"Haah… I'm tired…"
A man stepped off the now-empty bus and paused at the stop.
He looked ordinary—faded grey shirt, black slacks, sling bag across his chest, and a weathered phone in one hand as he checked the time.
[9:21 PM]
"Finally, no more overtime," he muttered, the words barely above a whisper. A faint smile tugged at his lips—more habit than joy.
Without glancing around, he turned right and walked. His feet moved like clockwork, carrying him on the familiar path to the nearby convenience store.
———
Ding-dong.
The chime echoed through the small shop as he pushed the glass door open. Cold white light and stale air greeted him.
He made a beeline for the shelf of half-priced meals, picked up a container, and inspected the label.
"Beef Mapo Tofu… again?"
A sigh escaped him. He preferred Chicken Curry, but at this hour, beggars couldn't be choosers. The tofu was bland—barely spicy, barely satisfying—but it would do.
Next, he stopped by the back fridges and grabbed a can of beer and two double-shot espressos.
At the counter stood a familiar face behind the register. The cashier looked up and, recognizing him, turned and grabbed a cigarette pack from the display without asking.
"Yo! Sup, Adam," the cashier said while scanning the items. "Another night shift?"
Adam offered a tired grin and tore open the cigarette pack. "Yeah."
"Damn. Two weeks straight, right? You gotta take it easy, man."
Adam tapped his phone against the reader to pay, then picked up the plastic bag and turned to leave.
"If I could, I would. You take care too."
He waved lazily, fishing a lighter from his pocket.
———
Outside, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag. The smoke curled from his lips like a ghost, dissolving into the warm summer night.
He walked down the cracked pavement, the flickering streetlight above casting jittery shadows. The street was mostly quiet—just the occasional car or another tired worker dragging themselves home.
His shoulders sagged. One hand clutched the grocery bag. The other held the cigarette, already half burnt.
And then, as always, the thoughts came.
Why is it that some people succeed while others just… exist?
Why does he—someone who followed all the rules—have to live paycheck to paycheck?
He had done what they told him. Studied hard. Earned a degree. Gritted his teeth through every boring lecture, every sleepless exam season, every pointless group project.
And for what?
A certificate. A piece of expensive paper. Not a promise. Not even a ticket for success. Just… a receipt.
Nothing everyone told him back then was the truth.
The real truth is not what you know. It's who you know.
A single connection could catapult someone into a high-paying job. While people like him—quiet, unremarkable, disconnected—got left behind.
He had tried. God, he had tried. Worked overtime hoping for promotions. Switched jobs in search of better pay. Even started a business once—burnt his savings and credit trying to build something of his own.
But failure stacked upon failure. And eventually, the fire died and he told himself, maybe this is just fate.
Some people are born to rise. Others are born to float—never sinking, never soaring.
He was nearing forty now. An age where others were getting married, buying houses, raising kids.
And him?
Still alone. Still drowning in debt. Still dragging his body home after another shift that would be forgotten by morning.
Without strength, one is powerless to overcome fate. In modern society, wealth and influence is the real strength many craves for yet unable to grasp.
———
After more than twenty minutes of walking, Adam finally arrives at the dilapidated apartment building. Then quickly returns to his own room on the third floor.
Upon entering his own apartment and locking the door behind him, Adam took off his boots and left it at the door before he quickly set everything up.
The boxed meal goes into the microwave for two minutes while the drinks are put into the fridge to be chilled.
As for himself, he went into the bathroom and took a shower to wash away the dirt and grime from his long day of work.
He relaxed his mind and enjoyed the cold water running through his skin with a satisfying sigh as he washed away the soap.
Next, he went to the sink and brushed away the lingering taste of cigarette from his mouth. But when he rinses his mouth and looks at the thin layer of beard on his chin, contemplating if he should shave.
Adam caught sight of another reflection on the mirror standing behind him.
A very tall man, taller than himself wearing white robe with a black one underneath. Shaggy brown hair with a black square-framed glasses over his eyes. His face has a kind and serene yet unsettling smile.
*Gulp*
'Fuck!'
'Ignore it!'
'Ignore it!'
'Ignore it!'
'Ignore it!'
'Ignore it!'
