Chapter Text
Diavolo’s life was agony. Sheer and utter agony.
This time, he was made to gouge out his own eyes by some guy that was standing directly above him. It was weird, it was a little bit kinky, and most of all it hurt like hell.
But this was his life now, so who was he to complain? He did the crime, he deserved this endless punishment.
He’d accepted it now, and so he bled, the blood vessels in his eyes pouring his life back into the world. Back into the world that was now out to kill him once and for all but always made to stay its hand.
And all went to silence.
This new scenario spat him out where it all began, right at the banks of the river. It was a beautiful sight, the midday sun reflecting off of the water. But for him? It was the first step in yet another instance of hell.
Would he drown in it today? Or be stabbed and left to bleed out there?
There was someone standing next to him.
They wore plain black shoes and plain black pants, and as Diavolo instinctively scrambled away from him, more of the man became visible, such as his jacket and his tie, which was adorned with some kind of skull pattern, and his hair which was striped like a badger’s, and the unsettling grin on his face.
Well, he was highly certain this was his would-be murderer this time around. Fun.
“Hello,” the man began, with an unsettling grin on his face. Oh god was this guy like a serial killer or something? Eh. That wasn’t that alarming, after all even before this Diavolo was, himself, a killer of many, many people.
“My name is Yoshikage Kira,” the man continued, notably in English, “I am here in Rome on vacation with my wife and son, and I decided to take a walk while they went on a tour of the Colosseum. I sensed the presence of a Stand in use here, but didn’t see anything unusual so I decided to disable it just in case. And then you appeared.
“Now, that didn’t kill the user, mind you, only disabled their Stand temporarily. So if you are currently fighting them, then please tell me. If not, follow me back to my hotel room, and we can go from there.” The man stared at him as if what he just said was a perfectly normal thing he says every day.
Diavolo decided to respond with inarticulate sputtering of confusion. “I? Okay? Are you planning on killing me?”
Kira’s face did something strange in that moment. He looked down at Diavolo as if he were nothing more than a common bug, eyes piercing directly into his soul. Then he returned to that mildly unsettling smile.
“If I was planning on killing you, you’d be dead already.”
Diavolo flinched back, but hadn’t actually moved from his spot. Kira noticed this and grabbed his arm, pulling him up from the ground.
“Now,” Kira said, “let’s walk. Meanwhile, let me tell you about how I took the name of the man known as Yoshikage Kira.”
Wait what?
——-
You see, at first I wasn’t Yoshikage Kira.
No, I was someone else, a cute girl from America who went by a different name. A different life entirely, you know.
And then I died.
It wasn’t pretty, but it left me with enough time to think. And regret.
I’d died relatively young, and therefore had not been able to achieve one of my greatest wishes in life. Finding a wife.
I just wanted someone to trust and take care of. To hold lovingly in my arms and be held in return. Is that so much to ask?
And as far as I can gather, the universe heard me and gathered up my dying pieces.
And as my eyes closed in one life, they opened in another.
Here’s where the trouble starts.
——-
All things considered, today was an ordinary day. For everyone else, that is.
I, personally, was not anticipating the whole isekai thing. And therefore was quite shocked when I woke up with a masculine body and a wife.
Not that I was complaining about either! They were just quite unexpected.
And god damn! This masculinity thing is a really nice change of pace!
Standing shirtless in front of a mirror never felt so good!
Admittedly, it would look better with boobs, but I’d take what I could get.
It also would be a little bit better without the weird pink human-cat thing hovering over my shoulder, but it can’t be helped. Maybe seeing ghosts is the price to pay for cheating death?
But whatever, it could’ve been worse. I had a wife now! I had a wife to love and support now!
I turned and looked at the cat, who stared back at me, passively. “So, who are you? What are you doing here?”
That answer came in the form of an image being beamed directly into my mind. A memory more like.
—-
It was a radio station that specifically only played songs in English. If he ever wanted to leave the country, he’d have to practice.
So he sat by this radio whilst studying, singing along as well as he could. It wasn’t very good, but he was having fun.
“Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice,” he sang, gazing out the window and forgetting about his stress for a little while.
“She’s a Killer Queen—“
—-
Killer Queen, then.
Was that the original guy’s memory? It felt too familiar to be anything else.
Well, that might be useful, being able to glean his memories. Knowing his name for one thing—
—-
Well, he should at least introduce himself to his girlfriend, right?
“My name is Yoshikage Kira,” he began, relishing the terror in her eyes. “I am thirty years old, and work right here in Morioh as a humble office worker.
“And your name’s…” he trailed off as he read the name engraved on the necklace he held in his right hand, “Hana. Succinct, I like it.”
Hana, beautiful Hana, looked terrified. But he’d fix that.
“I wouldn’t touch that door if I were you,” he purred, the terrified woman jerking her hand away from the doorknob. “Catch.”
The necklace was beautiful, its shiny metal glimmering in the air. Hana caught it, of course.
She didn’t have time to scream before she hit the ground.
—-
Well that was fucked up.
Like, holy shit this Yoshikage Kira guy was a serial killer. Good thing I’m not as well!
Anyway, all I really had to do was to stop serial killing and then I’ll have a good time.
