Jeanne's eyes drifted toward the school board, watching absently as the Math Teacher scrawled equations across the surface with practiced ease. The Metatron within her stirred to life—silent, unseen—instinctively calculating the answers before the chalk even finished its arc. Numbers filled the blanks without her conscious effort, leaving her mind free to wander down more abstract paths.
'Does knowledge alone count as learning?'The question rose unbidden, idle yet oddly persistent, brushing against the edges of her consciousness like a passing breeze.
It was a thought born of stillness, a musing plucked from the quiet space between one calculation and the next.
After all, could anyone truly claim that a library catalogue—brimming with centuries of recorded facts—was more intelligent than a living, breathing human being?
Undoubtedly, it held more information. Its vaults of data could eclipse even the sharpest mind.
But knowledge alone was inert, wasn't it? Cold. Dormant. Could such a thing wield its understanding with the same spark of insight, with the same unpredictable brilliance that came so naturally to a human soul?
Could it create?
The thought lingered, unsettling in its simplicity. Jeanne's gaze remained on the board, but her thoughts had already slipped beyond it—into the space between knowing and understanding, between possession and purpose.
Going back in time in a completely unrelated fashion. That morning, Jeanne had barely managed to step outside her front door when she found her path blocked.
Ophis stood there, unmoving, like a dragon carved from still air, her silent presence a wall Jeanne couldn't ignore.
For a moment, Jeanne had braced herself for a stubborn standoff—but by some miracle, she had managed to persuade Ophis to remain at home. A feat in itself.
With some coaxing—and the timely materialization of the so-called Divine Gaming Chair—Ophis had reluctantly settled in. Jeanne was quietly thankful that, even when she materialized the Throne of God through Metatron's skill no radiant holy aura was emitting from her. No, the chair bore that burden now.
The house's reinforced barriers ensured that no supernatural trace leaked beyond the walls. And so, in that strange sanctuary, Jeanne had gently placed Ophis into the throne-like seat.
Within seconds, the girl had dozed off, her breaths soft and slow, as if she'd fallen into some dreamlike wonderland.
Jeanne had lingered, watching the peaceful expression on Ophis's face. A part of her, deeply human, had almost surrendered to the temptation of throwing her bag aside and collapsing into the chair.
To simply sleep.
But—!
The Saint within her, the Jeanne d'Arc shaped by duty and iron will, clenched her heart and refused.
And so, with a sigh and a reluctant sense of righteousness, Jeanne had left the house, picked up a sandwich and carton of milk for her lunch, and made her way toward Kuoh Academy.
Thankfully, the intensity of curious stares seemed to have dulled. Yet in their place came gazes laced with admiration—and others, far less pure.
Jeanne could feel them: devout eyes that worshipped her and hungered eyes that didn't even try to hide their lust.
She looked down upon such perversion with cold disdain. And yet… she understood. It was human nature. A flaw born of mortality.
After all, though the Seven Sins were a poison that plagued mankind, they were also what made them human in the first place.
When Jeanne stepped into the classroom, the air felt noticeably lighter.
She offered soft, polite greetings to the few early students present—each one returned with the cautious warmth people reserved for someone they couldn't quite figure out. With graceful steps, she glided to her desk near the window, her every movement still drawing the occasional glance.
Yesterday, the room had been buzzing like a disturbed beehive—students whispering, sneaking glances, outright staring as if they'd just seen a celebrity step off a divine chariot. But today?
The storm had calmed into a drizzle.
Jeanne allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
Attention was flattering. In small doses. Prolonged admiration, though? That was an endurance trial even saints weren't built for.
She had arrived early today—on purpose. A rare pocket of silence before the day's chaos began.
Or so she thought.
A familiar gaggle of girls burst into the classroom, their chatter filling the space like birdsong. Naturally, their eyes found Jeanne within seconds.
