My Unique Skill is Fate Gacha(DxD)

The first thing he felt was pain.

The second? Confusion.

His head throbbed as if it had spent the entire night serving as a drum in an Italian parade fueled by cheap wine, and when he tried to open his eyes… well, the Japanese sun decided that was the perfect moment to deliver a light-punch straight to his face.

"Ugh… what… what the hell…?"

He blinked a few times, trying to figure out where he was. Rough sheets. A simple room with second-hand furniture. A poorly painted plaster ceiling and, in some corner, a lizard seemed quite comfortable observing humanity's downfall.

None of it was familiar.

"Wait… this isn't my room. Where's my Saber poster? My figure shelf? My router named 'Unlimited WiFi Works'?"

His train of thought derailed completely when a memory burst in like an anime opening: fast, flashy, and confusing. He was playing *Fate/Grand Order*, summoning for the thousandth time in pursuit of a cursed SSR. The screen glowed. Golden circle. Heart racing. And then…

*BOOM!*

The phone exploded. Literally. Like, explosion with sparks and the smell of burnt plastic. A searing pain in his chest. And then… darkness.

"Hold on… did I die?"

Before the existential crisis could fully hit, another wave of memories flooded his mind. But they weren't his. Not exactly. It was like watching an emotional documentary, but in first-person.

Ryougi Kazuya. A Japanese boy, born in Rome. Orphaned at eight. Raised by a grumpy nun who wielded wooden slippers like weapons. Spent his adolescence in Florence, studying in cheap schools, eating reheated lasagna, and dreaming of Japan. Because, of course, he was a die-hard otaku; basically a parallel version of himself who was born to Japanese parents who died and lived in Italy instead of Japan.

And then, a recent memory. The clearest of all.

Him arriving in Kuoh City.

The train swaying gently. Japan's sky absurdly clear. The quiet, organized streets. And then, the sight of the massive Kuoh Academy, with its elegant campus, stylish uniforms, and a strange air of mystery lingering around.

A private elite school that had mysteriously started accepting boys recently. And, according to internet rumors, it had a weird history of disappearances, strange shadows at night… and girls too beautiful to be real, with the kind of aura that made the hairs on your neck stand up. Students who weren't just beautiful—they *glowed*. Literally.

A girl with crimson hair like spilled blood. Another, blonde like liquid gold. A third, with purple eyes and a stern expression.

And that's when it clicked.

"…No. No. It can't be."

He sat up in bed abruptly, ignoring the dizziness. One leg got tangled in the sheet, and he faceplanted onto the floor. Classic.

"This is a dream. Or a delusion. Or…" He swallowed hard. "Did I reincarnate? In Kuoh?!"

He lay there on the floor of the small, newly rented apartment, staring at the ceiling while trying to piece it together. Dead while trying to summon an SSR. Reincarnated in a fictional city that, if his theories were right, was the setting of *High School DxD*, a random citizen in a fictional anime city where demons, fallen angels, and boobs got more screen time than the protagonist, who was trash.

And the worst part?

He didn't even get the SSR.

Grumbling, he tried to get up and then noticed.

His body.

His arms. His hands. The muscles.

This was *definitely* not the sedentary body of a student addicted to ramen and light novels. He was… sculpted. Like he'd been molded by a Renaissance artist obsessed with anime and blessed genetics.

Groping his way to the old mirror in the corner, Kazuya looked at himself. And his eyes widened.

"…My… GOD."

That. Was. A. Face?

I mean, it was, but not just any face. It was like someone had mixed Gojou Satoru with an Italian magazine model, added 200% facial symmetry, eyes that looked handcrafted by celestial design gods, and silver hair that seemed straight out of a premium post-apocalyptic shampoo commercial. Soft blue streaks almost glowed under the light, like reflections of condensed magical energy in each strand.

His skin was pale and flawless, like porcelain imported straight from Olympus. And the eyes… heavens, the eyes. A blue so clear they looked like polished crystal, with a sharp glow that gave the impression he could see through people's lies, through walls… and maybe even the fourth wall.

He raised a perfect eyebrow, teetering between admiration and pure aesthetic terror.

