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We knew the world would not be the same.

A few people laughed; a few people cried. Most people were silent.

The words echoed in my head like a whisper from a past life. J. Robert Oppenheimer's voice, calm yet burdened, playing over and over in my mind.

And like the people in his time, we too had been confronted with knowledge that changed everything.

But the thing about humans? We adjust.

Children adjust faster than imagined.

The revelation that gods, devils, and celestial beings were real? It shook everyone, sure. There were gasps, shouts, panic. But within the hour, students were already talking about it like it was just another piece of Hogwarts trivia.

"Can you believe it? Actual gods!"

"Mate, I bet the Norse ones are mental. Imagine getting into a drinking contest with Thor!"

"I wonder if I could summon a devil? D'you reckon they'd help with homework?"

Idiots.

Most of them treated it like a passing curiosity, a fun story rather than a paradigm shift in their understanding of the universe.

But I couldn't move on so easily.

Because for me, this wasn't just some casual revelation.

For me, this was an earthquake.

Because now, I knew.

I wasn't just in the world of Harry Potter.

I was also in High School DxD.

A place where literal gods walked. Where devils schemed. Where power wasn't just a matter of skill and knowledge—it was bloodlines, sacred gears, and things far beyond human comprehension.

And I had none of it.

I had magic, sure.

But was that enough?

For hours after the lesson, I wrestled with it. My mind cycling through every damn stage of grief like some kind of overworked bureaucrat stamping papers in a dimly lit office.

Denial.

"No. No, that's ridiculous. This is plain old Hogwarts, not some anime multiverse. Dumbledore's just messing with us."

But deep down, I knew he wasn't.

And as a reincarnator, someone who had already accepted that I had been reborn in a fictional world, denying this was nothing more than childish cowardice.

I had accepted that I was in Harry Potter.

I had to accept this, too.

Anger.

"What kind of bullshit is this? Why didn't I pay more attention in History of Magic?!"

I had dismissed history, skimmed through it as a subject with little practical use. I had focused on combat, on runes, on wandless casting.

And now, because I had ignored history, I had been blindsided by this revelation.

What else had I missed? What other secrets were lurking beneath the surface of this world?

The thought made my blood boil.

Bargaining.

"Fine. If this world has Sacred Gears, then I must have one, right?"

I spent an entire evening trying to awaken one.

I reached deep into my soul, trying to pull at something.

I thought of all the protagonists I knew, all the power systems that should exist in a world like this.

I forced myself to relive my worst memories, hoping trauma might trigger something.

I even tried imagining the strongest character I could think of—Gojo Satoru, in all his untouchable, Limitless glory.

Nothing.

Not even a spark.

Depression.

It hit me when I really understood what the Chaos Brigade meant.

Terrorists.

The kind that didn't just threaten a school or a country—but entire realms.

The kind that had gods and monsters on their payroll.

The kind that could turn my personal vendetta against a few Death Eaters into a trivial footnote in a war far beyond my comprehension.

For a moment, I felt that weight.

The crushing insignificance of my own struggles in the face of that level of chaos.

But I shook it off.

Because that wasn't my problem.

Not yet.

Acceptance.

In the end, what could I do but move on?

The students did.

They laughed, they speculated, they spread rumors and gossiped. Some even boasted about wanting to meet a devil, as if that wasn't the dumbest thing they could possibly say.

But me?

I adjusted in my own way.

By keeping my head down.

By preparing.

By winning.

Slytherin was still trying to ambush me.

And I was still beating them.

Every single time.

Three-on-one. Four-on-one. Once, even five-on-one.

It didn't matter.

They came at me, and they lost.

Their memories erased. Their bodies humiliated.

Waking up in women's garments had become a recurring nightmare for them.

And me?

With every victory, I grew sharper. Stronger.

More confident.

Because now, more than ever—

I knew I needed to be ready.