atmosphere started to tense up as the girls furiously glared at him, brandishing their bamboo swords with an aggressive stance.

“Pervert!” One of the girls screamed as she swung at Issei with her sword.

Bash! Bash! Bash!

The other girls quickly followed, simultaneously landing multiple strikes around the young man’s entire body.

A safe distance away, Chekhov was spectating this pitiful beatdown. He didn’t pay any mind to Issei’s abject cries. Now, his attention had shifted to a peculiar young lady with bright, cyan hair that flowed down to her shoulders.

With a single glance, Chekhov could discern that she was his childhood friend, Harumi Akiyama. They had once gotten very close to each other but ended up parting ways due to eventual circumstances.

Her most distinguishable feature was her aquiline nose coupled with her pursing, red lips. Additionally, she was taller than most other girls with a height of 175 cm. Nevertheless, the reason for Chekhov’s interest was that he could detect Nobuo’s unusual aura coming from her body.

Harumi wrinkled her nose in disgust as she glared at Issei.

“Nasty, lecherous pig! You’re an enemy of all women!” she resentfully exclaimed as stepped on Issei’s legs.

She arched back her right foot, and then with a swift movement, she sent out a vicious kick directly into his groin. Issei groaned loudly, his legs tensing up from the cruel blow. He gritted his teeth and gently clutched the delicate area between his thighs, shivering in pain.

Seeing Issei’s tragic state, the other girls quickly halted their blows and stepped back.

“I think you overdid it, Harumi,” a short, pink-haired girl said concernedly.

Harumi snorted and replied with a cold glare, “Are you really siding with this disgusting pervert?!”

“No, but we need you to stop. We’ll get in trouble if you hit him anymore,” The pink-haired girl firmly retorted.

“Hmph!” Harumi argued, “Male lechers will always go out of hand. Murayama, do you really want an act of injustice to go unpunished?”

“Stop gaslighting us!” another girl exclaimed.

“I agree with Murayama, we’ve beaten him down enough,” another girl chimed in.

The standoff between the girls continued for a short while, until Harumi noticed that no one was supporting her. Eventually, with a scowl, she quietly stormed away from the scene in frustration.

Unbeknownst to Harumi, a pair of caramel brown eyes had been surveilling the entire incident. Chekhov was now even more sure that both Harumi and Nobuo were hiding something.

‘There are layers and layers of hidden secrets underneath this brother-sister pair, just waiting to be unveiled. Perhaps, I’ve stumbled across a pair of miracle berries.’

. . . . .

Later that day.

Quiet footsteps echoed along a small, old-fashioned hallway. The wooden floor was neatly covered by a red velvet carpet with a smooth finish.

Chekhov’s eyebrows arched upward in astonishment as he glanced around the corridor.

“Amazing! You all have this entire building for yourself?”

Kiba responded with a smug grin, “Of course. Ms. Rias Gremory is the Occult Research Club’s President. She comes from a very wealthy and influential family.”

He raised his chin and pridefully continued, “Our club is one of the most prestigious factions within Kuoh Academy.”

As they neared the end of the walkway, the two young men entered a spacious chamber. At its center, there were two black couches facing each other, separated by a small coffee table.

“This is the main lobby. You can take a seat wherever you want,” Kiba said, motioning toward the couches.

A white-haired girl was seated on one of these couches. She was expressionlessly munching on a chocolate covered biscuit stick, a popular Japanese delicacy known as Pocky.

Kiba continued with a regretful look, “Well, I’ve got to go run some errands now. Ms. Rias will be here soon.”

Chekhov courteously bowed in response, “Thank you for all the help.”

He then seated himself in front of the petite white-haired girl.

“…” Koneko stared at him with a deadpan face.

“Hey, Koneko,” Chekhov amicably smiled, “It’s nice to meet you again. I didn’t know you were part of the Occult Research Club.”

“…You never asked me about it,” she replied with her usual monotone voice.

“Oh, sorry about that, I’m still new around here.” Chekhov quizzically asked, “Anyway, what activities do you all carry out at the Occult Research Club?”

Crunch!

Koneko bit down on her Pocky as she answered, “…We do research on occults.”

