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Matsurize sat on a short stool, resting quietly as time ticked by. It was almost noon.
He had dozed off in the courtyard, and the rich aroma of freshly cooked food woke him up.
Just as he opened his eyes, Ayane called out from the kitchen doorway.
"Hey, Ze! Come on, bring the dishes out — it's time to eat!"
Feeling a bit of strength return to his body, Matsurize jogged into the kitchen. The stove was laden with steaming, fragrant food. Together, he and Ayane carried the dishes into the dining room and set them on the table.
Looking at the feast before him, Matsurize's heart filled with joy. There was a feeling deep inside him — as if simply being able to eat was a blessing. And such a meal, so rich and plentiful… it was as if he'd once known hunger so severe that even now he was still afraid of it.
He immediately dug in. Though his eating pace was about the same as Ayane's, her movements were graceful as ever, while Matsurize's table manners were downright crude in comparison.
Having spent the entire night caring for him — even seeing his entire body while tending his wounds — Ayane had learned a fair bit about him, including his appetite.
The two of them worked together to polish off the meal, enough food to feed a dozen people.
Ayane's strength alone hinted that her appetite wasn't small either, and compared to Matsurize, the two were about even — neither ate less than the other.
After they finished, Matsurize took the initiative to clean up, quickly gathering the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen. He busied himself washing bowls and wiping the table until everything was spotless.
When he finally looked up, Ayane was out in the courtyard doing post-meal exercises.
Intrigued, Matsurize watched her. Just as he'd been drawn to swordsmanship, he felt the same curiosity and yearning toward any skill that could make him stronger. Deep down, he was obsessed with the idea of strength — it was something instinctive.
Even with less than a day's worth of memory, Matsurize could tell that Ayane's movements were unusual.
Each motion struck downward toward an imaginary enemy's lower body. Her arms and legs moved in sharp, decisive bursts; every strike was aimed at the opponent's lower line. Occasionally, she rolled across the ground, combining punches, kicks, and agile dodges in one seamless flow.
To Matsurize, though, it looked like a mix of evasive moves and ground techniques — or, to put it bluntly, a whole lot of darting around and rolling about.
When Ayane finally finished her routine, she stopped and turned toward him.
The look in Matsurize's eyes — that same intense gleam he'd had when watching sword practice — was all too familiar.
Ayane found him interesting, even fascinating. She was starting to wonder what kind of past he'd had to make him so obsessed with power.
Of course, she didn't know that Matsurize himself didn't remember his past — that it wasn't some deep trauma or tragic memory driving him.
Before he'd lost his memory, Matsurize had just crossed into this world from Earth. And the moment he saw that bull-headed sea beast, he knew this world was far from ordinary.
From that moment, he had longed for extraordinary power. And now, even without those memories, that longing lingered — because it was the last thing burned deepest into his mind.
Ayane didn't think further on it; there was no point. Matsurize couldn't tell her what he didn't know.
She beckoned him over. "Come here, Ze."
This time, Matsurize had learned from experience. He didn't charge in recklessly like before, when he'd nearly been kicked in half by her.
He jogged up to her, his eyes full of curiosity toward her strange fighting art — whether it was boxing, kicking, grappling, or pure evasion, he couldn't tell.
But he was utterly captivated, and the bright grin on his face gave it all away.
Seeing that look, Ayane laughed softly. "Ze, you look so happy. Want to learn it?"
He didn't reply, just nodded over and over.
Ayane smiled faintly. "Since you want to learn, I won't hold back. But this is my family's ancestral martial art — it's never been taught to outsiders. Still… now, I'm the only one left."
Her voice grew quiet. She didn't mention her father, who had once gone to sea and never returned.
After a pause, she went on.
"If you're set on learning it, I'll teach you. But since it's a family art, you have to understand its history first. You must know where it comes from and what it means. Got it?"
Matsurize nodded, then fetched two small stools for them. They sat facing each other.
"All right, Ayane," he said simply. "You speak. I'll remember every word."
Ayane had already noticed he spoke little, but every word he said carried weight.
She began to explain.
"My family has been blacksmiths for generations, living here for as long as anyone can remember. Forging blades runs in our blood.
We're not ordinary smiths — our line has always specialized in katana, the blades of the battlefield. Swords made for drawing and cutting in one motion.
Over time, we perfected the craft. To forge such weapons, we need rare ores and extraordinary materials found only in nature — all incredibly valuable.
In this world, such things cost a fortune in beli, and not everyone can get them.
Our family's home lies in the territory ruled by Shipwreck Harbor — one of the most dangerous regions in the world.
So, to survive here, we needed strength to protect ourselves. Add to that the heavy labor of forging weapons every day — this martial art was born out of necessity."
Matsurize listened intently. It all made sense. But one question still lingered — why did this style look so strange?