It’s not like there’s anyone after me ri—
—-
“Give me his face, now!”
His remaining hand went up to slap the woman’s face, priming her as a bomb and cowing her into submission in the same blow. Her eyes were wide, fully knowing the implications of what he just did.
“Do it! Do it now!” He yelled, eyes wide with fervor as he spotted his own severed hand flying through the doorway. He was running out of time.
The woman’s Stand appeared behind her to do the job as he used his newly reattached hand to rifle through the dead man’s pockets. A wallet with an ID card would have to do.
Let’s see, Kosaku Kawajiri. Likely a businessman. Perfect.
They’ll never find me there.
—-
Oh.
Oh no.
He’s a serial killer. Even worse, he’s a serial killer with people after him.
This just got a whole lot more complicated.
The first and foremost problem for me, however, is that fact that I’m not even this lady’s husband! Like, geez. I wish to have a wife in my dying breath and she’s not even mine.
I sighed and sunk into the counter, my hands reaching out to touch the mirror. The cold stone felt nice against my bare skin.
Why couldn’t I have been isekaied normally? Give me a fantasy world with some overpowered secret skill or book series where I know everything that happens? Not Mr. Serial Killer simulator.
I glanced over at Killer Queen again. It had an inscrutable expression on its face, mouth pulled into a tight line. Its arms were crossed as it stared down at me. What was it anyway?
I could feel another memory being thrust upon me and decided I could figure it out myself, thank you very much. I was always okay at mystery solving.
First off, this thing was named by Kira. Or, inadvertently named, at least? The name can be drawn from a memory of his, so it’s probably important.
Second, it seemed that Kira had some kind of magical ability, exploding things in a very, very brutal way.
Third, that woman seemed to also have an ability, the face switching thing. Kira had recognized it as a “Stand” so that’s probably the name for those things around here.
“Therefore,” I whisper, staring back at Killer Queen, “Killer Queen is the Stand of one Yoshikage Kira, one which gives him the ability to make things explode. Correct?”
Killer Queen’s eyes widened a fraction, mouth opening slightly, then it nodded. Short, clean, simple, I can make things explode if I get the murder cat to like me, got it.
But this doesn’t solve the problem of what to do now.
Well, I do have an idea, but I don’t think it’ll be particularly pleasant.
Coming clean to my wife right off the bat.
Simple! Clean! Easy! She won’t find out later and have a big blowup confrontation with me, kickstarting the climax of the plot! Great!
I should make her breakfast first. That’d probably be for the best.
And so, I put my shirt back on and crept downstairs in early morning light, finding my way around the house and eventually into the kitchen. It’s a nice kitchen.
I didn’t turn the lights on for fear of waking anyone up early, the light shining through the windows was all I needed. And from there, I got to work.
First, I checked the fridge, where food tends to be held. The soft light emerging from it bathed the room in a blue glow as I rummaged through.
Hmm… There were eggs. Plenty of them and they seemed close to the expiration date.
What else? Milk, a jar of pre-minced garlic, spinach, and some tomatoes. Everything bar the milk and the garlic seemed a bit old, so it probably wouldn’t be bad to use them.
Well, I thought to myself, I hope she likes western food, because that’s all I know how to cook.
And I began preparing a really damn good frittata, if I had to say so myself.
You see, one think I liked doing in my past life was cooking. It’s just fun, putting things together and making them taste even better than they were before.
If I had a devotion like the devotion a serial killer has, it would be cooking.
So anyway, operation Confession with Breakfast is a go.
The aroma of the food cooking filled the air, dissipating into the rest of the house. It would certainly lure out any who smelled it, and lure them it did.
For you see, despite my careful plotting, I had overlooked a few things.
For one, heteronormative heterosexual men with wives in the nineties (not that I knew that last part at the time) tended to not remain just the two of them for very long.
Two, I had passed the front door on my way out here, and if I had looked and really paid attention, I would have seen three pairs of shoes by the door. And one pair was significantly smaller than the other pairs.
Three, the smaller hat hanging from the coat rack. Y’know the one that looks like it belongs to a child. That one.
I swear I’m good at solving mysteries, but really only when they’re handed to me and not environmental clues. I was quite preoccupied anyway.
Around the time I was done, the sky was nice and bright, light filling the kitchen. I gazed down at my creation, a pan full of a mixture of fried egg, milk, and vegetables. It looked divine, and I was quite excited to eat it.
However, I was interrupted by the sound of floorboards creaking. Light footsteps. An inhale of breath, soft and sharp. Someone was behind me now.
It couldn’t have been her, my maybe-wife. No, the footsteps were too light for that.
I then came to the conclusion that I should have come to a long time ago. All the switches in my brain flipped at once, the hairs on the back of my neck rising with the eyes on me.
Kosaku Kawajiri had a child. I now have a child. I now have a child and a wife to come clean to and appease. Ah.
Well, depending on how old the child is, they probably won’t be too much of an issue. Yes, yes this would be fine.
And so I turned on my heel, pivoting in a dance-like manner to face the biggest roadblock to me getting out of this alive.
And standing in front of me was a child who was definitely too old for me to gaslight gatekeep girlboss my way into forgiving me of all my crimes.
Shit.