Chekhov wore a confused look and awkwardly smiled. “That’s… a unique goal, to say the least.”

A playful, seductive voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.

“Ara ara⁓ it appears like we’ve got a new visitor.”

A beautiful young woman with long, dark purple hair stood at the doorway. Strangely, she wasn’t wearing any clothes. All that covered her was a pink towel that went down from her breasts to her upper thighs. Tiny water droplets could be seen on her skin as if she had just taken a bath.

Although she was clearly exhibiting indecent behavior, Chekhov’s demeanor didn’t change. He politely introduced himself with a cordial smile.

“Hey, I’m Chekhov. I just transferred to Kuoh Academy this semester.”

The dark-haired girl coyishly responded, “Ms. Rias told me that an esteemed guest would be coming over. I don’t want to let her down of course, so I’ll be providing you with my best service today.”

She moistened her lips with her tongue as she strolled behind Chekhov. Without warning, she gently wrapped her soft arms around his neck.

“You can call me Akeno,” she coquettishly whispered in his ear while slowly rubbing her breasts on his back. Perhaps intentionally, her towel was slowly sliding downward from the friction.

Koneko watched the scene with her usual empty expression. She inwardly looked at Akeno in disgust and muttered, “…Shameless.”

From the beginning to the end, Chekhov’s inner expression had been as cold as ice; his heart was as indifferent as a rock.

Many men might have been moved by a woman’s soft and gentle touch, but Chekhov was not one of them. In fact, he was completely detached from the notion of beauty.

Smooth skin, a narrow waistline, and wide hips: These traits were nothing more than a superficial arrangement of matter. Nature’s laws had placed a slave’s collar on many souls, forcing them to obsess over the healthy and fertile partners of the different gender. But in the end, no matter how beautiful one was, one would never be able to escape their inner red skeleton of blood and bones.

Chekhov wore the same cordial smile as he calmly replied, “With all due respect, Akeno, I request that you give me some space.”

Despite his polite words, the flirtatious young woman was excessively persistent.

“Ara ara, there’s no need to be shy,” Akeno mischievously insisted, “just relax, and let me make you feel good⁓”

She tilted her head to get a good look at Chekhov’s face. However, as she stared into his eyes, an uncanny spark of sensation intruded on her soul. It very faintly flickered like a candle, and then extinguished into nothingness.

Crack!

A sudden bolt of revelation flashed through her heart.

She quickly noticed that Chekhov was nothing like she had expected. He didn’t have red ears, a downturned head, nor a quivering chin. Most strikingly, his sweet, caramel eyes didn’t carry even a scintilla of lust. His face was completely unchanged—as if she was nothing more than a sack of bricks to him.

Akeno abruptly let go of Chekhov and jolted backward. She was frozen in place, unable to say a word. The awkward silence continued for a couple seconds, until a stern voice intruded the scene.

“Akeno, I expected you to behave with proper etiquette.”

The voice came from an elegant young lady with crimson red hair. She strongly held a mature and professional attitude, despite the unwieldy situation.

Akeno’s face flushed bright red in embarrassment. She frantically bowed multiple times while profusely explaining with a quavering voice. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Rias! I just got carried away! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright for now,” Rias raised out her hand and interrupted Akeno. “I’ll deal with you later.”

She turned to Koneko as she continued, “Do you mind taking Akeno and leaving the main lobby? I want to speak with our guest, alone.”

“…Okay,” Koneko nodded. Without complaining, she hastily stood up and pushed Akeno out of the room.

Once the room was fully empty, Rias faced Chekhov with a welcoming smile.

“Hello, Chekhov. Welcome to my Occult Research Club.” She spoke with a mellow voice, “I sincerely apologize for Akeno’s inappropriate behavior. She can be a bit rash at times.”

“It’s not a big deal, Ms. Rias.” Chekhov returned her a pleasant smile. “By the way, this place is very luxurious. Much more than what I’d expect from a simple school club.”

“You can just address me as Rias.” The crimson-haired girl unhurriedly raised a cup of water to her mouth, taking a sip from it before she continued.

“Our goal is to expand our reach in areas beyond the realm of science. We observe and record phenomena that can only be explained by the existence of the supernatural.”