"Jeanne-san, how was your day yesterday?" one of them asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Jeanne returned the smile with practiced grace. "It was quite pleasant. I find the atmosphere of this town rather charming."
"Really? I think it's super rustic. Not at all like Tokyo," another girl huffed, crossing her arms.
Ah, here we go, Jeanne thought, amused.
Humans. Always complaining about their own situation while yearning for something shinier just beyond reach. Even if they were standing in paradise, they'd ask why the trees didn't grow taller.
Jeanne couldn't really say much. For what she looked like, she was a lazy bum at home.
"It's quaint," Jeanne replied diplomatically. "But I haven't visited Tokyo yet. I'd love to see the Skytree one day."
"I know, right?!" another girl exclaimed. "My cousin went and said it's like standing on top of the world!"
The conversation bounced from topic to topic with the erratic energy of teenaged camaraderie, until—
"By the way, Jeanne-san… we wanted to warn you."
Jeanne blinked, the weight of the warning settling on her with a strange sense of inevitability.
Here it comes.
"Have you heard of the Perverted Trio?"
She raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting into one of discomfort at the very mention. The title alone brought to mind a cringe-worthy image, like some knock-off sentai team that had somehow veered into uncharted, highly unfortunate territory.
She had, indeed, heard whispers of them—rumors tucked away in the recesses of the anime. But the details were always vague, never fully fleshed out. In this life, however, the name seemed to resonate in a way that made her uneasy, and yet her curiosity remained unshaken. She shook her head, her tone calm, like she had all the time in the world to entertain this odd tidbit.
"No, not really."
"Jeanne-san! They're terrible! They ogle girls all the time and even try to peep on us in the locker room!" one girl exclaimed, her voice a mix of righteous fury and barely-contained outrage.
...Isn't voyeurism a criminal offense? Jeanne thought, a faint twitch of her brow betraying the frustration building within her. She had to bite her lip to keep from sighing aloud.
Seriously. Did this school not have disciplinary committees? Teachers? Basic human decency?
Ah, right. This wasn't just any high school. This was that kind of world—the kind where logic came to die, and where teenage perverts wore plot armor thick enough to shrug off holy judgment.
She could already imagine the convoluted explanations they'd offer, the sheer absurdity of it all. After all, looking back at Hyoudou Issei and his absurdly overpowered Sacred Gear, it almost seemed like there might be a strange reason these three hadn't been expelled, imprisoned, or at least launched into orbit by now.
Still, Jeanne wasn't interested in joining any clubs—especially not one that involved communal changing rooms. She'd rather be at home, napping with Ophis.
She wasn't quite sure how that became the universal foundation of teenage idiocy, but it did, and the threat these three posed? Minimal, at best.
And even if they did try something?
Well, Jeanne had options. Plenty of them. One wave of her hand, and she could casually erase their memories, like deleting a bad file from a computer. It would be effortless, merciful even.
But... alas. The role of Jeanne d'Arc the Saint demanded grace. She had to maintain her poise, even in the face of something so utterly ridiculous.
"Thank you for the warning. I'll keep an eye out," she said with a warm, benevolent smile.
"Just let us know if they bother you!" the girls exclaimed. "We're in the Kendo Club! We're used to beating them up! We'll protect you, Saintess of Kuoh!"
Jeanne's smile froze.
Wait.
Saintess of Kuoh?
Has it even been 24 hours?!
What kind of speedrun were these girls on? Also—excuse her—France. She was canonically the Saint of France. When had her nationality been unceremoniously swapped for Japanese territory?
But the Saint Jeanne filter activated on cue, smothering her sarcasm beneath another perfectly polite response.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'll entrust my safety to your capable hands."
God help her.
Back in math class, Jeanne found herself once again gazing vacantly at the chalkboard, watching as the teacher scribbled away formulas with dry, mechanical precision.
The Metatron side of her mind was already filling in the blanks—answers neatly lining up in her head before the questions were even finished. The Divine Intel Processor, hard at work.