Adam took a deep breath and exhaled before he muttered. "Haha… I must be hallucinating. I should catch up on sleep…"
Adam closed his eyes and reached for his towel before quickly exiting the bathroom and locked it from outside.
"Just a hallucination. I'm just tired." Adam reassured himself with a forceful smile and shook his head.
He heard about rumours of ghosts in this apartment building from other tenants before. As long as the ghost didn't disturb him, he would not make a fuss about it. After all, it's hard to find a place with cheap rent.
After finishing his dinner, Adam didn't dare to stay up late to play games after the earlier encounter and immediately went to sleep early.
———
Inside the Dream
Endless darkness stretched in every direction—no horizon, no sky, just black. Beneath Adam's feet, a still, glass-like surface of water rippled gently with each subtle shift in his stance.
There was no wind. No ambient sound. Only the deafening silence of an unreal place.
He glanced upward—and froze.
A man stood before him. Familiar, yet alien.
He wore a long black robe layered beneath a white haori, draped across his shoulders like a badge of grace and power. A pristine white sash cinched the robe at his waist, and at his left hip hung a katana with a green hilt—simple, yet impossibly elegant. Its presence alone exuded quiet menace.
White tabi socks and wooden geta sandals adorned his feet, the latter clacking softly against the water's surface despite the silence.
Tousled hazel-brown hair framed his face, unruly and carefree, as if combing it had never crossed his mind. Black, square-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Behind them were eyes that gleamed with warmth—or the illusion of it. Kind. Serene. Endlessly patient.
But something was wrong.
That smile… too gentle. That gaze… too unwavering.
The longer Adam stared, the more that peaceful expression felt like a mask—stretched tight over something monstrous.
"Who are you?" Adam asked, brows furrowed. His voice echoed faintly into the void.
No answer.
A strange instinct prickled at the back of his mind. This is a dream… isn't it?
He didn't know why, but he felt certain. And yet—he could feel everything.
The air filling his lungs. The icy ripple beneath his feet. The weight of the man's presence pressing on him like a force of nature.
Too real.
"...Hey. Are you deaf or something?" Adam called again, irritation creeping into his voice.
The man finally moved.
His voice was calm—almost amused—but beneath it lurked something else. Pity? Mockery?
"Hmn... I wonder."
Adam took a cautious step back as the man advanced, movements slow but deliberate.
"What do you want from me? Why are you looking at me like that?" Adam asked, suppressing the chill crawling up his spine.
The air thickened.
His instincts screamed—run—but his legs refused to obey. Not fear. Something deeper. Primal. The man's presence pressed on him like a predator looming over prey—not hungry yet, but always capable.
"Strange..." Adam muttered, eyes narrowing. "Why does it feel like I'm dreaming, yet I can't wake up?"
The man remained still, smiling that same porcelain mask smile. Too wide. Too calm.
"Who am I... I wonder..." he mused aloud, tapping his chin with theatrical flair. The motion would have been comical, if not for the cold stillness in his eyes. The smile never reached them.
"That's an answer..." he continued, lowering his hand slowly, "you'll have to remember for yourself."
Adam opened his mouth, but the man kept speaking. His tone shifted—brighter. Too bright.
"But more importantly—"
He stepped forward.
Adam tensed. No attack. Just presence. Heavy. Measured. As if he were strolling through a garden.
It's just a dream, Adam told himself. Just a dream.
He forced himself to meet the man's gaze, realizing how tall he was. He had to tilt his head to meet his eyes.
The man nodded.
Then, casually:
"Are you truly satisfied with your current life?"
Adam blinked. "What?"
"To remain a nameless worker," the man continued, voice no louder but somehow heavier. "A forgotten cog in the rusted husk of a machine we call society."
His eyes sharpened.
"Do you really believe this world was meant for you? This pitiful, empty farce—where dreams die, buried under corruption and complacency?"
He leaned in slightly, moonlight glinting off his glasses.
"Are you content to live and die in mediocrity? Shackled to a life dictated by others—a fate you never chose?"
Adam opened his mouth. The words caught in his throat.
Was he satisfied?
No. Of course not.
"...Of course not!" he finally snapped, voice shaky but defiant. He met the man's gaze head-on, unwillingness rising like a coiled beast.
"If I had the power to change my fate... why would I settle for such a miserable life?"
