The world was dark, suffocating, and silent. The young man's last memories were of burning metal, shattered glass, and the cold grasp of death. He had no time to process what had happened before everything went blank. Yet, as his consciousness flickered back into existence, he realized he wasn't gone—not entirely.
When his eyes opened, he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. His small hands and feet moved awkwardly, foreign to his senses. Panic surged through him until he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror. A child's face stared back. His skin was a rich blend of brown and pale, a perfect mixture of African-American and Japanese heritage. Dark eyes, sharper than they should have been for a child, reflected confusion and a budding understanding of his situation.
He wasn't dead. He was reborn.
The next few years were surreal. His new name was Daigo Hanma, born in a tough Tokyo neighborhood. His father was absent, his mother a ghost of her former self, consumed by her own demons. Despite this, Daigo quickly realized he wasn't alone in this chaotic world.
At the age of six, he met Manjiro Sano—Mikey. The boy with an easy smile and an aura that drew people in. Their friendship formed fast and deep, the two of them sharing the same fire for life despite their young age. Mikey introduced Daigo to his older brother Shinichiro, whose calming presence felt like an anchor in their unpredictable lives.
But Daigo wasn't just any child. He carried a secret. In his veins flowed the Hachijo bloodline, a mystical lineage that granted him an uncanny charisma and physical prowess. Coupled with the natural strength of the Hanma bloodline, Daigo was different—stronger, faster, and sharper than others his age. He kept this hidden, knowing that his power could make him a target in a world that already felt precariously unstable.
By the time Daigo turned 11, his bond with Mikey was unshakable. Together, they dreamed of building something bigger than themselves. But fate had other plans.
Late one night, Daigo was walking home when a van screeched to a halt beside him. Before he could react, masked men grabbed him, dragging him inside. Despite his strength, he was no match for their numbers. The last thing he saw was the Tokyo skyline disappearing behind them.
He woke up in a dark, dingy room in South Korea. His captors were mercenaries, hired by a shadowy group interested in his unique abilities. The years that followed were hell. He was subjected to grueling training, forced to fight in underground arenas, and treated as nothing more than a weapon. Each day, he plotted his escape, biding his time and sharpening his skills.
At 17, Daigo finally saw his chance. Using the chaos of a raid on the compound, he fought his way out, leaving a trail of unconscious guards in his wake. For the first time in years, he breathed the air of freedom.
Now free but with no ties to his past, Daigo found himself in a small South Korean city. Using the money he'd saved from his underground fights, he rented a modest two-bedroom apartment. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
One rainy evening, as he returned from a late-night convenience store run, he saw a girl sitting on the steps outside his building. She was soaked, her short hair clinging to her face, and her expression was one of quiet determination.
"Hey," he called out, holding up his umbrella. "You okay?"
The girl looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was strength in her gaze, the kind that only came from enduring hardships. "I'm fine," she replied, though her shivering frame betrayed her words.
Daigo hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Look, if you need a place to stay, I've got a spare room. It's not much, but it's better than sitting out here in the rain."
She studied him cautiously before nodding. "I'll pay you back," she said firmly.
"Sure," Daigo replied with a small smile. "What's your name?"
"Nam-Soon," she answered.
"Daigo," he said, leading her inside.
As the door closed behind them, Daigo couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was the beginning of something much bigger than himself.
For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope—a chance to rebuild, to find purpose, and to fight for something more than survival.