Night fell quietly over Toyama Prefecture, Japan.

Deep within an old estate that once belonged to the renowned Tachibana swordsmanship family, a young man stood silently beneath a towering tree.

He wore a white training uniform, his long hair fluttering slightly in the breeze. A black cloth was tied over his eyes, concealing any trace of expression on his handsome face.

With both arms lifted to shoulder height, he held a bamboo sword—shinai—perfectly still. His entire posture, from head to toe, was that of unshakable focus.

The night wind brushed through the branches of the massive gingko tree at the heart of the courtyard, sending its golden, coin-shaped leaves drifting down like soft, silent raindrops.

“…Breath in…”

The young man inhaled deeply. His breathing was faint but steady—precise.

Then, in a smooth motion, he sank into a strong stance.

And in the next moment, his sword moved.

With sharp, controlled steps, he began slicing at the falling leaves.

His movements were so fast, the bamboo blade seemed to blur—an illusion of multiple swords dancing through the air.

Even with his eyes covered, his footwork, posture, and swings were flawless. Not a single leaf touched the ground intact.

When the wind finally stilled, and the rain of leaves came to an end, he stood motionless once more—his arms still raised, the shinai held firm in his grasp.

The only proof of what had occurred were the scattered fragments of leaves on the earth beneath him—shredded by precision alone.

From within the dimly-lit wooden house behind him, a faint coughing sound broke the silence.

“Keh… keh…”

Lowering the shinai, Tachibana Kyūjō reached up and untied the black cloth from his face.

His eyes—clear and sharp like polished obsidian under moonlight—gazed calmly into the night.

But if one looked closer, deep within those eyes… there was sorrow. A quiet grief that words could not express.

He took a breath, steadying the emotions that stirred within his chest, then turned toward the house. His steps were slow but sure as he walked to his father’s room—Tachibana Sukekatsu.

Inside, a small white candle flickered weakly, its wax nearly gone. Shadows danced in the darkness, and the thick scent of herbal medicine clung heavily in the air.

His father sat leaning against the wall, thin and wrapped in heavy blankets. But even so, his face remained pale—like the distant moon outside.

His eyes were unfocused, lost in memories only he could see.

But as Kyūjō approached, the old man’s gaze returned to the present.

He offered a weak but gentle smile and spoke softly.

“…Kyūjō. You’ve done so much already… I know this burden hasn’t been easy for you.”

Kyūjō shook his head in silence. He gently adjusted the blanket over his father’s shoulders, then sat beside him without a word.

It wasn’t winter, yet his father’s hands were as cold as stone. Not even thick bedding could keep his body warm anymore.

And more than that… his spirit was beginning to fade.

Kyūjō could feel it. His father didn’t have much time left.

He’d felt this once before—in another life. But even after dying once, he still hadn’t figured out how to comfort someone who was quietly preparing to leave the world.

I hope… that when the time comes… you’ll be reborn in a gentler world, Father. Just like I was. And live happily there…

In his heart, Kyūjō prayed.

Suddenly, Sukekatsu raised a trembling hand and softly patted his son’s head.

“Kyūjō… you have a gift. Your path with the sword far surpasses mine. I only— keh… keh…”

Kyūjō immediately stood, patting his father’s back gently.

“Please don’t say things like that, Father. I’m still not strong at all. I just… want you to get better. So you can keep teaching me.”

Sukekatsu only smiled faintly.

He knew the truth. This son of his—who still called himself weak—had surpassed him long ago.

In fact, ever since Kyūjō turned ten, his understanding of the sword had reached realms even Sukekatsu could no longer comprehend.

—

Once, the Tachibana clan stood as one of the strongest sword families in all of Japan—renowned practitioners of kenjutsu whose legacy spanned centuries.

But time marched on. The world changed.

Not because the younger generation was weak, nor because they abandoned their art.

But because the world no longer needed the sword.

Anti-sword laws, the rise of high-tech warfare, and the overwhelming power of modern firearms had pushed blades from the battlefield… into museums.

Now, from the once-grand estate that housed hundreds of disciples, only two remained: Kyūjō and his father.

And this ancient home… was the last remnant of the Tachibana legacy.

—

What Sukekatsu didn’t know… was that the son he believed to be a genius was actually a soul reborn from another world.

Kyūjō’s previous life was that of a young man named Yuki—just an ordinary person from a world called “Earth.”

At twenty-seven, Yuki had been diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. Maybe it was the endless instant meals, or the constant overtime that wrecked his body.

He gave up on treatment. Accepted his fate.

Two months later, he died alone in a hospital bed, with a cold lunch from the cafeteria as his last meal.

And then… he woke up again. Reborn as Tachibana Kyūjō in this world.

His memories didn’t return all at once. But when he turned four years old—they all came flooding back.

And everything changed.

With two lifetimes of memories merged as one, Kyūjō gained insight far beyond his years.

His five senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—were sharpened to levels beyond human.

Even memories from his early childhood, long lost in his previous life, reappeared with astonishing clarity.

Maybe it was the pain of facing death itself that made him value this new body so much.

From a young age, he trained tirelessly, refining both body and spirit through relentless sword practice.

And in the end… his efforts bore fruit.

By the age of ten, he had mastered all the sword techniques of the Tachibana style.

Even when holding just a bamboo sword, he felt like he could cut through anything.

At first, he thought it was just childish delusion.

But after fending off more than ten adult attackers with nothing but a single shinai—he knew it was real.

And more than that—this world was different.

No ten-year-old should be able to break an adult’s bones with a single strike.

To his eyes, every movement around him looked sluggish, as if the world itself had slowed down.

That sensation… that overwhelming edge… became intoxicating.

He delved even deeper into the path of the sword.

To ordinary people, the way of the sword was a grueling path of suffering—training the body, purifying the mind, enduring pain.

But to Kyūjō, it was a sacred process—one that tempered the soul and set the spirit free.

With a sliver of natural talent… and unshakable resolve… he achieved something once thought to be myth:

The Five-Sense Sword Reinforcement Method—an advanced technique whispered in family legends.

And through this extreme training, he unknowingly awakened something even greater…

A sixth sense that defied common human knowledge.

A special ability mentioned only once in the oldest records of the Tachibana clan.

“Kenshin Tōmei” — The Sword Heart That Sees Through All Things.

Its true nature wasn’t clearly described.

Only one fact was noted: The first ancestor to attain this state did so at the age of sixty-five.

But Kyūjō…

Had reached it at just fourteen.

—

Now, even with his eyes covered, he could perceive every movement around him in perfect three-dimensional clarity.

Even if he covered his ears, he could still hear the wings of insects brushing against leaves in the distance.

His sense of smell, taste, and touch—all surpassed human limits.

And when he focused entirely, he could sense the structure and subtle motions within any object.

Perhaps that’s why the Tachibana ancestor named it so—Kenshin Tōmei, the heart that merges with the blade and sees the unseen.

But whether this power held even deeper mysteries…

Was something Kyūjō had yet to discover.

A long journey awaited him—one that had only just begun.

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