Chapter 1 - "The Birth of a Slave"
You wake up to silence that doesn’t belong to Earth.
Not the kind of silence that means peace—more like the kind that means a world is holding its breath.
Cold mist curls around your ankles. The air tastes metallic, like rain and stone and something… older. You blink, expecting your ceiling, your phone, the paused anime episode—
Instead, black trees twist up into a bruised sky. A horizon of fractured rock. A distant, distorted howl that makes your spine tighten.
“Mato…”
You say it out loud before you even realize you’re speaking.
And then your body shifts.
Not painfully—more like reality re-seats you into a new shape. Your back feels… heavy, then light, like something unfolding. You sit up fast—
White feathers flare behind you.
Six wings.
Three pairs, layered—top and bottom smaller, middle pair broader and regal. They flex with your breath as if they’ve always belonged to you. Above your head, something hums—soft, clean, holy.
A halo.
Pale blue-white, ringed with tiny crown-like spikes. It floats as naturally as your heartbeat.
Your hands rise to your face. Silver-toned skin. Black lips. Long periwinkle hair with white roots sliding over your shoulders, messy bangs falling into your eyes. Your eyes—
Blue sclera. Darker pupils outlined in white.
You inhale—and instead of terror, you feel… excitement.
“Okay,” you whisper, voice soft, bright, almost too cheerful for a nightmare world. “Okay, wow. This is—this is real.”
You stand.
At six feet tall, you should look imposing.
But you don’t.
Not with the gentle slope of your shoulders, the elegance of your posture, the way your expression defaults to warmth instead of threat. Not with the princess-like uniform that somehow is on you—periwinkle gown, sash, gloves, tights—like Heaven dropped you into Mato wearing the wrong genre.
You take one step, wings rustling, and the sound is so pure it feels insulting to this place.
A distant screech answers.
You freeze.
A shape lurches from the fog—then another—then three more. Twisted bodies, animal wrongness, teeth where teeth shouldn’t be.
Shuuki.
Your heart spikes… and then your instincts do something you weren’t expecting.
Your halo brightens.
A thin sheen of blue, water-like light ripples across your palms.
“Oh no,” you breathe, more concerned than terrified. “You guys are… really not friendly, huh?”
The first Shuuki charges.
A blur of motion—steel flashes between you and the monster.
A woman drops into the fog like a decisive verdict.
Long silver hair to her thighs. Sharp pink eyes. Dark blue uniform with red trim and gold epaulettes. White gloves. Thigh-high boots. A peaked cap that looks like authority made fabric.
Kyouka Uzen.
You recognize her immediately, and that recognition hits you in the stomach like a mistake.
She stands in front of you, blade angled down, body coiled. Her presence is disciplined violence.
“Stay behind me,” she orders without looking back.
Then, finally, she glances over her shoulder.
Her eyes lock onto your wings.
Your halo.
Your dress.
Her expression tightens in a way that says threat assessment, now.
“…What are you?” she says.
You blink at her, smile bright as if you’re greeting a neighbor. “Hi! Um—Kyouka Uzen, right? Chief of the 7th Unit.”
The air changes.
Not mystical.
Just… her.
The way her suspicion hardens instantly because you shouldn’t know that name.
“…How do you know who I am?” Her voice is cold enough to bite.
“I—okay, so—this is going to sound really weird,” you say quickly, hands lifting in a gentle, harmless gesture. Your wings flutter with the movement, feathers drifting like snow. “My name is (Y/n) (L/n). I’m not from here. I’m… kind of isekai’d.”
Kyouka’s gaze drops to your halo again like it offends physics.
“You’re not human.”
“Technically… yeah,” you admit, still smiling because you don’t know how not to. “But I’m friendly! I promise.”
A Shuuki leaps.
Kyouka moves first—fast, brutal, precise. Her sword cleaves, carving the creature apart as if she’s done it a thousand times.
But more are coming.
A swarm spills out of the mist, their bodies colliding, teeth snapping, hunger multiplying.
Kyouka clicks her tongue. “Tch. A new wave already…?”
She shifts her stance, blade up. Then she glances at you again, as if weighing something she hates thinking about.
“If you want to live,” she says, voice sharp, “you’ll do what I say.”
A talisman flicks between her fingers.
Her Peach Blessing.
Slave.
“I can turn living beings into weapons under my command,” she says. “You will become my slave. That’s the only way we both survive.”
Your eyes widen.
Then your smile turns apologetic instead of frightened.
“That’s really kind of you,” you say earnestly, “but… I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Kyouka’s eyes narrow. “You’re delusional.”
You step forward—not aggressively, but gently, like you’re trying not to scare a stray animal. Your wings unfold fully, halo brightening.
Blue, water-like angelic power swells in the air around you, and it is clean in a world that feels dirty.
“I can help,” you say softly.
The Shuuki strike.
You lift your hand.
The blue energy doesn’t explode like a bomb—it moves like a tidal wave. A ribbon of liquid light spirals outward, and the air itself seems to rinse.
A portal-like shimmer appears for a breath—then collapses into a sweeping arc of force.
The first row of Shuuki is simply gone—not splattered, not grotesque, just erased, as if the world decided they weren’t allowed to exist anymore.
More surge in.
You bring your other hand up, eyes bright, expression still sweet—almost heartbreakingly mismatched to the violence of what you’re doing.
“Please stop,” you tell them sincerely, like you’re asking politely.
A second wave of angelic power blossoms—bubbles of blue light popping in the mist, each pop a miniature verdict. Shuuki stumble, dissolve, fall apart into harmless dust-like residue that scatters across the ground.
Kyouka doesn’t move for a second.
