Hello, thank you so much for taking the time to check out my brand-new story! My name is SlackTheKing, or Slack if we're being informal! I'm still a relatively new Fanfic writer, so I hope my mediocre writing skills don't bore y'all too much! If you enjoy, great! Please feel free to leave a follow, favorite, or even a review if you feel so inclined. If you don't enjoy, feel free to tell me why! I welcome any and all critiques and observations of my work.
Anyways, this is my first DxD story, and also my first attempt at a Gamer fanfic: The Stolen Voice! I've had a huge interest in the DxD world (for more reasons than the girls...I swear!) and always thought there was such potential in the story! Now, just as a forewarning. This story is written in first person, but it is not an SI. I had written it in both first and third person, but third person felt clunky to me for some reason, so here we are!
So, just to say this once, I own nothing related to Highschool Dxd and/or The Gamer. I only claim ownership over my originally created characters.
It hurts
My hand twitched, but that's all it did. The glowing knife stabbed through my hand and into the wall, preventing me from doing anything else.
It hurts so much
My other hand was pinned in a similar manner, with a final knife running through both my feet in some bloody parody of Christ.
Why?
My family's home was trashed, furniture upturned, or outright smashed. It was silent except for the steady drip of blood into the ever-expanding puddle underneath me.
Why me?
Footsteps. Was he coming back?
Oh God, why me?
"Ready to play a game, Filthy Sinner?"
No, not again.
"Repent!" STAB
Repent what?
"Repent!" STAB
I-I do.
"Repent!" STAB
I repent.
"Repent, you damn devil worshiper!" STAB
I repent!
"Say it!" STAB
I repent!
"SAY IT!" STAB
I REPENT!
"Oh yeah, I forgot. It's kinda hard to talk…"
Something wet and somewhat warm slapped against my chest, falling down into the blood puddle underneath me. My vision dipped in and out of focus, but the bloody picture at my feet eventually became too apparent.
"...without a tongue."
The whole world halted, even the blood pouring out from the new holes in my gut. A wordless sound, too raw and ragged to even be called a scream, ripped from my throat. All my anguish, my fear, my despair, everything I was, past and present, poured out in that frozen moment, which stretched on and on. And then it ended, and so did I.
[Conditions Met]
[Analyzing Candidate]
[...]
[...]
[Candidate Within Acceptable Parameters]
[Snap The Thread Of Destiny. Go Forth, Untethered By God's Or Men]
[Welcome to the Game]
Five months ago, I lost my voice. Considering I had also lost five pounds of blood and my entire family, losing my voice seemed more like some twisted consolation prize. At least now I don't have to talk about it, how I survived.
I hated that word. Everyone said it: the doctors, the police, the JSL tutor I saw three times a week. Every conversation (if you could call them that) had that word thrown in somewhere. They acted as if I had done something. As if it was a testament to my will or strength. But I hadn't done anything aside from hanging on a wall like a doll in some twisted child's game. When it was over, I was left broken and voiceless. I didn't survive. I simply didn't die. There's a difference.
Then there was…this.
[You have rested in a bed. Your HP and MP have been restored to your current maximum.]
I stare at the purple box floating above me. No matter which way I turned my head or in which direction I shifted my eyes, the box would always remain in the center of my vision until I dismissed it, which I did with a lazy flick of my finger. I could do it with a mental "push," for lack of a better term, but there was something satisfying about physically sending the notification into oblivion.
The box flickered out of existence, leaving me alone in the dark room once again. My apartment was barely a step up from a prison cell—cold, sparse, barely larger than the infamous six-mat room. I had moved here after I was discharged from the hospital on the dime of some estranged but legally obligated grandparents who had no interest in actually interacting with me. They popped in to sign some paperwork, hand over a key to the hospital staff, then vanished.
Honestly, that suited me just fine. I didn't need some people I had never met to swoop in and try to be a replacement for my family, even if we were technically related. They could never replace Suzu's gap-toothed smiles or my dad's booming laugh. Just the thought that I'd never feel my mom's warm hugs was enough to make my eyes sting.