“Is that so?” Chekhov asked skeptically, “Are you saying that you have evidence of the supernatural?”

“Maybe we do, or maybe we don’t,” Rias playfully shrugged. “You’ll need to join us first if you want to know.”

“I thought you guys were just a dignified friend group,” Chekhov said with a chuckle.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” Rias tilted her head back and laughed. “I can’t really deny that we’re a close-knit group of friends.”

“Whatever it is, you’ve now got me interested,” Chekhov commented. He then inquired with a curious expression, “May I ask if you’re still accepting new members?”

“Hmm.” Rias thought for a moment, resting her chin on her fingers. “We don’t accept members on a regular basis. But since you’re friends with Kiba and Koneko, I might be able to make an exception for you. But there’s one thing you need to do for me.”

“Interesting.” Chekhov slightly cocked his head and asked, “What’s your request?”

“It’s nothing difficult. You just need to answer me one question.” Rias said as she set her cup of water down on the table.

“Tell me, what do you think of this water cup? Is it half empty, half full, or is it something else?”

Chekhov’s brow lightly furrowed, glancing at the object in front of him. He discerned that it was a seemingly ordinary glass cylinder, around 9 cm in height.

“Is that all?” he asked with a suspicious look.

“Yes.” Rias smiled and confirmed, “There are no tricks here, I just want to know your genuine answer.”

“In that case…”

Chekhov declared without hesitation, “This glass is half empty.”

Because of his almost instant response, Rias was pleasantly surprised. “You seem fairly confident in your answer. Do you mind explaining why?”

“Sure. Your question is all a matter of perspective,” Chekhov explained while bearing a meaningful smile.

“Half full, or half empty—these aren’t only phrases that can be used interchangeably. They can also be applied on the way water is poured. If water is poured halfway into a cup, then it would be half full. If water is poured out of a cup, then it would be half empty. Just a few minutes ago, you were drinking from that cup. That’s why I said it was half empty.”

Rias was taken aback at this unusual explanation. Her eyes deeply sparkled with interest as she further inquired.

“What if you were made unaware of whether the water was poured in or out?”

Chekhov leaned back on his settee and pondered. Within a few seconds, the corners of his lips raised into a gentle smile once again.

“A drinking glass is empty by default, so I’d assume the water was recently poured in. In this respect, my answer would be half full.”

Hearing his full response, Rias was greatly fascinated. Her question was intended to entail a person’s psychological views. So, what insight did she gain about Chekhov?

Rias interpreted that Chekhov was a fully open-minded individual. She believed that Chekhov would regularly assess all perspectives before deciding what best befits the circumstance.

Perhaps Rias had unintentionally caught onto something important. However, she had thoroughly missed her intended margin. The correct entailment was that the perspectives of half empty and half full were resemblant to Chekhov’s notion of good and evil.

Chekhov had deemed the universe as uninvolved and impartial. It never differentiated between him, others, animals, plants, even the lifeless rocks and water, even the things that had ceased or were yet to exist. One was truly just ordinary, and he had long learned to accept this.

A starving child could be eating a warm meal. On the other hand, a murderous, hungry bear could also be butchering an innocent little girl. This was the same way one could either be pouring water in or out of a cup.

Without one’s sense of inherent superiority, good and evil were nothing more than a completely interchangeable perspective.

“That’s a brilliant answer…” Rias muttered, deeply enraptured by Chekhov’s response. “I think you’ll be a perfect fit for my club.”

“Cool, is there any registration form I need to sign?” Chekhov casually asked.

“Nope,” Rias shook her head with a pleasant smile. “Just come in early tomorrow, and I’ll get you introduced to everyone—”

A noisy ringtone cut in on their meeting. Rias pursed her lips as she glanced at her phone.

“Sorry, Chekhov,” Rias abruptly stood up with a concerned look. “I really need to take this call.”

“No worries, it was a pleasure meeting you today.” Chekhov replied.

Rias quickly waved goodbye and darted out of the room.

“If you need anything, feel free to ask Koneko. She’ll help you with whatever you want,” her voice echoed from the hall.

Chekhov could also discern Koneko's head peeking into the room from the doorway.

‘Sounds good; I’ll do just that. White-haired gorillas are indeed quite scarce these days.’