The first two years after King Leo and Count Marko abandoned Kutsilyo were a slow descent into a living nightmare. Chief Kirito, Shouyo's father, a man whose spirit was as unyielding as the ancient trees surrounding their village, tried everything. He called meetings, urged cooperation, and preached resilience. He organized villagers into rotating patrols, meagerly armed with rusty tools and desperate courage. He bartered what little they had with the few brave, or foolhardy, merchants who still dared to approach their tainted borders. Their meager harvest from the fertile lands around Lake of De Bay became the villagers' only lifeline, but even that was constantly threatened.
The "independence" was a brutal lie. It wasn't freedom; it was a cage without a key, sealed by the very powers that should have protected them. Lawlessness festered like an open wound. What started with occasional bandit raids quickly escalated. The mercenaries, once viewed with cautious hope, shed their thin disguise of professionalism and became outright oppressors, demanding tribute, seizing supplies, and intimidating anyone who dared to resist. Their presence, a magnet for the worst elements, attracted more bandit groups, each carving out their own small territories within or just outside the village. Over the next six years, Kutsilyo became a forgotten, lawless haven for the wicked. Every day was a fight for survival, a quiet terror that seeped into the very air the villagers breathed. The hope in Kirito's eyes, once a blazing fire, dimmed to a flickering ember.
Shouyo grew up in this chaos. To the outside world, he was just another small child in a world too big and too dangerous for him. He watched, eyes wide, as men with scarred faces and crude weapons swaggered through the village streets. He learned the subtle art of disappearing when trouble approached, instinctively sensing danger before others. His family did their best to shield him, but the harsh realities of Kutsilyo were impossible to ignore. His older sister, Yui, often held him close, her gentle whispers of old village tales a stark contrast to the harsh shouts that echoed outside their humble home. Setsuna, his younger brother, clung to him, finding comfort in Shouyo's quiet presence.
One sweltering afternoon, when Shouyo was six years old, his innate curiosity got the better of him. He'd always been drawn to small mysteries, the hidden nooks and crannies of the world. On this day, it was the glint of something shiny tucked beneath a loose board near a mercenary's camp. He knew he shouldn't be there, but the glint was too tempting. He was just a small boy, full of unbridled, playful mischief, and he thought he could be quick. As he reached for it, a shadow fell over him. A burly bandit, one of the newer, more vicious ones, had spotted him. Enraged by the perceived intrusion, the bandit let out a roar, grabbing Shouyo by the scruff of his neck. With a casual, brutal swing, he slammed Shouyo's head against the worn metal of his shield.
A blinding flash of pain, then darkness. When Shouyo next opened his eyes, the world was the same, but his mind was not. The scattered fragments of Kakeru Dimasupil's past life, his triumphs and his peculiar "what ifs," crashed into the innocent mind of a six-year-old. It was like a dam breaking, a flood of memories, strategies, and a dry, adult wit overwhelming his young senses. The world that had been vaguely terrifying now snapped into sharp, analytical focus. The shouts of bandits were no longer just noise; they were patterns of authority, fear, and desperation. The fear he'd felt before was replaced by a cold, calculating assessment.
For weeks, Shouyo was quiet, his behavior chalked up to the head injury. But inside, Kakeru was observing, absorbing. He remembered his life in Manila, the cutthroat world of business, the art of negotiation, the subtle ways to gain influence. This village, he realized, was not so different from a failing company, just with more swords and fewer spreadsheets. He began to listen more intently to the rough conversations of the bandits, picking up on their crude dialects, their internal squabbles, their fears, and their desires. He saw how the mercenaries operated, how they exploited, and how their greed could be a weakness. He learned their names, their habits, even the types of fish they preferred from Lake De Bay.
Outwardly, Shouyo remained a quiet, observant child, occasionally indulging in the "naughty" curiosity that had nearly cost him his life, but now with a keen awareness of the risks. Inwardly, Kakeru was forming a plan. The hilarious, trivial "what ifs" from his dying moments now seemed almost profound. What if he applied the principles of corporate strategy to a lawless village? What if he optimized their resource gathering like a supply chain? What if he managed the local brigands like unruly employees? This wasn't just about survival anymore; it was about building something new, something better, out of this ruin.
The years that followed were a blur of quiet growth and relentless learning. Shouyo honed his dual existence, a child by day, a calculating strategist by night. He learned the layout of the village like the back of his hand, memorized the patrol routes of the various bandit groups, and even began to understand the subtle shifts in the monster activity beyond the village borders. He perfected the art of appearing harmless, almost forgettable, while his mind worked tirelessly, cataloging, analyzing, and anticipating. His unique ability remained a mystery, a dormant power he sensed but couldn't access, a locked door in the vast corridors of his reincarnated mind. He waited, patiently, for the right moment. The village continued its agonizing decline, the villagers' spirit slowly eroding under the constant oppression.
Then, he turned fifteen.
On the morning of his fifteenth birthday, Shouyo woke with a quiet resolve. The sun, piercing through the cracks in their hut, seemed to cast a new light on the grim reality of Kutsilyo. He had absorbed enough. He had planned enough. The time for passive observation was over. The boy known as Shouyo, now truly Kakeru reborn, was ready to begin. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger, that a single misstep could mean death, but the "what if" that had pulled him into this world now pulsed with a tangible, urgent energy. He would turn this forgotten, lawless village into something resilient, something powerful. His first, subtle move involved a specific bandit leader, a man named Grimo, whose recent actions had shown a dangerous arrogance. Shouyo had a quiet idea forming, a way to test the waters, to see how deep the corruption truly ran, and how easily it might be swayed. He began to walk towards the village market, a place where many of Grimo's men often gathered, a subtle glint in his eyes that no one in Kutsilyo had ever seen before.