Kenjiro gripped the edge of the clinical bed. The sheets were rough, smelling of cheap detergent and the iron-scent of the clinic. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he tried to peer into the void of the visitor's hood.
"Who are you? Really."
The figure didn't flinch. He stood, his posture rigid as a frozen pine. He folded his hands behind his back, a gesture of absolute dismissal. The ascendant sword—that silver-lit slab of myth—dissolved into grey ash that drifted toward the floor before vanishing.
"My name is a ghost," the figure said. The voice was flat, devoid of the inflection that makes a man human. "It has no weight here. Strength is the only currency that matters if you intend to survive the debt you owe."
Kenjiro stood. His legs felt heavy, as if the marrow had been replaced with lead.
"Who do you think I am? Some soldier? I'm six."
He stepped forward, trying to block the figure's path to the door. There was no movement, no rush of air. In the space of a heartbeat, the hooded man was four paces away, standing near the window.
"You are the Mortal King," the figure stated. "The visions are not dreams. They are the friction of your soul re-entering the world. You have a responsibility." He paused, the mask tilting toward the night sky. "At twelve, the fog will lift. Until then, I am your guardian. I am the shield until you learn to be the blade."
Kenjiro's jaw tightened. "Which system? What are you talking about?"
He reached out, his small fingers grasping at the air as the man began to fade, his outline blurring into the shadows of the room.
"It is already within you," the voice returned, echoing from the corners of the ceiling. "Your training begins at dawn. Tomorrow."
The room went cold. The figure was gone.
The door creaked open, and Kazuki burst in. His face was a map of panic, his eyes bloodshot. "Son!" He rushed to the bedside, his hands shaking. "Are you okay? The doctor said..."
Kenjiro didn't look at him at first. He stared at the empty spot where the hooded man had stood. Then, the weight of the day—the Kong, the heat of the roar, the coldness of the void—hit him. He lunged forward, burying his face in Kazuki's coarse tunic.
"I don't know," Kenjiro whispered, his voice breaking into a jagged sob. "I don't know anything."
The rain hammered the roof of the Arisaka house, a relentless drumming that drowned out the mountain wind. Kenjiro lay on his back, staring at the dark rafters. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in strobes of violent white.
A blue chime echoed in his mind.
[ System Inbox: 4 New Messages ]
[ Sender: Hikari (Status: 500 Years Desync) ]
Kenjiro's breath hitched. He didn't know the name Hikari, but the sight of it made his chest ache, a sharp, stabbing pressure behind his ribs. He tapped the air. A translucent panel manifested, glowing softly in the dark.
"Hi Renji... I miss you." — (Sent 8 years ago, Earth-Time)
"When are you coming home? I prepared your favorite. The world number one hero is my brother, after all."
Kenjiro read the words. He didn't understand the context of "hero" or "Earth," but the grief in the text was a physical thing. He scrolled down, his thumb trembling.
"Brother, you are my life since my parents died. I can't lose you too. Promise me you'll come back after this mission."
The blue light of the panel reflected in the tears pooling in Kenjiro's eyes. He didn't know this girl, but he felt the ghost of her arms around his neck. The system shifted. The text faded, replaced by a flickering video.
It was a birthday. A girl with a bright smile was laughing, a cake with flickering candles between them. A man with white hair—Renji—was laughing too, his arm draped over her shoulder. They looked happy. They looked safe.
The video paused. The system zoomed in on a dark window behind them. A figure was there. A spy. A shadow in the glass.
"Is he a bad guy?" Kenjiro asked the empty room.
The system didn't answer. The panel flickered and died, replaced by a complex grid of locked icons: [ Weaponry ], [ Extraction ], [ Soul Forge ]. All of them were greyed out, buried under the requirement of 'Level 10'.
He closed his eyes, the exhaustion finally dragging him into a dreamless sleep.
04:25 AM.
A blaring, metallic alarm shrieked inside Kenjiro's skull.
"What the—" He winced, rolling over, but a hand caught his ankle.
He was dragged off the bed in one fluid motion, hitting the floorboards with a dull thud. The hooded figure stood over him, the silver blade once again strapped to his back.
"Why so early?" Kenjiro shouted, his voice thick with sleep.
"Kings do not sleep while their enemies sharpen their steel," the figure said. "Rulers focus. Rulers work. Get up."
Kenjiro groaned, kicking away the blanket. He stood on shaky legs, his vision blurry.
[ Daily Quest: The Path of the Mortal King ]
[ Objective: Build the Vessel ]
* Run: 10km (Mountain Terrain)
* Push-ups: 100
* Shadow Sparring: 2 Hours
* Mana Circulation: 1 Hour
[ Penalty for Failure: Forced Coma (24 Hours) ]
The years didn't just pass; they ground him down.
The training was a slow, brutal carving of a human soul. At age seven, he ran the mountain passes until his boots fell apart and his feet bled into the snow. At eight, the hooded man—whom Kenjiro began to call 'The Warden'—introduced a wooden sword weighted with lead.
"The shadow saved you once," the Warden said, striking Kenjiro across the ribs with a practice stave. "If you rely on it, you are a slave. If you command it, you are a King. Strike again."
By nine, Kenjiro's body began to change. The soft edges of childhood vanished. His shoulders broadened, his movements becoming fluid and predatory. He didn't talk to the village children anymore. He was a ghost that haunted the high ridges.
At ten, the System began to unlock.
[ Strength: 25 ]
[ Agility: 30 ]
[ Sense: 22 ]
[ New Skill: Shadow Step (Rank E) ]
The training became vivid, a blur of sweat and iron. He learned to hunt without the rifle, using only his hands and the shadows that coiled around his ankles. He learned to breathe in a way that slowed his heart until the world seemed to move in slow motion.
By the time he turned eleven, the transformation was nearly complete.
Kenjiro stood by the river bank where he had once faced the Kong. He was tall for his age, his frame lean and packed with corded muscle. His red hair, once messy and wild, was now long, reaching the small of his back. He pulled it back, tying it with a silver band the Warden had given him—an elegant piece of metal etched with the same soul-symbols as his wrist.
He looked at his reflection in the water. He didn't see a boy. He saw the blueprint of the man in the system videos.
"The Vanguards are close," the Warden said, appearing from the mist.
Kenjiro didn't turn around. He reached out his hand. A shadow flickered beneath the water's surface. "I know. I can smell the rot."
[ Level: 9 ]
[ Exp: 98% ]
[ Warning: The First Trial Approaches ]
Kenjiro tightened the silver band around his hair. The emerald glow in his eyes didn't fade this time; it sat there, a low, simmering fire.
"One more year," Kenjiro whispered. "Then I stop being the student."