Which, of course, once again left her free to daydream.
But lately since she had changed into Saint Jeanne instead of Metatron Jeanne during the weekend… there was something bothering her.
It was subtle, like a pot just starting to boil—but undeniably there.
The idle Metatron presence within her was growing stronger.
Not in the ominous, possession-type way—no, her identity was still firmly intact. She wasn't being overwritten. But the sheer volume of energy radiating from that side of her was increasing by the day.
And that raised a few… theological red flags.
She recalled, with some effort, the various tangled cosmologies from different universes. In TYPE-MOON, "God" was essentially a Vessel of Power—an abstract divine concept made manifest through collective belief. A construct shaped by prayer, rather than a personal deity with a beard and booming voice.
But in High School DxD?
God was real. Tangible. Not just a whispered name in ancient hymns or a distant concept shaped by faith—but an actual, existing being who had once stood shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Zeus and Odin. No, greater than them. Far greater.
A sovereign deity whose power didn't rely on rituals or lineage, but on pure belief—His strength growing in direct proportion to the prayers, hopes, and unwavering faith of countless mortals.
That was why DxD's God had been so powerful.
Of course, He was also, inconveniently, dead.
The belief in God persisted, but with the Original dead and gone, that belief had nowhere definitive to flow—only trickling into the remains of His "System," which was now being barely kept operational by Archangel Michael.
That, at least, was Jeanne's half-baked understanding of DxD theology, gleaned from the anime and sprinkled with her own metaphysical guesses.
Now, Metatron in TYPE-MOON was also a Vessel of Power. But unlike a standard angel, Metatron's authority bordered on divine—his titles included Little God and One Who Attends the Throne. The relationship between Metatron and God in TYPE-MOON was far more intimate—almost a mirror.
So then… what if, Jeanne theorized, some of the belief energy meant for DxD's God was leaking across metaphysical systems, and trickling into her?
After all, her soul was no longer just hers. It was fused with Metatron, the very embodiment of divine will, a union that transcended the laws of nature and reality itself.
An unintended crossover of divine metaphysics? Perhaps. At least, that was her working theory, cobbled together from fragmented lore, obscure scriptures, and far too many anime wiki pages. It was a hunch—a theory that might be shaky at best, but the pieces seemed to fit together in ways that no one else could fathom.
And, to be honest?
It kinda made sense.
Take Michael, for instance. His supposed control over God's System—the very framework that governed existence—was laughably fragile. If you took a closer look, it was clear as day. Holy Demonic Swords? How did those even exist?
That wasn't divine mystery; that was a programming oversight, a glaring flaw in the code of the cosmos.
So really, wasn't Jeanne, in her divine wisdom, doing the heavens a favor? Acting as an extra buffer to manage the overflowing tide of belief that threatened to drown the very fabric of existence?
Yes.
A favor, pure and simple. Nothing to question, nothing to scrutinize. Just a completely altruistic act.
No hidden motives. Nothing shady here. Not at all.
Besides, Metatron Jeanne wasn't some mere angel from the realms of DxD. No, she existed on an entirely different scale, a being whose power defied comparison, transcending the limits of ordinary comprehension.
The very thought of being discovered—exposed to those who could even begin to understand her nature—sent a sharp, icy chill crawling down her spine. It was a sensation she rarely allowed herself to feel, but the weight of her existence was not something she took lightly.
In DxD, the number of wings a being possessed was directly tied to their strength. Michael, the archangel, boasted twelve wings, a number that was revered and considered to be the pinnacle of power possible regarding angels.
But Jeanne? She was a different force altogether.
Her Univers Immortel Metatron Noble Phantasm was not merely a weapon—it was a celestial storm, a divine manifestation beyond anything the world had seen. The very essence of her being included:
Ten Graces, each a gift of divine favor and power beyond imagining.
1,365,000 blessings, each one a blessing of immortality and enlightenment.