The man's smile widened.
"Is that so?" he murmured to himself, nodding slowly. His smile faded, replaced by solemnity.
"Then let me ask you this...
If you had the chance to seize your destiny with your own hands... to write your own story... what would you do?"
Adam felt a strange thrill crawl down his spine. This wasn't a normal dream. Too vivid. Too real.
A ridiculous thought surfaced.
Is this one of those isekai setups?
The man tilted his head, smiling knowingly. As if he could read Adam's thoughts.
Adam hesitated.
But what did he have to lose?
Even if it was just a dream.
He straightened, inhaled, and said firmly:
"Of course I would take it. Why would I ever choose to remain shackled if I could forge my own future?"
The man stepped back, nodding.
His right hand moved slowly to the katana at his hip.
"Indeed," he murmured. As the blade slid free from its scabbard, his voice deepened. "You are indeed worthy to be my usurper."
Something surged in Adam.
Pain.
A sharp, splitting headache. He winced and roared as a cascade of incomprehensible error messages erupted in his vision.
[ERROR!] [ERROR!] [ERROR!] [ERROR!]
[⸮⧬⟟%Fj7$@!λₓ]
⛒ SY⸮⭯STEM F⧒⟟T@L ERR⦶⸮R ⸘: CATASTR⊗PHIC PR⊞T⊘C⊚LS BREⵌCH
> S⸸TUS: ⚠ ⸮⦶⛒ Re⸬⧵⧨⦊⦋⦊ F⥼iled
[SYSTEM NOW ENTERING SAFE MODE]
[DEPLOYING COUNTERMEASURE...]
[OBJECTIVE: PRESERVE HOST SPIRITUAL INTEGRITY UNTIL TRANSMIGRATION COMPLETE]
The man watched Adam writhing in agony, his smile now twisted with anticipation.
Then he noticed it.
A copy of the blade had appeared in Adam's hand—but it was different.
It gleamed with power. As if alive. While the man's own sword now looked dull, lacking a soul.
Adam rose to his feet, bloodshot eyes burning, breath ragged. A stance formed unconsciously while he clutched his head throbbing with soul rending pain.
The man vanished—
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Hundreds of clashes rang out in seconds. Sparks flew. The mirror-like water shattered into chaos, reflecting Adam's turbulent mind.
The man fought with flawless grace. Every slash and step was refined. A master.
Adam? His combat style is raw and instinctive. Like a beast instead of man wielding a blade.
But with each clash, he adapted. His style evolved and improved as he rapidly matched his opponent in skill.
Until—a cut. A clean line across the man's cheek.
A sudden kick launched Adam into the air. Before he could recover—
The man reappeared.
A downward slash fueled by a tyrannical and overbearing pressure exploded the water like a tsunami. But when he looked down, Adam was nowhere to be seen.
Then—he felt his instinct scream before instantly vanishing.
As he turned into a blur of after image, Adam suddenly
Only his haori remained, floating down, cut in half including the number '5'.
He reappeared at a distance, eyes gleaming as he replayed the previous scene in his mind.
"That is... Shunpo? No. Sonido," he corrected himself. "No wonder I couldn't detect it until I heard the sound barrier breaking."
Adam stood there bleeding. Body torn, yet unmoving. But his wounds closed rapidly, healing at visible speed.
Feeling his swordsmanship is no longer adequate to injure Adam in this state. The man began a chant
"Seeping crest of turbidity. Arrogant vessel of lunacy..."
Adam did not react to the chant.
Not out of courage—but absence.
As if the world had emptied of sound, of thought… of everything but the blade in his hand.
His gaze fell to it.
A woman. Still as moonlight.
Her eyes—so familiar—held a sorrow no words could hold.
It was strange. Unfamiliar.
And yet…
It felt like coming home to a place long forgotten.
Like hands he once knew, reaching through the fog of forgotten lives.
A distance that spanned countless lifetimes.
She stood before him—not in flesh, but in reflection.
Ageless. Elegant. Draped in silence like a mourning veil.
Like someone who had waited an eternity beneath the weight of hope.
And when her eyes met his—
Joy bloomed in sorrow, a fragile light breaking through endless dusk.
Her lips parted.
