The silence of the dojo was sacred.
Kairo stood motionless, a single cherry blossom petal resting on his boken like a divine sign. He had just heard a voice—an impossible whisper—and now there was only him and the wind.
"The masked man first, and now this... Tsk. What a life full of surprises," Kairo muttered, picking up the petal.
As his fingers touched it, the petal vanished in a silvery light.
His eyes widened. Was it a vision? Another glitch?
No… this time was different.
It wasn't the usual "frame" of reality distorting—it felt more like a dreamlike vision.
Kairo approached the bare cherry tree. Autumn had stripped it of leaves and blossoms, but it radiated a strange energy. Familiar. Deep. He had wandered this dojo for years, yet never sensed something like this.
He reached out toward the trunk.
The air seemed to vibrate as if the tree itself responded to him. Just before his hand could make contact—
"Kairo."
A stern, yet sarcastic voice stopped him cold.
Standing behind him, tall and lean, with gray hair tied in a short ponytail and eyes that could read souls—was his master.
Master Hayashi Seiji.
A man who had trained him since childhood. Quiet, but always there when needed. And with endless sarcasm.
"Haven't seen you in months," Seiji said calmly. "Today, the wind carries a different echo. Must be because you've graced us with your presence again, little latecomer. Haha."
Kairo turned slowly.
"Your sarcasm hasn't aged a day, Master," he said, placing his boken on the ground and bowing in respect.
"Oh, come now, enough with the formalities. You're not my student anymore. You've found your own path in the art of kendo." He paused, then observed him closely.
"What's wrong, Kairo? You look shaken."
Kairo lowered his shinai and replied honestly:
"Master… I don't know what I'm becoming anymore."
They locked eyes in silence. Then, Seiji stepped forward onto the tatami.
"Come. Show me if your spirit still holds."
Without another word, Kairo nodded. He picked up his boken. They bowed. The duel began.
Swift, precise exchanges. Wood clashed against wood with sharp rhythm. Every strike a thought, every block a restrained emotion.
Kairo attacked. The master dodged.
Blocked. Countered.
Kairo's breathing quickened—not from fatigue.
Each move awakened something deep inside him. A vibration.
A blue light.
Faint. Fluid. It emanated from the master's body, pulsing with every movement.
And its pressure… overwhelming.
Kairo and Seiji locked blades.
The light intensified. The pressure was immense, like a truck barreling toward him.
It was familiar—like the blow from the masked man.
But different.
Balanced. Not meant to kill.
Kairo slid his boken sideways, striking toward Seiji's waist.
The master dodged with ease and aimed for his throat.
But Kairo was quicker—he spun, parried, and kept his distance.
Then Kairo halted the duel.
"Master… what is that light? That… energy?"
Seiji paused. He met Kairo's gaze with a serious, unsurprised look.
"You see it now. Took you long enough. Haha. That's my Ki. But more than that—it's memory. It's identity."
Kairo's eyes widened.
"What?"
Seiji sat on the tatami, calmly.
"We each carry something deeper. Memories that aren't always ours. Traces awakened when the heart vibrates at the right rhythm."
"Remembrances?" Kairo murmured, almost afraid of naming them.
The master didn't reply. Just smiled—a soft, nostalgic smile.
He stood and touched Kairo's forehead—right where the masked man had.
"Remembrance begins here," he said, sliding his finger to Kairo's chest.
"And it ends here. But remember, it can also be a curse."
He looked into Kairo's eyes.
"Remember, Kairo… some memories weren't born in this life. But they still live on, within those who feel them."
Suddenly, a stabbing pain struck him.
Like a blade piercing his mind, Kairo bent forward. A wave of light washed over him.
And then… he was elsewhere.
Beneath the same tree—but lower. No, further in time. Twelve years in the past.
He was six.
Spring wind brushed through the cherry tree's branches. Sunset light danced across the pink petals.
Kairo had just finished a tough training session. Hands red, shirt drenched in sweat, the child sat cross-legged, eyes fixed on the tree.
"Dad… why is this tree so important?" he asked with innocent curiosity.
His father smiled, sitting beside him—tired eyes, gentle face, and a weathered book in hand.
"Because this tree symbolizes resilience and rebirth, Kairo," he replied softly. "No matter how harsh the winter, the cherry tree always blooms again in spring. And so must you."
Kairo tilted his head, still confused.
"So… even if I lose today, I can get better? Come back stronger?"
His father nodded. "Exactly. Defeat isn't the end—it's just another step toward victory."
Kairo lowered his gaze, clenching his fists. That morning, he had lost an important match. Promised his mother he'd win. But he was too slow, his technique too weak. He felt like he had let everyone down.
"But Dad… why does losing feel so sad if it's part of the journey?"
His father chuckled, patting his head. "Because it means you care. And if you care, you'll always find the strength to rise again."
He opened the book and showed it to Kairo—pages full of notes and sketches.
"Have I ever told you the legend of the nine-tailed fox?"
Kairo's eyes lit up. "No…"
His father flipped to a page carefully.