The only things that didn't leave me alone were Daichi, my JSL instructor, and the Game. It was always around, greeting me like an eager puppy the second my eyes opened with the same two messages. Speaking of, the next one should be here any–
DING
[Daily Quest] Rest and Recovery
Physical wounds may have been stitched together, but the damage runs deeper than that. Pushing yourself too hard too soon will only hinder your recovery. Now is the time to focus on regaining your strength, both physically and mentally. Rest, nourish your body, and allow the healing process to continue. Survival wasn't the end—it's just the beginning of rebuilding.
Objective 1: Sleep for at least 7 hours (8.5/7)
Objective 2: Eat nutritional meals (0/3)
Objective 3: Perform 30 minutes of stretching (0/30)
Quest Reward: -1% HP reduced by [Critical Condition]
Quest Failure: 1% HP reduced by [Critical Condition]
A resigned sigh slipped past my lips. The Game was relentless. Every morning, it sent me the exact same quest, filled with the same essential tasks. A part of me wanted nothing more than to ignore the Game and its consequences. But a slightly larger part of me refused to roll over and just give up. I wouldn't call it pride, but I just couldn't face my family in the afterlife if I purposely wasted away.
So I trudged on, going through the motions, and each day got a little stronger and healed a bit more. I focused on [Critical Condition] and let the condition pop up before me.
Debuff: Critical Condition
A severe physical and mental state brought on by extreme trauma, near-fatal injury, or prolonged neglect of basic needs. While in this state, the body's natural healing processes are slowed, and the individual is constantly at risk of further deterioration. The condition makes even routine actions feel taxing, reducing overall effectiveness in combat and daily life. Can be reduced/removed by completing [Rest and Recovery].
-Max HP reduced by 4%
-Max MP reduced by 4%
-All stats reduced by 4%
-Increased sensitivity to pain
-Increased Fatigue
Four more days, and then this condition would finally be gone. I had to admit, seeing that number slowly dwindle down from 50% filled me with the most purpose I had felt since waking up in the hospital if only to get rid of the damn thing. I still didn't see the stats the Game spoke of, but losing the sensitivity to pain and fatigue was more than enough reward for me. The other day I stubbed my toe and was damn near convinced I had broken every bone in my foot.
Shaking off the phantom sensation, I groaned, pressing myself up from my bed, feeling every inch of that lingering fatigue tug at me as though the mattress itself wanted to swallow me whole. I shuffled toward the kitchen, where the refrigerator's faint hum filled the otherwise silent apartment. The options inside were just as uninspiring as yesterday: some eggs, instant noodles, and a few wilted vegetables. The Game would accept a mix as a "nutritional meal." I tossed together something resembling breakfast and mechanically shoveled spoonfuls in. As soon as my plate was cleared, a ding echoed in my head as my [Rest and Recovery] updated.
Objective 2: Eat nutritional meals (1/3)
With the visual confirmation that I'd ticked off one part of my objectives for the day, I let out a quiet sigh and stood to clean my dish. The lukewarm water and the scratch of the sponge against ceramic were mindless motions, grounding in their simplicity. I wasn't hungry, not really, but eating, stretching, and sleeping were the bare minimum the Game required of me to keep moving forward. Without it, I'd just sink further into the fog.
The tap squeaked as I turned it off, leaving only the refrigerator and the distant sounds of morning traffic filtering through the window. Silence had become my constant companion—sometimes comforting, sometimes suffocating. I didn't know which it was this morning.
I dried my hands and headed for the tiny closet by the front door. A set of three uniforms hung there, still pressed and preserved in the plastic coating. Putting on that uniform felt wrong, like pretending I was still just a regular student, not someone who had lost everything, not someone barely holding it together.
But the Game didn't care about feelings. And neither did Kuoh Academy. Attendance was mandatory, and so were appearances, so on the uniform went. At least, as far as uniforms went, it wasn't terrible. The clothes were of excellent quality, smooth to the touch with just a bit of stretch. I closed the closet, staring at the full-length mirror attached to the front of the door.
