The sun had barely risen when Arima Masaki opened his eyes.
While most children his age were still fast asleep, he was already preparing for another day of school, martial arts training, and writing.
It was a demanding routine for a young boy, but Masaki had a clear goal in mind.
He wanted to become strong enough to protect himself and his family. More importantly, he wanted to help his mother live a comfortable life.
After all, Shiori had devoted almost everything to raising him.
He wanted to give something back.
"Masaki! Breakfast is ready!"
"I'm coming, Mother!"
He hurried downstairs, where Shiori had prepared a simple breakfast.
As usual, she smiled the moment she saw him.
"Good morning, sweetheart! Did you sleep well?"
"Very well. Thank you for preparing breakfast."
Shiori blinked.
Then she pressed a hand against her chest.
"My goodness! My son is so polite! How am I supposed to survive when you grow up and become a handsome gentleman?"
"Mother, I'm still eating breakfast."
"That doesn't make you any less adorable!"
Masaki sighed.
Some things never changed.
Nevertheless, he smiled faintly as he continued eating.
For all his ambitions, there was one thing he never wanted to lose: the peaceful mornings he spent with his mother.
School was becoming increasingly interesting.
Masaki had already made several friends, and his classmates had grown accustomed to his calm demeanor and striking appearance.
His crimson-red hair and deep-red eyes continued to attract attention, especially from the girls.
However, Masaki paid little attention to his growing popularity.
He focused on his lessons, completed his assignments, and answered questions whenever his teachers called on him.
His classmates soon discovered that the handsome new student wasn't merely good-looking.
He was also surprisingly intelligent.
Mathematics came naturally to him, and his reading comprehension was excellent. Whenever the teacher introduced a new topic, Masaki absorbed the information quickly and rarely needed repeated explanations.
Of course, he wasn't perfect.
He still had to complete his assignments, study unfamiliar subjects, and occasionally endure Kenji's endless attempts to convince him to play during breaks.
"Masaki! Come on! Let's play outside!"
"Have you finished your homework?"
Kenji froze.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because you said yesterday that you hadn't finished it."
"That's different!"
"How?"
Kenji struggled to find an answer.
Masaki closed his book.
"Finish your homework first. Then we can play."
Kenji stared at him before groaning dramatically.
"You're more like a teacher than our teacher!"
Masaki chuckled.
Despite their differences, he enjoyed spending time with his classmates. He simply refused to let entertainment interfere with his plans.
He had too much he wanted to accomplish.
And his afternoons were already occupied by something far more demanding.
The moment school ended, Masaki headed to Genzo's dojo.
His master was waiting in the courtyard, arms folded across his chest.
"You're three minutes early."
"I've been told that's better than being late."
Genzo snorted.
"Smart mouth. Warm up."
Masaki immediately began his stretches.
Over the past several weeks, his progress had become increasingly difficult to ignore.
His Fanalis bloodline gave him extraordinary physical potential, particularly in his legs. His acceleration was astonishing, and even his basic footwork drills possessed an explosiveness that surprised his instructor.
Yet his improvement wasn't limited to physical strength.
Masaki learned quickly.
Remarkably quickly.
When Genzo demonstrated a movement, Masaki studied the details carefully before attempting it himself. If he made a mistake, he corrected it. If he received criticism, he remembered it.
A technique that took other beginners days to understand might take Masaki only a handful of sessions to grasp at a basic level.
Naturally, understanding a movement was different from mastering it.
Genzo made certain his student understood that distinction.
"Again!" the old master barked.
Masaki threw another jab.
His fist shot forward and returned to his guard with impressive speed.
"Your shoulder is still too tense!"
Masaki relaxed his body and tried again.
"Better! Now do it fifty more times!"
Masaki complied without complaint.
Afterward came footwork drills, squats, balance exercises, and controlled combinations. Genzo carefully increased the difficulty while ensuring that Masaki's young body wasn't pushed beyond reasonable limits.