"They say there's an ancient spirit—a white fox with nine tails. It only appears to those with pure hearts and unbreakable will. It is both guardian and trial for warriors seeking to surpass their limits."
Kairo listened, spellbound.
"One day, a young swordsman lost his way in a forest during training. Exhausted and hopeless, he knelt before a blooming cherry tree and surrendered to despair. But just as he gave up—the fox appeared."
His father looked up at the tree above them.
"The fox said: 'If you seek true strength, dance like a cherry blossom in the wind. Follow the flow. Don't resist. And when the time comes—strike with perfect precision.'"
Kairo's mouth hung open. "And what happened to the warrior?"
"He learned to move like the wind—fluid and unstoppable. And in time, he became the greatest swordsman of his era."
Kairo turned sharply to his father, eyes burning with resolve.
"I want to be like him! I want to get stronger. I want to improve!"
His father smiled, hand on his shoulder. "Then never give up, my son. Keep training. And when the wind blows against you—don't falter. Dance with it."
Kenji met his eyes, voice tinged with quiet sadness:
"And if one day you see her… it won't be a coincidence. It will be a choice."
The vision ended.
Kairo gasped for air. He was back in the dojo.
But the master was gone.
Only a single cherry blossom petal remained on the tatami.
Kairo jumped up, looking around.
"Master Hayashi?"
No answer. Only a soft breeze brushing the petal away.
His heart was pounding. But this time… he exhaled, steadying himself.
"Another glitch… how's that even possible?"
He picked up his boken and walked out.
Passing by the tree, a thin wisp of gray smoke floated by—like a puff from a pipe.
A figure watched from high in the cherry tree, relaxed as if watching a show.
Gray hair tied back. A flowing white traditional robe. Pointed ears. An aura shaped like nine dancing tails. A bell-shaped pendant around the neck.
He took another puff from his kiseru pipe.
And with piercing canine-blue eyes, he whispered:
"It's time, Kairo."
Leaving the dojo, Kairo made his way home.
The familiar sounds of Nakano welcomed him, yet he drifted through the neighborhood like a ghost.
His mind was still stuck in the dojo, haunted by what had felt like yet another glitch.
"Heyy Kairo, how are you doing?"
Mrs. Mizaki waved from her veranda.
Kairo gave her a fake smile and a quick wave, but said nothing. He turned the corner—everything seemed normal.
The bakery. The newsstand. The same streets. The same city.
But in his head… he was bracing for the next break in reality.
"Hayashi never existed...? That's impossible."
He kept replaying what happened back at the dojo.
On every screen around the streets, the same slogan flashed again and again:
Saito Corporation. Innovating Memory. Shaping Destiny.
Kairo stared at the glowing screen.
He knew it wasn't just paranoia. His father couldn't have just vanished.
And that masked figure… had only appeared a day ago.
It couldn't all be coincidence.
The noise around him became a dull hum, as if the world was fading under the weight of unanswered questions and fragmented dreams.
He stopped.
Took out his phone. Opened his notes.
"10/09/24
First contact with the masked one."
He saved it.
Then opened his messaging app and typed:
Kairo: Yuto, I need to talk to you.
Less than thirty seconds later:
Yuto: What the hell do you want? And I swear I didn't steal your apple pie from the fridge.
Kairo: That's not it… wait, WHAT?!
Anyway—it's something else. I need your help, little genius of systems and software.
It took two minutes, long and heavy, before Yuto replied:
Yuto: Whoa! Pulling out the flattery, huh?
This must be serious. What's going on?
Kairo: We'll talk at home, calmly.
Yuto: Got it, big bro.
Kairo exhaled deeply.
He kept walking. Determined to uncover the truth—no matter what it took.
But then—
"Hey! Silent samurai!"
Riven.
He stood under a streetlamp, boken resting on his shoulder. His expression was tense—no, disappointed.
"I've been looking for you for an hour."
Kairo stopped.
"Not now, Riven."
"Wrong. Especially now."
Riven pulled the boken from its strap and lowered it into a ready stance.
"If you won't talk to me—then fight me."
"No. Just let it go."
"Then tell me what the hell is going on!"
Kairo clenched his fists.
"I can't. Not yet."
"It's always like this! You shut everyone out.
Did you know Lyra's worried sick? That Aenna cried over you, man?!"
Kairo turned, locking eyes with him.
"You can't help me. I don't even understand it myself."
Riven didn't respond. But his stare… said everything.
Kairo knew how stubborn he was. There was no way around it.
People had started to gather, unsure whether to call someone or just let it play out.
They stepped into stance.
Their bokens met with a sharp clash.
A single strike—
And silence.
Riven lowered his blade.
He stepped closer.
Kairo, distracted, swung wide and missed.
Riven grabbed him by the collar, holding him in place.
"When you finally decide to fight for something, Kai… I'll be there.
But don't wait too long. Or you'll be alone."
"What does that mean?" Kairo snapped.
"We're here. Always—"
He let go.
"But don't keep pushing us away. We're not leaving you behind."
And with that, he turned and walked off.
Kairo stood there, alone.
His boken in hand.
And in his chest… the echo of too many questions.