I didn't recognize the person staring back. A pale face with sharp angular features and deep shadows under hollow blue eyes. My hair, which I hadn't bothered to style in months, stuck out in uneven spikes. I idly stroked the thick strand of blue that ran a good length of my right bangs, halting a few inches before my roots. My eyes rested on the knotted pink scar that marred my hands front and back. The uniform fit well enough, but it felt like I was wearing someone else's skin. Only the scars, ironically enough, reflected me, the real me.
Shaking myself from my thoughts, I pulled my school bag over my shoulder and walked towards the door. The faint tug of pain still lingered in my muscles—another reminder that my body was far from fully healed—but I had gotten used to it by now. A dull ache came with every movement, a constant companion that refused to leave.
The air outside was crisp, the sun just beginning to cut through the clouds. It was the kind of morning that would have been refreshing once. Now, it just felt cold.
I closed the door behind me with a soft click, and I was off, turning a corner and joining the slow stream of likewise clothed students, fresh off of summer break. Kuoh Academy stood at the end of the road, a pristine and almost majestic sight as the early morning sun gleamed off its red brick walls. The path leading up to it was lined with trees whose leaves rustled softly in the breeze, and I could already hear the faint hum of conversation from the students ahead of me. They walked in groups, laughing, talking, shoving each other playfully—completely unaware of the world outside their bubble.
I walked alone.
The sidewalk was wide, but it may as well have been a chasm separating me from the others. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, groups of friends moving easily together, their voices a constant backdrop to the quiet in my mind. They seemed so normal, so in sync with the routine of life. It was almost like their steps were rehearsed—each conversation flowing with the ease of familiarity.
But for me, it was like watching a different species.
They belonged here, in this world of casual banter, of jokes about the upcoming year and plans for clubs and events. I didn't. I felt like an actor who had wandered onto the wrong set.
As I walked, I kept my head down, eyes trained on the cracks in the pavement beneath my feet.
Occasionally, I'd hear snippets of their conversations.
"Did you see the new manga that came out?"
"Let's meet up after class for practice."
"I can't believe we're third-years now, time flies!"
What did it matter? Grades, clubs, the future... They were excited about the year ahead, and here I was, just trying to make it through the day without breaking.
In the past, I would've been like them. I'd have cared about those small things—about friendships, grades, and what came next. But not anymore. That version of me was gone, buried alongside my family.
As the groups of students surged ahead, I allowed myself a brief glance up from the pavement. And there it was—Kuoh Academy.
The campus sprawled out before me, a pristine landscape that looked like something out of a brochure. Red brick buildings with tall windows and sloping roofs stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky. The main school building, an imposing structure with ivy crawling up its sides, seemed to gleam in the early sunlight, its white-trimmed edges catching the light.
Manicured lawns stretched out in all directions, dotted with clusters of students sitting on benches or walking in groups. Cherry blossom trees lined the pathways, their branches just beginning to bloom. Even the air seemed different here, cleaner, fresher. It was all too perfect, as if someone had built a model of what the ideal high school should look like.
But for all its beauty and charm, Kuoh Academy felt distant to me, as though I was looking at a painting. I could see it, maybe even touch it, but it would fade into a smudged memory when I left its gates.
I had just passed through its opened, wrought-iron gates when I was confronted by the one thing I dreaded beyond anything else: Conversation.
"Ono-san?"
Two students were headed straight towards me, the incoming crowd parting around them like a stream around a boulder. My eyes glanced over the blonde, his posture tense and face forced into some expression he probably thought was calm and distinguished. He had a slouch that he corrected no less than twice in his march over, with hands that fidgeted around his pockets. If not for his somewhat neatly pressed uniform, I would have mistaken him for some sort of delinquent.
But it wasn't him my eyes focused on. That honor was reserved for the girl beside him. It wasn't that she tried to draw attention to herself—she didn't need to; her presence alone commanded respect.
Her dark, shoulder-length hair was always perfectly in place, not a strand out of order, even as she walked. Her deep violet eyes, framed by sleek, black-rimmed glasses, scanned me up and down, seeming to discover more than I would have liked.
