The soft morning light filtered into Haruto's small room, casting gentle beams over the books scattered around him. Haruto sat cross-legged on the floor, a focused expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of a worn, aging book. He skimmed each line with intent, searching for anything that might give him a hint about the strange, faint shadow he had once glimpsed around his hands. It was elusive, like a memory just out of reach, yet he felt certain it was significant.
His mother's voice broke the silence. "Haruto! Breakfast is ready!"
With a soft sigh, Haruto closed the book, setting it aside carefully. His family's books were comforting, but none of them seemed to hold the answers he sought. Rising, he moved downstairs.
The smell of cooked rice and miso filled the small kitchen as he entered. His mother smiled warmly, setting a bowl in front of him. "Good morning, Haruto. You were up early again."
Haruto nodded, not looking up. "Just… reading."
His mother chuckled, giving him an affectionate glance. "Always the little scholar, aren't you?"
His father joined them, settling down with a contented sigh. "It's good you like reading, Haruto. Not many kids around here do," he said, ruffling Haruto's hair. Haruto smiled, the warmth of his family settling the unease that always seemed to linger in the back of his mind.
They ate together, chatting about the usual farm matters—the crops, the animals, the weather. But Haruto's thoughts wandered back to the strange memories that tugged at him, memories of something he could not yet understand. His gaze drifted to the window, the familiar view of the farm stretching out before him.
Thanking his parents, Haruto excused himself and slipped outside into the cool, crisp morning air. As he walked toward the fields, the quiet calm of the farm settled over him, a peace he had come to rely on.
He paused at the yard's edge, his mind once again drifting to the shadow he had glimpsed around his hands the day before. The air was still, and he found himself meditating, absentmindedly focusing on the sensation of his hands, wondering if he would feel that strange, familiar presence again.
A soft grunt broke his concentration, followed by the rhythmic clash of wood meeting wood. Haruto's curiosity piqued, he moved closer and saw Kaito practicing with a wooden sword. Kaito's movements were fluid and focused, as though he had been at it for hours.
Haruto watched quietly, a growing sense of familiarity washing over him as he observed Kaito's practiced swings. The feeling in his muscles, the way his body seemed to understand the movement instinctively, was uncanny. It was as though he had done this before—perhaps in another life.
Kaito paused mid-swing and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Oh, hey, Haruto! Didn't see you there," he said, giving him a friendly grin. "What brings you out here?"
Haruto shrugged, his gaze lingering on the wooden sword. "I was just taking a stroll and saw you practicing… Thought I'd come take a look."
Kaito's eyes brightened. "You want to practice? We can do a few moves." He offered Haruto the sword.
Haruto hesitated for a moment, then grasped the hilt. It felt oddly natural in his hands, as if holding it was something he had done countless times before. His stance adjusted without thought, his body moving with an ease that surprised him.
Kaito raised an eyebrow. "You've got a good grip already. Looks like you've been practicing."
Haruto gave a small smile, but the unease lingered. "I… don't think so."
"Here," Kaito said, demonstrating a basic swing. "Just follow my lead."
Haruto nodded, and as Kaito swung, he mirrored the movement, the wooden blade cutting through the air with a steady arc. Kaito stepped back, his eyes widening. "Wow, Haruto! You're a natural."
Haruto blinked, a strange feeling settling over him. Each swing felt too familiar, as if his body had remembered it all on its own. "Maybe I have done this before," he murmured to himself.
They continued to practice, Kaito guiding him through a few more strikes and blocks. The motions came easily to Haruto, and each time the blade moved through the air, the faint shadow-like energy stirred within him, pulling him deeper into the flow.
After a while, Kaito paused, breathing heavily. "You really should practice with us more often, Haruto. You'd be strong in no time."
Haruto looked at the sword, his fingers tightening around the hilt. "Maybe… But I feel like there's something I need to understand first."
Kaito tilted his head. "Something more? Like what?"
Haruto hesitated, glancing at his hands as though expecting to see the flicker of shadow again. "I don't know. It's… hard to explain."
Kaito shrugged, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, you think too much. Just train and see where it goes."
Haruto smiled faintly, nodding. He felt a quiet determination settle over him. Whatever these memories were, whatever this strange energy was inside him, he knew the answers wouldn't come all at once. For now, he would continue searching, slowly piecing together the fragments of a forgotten past.