Motohama: Speedrunning Misogyny in 24 FPS

Discord: https://discord.gg/5Azep9Ju (Theres meth here)

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The morning rush at Kuoh Academy was always the same—students streaming in through the gates, half-asleep murmurs, and the occasional burst of energy from the more enthusiastic ones. Ethan slipped into the crowd effortlessly, his uniform neatly pressed, glasses adjusted just right. He had learned quickly that presentation mattered.

He wasn't just Ethan anymore.

But he wasn't Motohama yet either.

The past few weeks had been a trial of balance. Training at night, refining his control over Projection Sorcery and Cursed Energy, and then stepping into the daylight world where none of that mattered. Here, he had to maintain the façade. He had to remain unnoticed—just another ordinary student.

"Yo! Motohama, what's up with you spacing out?" Matsuda's voice rang out as he draped an arm over Ethan's shoulder, grinning.

Ethan fought the urge to react with anything other than what was expected. He forced a smirk, adjusting his glasses in a way that felt natural. "Just thinking. Trying to remember if I finished my homework."

Matsuda waggled his eyebrows. "Dude, since when do you actually care about homework?"

Ethan shrugged. "Since I realized grades might actually matter."

Matsuda scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Next, you're gonna tell me you're actually paying attention in class."

A presence made itself known before Ethan could respond.

"Oi, Matsuda. Are you harassing people again?" Kiryuu Aika sauntered up, adjusting her glasses with a knowing smirk.

Matsuda yelped. "H-Harassment? I was simply engaging in lively academic discussion!"

Kiryuu gave him a deadpan look before shifting her gaze to Ethan. "You keeping him in check?"

Ethan shrugged. "I do my best, but some things are beyond my control."

Kiryuu laughed. "Fair enough."

The conversation continued, easy and familiar. It was a balancing act—engaging just enough to remain part of the group while never standing out too much. He had to blend in, stay unnoticed, and let Motohama's established reputation carry him through.

But the more time he spent around these people, the more he realized something uncomfortable.

He was starting to enjoy it.

Not the perverted antics of his so-called friends, but the simple act of existing within a social space, of exchanging jokes and lighthearted banter. It was something Ethan, in his previous life, had never truly indulged in. His focus had always been on goals, achievements, the next step forward.

Now? Now, he had to remind himself that he was still playing a role.

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Once inside the classroom, Ethan took his seat near the middle, a strategic spot—not too close to the front to seem eager, not too far back to invite scrutiny. He pulled out his notebook and pen, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk.

As the lesson droned on, he let his attention drift just enough to observe.

Issei was half-asleep, his cheek resting on his palm, drool threatening to escape the corner of his mouth. Matsuda was doodling something obscene in his notebook, occasionally nudging Ethan and snickering.

Kiryuu whispered something to a friend, their quiet giggles breaking the monotony of the lecture.

Then there was Kiba Yuuto—prince of Kuoh Academy, ever-smiling, always composed.

Ethan studied him out of the corner of his eye.

Kiba was too perfect, too polished. Even without knowing his true nature as a Devil, Ethan would have pegged him as someone weird or even stange, The way he moved, the way he carried himself—it was effortless, calculated. A stark contrast to the human students around him.

Ethan filed that thought away. Kiba was a problem for another day.

For now, he had to focus on surviving the rest of the school day.

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The cafeteria was a battlefield in its own right.

Students clamored for the best seats, the best food, the best gossip. Ethan maneuvered through the crowd with practiced ease, making his way to the usual table where Matsuda and Issei were already arguing about something ridiculous.

"So I'm just saying," Issei gestured wildly with a sandwich in hand, "if aliens exist, wouldn't they also be perverts?"

Matsuda nodded sagely. "It's a universal truth, my friend."

Ethan sighed. "You two need a hobby."

"Don't act like you're above this, Motohama," Matsuda shot back. "We know you appreciate the finer things in life."

The old Motohama probably would have agreed wholeheartedly.

Ethan just smirked. "I have standards."

That set them off, their voices rising in exaggerated protest.

From the outside, it looked like just another lunchtime conversation. But for Ethan, it was another carefully measured step.

Blending in wasn't just about going unnoticed. It was about playing the role well enough that no one ever questioned it.

And for now, he was doing just fine.

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The night air was cool against Ethan's skin as he walked, the dim streetlights casting long, wavering shadows over the pavement. He kept his pace steady, his hands shoved into his pockets, his breath calm. It was just another night, just another walk home—except his senses were on high alert.

