Template system in High school : DXD

Jin could feel it—something different stirring inside him. His senses sharpened beyond what he thought was humanly possible. The air carried weight, whispers, the faintest vibrations of movement. He could hear the shift of boots scraping on stone before an enemy rounded a corner, smell the metallic tang of blood mixing with sweat before a blade even flashed.

For the first time in his life, Jin felt whole. No nagging pain. No hesitation. No gap between thought and action. His body responded like it had been waiting for this moment all along, like it was finally his. Every nerve lit with purpose, every motion natural.

The last guard lunged at him in desperation, and Jin crushed the man with a brutal snap of his arms, bones splintering like dry wood. The corpse slumped, and that was when Jin caught sight of Shikaku emerging from the shadows, stepping closer with measured caution.

Jin turned his head toward him, blood and sweat streaking down his bare torso. His shirt was long gone, ripped away in the struggle. He stood there half-naked, chest heaving, muscles taut, eyes burning like embers.

"Get in the car," Jin growled, voice low, primal. "Follow me to the station."

his heightened hearing picked it up.

Jin's gaze snapped to the side. One of the guards' bikes was still parked there, keys dangling carelessly in the ignition. Without hesitation, Jin swung a leg over it, gripped the handles, and with a violent twist of his wrist, the engine roared alive.

The night split apart with the sound of pursuit. Jin shot forward, the bike tearing down the narrow Road, head lowered against the rushing wind. Ahead, Oishio's convoy barreled toward the station, headlights slicing through the dark.

One of the trailing cars swerved, cutting across the road to block him. Tires screeched, and the metal beast bore down on him, trying to knock him off his bike. Jin's jaw tightened. His frustration boiled over.

Enough.

At the last second, Jin yanked the bike forward, leaping from it like a predator mid-pounce. His body slammed against the car's roof with bone-shaking force, glass cracking beneath his grip. The bike spiraled into chaos behind him, crashing and sparking on the road.

The men inside shouted in panic, guns coming up, but Jin was already tearing through the windshield. His fists were merciless. Bones cracked, skulls split—his violence absolute. The car handle spun out of control, roaring down the street at over 100 km/h before it smashed headlong into a building.

The world detonated in a storm of shattering glass and screeching steel. The impact crushed the front like paper, throwing Jin brutally forward. He couldn't braced. His hardening hadn't fully engaged or failed as he is started to run on fumes now . Pain screamed through his body as ribs cracked, his arm snapping under the force.

For a moment, the wreck was silence—just smoke, fire, and twisted wreckage. Then, from the ruin, Jin rose. Broken, bloodied, his chest heaving. But his body… it was already knitting itself together, bones grinding back into place, flesh closing over.

Step by step, he pushed the burning wreckage aside and walked out into the night. His figure was backlit by fire, his presence suffocating, unrelenting.

Shikaku, who had trailed behind in his own car, skidded to a halt, eyes wide. The flames reflected in his gaze as he saw Jin—ribs broken, arm twisted, yet standing, healing in front of him. Their eyes met, equal height now, equal weight.

Shikaku didn't just see a fighter.

He saw a monster that wouldn't stop until Oishio was ash.

Jin get inside only word he speak "Drive " .

Shikaku hit the pedal and car make its way towards station .

The car screeched to a halt outside the station. Jin was already out before the engine fully died, bare torso streaked with blood and soot, breath steady but his body vibrating with lethal intent. Shikaku scrambled after him, clutching the doorframe for balance before pushing himself to keep up.

Jin didn't slow. He took off in a sprint, cutting through the station . His voice snapped over his shoulder, sharp and commanding:

"Get on the train."

Shikaku stumbled at the words. What? His instincts screamed at him to object. There will be guards posted—how could they both possibly—

"They'll be watching me, not you," Jin interrupted, almost reading his mind. His voice was ice-cold, his focus unbroken as his legs carried him faster, muscles moving like pistons. "You board unnoticed. I'll find my way on. One way or another."

Shikaku's throat tightened. The thought clawed at him: Why me? Why does he insist I board? Why put me at risk at all? But he swallowed the question. Jin didn't need his doubt right now. And he has guess why he need him .

Inside the station, Jin broke into a full sprint.. Benches, barriers, scattered bags—he vaulted them with fluid, brutal grace, his body a machine in motion. Shikaku tried to follow, lungs burning, legs screaming, but he couldn't keep up with the raw, feral speed of the boy tearing through the concourse.

Then—on the platform—Jin saw them.

Oishi.

Flanked by Mira.

The old man stood stubbornly near the train doors, jaw clenched, clearly arguing, slowing their boarding. Mira's voice was sharp, impatient, almost desperate.

And between them and Jin—a wall of reinforcements. A fresh line of guards, twenty strong, blades already drawn.

Jin slowed only enough to plant his feet, claws flexing at his side, muscles tensing under the station's fluorescent lights. His chest rose and fell in sync with the twitch of every corded fiber, his body alive with killing intent.

Mira's eyes widened. She hissed to the guards, voice cutting the air:

"Don't let him on that train."

Then she shoved Oishi inside and snapped her hand at the conductor. The doors began to slide shut.

The first guard lunged. Jin blurred forward, claws ripping through his throat in a spray of crimson. Another tried to flank—Jin's backhand split his skull against the concrete. Seven men fell in seconds, bodies broken, blood soaking the platform tiles.

But Jin could see the train doors closing, time bleeding away with every heartbeat. He unleashed his last reserves of Touki, aura snapping around him like wildfire. He carved forward, a storm of claws and fury. One swing—one body. His instincts carried him; his brain ran in overdrive. Guards threw themselves at him, not to win, but to buy seconds. To die if it slowed him even an instant.

And they did. One after another, they fell screaming, torn apart—but the delay cost him. The train hissed, engines powering. It began to crawl forward.

Jin bellowed, a raw, primal roar that shook the air. He cut down the last line—fifteen men gone in under a minute. His chest heaved, blood dripping from long gashes across his arms and ribs where blades had cut deep. He hadn't hardened his body—he couldn't afford the drag. Every ounce had gone into speed.

The train picked up momentum.

Jin ran.

He sprinted flat out, the platform a blur beneath his bare feet, guards chasing from behind, weapons flung to trip him. He didn't look back. His eyes locked on the gleaming steel slipping away.

Closer.

Closer.

With one final surge, he launched himself forward, claws snapping out. Metal screeched as they sank into the rear plating of the last car, sparks flying. His body slammed , dangling inches from the rail track as the train tore away.

Wind ripped at him, a relentless force trying to peel him free. He bared his teeth, muscles straining, and began to climb—inch by inch—up the slick, curving steel. The city blurred into streaks of neon and shadow around him.

Finally, he reached the rear window. Feet braced against the frame, body pressed flat against the train's back, he raised a hardened fist. The wind howled, trying to throw him away.

He drove his fist into the glass. Once. Twice. Three times. The reinforced pane cracked, spiderwebbing.

With a final snarl, Jin smashed through. Shards exploded inward as he clawed his way inside the moving bullet train.

And the hunt wasn't over.