Seventy-two wings, not just a symbol of grace, but a beacon of her unimaginable power.
365,000 radiant, all-seeing eyes, each one burning with an intelligence and insight that could pierce the very fabric of reality.
Forty-nine divine jewels, each one holding a secret of the cosmos, a testament to her limitless sovereignty.
And a crown—a crown so dazzling, so brilliant, that it outshone the constellations themselves, the very embodiment of divine majesty.
To behold her was to gaze into the heart of the heavens.
Twelve wings? How laughable. Imagine multiplying that by six.
She wasn't merely an angel. She was the angel—the epitome of divine magnificence, the "Most Noble Angel Imaginable to Man," a title that echoed through the heavens with an intensity that could shake the very stars.
A being whose very existence was an embodiment of celestial order and overwhelming power—a living manifestation of divine bureaucracy and celestial firepower, her presence alone enough to bring even the most unyielding of gods to their knees.
Yet, despite all her glory and unmatched might, she held no desire to unleash her true form, to wield that Noble Phantasm, not today.
For now, she need not call upon such unfathomable power. The mere radiance of Jeanne Alter's flames, with their scorching intensity, would be more than enough to reduce any opponent to ash.
Not unless she was squaring off against someone like… Sirzechs Lucifer.
...Actually, she mused with a smirk, maybe I could beat him.
Riiiiing.
The bell's shrill cry cut through the classroom like a blade, severing Jeanne's spiraling thoughts with all the subtlety of a snapped harp string.
Her mind, still tangled in theories of divine energy leakage and metaphysical anomalies, jolted back to reality.
Lunch break.
At last—sweet, blessed deliverance.
She exhaled softly, as if the weight of ten thousand wings had been lifted from her shoulders.
--+--
As soon as the bell finished its shriek, chairs screeched across the floor, and the room bloomed with chatter and clattering lunchboxes. A familiar group of girls gathered around Jeanne's desk with bright smiles and warm intentions.
"Jeanne-san! Want to eat lunch with us today?"
A fair offer. Friendly. Normal. The kind of moment that would've fit snugly into a school slice-of-life manga.
But Jeanne simply smiled, folding her hands together atop her desk. "I appreciate the invitation," she said gently, "but I was planning to explore the campus a little more today."
There was a chorus of light disappointment, but it was genuine, not guilt-laced. "Aw, okay! Be safe, alright? If you see those perverts, just call us!"
"I'll be fine," Jeanne replied, rising with the elegance of a choir soloist. "I'll keep my eyes open."
Lunch in hand—bread and a bottle of milk—she slipped out of the classroom, the gentle murmur of her classmates fading behind her like the last echoes of a hymn.
Her destination?
The courtyard.
Hanakai had briefly shown it to her yesterday, just in passing. But it had seemed peaceful—a tiny haven amidst the chaotic spiritual density of Kuoh Academy. If she could just find it again, she could enjoy her lunch beneath a tree or in some tranquil corner.
Or at least, that was the plan.
Until she turned a corridor—and froze.
A figure stood there, red hair like a silken waterfall cascading down her back. She wasn't walking; she stood—as if the hallway itself had paused to give her space.
Rias Gremory.
She was as beautiful as Jeanne remembered from the anime, if not more. The kind of beauty that made you feel like looking at her for too long might summon divine judgment for mortal arrogance.
'Okay, don't stare,' Jeanne reminded herself.
Their eyes met.
And then, with a polite smile, Rias stepped forward.
"You must be Jeanne," she said, her voice smooth, refined—but sharp at the edges, like velvet wrapped around a blade. "I've heard a few interesting things about you from my friend Sona."
Jeanne blinked. Internally, alarms were flashing, but she kept her expression neutral.
"Good things, I hope," she replied, tone light but cautious.
Rias tilted her head. "Well, the rumors range from 'mysterious student' to 'heaven-sent saint.' And I heard some people already calling you the Saintess of Kuoh."