The old master was particularly impressed by the boy's constitution.
Even after strenuous training, Masaki recovered remarkably well. His legs possessed explosive strength, his coordination was exceptional, and his stamina continued to improve.
Still, Genzo refused to let him rely entirely on his natural advantages.
"Listen carefully, boy. You have a gift but it's not an excuse to become careless."
"I understand, Master."
"Good. Then show me that you understand."
Genzo demonstrated a sequence of movements.
Masaki watched silently.
Then he repeated the sequence.
His first attempt was imperfect, but after a few corrections, his movements became noticeably smoother.
Genzo's expression stiffened.
Already?
He demonstrated the sequence again, deliberately emphasizing a subtle shift in weight.
Masaki caught it.
On his next attempt, he incorporated the adjustment.
The old master stared at his student.
"Who taught you to observe movements like that?"
"You did."
Genzo fell silent.
Then he laughed.
"Hahaha! You're a troublesome little monster!"
Masaki tilted his head.
"Is that a compliment?"
"Don't get used to it!"
But as Masaki continued practicing, Genzo couldn't hide his satisfaction.
The boy's strength was extraordinary, but his learning capacity was even more astonishing.
If Masaki maintained this discipline for years, there was no telling how far he could go.
Evenings belonged to writing.
After returning home, Masaki washed up, ate dinner with Shiori, and finished his school assignments.
Only then would he bring out his notebook.
At first, he had considered writing an original fantasy novel. However, as he thought about the stories he remembered from his previous life, one particular title kept returning to his mind.
Sword Art Online.
The story of players trapped inside a virtual reality game, where death inside the game meant death in the real world, had always fascinated him.
Its premise was compelling, its battles exciting, and its emotional moments powerful.
More importantly, Masaki believed that readers in this world might find the concept completely new.
There was only one problem.
He couldn't simply expect a publisher to accept a rough idea.
He needed an actual manuscript.
And so, he began writing.
Night after night, Masaki filled his notebooks with the story of Kirito, Asuna, and the deadly world of Sword Art Online.
He carefully reconstructed the plot from his memories, developing scenes and dialogue while adapting the presentation for readers in this world.
Whenever he wasn't certain about a detail, he worked around it rather than allowing the uncertainty to halt his progress.
His writing sessions were sometimes frustrating.
His small hands grew tired. Some passages took far longer than expected. Occasionally, he had to rewrite entire sections because the dialogue didn't sound right.
But he persisted.
He wasn't writing merely for entertainment.
He was writing for his mother.
If this succeeds, I can help her.
That thought carried him through the difficult nights.
Weeks became months.
His schoolwork remained a priority, and he continued attending the dojo under Genzo's watchful eye. He adjusted his writing schedule whenever examinations or more demanding training sessions required additional time.
There were evenings when he managed only a few paragraphs.
On other nights, inspiration carried him through several pages.
Gradually, his manuscript grew.
The opening chapters became a complete story, and the pages accumulated into a substantial draft.
Masaki reviewed everything carefully, correcting awkward sentences and refining conversations.
He wanted the story to be good.
Not merely because he hoped to earn money, but because he wanted the people who read it to experience the same excitement and wonder he had felt when he first encountered it.
Finally, after months of effort, he placed his pencil on the desk.
The manuscript was ready for its first proper review.
Masaki stared at the completed pages.
Then he smiled.
"Finally."
That evening, Shiori found her son sitting quietly at the dining table.
A thick stack of handwritten pages rested in front of him.
"Masaki? What are you working on, sweetheart?"
He looked up.
"Mother, there's something I want to show you."
His unusual seriousness caught her attention.
Shiori sat beside him.
"What is it?"
Masaki carefully pushed the manuscript toward her.
"I've been writing a novel."
Shiori blinked.
"A novel?"
"Yes. It's called Sword Art Online."
She looked at the title, then at the many pages beneath it.
"You wrote all of this?"
"Over the past few months."
