I woke before the bell.
The world was caught between night and morning. A pale line of light crept over the eastern ridge, painting the mist in silver.
For a moment, I sat there, unsure if I had truly slept or merely drifted. Dreams inside a dream… that would be a joke too strange to explain.
A faint breeze slid through the paper window, carrying the cool scent of pine sap. Somewhere deeper in the temple grounds, a monk hummed a low chant, steady as a heartbeat.
The sound flowed through the walls, soft and warm, shaping the silence instead of breaking it.
I stood, stretching my shoulders. The floorboards under my feet were smooth, worn by years of passing hands and sweeping brooms.
A robe had been left neatly folded near the door — plain gray, tied with a simple cloth sash. Someone must have placed it there while I slept.
For a moment, I hesitated. Wearing temple clothes felt like pretending… but walking around in a robe still stained with dried blood wasn't exactly respectful either. I slipped it on. The cloth was rough, but light.
I stepped into the corridor.
Morning mist curled around the lantern posts, rising and falling like breath. Gardens spread quietly between the halls — stone paths, trimmed hedges, small ponds reflecting the early sky.
Monks moved silently, gliding more than walking, each absorbed in their own rhythm. The peace pressed on me gently, like a hand resting on the shoulder.
A voice came from behind."You're up early, Hayate-sama?"
I turned. The monk from yesterday approached with a calm smile. His sleeves were rolled, hands damp — he must have been tending the garden.
"Must be a habit," I replied, trying to sound casual. "But why so formal?"
He chuckled lightly. "Ah, yes. You said you can't remember anything. That nametag you wear… ordinary people don't have them. Only warriors do."
I laughed awkwardly. What warrior was he talking about? I was just a spinal cord injury patient, stuck at home, playing video games day after day. Still, maybe I was a warrior in my own way — fighting against my own destiny or perhaps imprisoned by it.
"Oh, really?" I muttered. "I thought it was just an identity tag."
"Identity tag?" he repeated, confused.
"A way to identify someone," I clarified, recalling where I was. I smiled awkwardly. I hoped he didn't find it strange.
"It is indeed a way to identify someone — fallen warriors on the battlefield," he said, his voice calm. "By the way, the Abbot wishes to see you."
"The Abbot… me? Why?" I asked, confusion tightening my chest.
He only smiled. "Follow me, and you'll see."
I scratched my head and followed quietly, my thoughts spinning. Why would the Abbot ask for me?
After a few minutes, the monk stopped in front of a simple door and gestured. "The Abbot is waiting for you inside."
As if on instinct, I stepped forward. The room smelled of incense, lightly decorated with paintings I didn't recognize.
The quiet was almost tangible, broken only by the soft scrape of my sandals against the wooden floor.
"Sensei, you called for me?" I said softly, trying to sound respectful.
He didn't answer immediately.
My eyes were drawn to a katana carefully displayed on a katana Kake in front of the abbot. The sword gleamed faintly in the soft morning light, its curves elegant, its presence commanding.
The Abbot turned, his gaze settling on me, and a small, almost gentle smile appeared. "Master Hayate," he said, his tone warm but deliberate, "welcome. Come closer."
Those words hit me like a jolt. Master Hayate?
I froze for a moment, a question mark flashing in my mind.
He guided me slowly, and moments later, I stood before the katana. The touch of his hand on my shoulder didn't feel like that of a monk — even with his age, I sensed the presence of a warrior.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he said, caressing the sword with admiration.
"It is," I replied, my eyes tracing the elegant curve of the blade.
"This is a keepsake from a friend," he said with a smile, though I thought I glimpsed a trace of sadness in his eyes. "Do you want to touch it?"
"Can I?" I asked hesitantly.
"Of course," he assured me.
I grasped the hilt. For some reason, it felt like the sword was speaking to me. I smiled faintly, remembering a scene in an anime where they said a sword chooses its owner.
"Draw the sword," the Abbot said.
I looked at him, questioning, but he only nodded with that same calm smile.
I slowly drew the blade halfway. It was stunningly beautiful — elegant, lethal, and precise. Then I saw it: engraved along the flat of the blade were kanji that made my heart skip a beat. 黒桐 正義 (Kurogiri Seigi).
My reaction must have been obvious, because the Abbot asked softly, "Do you recognize anything?"
I snapped back to the moment. "I… I'm not sure," I said, trying to steady my voice. "I actually don't know."
But deep down, I did. I recognized the word Kurogiri — the clan name of the character I created, Kurogiri Hayate. Everything was starting to make sense now. Did I… really get reincarnated?