Her posture was flawless. She stood straight, shoulders back, her movements deliberate, with not a single gesture wasted. There was something almost regal in the way she carried herself. Her clothes were impeccably tailored, the crisp lines of her black jacket and red tie more akin to a suit of armor than a school uniform. For all intents and purposes, she was a queen deigning to mingle with her subjects. And her sights were set on me.
"Kou Ono-san?" The girl repeated, now standing in front of me. I nodded, keeping my head slightly inclined to meet her eyes directly. The blonde beside her chimed in before she could say anything else, taking an aggressive step forward. "What? Is Kaicho not worth your words? Speak up!"
I raised an eyebrow but didn't react beyond that. Whatever bravado he was trying to throw my way wasn't worth acknowledging.
"Saji!"
The edge of her words cut through him. He tensed at her unspoken reprimand, his aggressive posture deflating slightly. Hands shoved deep into his pockets; he looked like a scolded kid trying to play it cool. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Sona glanced at him, then turned her attention back to me, her expression unreadable but far less confrontational. "I apologize, Ono-san. Clearly, Saji has been remiss in reviewing your profile." She gave a slight bow, barely an incline of her head, but the buzz of conversation around us exploded, though not enough to cover the strangled gasp that came from Saji.
"My name is Sona Shitori. I am a third-year and the student council president. This is Saji Genshirou, a second-year and new student council secretary. Let us be the first to welcome you to Kuoh Academy. I realize your admittance here was not under…ideal circumstances, ones I cannot hope to empathize with."
Her tone was steady, like she was reading from a script. I could tell there was something, empathy, maybe, in her words. Perhaps she was sincere, or perhaps she was just doing her job as the figurehead of the school.
"Nevertheless, I hope you can find a semblance of stability here, and know that there are those, myself included, that are willing to lend an ear if ever you needed one."
I nodded again, just to get this over with. I'd heard these lines before—from doctors, teachers, police officers—people who acted like they knew what to say, how to help. But there was nothing to help. Not anymore.
Sona paused, as if expecting more from me, waiting for a response that wasn't going to come. When it became evident that all she was getting was my silence, she simply gave another small nod and walked off. Saji followed after, pausing only to shoot a glare my way. As they disappeared into the sea of students, the crowd swallowed me back up. The conversations resumed, and I floated along with the crowd, barely keeping my head above water.
"Ono-san, thank you for waiting. Here is your class schedule, along with your student ID and homeroom. Please keep this with you and do not lose it. If you do, there will be a fee to make a replacement. Welcome to Kuoh Academy."
I tried to smile at the motherly lady manning the front desk, but I'm sure it was more of a grimace than anything else. I opened my mouth but closed it at the last second. Even now, trying to speak was my first instinct. Instead, I signed, flattening my hands and tapping my right hand to my left wrist, mouthing "Thank you."
With a sigh, I stuffed the papers into my bag, making sure the student ID was tucked into a pocket where I wouldn't lose it. The last thing I needed to deal with was admin fees on top of everything else.
I turned toward the hall that would lead to my homeroom, the corridors already filling with students making their way to class. The noise was already building, the low hum of voices mixing with the occasional laugh or the shuffle of footsteps. It was suffocating.
I shifted my bag on my shoulder and kept walking, eyes down, letting the noise wash over me. It didn't take long before I found my homeroom, the number matching what was printed on my schedule. I hesitated for a second before opening the door.
The room was already half full, students chatting at their desks or settling in for the day. No one seemed to pay much attention to the opened door, which suited me fine. I spied an open seat in the back corner and slipped through the crowd. Slumping into the chair, I rested my head on the desk. The school day hadn't even started, and I was already exhausted.
As I tried to drown out the noise of the classroom, the door creaked open, and the low hum of conversations died down as the teacher walked in. His footsteps were slow and steady, the kind of deliberate pace that signaled he was about to take charge of the room. I reluctantly lifted my head, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he approached the front of the classroom.