Shiori stared at the manuscript in disbelief.
Her little boy had been attending school, training at the dojo, and completing his homework. She had known he spent time writing in his room, but she hadn't realized just how much work he had accomplished.
"Masaki, this is incredible."
"I haven't shown it to anyone yet. I wanted to tell you first."
Shiori's expression softened.
"Why me?"
"Because I want to help you, Mother."
Her smile faltered.
Masaki lowered his gaze briefly before continuing.
"I know you work hard to take care of me. I see how carefully you manage our money, even when you try to hide it. I don't want you to worry about everything by yourself."
Shiori's eyes widened.
"Masaki…"
"I thought that if I wrote a good story, I might be able to get it published. If a publisher agrees to serialize it, we could earn some money."
He paused.
"I know it might not work. But I wanted to try."
For several seconds, Shiori couldn't speak.
Then she pulled him into her arms.
Masaki stiffened in surprise.
"Mother?"
"Oh, my precious boy…"
Her voice trembled.
She held him close, one hand gently stroking his crimson hair.
"You don't have to do all this for me."
"I know."
"You're still a child. You should be enjoying your childhood, playing with your friends, and doing things that make you happy."
"I am happy, Mother."
He returned her embrace.
"I like training. I like writing. And I like seeing you smile."
Shiori's tears finally spilled over.
She had spent so much time worrying about giving her son everything he needed that she had never considered how closely he had been watching her.
He had noticed her sacrifices.
He had noticed her worries.
And despite his young age, he wanted to help carry those burdens.
"You're too kind," she whispered. "What did I do to deserve such a wonderful son?"
Masaki rested his head against her shoulder.
"You raised me."
That simple answer broke through the last of her composure.
Shiori hugged him tighter.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
There was no talk of money, publishing contracts, or future success.
There was only a mother holding her son, and a son reassuring his mother that she wasn't alone.
Eventually, Shiori leaned back and wiped her tears.
"All right."
Masaki looked at her.
"All right?"
"We'll try to get your novel published."
His eyes brightened.
"Really?"
"Of course! I'll help you find a publisher and learn how serialization works. But promise me something."
"What is it?"
"You won't sacrifice your health or your education for this. I want you to keep studying, keep training if you enjoy it, and get enough sleep."
Masaki nodded.
"I promise."
Shiori smiled and kissed his forehead.
"And no matter what happens, I'm already proud of you."
For the first time that evening, Masaki felt the weight he had been carrying lift from his shoulders.
He had wanted to help his mother financially.
But hearing those words reminded him that he didn't need to earn her love.
He already had it.
Later that night, Masaki returned to his room.
The manuscript was no longer simply a private project. His mother would help him take the next step toward publication.
He couldn't predict whether Sword Art Online would succeed.
The publishing industry might reject it. Readers might not enjoy it. Even if it found an audience, earning substantial money could take time.
But he had made the first move.
Tomorrow, he would return to school.
Afterward, he would train at Genzo's dojo.
And when evening came, he would continue writing.
He intended to give every one of his goals the effort it deserved.
Meanwhile, at the dojo, Genzo sat alone, reviewing the notes he had made about his unusual student.
The boy's explosive leg power, rapid reflexes, strong constitution, and remarkable ability to absorb instruction had already impressed him.
But what truly fascinated the old master was Masaki's discipline.
The boy never seemed satisfied merely because something came easily. He wanted to understand it, refine it, and improve.
Genzo leaned back and gazed at the wooden ceiling.
"That brat…"
A faint smile appeared on his weathered face.
"I wonder what kind of man he'll become."
Neither Genzo nor Shiori yet understood the full extent of Masaki's ambitions.
A powerful martial artist.
A diligent student.
A novelist who hoped to create a better future for his family.
Masaki was pursuing all three paths at once.
And though his journey would be long, he had already discovered something important.
He didn't need to choose between becoming stronger and helping the person he loved most.
He could do both.
End of Chapter 6