"I… I turned into a fanfic version of Gojou," he whispered, horrified and awestruck. "No. A fanart of Gojou after bathing in a beauty potion…"

Despite the different appearance, his predecessor had the same name. Same taste for anime, gacha, and cheap iced coffee. But now, living alone in an apartment in Kuoh, a ten-minute walk from Kuoh Academy.

It had been exactly one week since he moved in.

But then, like every self-respecting cosmic joke, came the final punch.

The memories aligned.

Kazuya hadn't shown any talent in his memories. No magic. No crazy aura. No sensual demon flirting with him in dark alleys. Just him, and the life of a background character.

"Great…" he muttered, lying on the floor again. "Protagonist appearance, but NPC power. This is Lancer all over again, with E-rank Luck."

That's when it happened.

An electronic sound. A soft hum in the back of his mind. And then, *ping*.

A blue window floated before his eyes.

**[Unique Skill Unlocked!]**

_____________

**[Fate Gacha]**

**Description**: You carry the data of the *Fate* universe implanted in your soul. At the cost of [Saint Quartz], you can roll the Grail and summon any element from the Nasuverse—be it an item, a skill, a Noble Phantasm, or even a Servant.

**Limit**: 3 rolls per day.

**Warning**: Luck is still a blindfolded cow. Good luck, Master.

______________

Kazuya froze. The air felt heavier. He blinked, and the interface was still there.

"…Is this… a joke?"

*Ping*.

**[Saint Quartz: 9/100 (daily recharge)]**

**[Would you like to perform a summon? [Yes / No]]**

"…"

His heart pounded to the rhythm of a dramatic anime opening with a female vocalist. You know, the kind that plays when the protagonist finally activates overpowered mode? That was it. Complete with melancholic piano, soaring violins, and someone shouting "KAZUYA-KUUUUN!" in Japanese in the depths of his soul.

He knew what he had to do.

He pressed *Yes*.

The screen glowed. A magical circle formed in front of him, floating in the air like a limited-event hologram. Golden colors danced in the air as if some animator had gotten a bonus to go all out. Beams of light sliced through the room like Photoshop had activated "Michael Bay" mode.

And then—*click*.

**[Summon Performed!]**

**[Result: Mystic Eyes of Death Perception]**

For a second, Kazuya thought the system had glitched, it was so absurd. Even with E-rank Luck—which in gacha terms meant being unluckier than a shonen protagonist trying to confess his love—he had pulled something not even the most obsessive players would expect.

"Hold on… the death eyes? Like, Ryougi Shiki's? The ones that see the mortality of things and cut existence like lines on poorly folded origami?"

The answer came instinctively: he had indeed gained the *Mystic Eyes of Death Perception*: magical eyes capable of seeing "lines of death," the metaphysical cracks that exist in all things, living or not. By cutting these lines, he could erase the very existence of something, whether it was a doorknob or a philosophical concept.

"This is… dangerous. Like, 'accidentally cut reality because I tripped' level of dangerous."

He sat down again, the second time that day. His head spun, his stomach churned, and he was starting to think his ceiling had turned into a permanent summoning screen.

His eyes suddenly burned. It was as if gravity had gotten drunk. Reality melted around him. Images of his own death flashed around him: the end of time, the end of matter, the end of ideas. A spiral of everything that could end projected onto him.

But Kazuya didn't scream. He didn't panic.

He just… saw.

The lines appeared.

They were everywhere.

On the ceiling, the floor, the air. In flesh. In time. In sound. Even in words. It was like seeing the source code of the world, but in the form of cuttable cracks. And he understood, deep in his soul, what it truly meant to have these eyes.

It wasn't just about killing something. It was about denying its existence.

Erasing what exists and what could ever exist.

The Eyes fused with his body with a chilling heat, yes, exactly that. A chilling heat. Like a freezer on fire. A paradox that hurt just by existing.

Kazuya gasped.

Not from pain, though it felt like his brain was trying to learn quantum calculus and Sanskrit simultaneously, but from pure, raw existential shock.

He blinked. And the lines vanished.

Blinked again. They returned.

Blink. Gone.

Blink. Back.

"…Am I activating this with… blinking?" he muttered, eyes wide.