Rias said with mirth.
Ah. That nickname again.
"People like to exaggerate," Jeanne said with a faint smile. "I'm just a regular student."
Please believe that. I am begging you. I am normal. I swear. I only have seventy-two wings and 365,000 eyes on special occasions.
Rias seemed amused, her eyes glittering with interest—but she didn't press further. "Well, if you need anything, Kuoh Academy has its own ways of dealing with trouble. Just thought I'd say hello when I have the chance, after all I am your senior and chances to meet are seldom."
"Thank you, Gremory-san. I'll keep that in mind."
With a nod from each of them, they parted ways—Rias continuing down the corridor, and Jeanne turning in the opposite direction.
Only when Rias had disappeared from view did Jeanne let out a quiet breath.
'So that was Rias Gremory…'
She was even more... noble and intimidating in person.
From the way she carried herself, to the strange pressure she emitted—it wasn't just noble blood. It was power, but not really. The feeling of nobility of one expected of a Pillar.
'Still… if she's anything like the anime version, she's not my enemy.'
That was comforting… in theory.
'The anime did not do her justice in any capacity though, what in the world?'
Jeanne inwardly complained about the limitations of such mediums.
Jeanne finally found the courtyard. It wasn't a grand or extravagant place, just a simple area nestled between two buildings, with a few stone benches scattered beneath the shade of a blossoming cherry tree. The soft rustling of leaves were the only sounds that filled the air.
She sat down on one of the benches, the sunlight casting gentle patterns across the grass. It felt like the world had momentarily slowed down, just for her.
Unwrapping her sandwich, she took a slow bite, savoring the moment of quiet solitude. The simplicity of it was... peaceful. A welcome change from the whirlwind of attention that had followed her since her arrival.
The breeze stirred the cherry blossoms above, sending a few petals fluttering down to land lightly on her lap. She brushed them off, the soft pinks contrasting with the white of her uniform.
Jeanne chewed thoughtfully, looking around at the stillness. There was something calming about being alone here, away from the constant buzz of the school, away from the expectations.
Her thoughts drifted again, this time back to Ophis. She could almost picture the scene at home—the dragon, wrapped in the Divine Gaming Chair, lost in her own little world. Jeanne smiled softly at the thought.
It was tempting, really, to just leave it all behind and go back to that quiet, comforting space. School, socializing—it all felt so distant right now, so foreign to the stillness she longed for.
Although she knew some part of those thoughts were from Metatron's Bestowal of Seven Sins, just a small part of her agreed with such corrupt thinking.
But no. She was here, wasn't she? And she'd made the choice. Even if the world wasn't quite what she expected, there was something to be learned, something to experience.
With that thought, Jeanne took another bite of her sandwich, letting herself enjoy the simplicity of the moment. No plans, no pressure—just her, her lunch, and the quiet courtyard.
The Village Girl inside would be happy.
--+--
T/N: A short chapter? I guess? Gimme them Power Stones.
Guys, to the people who may question why I'm just buffing the shit out of Jeanne, I'm not that wrong. Like look at the throne's description.
Throne Creation (EX Rank): The name Metatron is said to be rooted in the greek word "Metatronios (One Who Sits Upon the Throne)". Metatron, who is given the authority to act and speak on behalf of God, can sit on the throne and exercise unparalleled power as long as she sits there.
Also, In TYPE-MOON Metatron is God's right hand, but in DxD Michael is the right hand. So I declare that Metatron is the better right hand.
I do think I explain why Metatron is closer to God here than Michael during the chapter. I do this because Angels in Fate have an authority matching their myths cause that's where their power comes from, but DxD doesn't.
This is cause Metatron is just as in fate "Little God" during Univers Immortel Metatron, and that's just Metatron.
Also, can someone tell me what valerie tepes might be doing at the beginning of canon, just wondering.