Something was wrong.

He felt it before he saw it. A presence—something thick, oppressive, unnatural. It pressed against the edges of his awareness, crawling up his spine like unseen fingers. The air itself felt heavier, charged with an undercurrent of something vile. The scent of something acrid, like burnt hair and rotting flesh, made his stomach churn.

His first thought was that he was imagining it. Paranoia from too much training, too much thinking about the supernatural side of Kuoh. But then he heard it.

A wet, labored breath. A low, guttural growl that didn't belong in a quiet suburban street.

Ethan stopped walking. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs as his eyes flickered toward the alleyway up ahead. A shadow shifted, something hunched and unnatural moving just beyond the reach of the streetlights.

Instinct screamed at him to turn away. To keep walking, to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

But he didn't move.

The creature shuffled forward, its jagged claws scraping against the pavement with an ear-piercing screech. The sound sent a jolt of dread through his chest. Then it stepped into the light.

Its skin was gray, stretched too tightly over its elongated limbs, patches peeling away to expose raw muscle. Its mouth hung slightly open, revealing rows of jagged, blackened teeth. Slime dripped from its maw, sizzling where it hit the concrete. And its eyes—sunken pits of glowing red hunger—locked onto him.

The air thickened, clogging his throat. His fingers twitched in his pockets, nails digging into his palms. He had trained for this—trained for the inevitable moment he would come face to face with something beyond human. But training in an empty lot, pushing his limits against his own body, was one thing.

This was real.

This was something that could kill him.

The shape shifted again, stepping forward into the light.

It had once been human. Or at least, it had the remnants of something human. Its skin was gray, peeling away in patches to reveal sinew and muscle beneath. Its arms were unnaturally long, its fingers ending in jagged, black claws. And its eyes—its eyes were sunken pits of glowing red hunger.

A stray devil.

Ethan couldn't breathe.

His thoughts scrambled, his mind spinning between options, but none of them led to survival. His body screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to obey. It was like staring down a predator and knowing, deep in his bones, that he wasn't the hunter.

He was prey.

The stray tilted its head, sniffing the air. A twisted, grotesque grin stretched across its face as it took another step forward.

"It knows I'm here."

Ethan's breath hitched. He needed to move. He needed to run, to hide, to do anything but stand there like a deer in headlights. But fear locked him in place, an iron vice around his lungs.

'Move. Move, damn it!'

His muscles finally obeyed, and he took a slow, shaky step back. The stray devil's grin widened, and it let out a low, rattling chuckle.

It was playing with him.

Ethan's mind reeled. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He had trained. He had pushed himself night after night, honing his abilities, learning to control his Cursed Energy and Projection Sorcery. But none of that mattered now, because the truth was undeniable.

He wasn't ready.

He wasn't strong enough.

The stray took another step forward, its claws scraping against the pavement. The sound sent a spike of terror through Ethan's chest, his instincts screaming that this was it—this was where he died.

"No."

He gritted his teeth, forcing his breath to steady. He couldn't fight it. He knew that. But he could still escape. He still had a chance.

Slowly, carefully, he took another step back, then another. The stray's eyes tracked him, but it didn't lunge. Not yet. It was savoring the moment, enjoying the fear radiating off him.

'Cowardly bastard.'

The insult barely registered before Ethan pivoted on his heel and ran.

The second he moved, the stray shrieked, a high-pitched, inhuman sound that sent ice through his veins. It gave chase, its claws clattering against the pavement as it lunged after him.

Ethan didn't look back.

His heart pounded, his legs burning as he pushed forward, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. He darted through the streets, ducking between alleys, weaving through shortcuts only a local would know. But the stray was fast—too fast.

He wasn't going to outrun it.

He needed a plan.

His mind raced, filtering through options even as panic threatened to override reason. He couldn't fight it head-on. He couldn't match its speed. But maybe—just maybe—he could use its own aggression against it.

He veered sharply into a narrow alley, one lined with old dumpsters and broken fencing. A dead end—but not for him.

The stray barreled in after him, its movements reckless, confident in its inevitable victory.

Perfect.

Ethan's fingers twitched as he activated Projection Sorcery. Time seemed to slow as he calculated his movements, his body locking into precise frames.

One step—push off the wall.

Two—twist mid-air.

Three—vault over the fence.