Blink. Nothing.

"Okay, focus then. Deactivate, deactivate, deactivate…"

The lines disappeared. He let out a sigh so deep it seemed he'd returned air to the global atmosphere.

"Good. This is… useful. Apparently, I don't have to live seeing the world as a metaphysical piñata about to break."

He walked back to the mirror, trying to spot any change in his eyes. Now that he knew, it was impossible not to notice the subtle glow of pinkish-red lines, as if each iris had been polished with glass and sealed with spiritual energy. Those eyes… they weren't human. And yet, they belonged to him in a visceral way.

"Alright. Alright. Breathe. Okay. One step at a time."

He hesitantly picked up a small pair of scissors he found nearby, aiming at the corner of the table beside the bed. The lines appeared, running like cracks across the wood with a narrowing of his eyes.

He extended the scissors, with palpable hesitation, like someone touching a sensitive screen full of dangerous notifications, and opened the scissors…

"If this is really like Type-Moon… a single cut should be enough."

He passed the scissors over the line.

*CRACK*.

The corner fell. No resistance. No sawing sound. Just… *plop*.

"Whoa… whoa, whoa, WHOA."

Kazuya stumbled back, sitting down again, now for the third time, it was becoming routine.

"The table… the table just… died."

He looked at his hands, then at the mirror, and laughed nervously.

"Okay. So, recap, Kazuya. You: died summoning gacha. Reincarnated in Kuoh. Gained killer eyes capable of deleting concepts. Probably gonna be hunted by some celestial, infernal, or at least a math teacher worried about school safety."

He took a deep breath. Counted to three. Planted his feet firmly on the ground, standing once more.

"At least… I'm hot," he said, staring at his reflection with reluctant pride. "That always helps in isekai stories."

And he now had the kind of power that could scare even a god.

But it was just the beginning.

His gaze returned to the blue window still hovering discreetly in the air.

**[2 Summons Remaining.]**

Kazuya smiled.

"Let's see what else this Grail has in store for me."

And this time, he didn't hesitate to press *Yes*.

*Ping*.

**[You received a special item: Experience Card - Ritsuka Fujimaru (Kazuya Version)]**

**[Description**: A card containing all the memories, experiences, and skills from your time playing *Fate/Grand Order* up to the end of the Lostbelts. Use with caution—memories may cause emotional outbursts, nostalgic screams, and a sudden urge to save alternate humanities.]

"…"

Without thinking. Without breathing. Without rationalizing.

*Use*.

And it was like falling into a black hole of otaku memories.

His mind exploded in a thousand directions. He saw the ashes of Chaldea. The dawn of each Singularity. The end of each Lostbelt. The blazing sky of Babylonia. The pulsing sadness of Lostbelt 6. The final war. Mashu smiling. Romani saying goodbye. And him… him holding their hands. An idiot with Command Seals in hand and hope in his eyes.

He saw every Servant he summoned. Even those that never reached NP5. He saw hundreds of scenes, jokes, conversations in his room… and—

"Oh, no. I can't believe this came along too…"

It did.

All the mods.

Because Kazuya, being the meticulous and incurable nerd he was, couldn't just play a game. He had to tinker with the code.

Over the years, he created his own romantic mods. And not just that: he programmed alternative romance routes with all the Servants he liked; some so well-written they sparked wars among fans on Twitter.

Nero Claudius? A special route complete with an imperial wedding and eternal love oath.

Ishtar? An alternate ending where she fell in love with him at the end of the seventh Singularity, with a night of passion and an eternal vow.

Jeanne? A route called "Saving the Saint with Kisses."

And even the tougher ones, like Scáthach, Medb, and especially Morgan, had their custom routes with CGs, soundtracks, and secret endings requiring 100% affinity.

And now… all those memories, all that fictional love, all that emotional construction based on waifus and battles, were compressed inside him. In flesh. Bone. Soul. And a boiling brain.

He was, officially, the real-life version of Ritsuka Fujimaru; except with existential-killer eyes, romance mods, and an emotional history comparable to a tragic soap opera protagonist.

Pushing that aside, he clicked *Yes* again. Spending the last Saint Quartz.

*Ping*.