A whisper without voice, carried only by memory and longing.
Upon her face, a smile formed—faint and trembling—Like rain weeping over a land that had forgotten the sky.
He didn't understand the words.
But he understood the meaning.
[Trust me]
Why did it ache?
Why did something in his chest pull taut—like a wound reopening at the sound of a long-forgotten name?
There were no memories. Not of her.
Not of this lifetime.
But beneath the fog in his soul, something stirred.
A gnawing guilt. An endless regrets. A sorrow that didn't belong to now… but to another life.
She had been with him before—hadn't she?
Why couldn't he remember?
He had no answer.
But she had never needed one.
All she ever asks for is only trust.
Only to be chosen again.
To serve. To matter. To be his blade.
He closed his eyes.
Familiar and nostalgic words appeared in his mind as he could sense the joy welled in her.
The joy of a blade that finally regained its purpose.
And thus he whispered, the command she had been eagerly anticipating.
"Shatter, Kyōka Suigetsu."
A single sentence cracks the reality like fragile glass, and reality splinters into fragments of glasses that slowly dissipates.
Seeing this scene, the man widened his eyes and decisively cut his chant short.
"Hadō 90: Kurohitsugi."
As the shadows rose and transformed into a cage that imprisoned Adam before he could properly utilise the ability of that sword.
Then blades transformed from shadow appeared and instantly drove themselves against the black box resembling the magic trick performed by magicians on TV except this one is real.
After a while, blood bleeds out from the bottom of the box.
But the man didn't lower his guard.
As the box dissolved—Adam emerged. Dead?
No. His sword is missing from his corpse!
The man's eyes widened from an instant realization.
Swosh!
"Danku!"
A barrier barely deflected a strike from behind as he retreated a few dozen steps.
The standoff began anew.
Adam didn't pursue immediately as his eyes became increasingly dull after he received his Zanpakuto name and his System was forcing his consciousness into dormancy.
The man studied him.
What appeared in the absence of consciousness is his unconsciousness.
The true Adam.
"I see. I see. You are finally awake."
He grinned.
And asked again:
"Do you really believe this world was made for you? This farce of a world?"
"Are you content to live and die in mediocrity?! Shackled to a delusion?!"
Adam did not answer verbally. Instead, he growled. Then he lunged forward.
Kyoka Suigetsu loyally serves as his blade to cut down his obstacle.
"I see... Hahaha!"
The man's laughter cracked like thunder, wild and unrestrained. He shed all pretense, all civility—no longer a man, but something primal.
"Then do it! Kill me! Take what's mine! Reclaim what was stolen from yoh—O usurper!"
Steel screamed as blades met, again and again, each strike more savage than the last.
Like beasts unchained, they tore into one another—not for honor, not for vengeance, but for the right to exist.
Only one can leave this space alive.
Minutes bled into hours. Hours into days. Days into weeks.
Time lost all shape—smeared into a blur of blood, steel, and pain.
This was no battle. It was butchery. A test of who could endure longer before breaking.
The man fought like a storm—unchanging, merciless.
But Adam… Adam bled, broke, and rebuilt.
Every slash carved deeper truths into his flesh. Every parried blow taught him something pain alone could teach.
He roared. He stumbled. He learned.
And then—he began to adapt.
His sword strikes grew sharper.
His footwork, tighter.
His instincts, sharper.
The man remained a whirlwind of perfect violence. But perfection is static.
Adam was constantly evolving without a ceiling.
And in the end—
A scream.
A flash of steel.
A sword driven straight through the man's chest.
The world fell still.
And for the first time… peace returned to this space.
The man's bloodthirsty thrill faded. In its place—serenity returned. He gazed at Adam not with hatred, but with something akin to pride.
"Remember this name, Adam. The name of the one you've usurped."
His sword dissolved into motes of fading light. One hand rose slowly… and gripped the blade lodged in his chest.
"Now—reclaim what is rightfully yours. But mark my words…"
His voice sharpened like the edge of steel.
"You, who inherited my dream and ambition—should you ever stray from the path, I will return… to remind you what it means to bear that weight."
And then—
A surge of blinding, blue light detonated between them.
The air screamed. Space cracked.
The world itself fractured under the sheer weight of the released spiritual pressure.
—————
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