She just stares.
Her blade is still up, but she hasn’t swung it.
Because she doesn’t need to.
The battlefield becomes quiet again.
Only your wings remain in motion—feathers settling, halo humming softly, as if your body is pleased you did the “right thing.”
Kyouka’s stare sharpens into something dangerous.
“…That wasn’t a Peach blessing,” she says. “And it wasn’t Mato equipment.”
You tilt your head. “I told you. I’m… a seraphim.”
Kyouka’s jaw tightens.
In Mato, angels are bedtime stories.
And you’re standing in front of her with six wings like a crown made of kindness.
She doesn’t believe you.
Not fully.
But she saw what you did.
The disbelief cracks—just enough for something else to slip through.
Curiosity.
And… a flicker of heat she immediately tries to bury under discipline.
“You knew my name,” she says again. “Explain. Now.”
“I watched your story,” you say honestly. “Where I come from… you’re real, but also… not real. Like—like a show. But you’re real now. And I’m here.”
Kyouka’s eyes sharpen like blades.
“That makes you more suspicious, not less.”
“I know,” you admit, shoulders lifting slightly. “But I’m not here to hurt you. Or anyone. I just… want to help.”
You pause, then brighten again as if you’ve remembered something important.
“And I’m really good at housework.”
Kyouka blinks once—like she didn’t expect that.
Then, abruptly, her Peach Blessing hits her.
It’s subtle—no chain, no transformation.
Just… her body moving before her mind gives permission.
Her hand grabs your collar gently but firmly, pulling you down.
Your wings twitch in surprise.
“Kyouka—?”
She kisses you.
It’s quick at first—like a reflex, like something forced through her nervous system. Her lips are warm, controlled, and the moment your halo flares faintly, her eyes narrow with visible irritation at herself.
She breaks it off with a sharp inhale, cheeks faintly colored.
“…Tch,” she mutters. “Damn it.”
You stare at her, stunned—and then you smile so brightly it almost looks like sunshine in the fog.
“That was… nice,” you say sincerely.
Kyouka’s expression hardens.
“You’re not supposed to say that.”
“But it was,” you insist, voice gentle. “You look like you’re carrying a lot. You deserve something nice sometimes.”
For a moment, Kyouka looks like she might snap at you.
Then her gaze flicks away, jaw clenched, and she speaks like she’s issuing an order to the air.
“Don’t misunderstand.”
You nod, still smiling. “Okay!”
Kyouka pauses.
“…You’re impossible.”
“Thank you!” you reply automatically, because you’re genuinely pleased.
Kyouka stares at you like that response is a new kind of problem.
Then she turns, scanning the mist.
“We’re moving,” she says. “I’ll take you to the 7th Unit dormitory.”
Your wings flutter with excitement. “A dorm! Like—like a base!”
“Yes.” Her tone becomes brisk, as if speed can outpace the weirdness you bring. “And you’re going to tell me everything on the way.”
You nod eagerly, halo glowing as you walk beside her, the contrast between your gentle, princess-like presence and her demonic-chief intensity making the world feel warped in a completely different way than Mato ever intended.
As you travel, Kyouka contacts the Corps.
Yuuki Wakura—the boy who “should” have been here—gets rerouted.
Sent to the evacuation center.
Removed from the chain of fate.
You don’t see him.
You never will.
Because you’ve already taken the role.
And Mato—this world that only rewards women with power—has just been forced to acknowledge something it cannot categorize.
A male seraphim.
A walking myth.
A soft smile with six wings.
When you finally reach the 7th Unit dorm, it looks almost normal—built by Mato exorcists, wrapped in protective barriers, like a quiet island in a violent sea.
Kyouka opens the door.
Inside, three women turn toward you.
Himari Azuma—dark sea-green hair tied in a bow, amber eyes sharp with pride and suspicion.
Shushu Suruga—blonde bob, green eyes, a curious grin already forming.
Nei Ookawamura—pink hair, blue eyes, gentle posture that still somehow feels dependable.
Their gazes hit your wings.
Your halo.
Your dress.
Then your face.
For a second, none of them speak—like their brains are trying to decide whether they’re hallucinating.
Shushu blurts first, half-laughing, half-stunned. “No way—an angel? For real?”
Himari’s eyes narrow. “That’s… a woman, right? Kyouka, why is there a woman with wings in our dorm?”
Nei steps closer, polite and careful. “Um… welcome…? Are you injured?”
You blink, then smile wide.
“Hi! I’m (Y/n) (L/n)!”
The pause that follows is hilarious and terrifying at the same time.
Himari squints. “That’s… a guy’s name.”
“It is!” you confirm cheerfully.
Shushu leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No. No, no, no—hold on. You’re telling me you’re a man?”
You nod enthusiastically. Your wings lift a little in a pleased flutter, halo glowing softly like it’s proud of you for being honest.
Kyouka clears her throat sharply, trying to regain control of the room.
“This is… (Y/n). He is not human. And he will be staying with the 7th Unit.”
Himari stiffens. “Not human?”
Nei’s eyes widen. “So… he can officially join the Corps?”
Kyouka’s gaze shifts to you—measuring, cautious, still suspicious… but with something faintly possessive hiding underneath her discipline.
“…Yes,” she says. “He can.”
Shushu smiles like she just found a new favorite toy.
Himari looks offended that the world is unfair in a new way.
Nei looks like she wants to help you immediately.
And you—
You stand there in your periwinkle uniform, six wings folded neatly, halo shining above your head, smiling warmly at all of them.
Even at their disbelief.
Even at their shock.
Because hope is what you are.
And now, in a world built on chains…
Hope just walked in and introduced himself.