This time, he didn't wait for visual effects. He was ready for anything. Literally anything. A dinosaur fossil that gave buffs? A gothic version of Fou? Maybe even a female Gilgamesh in an apron?

But no. His unique skill seemed to have saved the climax for last.

**[You received: The Third Magic (Heaven's Feel).]**

Kazuya blinked. And for the first time, the world blinked back… Or he was going insane.

"Wait, wait… the Third Magic? Like, the one the Einzbern clan spent generations trying to recreate? The one only Illya accessed at the end of the Heaven's Feel route?"

In *Fate*, [Magecraft] revolved around "Mystery," which was nothing more than a sliver of power of many different types stemming from the [Root], the source of all supernatural phenomena in that world. If one considered modern magic, [Magecraft] was, at its core, "Mystery," and it was precisely because of this that modern thaumaturgy was vastly inferior to that of eons ago; a time now known as the Age of Gods.

When humans were few, and Sacred Spirits were active and more common, this period was called the Age of Gods. It was marked by the proliferation of Phantasmal Species, like True Ancestors and Gorgons, and greater interaction between gods and mortals. This was the era of heroes and mythology, when the rules of the world and humanity were different, but this period ended roughly two thousand years ago.

During that time, even the magical art itself was described as being closer to magic—far superior to what it is today, which is merely a replica of what someone could achieve through science by supernatural means. If an explanation for this were needed, it was simple: since the beginning of the Common Era, human history has been steadily expelling Mysteries. As the light of science expands, the darkness of the essence of "Mystery" recedes.

No matter how much magi resist this fact, this law remains inflexible. The Mysteries of the Age of Gods have become so distant that even temporarily perceiving them in the modern world is nearly impossible. This is because humanity has reached a point where everything is explainable through human knowledge, from the workings of nature to the operations of the cosmos that were once the domain of the heavens, anything previously beyond human reach.

This greatly affects [Magecraft]. Something whose nature has been revealed cannot become a "Mystery," which is essentially the crystallization of the unknown, no matter what kind of supernatural method it uses. Now it's nothing more than another mundane method. He let out a sigh; how he wished he had lived in that ancient era—if he had, perhaps he could have fulfilled his desire more easily.

This was common knowledge among magi, as was the fact that the Root, or Origin, [Akasha], is a metaphysical place, its existence akin to the "Force" that exists above all theories related to dimensions. Within it lie the Akashic Records, also known as the Spiral of the Root, considered the source of all events and phenomena in the universe and a timeless place that exists outside of time, yet it stores information about all possible events of the past, present, and future. It is also the place where all souls go after death—reaching such a place was the primary goal of magi, who sought to grasp the "truth" of the universe it contains.

Reaching the Root, seeing it, touching it, and then understanding it would completely erase the concept of the impossible, granting the magus what some describe as "the capabilities of God." Needless to say, achieving this is impossible even for the most talented magi.

The Five True Magics, also known as Sorcery in some translations, are the highest class of Mystery that surpasses Magecraft and all current sciences of this era. They represent the actualization of events impossible to reproduce in a given era, whether by man or the planet, even with infinite time and resources. Acquiring the ability to perform Magic is considered the ultimate achievement of a magus, only attainable by those who have accessed the Swirl of the Root.

"Magic" can be distinguished from "Magecraft" in that the consequences of its use are ostensibly "impossible" or "miraculous." The wielder of the Third Magic, for instance, deals with the human soul, which contains a person's memories, mind, and magical circuits, using the person's body as an anchor to the world to prevent dispersal and return to Akasha. Once the brain and body are destroyed, it is impossible to restore a person's dispersed soul, no matter the means available, but this Magic was capable of that miracle.

[Heaven's Feel] halts the inevitable dispersal of the soul once it no longer has an anchor to the world, essentially transcending it into a higher form of existence. It is a Magic that achieves true immortality by turning the soul into a higher-dimensional plane, capable of interacting with the material world as a mental body without needing to return to Akasha. The practitioner gains an unlimited source of magical energy because the soul becomes analogous to a perpetual motion machine.

