The air was thick and heavy, the kind of summer heat that pressed down on the lungs. In a city famous for turning asphalt into a griddle, air conditioning was not a luxury. It was survival. Yet there was always a certain breed of people who defied common sense. They feared neither heat nor stale smoke nor the way June storms sometimes hurled ice from the sky.
They gathered in cramped internet cafés, shoulder to shoulder, voices raised, fingers flying.
Gamers.
The café buzzed like a nest kicked too hard. Shouts overlapped, chairs scraped, cheap headphones leaked sound. Amid the chaos, one voice cut through with startling force.
"Come on!"
Fujimoto Tōma shouted into his headset, his sudden roar loud even by the café's standards. His excitement was not without reason. The team fight had reached its breaking point.
On-screen, the champion under his control had burned through every gap-closing move and finally reached the enemy mage. Two impossibly fast strikes later, the robed figure collapsed. First blood for the fight.
Of course, no one died alone.
The enemy unloaded everything in return. Damage poured in. A debuff followed. His health plunged toward nothing.
But this was the Barbarian King.
"AAAAAAAA—!"
Tōma slammed his ultimate. For five glorious seconds, he was unkillable. A real man's skill, pure and shameless.
Good. This was the moment.
Even weakened, even with only one enemy down, he could last. With his support ready, he had time. Ten seconds, at least.
Ten seconds was enough to burn the world.
The ultimate timer ticked down.
Then—
"What the hell?!"
His support cast their revive immediately.
Immediately.
While the debuff was still active.
The window to deal damage shrank to nothing. Two seconds, maybe less. Tōma shoved his chair back and flung his hands off the keyboard.
It was over.
He leaned back, eyes shut, waiting for the final announcement. The humiliating shutdown.
But it never came.
Seconds passed.
Silence.
Confused, he cracked one eye open.
Light flooded his vision.
Too much light.
Lightning arced. Sparks erupted. A blinding white flash swallowed the screen.
"Damn it!"
He spun and bolted, but fate had already looked away. The explosion bloomed behind him, fierce and sudden, and the world vanished.
Hands. Legs. A body.
Everything seemed to be there.
Good. Nothing missing.
Maybe someone had called an ambulance. He tried to breathe, to relax. Thirst crept in. Someone nearby was touching him. Too close.
"Hey, stop scratching my—"
The sound that came out was not his voice.
It was a wail.
Sharp, loud, and unmistakably newborn.
The cry echoed through the room. And through him.
The first scream was confusion. The next was pure panic.
What is this?
Before he could finish spiraling, another voice entered his awareness.
"Are you alright, Mizuho?"
A man leaned close. His face was rough, stubbled, far too close to soft infant skin. Tōma cried harder, more out of protest than pain.
On the bed, a woman laughed weakly.
"Minaki… let me see our child."
Her voice carried exhaustion, but warmth too. Minaki carefully placed the baby beside her.
Mizuho turned her head, studying the tiny face. Her smile settled, full and certain.
"This child carries my courage," she said softly. "And the courage of the Senju."
She paused, then nodded.
"Let's name him Senju Mayū."
Minaki smiled. "Alright. As you wish."
Senju.
Mayū.
The name echoed faintly in his mind.
So… not all bad.
No, calm down. Think.
The complaints faded. Habit took over. Tōma had always been good at reading situations. Games, work, life. If something could be solved, he would find the best route. If it could not, he would stop wasting energy on it.
This world was dangerous. That much was obvious.
But Senju was not a weak name.
The clan had faded, not been erased. No Wood Release had appeared in generations, but that was decline, not annihilation. Compared to other fates, it was almost gentle.
And a clan name meant resources. Shelter. A starting line that was not bare earth.
The baby frowned, tiny brows knitting together.
Mizuho laughed and brushed his forehead with her finger.
"You really are a thoughtful child," she said fondly.
Her smile held no fear. Only warmth.
And for the first time since waking, Senju Mayū allowed himself to breathe.