White.
White walls that created an illusion of boundless, empty space.
A white bed, now alone in a room that used to be filled with identical beds.
White clothes that felt like nothing—the same cotton fabric as it had been for the past 14 years.
The World of White, devoid of any color.
The kid, with a neutral expression, was devoid of any emotion.
Today, it was the same room, same clothes, same bed, same kid... yet it seemed rather alien... silent... devoid of any stares... as if the boy was the only living being inside. There seemed to be nothing else; it was quiet, too quiet... even for a place that resembled a blank void.
The pale-skinned boy turned his brown-yellow eyes toward one of the rooms, his slightly messy brown hair swaying gently in the process. His expression was neutral and composed as he calmly stepped inside, reflecting a maturity and analytical personality that no one would expect from an 14-year-old.
The room was identical to the others, indistinguishable in its blankness. Nevertheless, there was a musical instrument, right in the center of the room, its black and white keys orderly in place, as if waiting for someone to lay their fingers on them.
Amongst the many keys, five white and one black key in the third octave seemed to glow with ethereal light, as if hinting for someone to press them. There appeared to be a sequence based on the intensity of the light coming from the keys.
Cautiously, the boy slowly sat on a chair, positioning himself comfortably at the piano as he prepared to press the first note. There were many unanswered questions in the boy's mind. What felt so different about this place? Was it some kind of test? If it was a test, then why did he not notice any hidden cameras or feel any gazes on him?
'..Maybe it's just a dream..'
Despite the seemingly endless questions, the boy decided to press the first key... then the second, then the third... fourth... fifth... sixth... and beyond, following a sequence, almost instinctively, as he transformed into the pianist. Instantly, the silent room filled with a melancholic melody that seemed to cut deep into the boy's bones.
It was simple... unlike hard-to-play pieces like *Flight of the Bumblebee.* This melody was easy, yet it reflected a sense of monotony and hopelessness. Its soft, restrained dynamics evoked a sense of stillness and the passage of time within the imagination of the pianist.
As he continued to play, his expression, meant to be as tough as a monolith, softened a little. His eyes slowly closed as his fingers moved on their own, maintaining the same speed and tempo, seemingly enjoying the movement. In his imagination, he saw a lone, blank, colorless person looking up at the white ceiling with hollow eyes. As the piece neared its end, the person's face and skin seemed to gain color; his eyes were no longer hollow and held a hint of emotion.
As the boy finally pressed the last note lightly, the person in his imagination whispered four simple words in a monotone yet thoughtful voice.
"Wake up to reality, Kiyotaka."
The moment he did, Kiyotaka's imagination and the deep state he had entered during his play seemed to shatter. But it didn't stop there, as the walls of the World of White, where he had lived for more than a decade, began to crack, allowing rays of different colors—ranging from red to violet—to enter the room and engulf him.
As the room filled with ethereal light, its brightness forced Kiyotaka to close his eyes. Ayanokouji wasn't panicking; he simply expected the strange "dream" to end.
The moment seemed to stretch on forever, yet after what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes, slowly adapting to the sight before him. Contrary to his expectations, what he saw wasn't a familiar white ceiling... but a crystal-clear night sky.
His surroundings were different, as he heard many natural sounds—the rustling of leaves, the wind, the river—and human screams of panic and battle. Projectiles like shurikens flew from everywhere, the sounds of kunai deflecting against each other echoing through what should have been a silent night.
Confused by the sudden change, he wanted to move his body and get up... yet it didn't seem to respond. He was paralyzed. At that moment, he noticed... this wasn't his body. It was weak... and younger. He didn't feel the strength he usually had, his refined muscles nowhere to be seen. Forcing his will into it, he moved his eyes to the side and saw a reflection of his face in a puddle of blood from a dead body beside him.
What he saw was the face of a stranger looking back at him. The stranger's face belonged to a boy in early puberty, his skin pale and showing signs of malnourishment. His eyes and unattended, messy hair were an unnatural gray. Realizing that the stranger he was looking at was himself, and that it wasn't his body, added to Ayanokouji's already high level of confusion.
'This is not my body...'
The moment the realization hit, a wave of unnatural headache assaulted him, causing his consciousness to black out briefly. Memories he didn't recall having appeared in his mind all at once. Lacking time to delve into them due to the critical circumstances, Ayanokouji forced himself to try to move. Coincidentally, as the mental pain hit, the paralysis of this new body ceased. He slowly inspected himself for wounds and was relieved to find his new body unharmed. Then, Kiyotaka cautiously observed the situation around him, limiting his movements to avoid detection.
All around the area, which seemed to be a rice field near a small village, figures cloaked in black robes fought against villagers, turning the water red with blood. Besides them, there were other figures of smaller stature—the village children, ranging from infants to those who appeared to be Kiyotaka's peers. They slept, unaware of the tragic events around them. In the distance, the sounds of kunai hitting flesh filled the night, punctuated by the periodic screams of fallen adults. Soon, silence came as the screams died down, and five ninjas encircled the last man standing.
One black-robed ninja sneered, his voice mixed with malice and contempt. Smirking, he spoke.
"Old man, I'm impressed that someone living in such a remote area can use ritualistic ninjutsu, or was it Ninshu? Whatever. How long can you stand on those old bones that might crumble at any moment? Just give up and die!"
The old man spat out a mouthful of blood as his knees weakened, but contrary to his physical state, his tone was strong.
"You... snakelets... putting those children under genjutsu... and killing every adult in this village... Have you not ruined the Land of Rice Fields enough? Even then, that snake of a monster hunted down villages for his experiments!"
The ninja's smirk faded at the old man's remark, his eyes, which had been filled with contempt, darkened. He lowered his head slightly, revealing a headband with a single musical note symbol. Chuckling, he clasped his hands together, his voice filled with malice and slight anger.
"You'll regret insulting our master so disrespectfully... Pity that your old bones aren't even fit for sacrifice... Now, die."
The old man didn't respond, muttering something under his breath.
At the same time, Kiyotaka felt a sudden premonition in his heart. He sensed the air moving unnaturally around the area, converging on the ninja, who made strange signs with his hands. When the feeling reached its peak, the ninja muttered, "Wind Style: Wind Blades Jutsu!"
Kiyotaka's eyes widened as he saw the wind form into blades and fly toward the old man. Before the old man could react, his head was severed, propelled across the field by the sheer force of the wind.
'Where did that wind come from? Was that magic... a ninjutsu as the ninja said?....what even is happening in this world...and why am i here?'
Despite his amazement and deep confusion, Kiyotaka was forced to halt his pondering and move. By a twist of fate, the head flew directly toward Ayanokouji, prompting him to instinctively dodge. However, unaccustomed to the new body's weak responses, he stumbled and fell, causing the blood beneath him to splatter, making a noise loud enough to pierce the newly established silence of the night.
Realizing the severity of his action, Kiyotaka darted his eyes to where the confrontation had been moments before. To his surprise, where there had been five figures, there were now four. Suddenly, he felt a chilling gaze from behind. Turning slightly, he saw the same ninja who had killed the old man, holding a kunai close to his neck and looking at him with amusement, his voice filled with curiosity.
"Looks like someone has woken up. Haha, how interesting... Is this that old fool's doing, or are you the one I was looking for?"