The stray barreled in after him, expecting to sink its claws into flesh—but Ethan was already gone. He soared over the fence just as the creature slammed into the metal with a sickening crunch. A shriek of frustration tore through the night as Ethan hit the ground hard on the other side, rolling to absorb the impact. Pain flared in his shoulder, but he didn't stop.

He ran.

The streets blurred past as his legs burned, his breath ragged. He weaved through alleyways, his lungs screaming for air, but the stray's furious howls still echoed behind him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, silence.

Ethan slowed, his back slamming against a brick wall as his legs gave out beneath him. He slid to the ground, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His entire body trembled with leftover adrenaline. The scent of blood and sweat clung to him, mixing with the lingering stench of the stray.

He had almost died.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, breathless and shaking. This wasn't a game. This wasn't training in an empty lot, throwing punches at the air. This was real. The stray would have ripped him apart without hesitation, without mercy. And there were things out there even worse than it.

The realization settled over him like a crushing weight.

Getting stronger wasn't just about proving himself. It wasn't about mastering a cool technique or seeing how far he could push his limits.

It was about survival.

And right now, he was still too weak.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He needed to be better. Faster. Stronger. Because if he wasn't—

Next time, he wouldn't be lucky enough to escape.

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Ethan's legs still burned, his breath ragged as he stumbled through the quiet streets of Kuoh. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a deep exhaustion and an unsettling numbness in his chest. His back pressed against the cool brick of an old convenience store, the rough texture grounding him in the moment.

He had survived.

Barely.

The night felt different now. The usual quiet hum of the suburban town, the distant buzz of cicadas, the occasional flicker of streetlights—none of it felt the same. It wasn't just Kuoh Academy, wasn't just Issei and Matsuda's ridiculous antics, wasn't just his double life.

This world was dangerous.

More dangerous than he had let himself believe.

'What the hell am I even doing?'

For weeks, he had trained. He had pushed his body beyond its limits, refining his Cursed Energy, sharpening his Projection Sorcery, preparing himself for the supernatural battles that would inevitably consume this town.

And yet, the moment he had come face to face with the reality of this world—a mindless, feral stray devil that wasn't even close to the strongest things out there—he had been paralyzed.

He had been terrified.

His fingers curled into shaking fists. He hated that feeling. Hated the way his body had frozen, the way his instincts had screamed at him to run instead of fight. What was the point of all this training if, when the moment actually came, he was still just some powerless, insignificant background character?

His breathing slowed as his mind tried to make sense of it all. The old him—the one from his past life—would have seen this as a challenge. A problem to solve. A mountain to climb. But this wasn't just some academic hurdle or career obstacle.

This was life or death.

'If I had messed up even a little, if I hadn't baited it into crashing… I'd be dead right now.'

The thought sent another chill through his spine. He had taken this too lightly. Even with all his knowledge, all his plans, he had still underestimated what it truly meant to be part of this world. There was no safety net. No respawns. No guarantees.

His glasses slid slightly down his nose, and he pushed them back up with a shaky hand. The familiar motion was supposed to be comforting, grounding—but tonight, it felt hollow.

'Am I really cut out for this?'

That question clawed at him, sinking into the cracks of his confidence. Maybe this was why Motohama had originally been nothing more than a joke character. Maybe he was supposed to be nothing. A footnote. A background extra in someone else's story.

Maybe that was what fate intended for him.

But then he thought about the stray. About the way it had grinned at him, savoring his fear. About the way it had chased him down like he was nothing more than prey.

He grit his teeth, nails digging into his palms. He wasn't going to let that happen again.

'No. If I let fear control me, then I might as well be dead already.'

Survival wasn't optional. If he wanted to live—truly live—then he had no choice but to keep going. To keep training. To keep growing stronger, no matter how terrifying the road ahead might be.

Because this wasn't just about him anymore.

The world of High School DxD was unforgiving. And his very existence in it, his knowledge alone, made him a target. The supernatural forces at play wouldn't care that he wasn't supposed to be important. If he didn't keep up, if he didn't rise above his supposed 'role'—

He would die.

And unlike Issei, unlike the main cast, there wouldn't be a beautiful devil princess waiting to revive him.

With a slow, deep breath, he pushed himself off the wall, his legs still shaky but his resolve settling like iron in his chest.

Fear was natural. Fear was human.

But fear wouldn't stop him.

He adjusted his glasses once more, this time with purpose.

'No more hesitation.'

Ethan was gone.

Motohama had work to do.

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