"Good morning, class," the teacher began, setting down his papers on the desk and giving everyone a small smile. He looked to be in his late thirties, with slightly graying hair and the kind of face that seemed accustomed to smiling but forced into a stern mold. "I'm Mr. Takeda, your homeroom teacher. I'll be guiding you through this school year, and I hope we can all work together to make it a good one."
The students murmured polite responses, but most were barely paying attention, too caught up in their own worlds. Mr. Takeda didn't seem bothered by the lack of enthusiasm. His voice faded to a distant hum as he made his way through the usual first-day routine—class rules, expectations, all the standard fare that I barely listened to. My head rested against my palm, eyes half-lidded as I watched him from the back of the room, pretending to care just enough to avoid drawing attention. I was just here, existing in this space, waiting for the day to pass.
"Now," Mr. Takeda said, his voice picking up some false enthusiasm, "I think it's important for us to get to know one another. We're going to go around the room, and I want each of you to stand, introduce yourself, and maybe share something about what you're looking forward to this year. It could be anything—clubs, events, or even surviving exams."
There was a collective groan from the class, and I couldn't blame them. These forced interactions never felt natural. It was the same everywhere. The teacher pretends to care, the students half-heartedly share something meaningless, and we all move on like any of it matters.
I shifted in my seat, already feeling the dull dread of what was coming. My turn.
Names were called, one by one, and students stood and gave their little rehearsed lines about joining this or that club or trying not to fail their classes. It was all painfully predictable. I tapped my fingers idly on the desk, the tempo increasing the closer he got to me, until–
"Ono Kou?"
Here it was. I could feel the room's attention shift toward me, all those eyes locking on. The curiosity, the judgment—they were already assuming things, even if they didn't know it yet. My muscles strained as I stood, stiffened even by my short rest. Might as well get this over with.
I could see Mr. Takeda waiting, expecting me to say something, to play along with his little game. I fought the instinct to open my mouth, raised my hands, and signed, deliberate and slow. "My name is Ono Kou. Pleasure."
The room was dead quiet as I finished with a sharp motion of my hands. I could feel the awkwardness like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. Mr. Takeda blinked, realization hitting him like a truck. His face turned red, and I could tell he'd completely forgotten my file, forgotten the whole mute thing. Great.
"Oh… oh, I—I'm so sorry, Ono-san," he stammered, clearly flustered. "Y-you may sit down now."
Some of the students gave me side glances, no doubt curious or confused about why I hadn't spoken. Others just looked uncomfortable, already whispering among themselves.
Mr. Takeda cleared his throat, trying to act like this wasn't a train wreck. "Ono-san is mute and communicates through JSL or a writing pad. "He said as if that wasn't already obvious. "Please feel free to participate however you're comfortable, Ono-san."
I nodded once, stiffly, and sat back down, sinking into my chair as if I could disappear into it. My palms were sweating, but from irritation, not nerves. I hated this. The stares, the whispers—it had been this way ever since I woke up in the hospital. People thought they were subtle, but I could feel their eyes burning into me, wondering what was wrong with me, what my deal was.
As the next student stood up, I zoned out again, ignoring the flash of crimson that fluttered into view for a second. I didn't care what anyone else had to say. This was just another day, another place. I was the odd one out. No matter how hard I tried to slip through unnoticed, there were moments like this, where my new…disability managed to drag me back into the spotlight, if only for a few minutes. And I hated it.
By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom, I was ready to throw myself out the window. All around me, the looks persisted, and the whispers swirled.
"Mute? Like, can't talk at all?"
No shit, genius.
"Duh, that's what mute means."
Well, at least someone can listen.
"I didn't even know we had mute students here."
Well, now you do.
"Do you think he's always been like that? I bet his voice would have been dreamy!"
How the hell would she come to that conclusion?
"Maybe something happened. I heard he's a transfer. Could've been, like, some accident or something."
Wow, someone can think.
"Think he can hear us?"
Mute, not deaf.
Everyone always wanted to poke and prod, to turn something that didn't affect them into a source of entertainment or idle curiosity. It was like they had nothing better to do than speculate about someone they didn't even know. I wish they would all just stop–
A flash of crimson fluttered in the corner of my eye. "That's enough."