This would render the quantity and quality of a magus's Magical Circuits irrelevant, a pseudo-nervous system spread throughout the body that qualifies someone to be a magus. Their function was essential, as it was through the circuits that one could convert their Vital Energy, Od, into Magical Energy to perform Magecraft. Naturally, what resides in the body is merely an expression; they exist in an individual's soul and determine their amount of Magical Energy, mana, or prana, which are limited and determined at birth. This was one of the greatest limitations for magi, and this Magic would break it completely.

**[You received: The Third Magic (Heaven's Feel).]**

That phrase kept floating before his eyes, but it wasn't just text. It was as if the world itself had etched it onto his retina. Burned into his soul.

And then, he felt it.

Something tearing his existence apart from the inside out. Not pain, not in the physical sense, at least. It was as if his being was being peeled into layers, unfolded, and rewritten in the image of something infinitely vaster. Something… absolute.

His soul screamed.

But the scream wasn't of despair. It was of ecstasy.

The Root.

He saw it.

For a fraction of a moment, he saw it. Not with his eyes. Not with his mind. But with the totality of his existence. The Spiral of the Origin, a whirlpool of infinite possibilities, spinning outside of time, where everything that could be, already was. Where the impossible wasn't even a concept.

And then… he merged.

It wasn't a pact. It wasn't learning. It was a reconnection. As if that Magic had always been there, latent in his soul, waiting for the right spark.

The Third Magic became part of him.

Not as a spell to be cast, but as an existential function. The very definitions of "death" and "life" began to become obsolete in his presence. Kazuya's soul was no longer anchored to his body. It *was* the new body. A higher plane of existence, capable of existing beyond flesh, beyond death.

When it was over, Kazuya stood in silence. Because he could feel the infinite amount of magical energy within himself, though he didn't exactly know how to use it efficiently, only through various spells he knew as Ritsuka Fujimaru from the card he'd received earlier.

And the worst part?

He was still processing the fact that he had casually acquired the Third Magic, a feat that would make even Zelretch choke on his tea, when something inside him… trembled.

Literally.

A wave of spiritual pressure surged down his spine like a jolt of liquid ice. He staggered back, nearly tripping over the cheap dorm rug. A golden light shimmered around his head. And then…

*CLANG*.

It was the sound of sacred metal striking reality.

He saw the reflection in the mirror, and by "reflection," I mean the radiant imperial halo that had simply sprouted above his head. A crown. Not just any crown, but the Iron Crown of Lombardy, encrusted with gems and glowing in a way that seemed to defy basic physics. It floated there as a reminder: "Hey, you're the world's new problem!"

"…Huh?" Kazuya muttered, pausing for a moment as if time were trying to catch up with his brain. He murmured, "Iron Crown of Lombardy?"

And as if confirming his suspicions, his unique skill [Fate Gacha] decided to help him understand what it was.

**[Alphecca Tyrant Activated!]**

Kazuya blinked. Again.

He had read about Longinus in the *DxD* world. And this one in particular? The nail that pinned the Son of God to the cross. Turned into a crown. Later used by emperors. Disappeared. And now… lodged in his skull?

"My predecessor seemed like an NPC too pretty to be outside a dating sim," he grumbled. "Now it makes sense… this bastard was holding a Longinus like it was chewing gum."

And of course, it wasn't just any Longinus. It was the Alphecca Tyrant. One of the most troublesome. A weapon of domination. Capable of rewriting minds, redefining concepts, erasing loves, and creating versions of people that even their closest relatives wouldn't understand; he remembered that in the manga, in the future, its Sacred Gear was used to alter Issei's perversion to weaken him. Ugh… He didn't even want to think about how perverse that guy's perversion had become…

Kazuya squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could wring some logic out of that absurd whirlwind.

"Meredith Ordinton…"

That girl.

Alone. Scorned for her bastard lineage, raised in the shadows of British royalty as an embarrassing secret. The kind of secret swept under the rug alongside diplomatic treaties and summer scandals. When she awakened the Alphecca Tyrant, the world didn't become fairer. It became obedient.

And the worst part? She wasn't a villain. She was just tired of being invisible.

The Hell Alliance took her in. Because, of course, if you combine a Longinus that rewrites minds with an emotionally neglected girl and give her tactical training, what could go wrong?

She didn't just dominate MI6; she rewrote the agents. Controlled allies, sabotaged enemies, and turned the British aristocracy into puppets of a queen without a throne.

Oh, and the detail? She almost won.

"So that's it… this Sacred Gear was hers. And now it's mine," he said aloud.

It wasn't.

"Okay. Let's go. I inherited the Third Magic, which technically makes me an aberration in the rules of reality. And now this. A Longinus that, in Meredith's hands, practically turned the UK into an extension of her will. And the worst part? This means I'm in a parallel world where the Longinus ended up with my version? Version 2.0 of Ryougi Kazuya, who I thought was just an NPC…"

Kazuya didn't know if he felt honored or cursed.

He ran his hand over the crown. It was cold. Heavy. And it pulsed with a will of its own. Not in the "I'm gonna kill you" way, but more like "I've got 2,000 years of history on my back, and you're gonna listen, kid." Out of nowhere, an aura of Holy Power emanated from his skin like expensive perfume. It didn't hurt, but it was… uncomfortable. As if the atoms around him were trying to decide whether to kneel or flee, he could feel the limitless power of the Longinus and instinctively knew how to use it.

But that wasn't what was on his mind at the moment.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Since the crown had sprouted on his head like a cursed Christmas gift, the pieces were starting to align. And he hated it.

It was weird. Too weird. The previous boy, the "original owner" of the body now serving as his home, had come from Italy. Orphaned. No close relatives. No connection to Japan, except his parents being of Japanese descent. One of those records that make immigration agencies sweat just looking at it.

But somehow, he ended up exactly here. In Kuoh.

Precisely the city where the density of supernatural beings per square meter was higher than Gilgamesh's ego.

"Coincidence, huh?" Kazuya muttered dryly. "Sure. And my great-aunt is a retired Valkyrie."

That's when he thought of the woman who raised him in this world.

The nun.

Sister Celestina. A name that sounded sweet, gentle… but now gave him chills, as if he were drenched in prayers made with blood. She took care of him as a child. A lost boy among stone corridors and promises of faith. Always with a smile. Always with that eerie calm. As if she knew more than she let on, she taught him Japanese, saying his parents would have wanted it. And then, at seventeen, she called him one late afternoon, her eyes gleaming with something he only now recognized as relief. She said, "Your parents wanted you to go to Japan when you turned seventeen, Kazuya." As if it were a sacred last wish. As if he were a piece on a cosmic chessboard, and fate had decided to move him without even asking permission.

At the time, his predecessor accepted his parents' final wish.

Now, he wanted to punch a wall.

Kazuya threw himself onto the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if expecting it to answer, while deactivating his Sacred Gear…

Memories of the body's previous owner kept coming in waves. They weren't vivid. They were like dreams that left a metallic taste in his mouth. Why did he want to punch a wall? Amid those memories… *he* appeared!

A red-haired man. Tall, commanding presence. Wearing a dark suit too expensive to be visiting a moldy orphanage in Italy. He didn't say much. Just smiled, talked to the sister for a few minutes, and then vanished as if he'd completed an important mission.

Kazuya squeezed his eyes shut, trying to sharpen the memory. That visit didn't make sense. It never did. At the time, he thought it was just a church benefactor. It was precisely because of this impression from his predecessor that he ignored the man when he absorbed his memories…

"Could it be…?"

But now wasn't the time to think about it. For now, it was just a suspicion.

He sighed and glanced at the clock. Six fifty-two in the morning. Great. Time is a cruel comedian.

"Another week of school. Wonderful."

Recent memories hit with the force of a shove to the back. He had started studying at Kuoh Academy a week ago. And the weirdest part? He didn't remember any complications with the transfer. Passport, documentation, exams, interviews? Nothing. As if someone had clicked "skip tutorial" on his life. At the time, he thought it was just the nun handling everything. "Divine will," she said, as if international bureaucracy answered to psalms.

But now?

Now he had a Longinus lodged in his brain.

Everything was starting to smell like a meticulously crafted plan.

He grabbed a towel, slinging it over his shoulder. Better take a shower before he got too paranoid; soon, he'd have to head to school…