The neon lights of Akihabara bathe the streets in shifting colors, bright but deceptive. Beneath its sheen lies a city that doesn't sleep, where laughter from arcades mixes with hushed whispers of the unseen. Puddles left by the rain reflect the glow, but the shadows between street lamps seem to hold their own secrets, waiting for something—or someone—to make a mistake. 

For me, Yuki Yoshimura, this city has always been a mix of solace and distraction—a place where I could lose myself in the hum of arcades and the comfort of routine. My life was unremarkable on the surface. Ambiverted and content with a small circle of "friends," I stayed out of trouble and avoided the spotlight. However, I harbored a deep passion for the blade. It was my escape, a connection to something greater.

There was something almost sacred about the art of the blade, the way every strike and block felt like a conversation between mind and body. Kendo was my sanctuary, a place where the noise of the world faded away, leaving only the rhythm of my breath and the sound of bamboo clashing. Despite my lack of natural talent, my enthusiasm for the art of swordsmanship was unwavering. 

The chatter of the crowd seems muted tonight, like a distant hum. I catch a flicker of movement in the corner of my vision—a figure slipping into an alley, disappearing before I can be sure. The streetlights ahead flicker once, twice, before settling into an uneven glow. It's probably nothing, but my steps quicken all the same.

My grip tightens on the strap of my kendo bag, its weight grounding me. Every splinter in the bamboo core, every crease in the leather, tells a story of failure and perseverance. This is my purpose—my blade has never betrayed me, and it won't start now. "Still too slow on the third strike," I mutter under my breath. "If this keeps up, I'll never perfect it." A wry smile tugs at my lips. "Guess there's always tomorrow."

The sound of hurried footsteps breaks through my thoughts. Around the corner, a shout rings out, sharp and panicked. My pace quickens, my heart sinking as I recognize the voice.

The alley is a different world entirely. The neon lights don't reach here, replaced by the faint orange glow of a failing streetlamp. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls, their edges jagged like broken glass. The air feels heavier, the distant hum of the city swallowed by a suffocating silence.

Hiroshi, my friend, is cornered in an alley by a group of thugs. His back is pressed against the cold brick wall, his breaths shallow and panicked. I can see the fear in his wide eyes, darting desperately for an escape route that isn't there. His hands clutch at the straps of his bag as if it could shield him, his body pressed against the bricks like he's trying to melt into them.

These thugs weren't random strangers. They were part of a local gang that hung around the outskirts of Akihabara. Their leader, a man known as Daisuke, had a reputation for preying on easy targets—kids, tourists, and anyone who seemed too scared or weak to fight back. Hiroshi must have been unlucky enough to cross their path earlier. Maybe they thought he had money, or maybe they just wanted to intimidate someone for fun.

"Come on, kid," one of the thugs snarls, his voice low and menacing. "You can't run forever. Just hand it over."

"I... I don't have anything," Hiroshi stammers, his voice trembling. His bag, old and worn, isn't the kind of thing that screams wealth, but the gang doesn't care. For them, it's about dominance.

"Liar," another thug sneers, cracking his knuckles. "You ran. That means you're hiding something."

The one twirling the knife steps closer, his blade catching the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp. "Maybe we cut you open and find out."

My blood boils as I round the corner and take in the scene. "Hey!" I shout, my voice sharp enough to cut through their laughter. "Leave him alone!"

The largest thug—Daisuke himself—turns to face me, his expression shifting from irritation to amusement. "And who's this? A hero?" His mockery draws another round of laughter from his lackeys, but I don't flinch.

"Hiroshi, run," I commanded, my voice steady despite the knot of fear tightening in my chest. My grip tightens on the strap of my kendo bag. "Now."

Hiroshi's eyes flick to me, filled with a mixture of relief and horror. "I can't—"

"Go!" I bark, my tone leaving no room for argument. My glare doesn't waver as I step further into the alley, positioning myself between Hiroshi and the thugs.

Finally, Hiroshi breaks free of his paralysis. He stumbles backward, hesitating for a moment as if torn, before bolting past the thugs. One of them lunges to grab him, but I'm faster. I swing my kendo bag upward with all the strength I can muster, the weight of it slamming into the thug's ribs. He staggers back, gasping in pain, and collapses to the ground.

The other thugs freeze for a moment, shocked by the sudden shift. Their leader narrows his eyes, his sneer turning into a scowl. Then his gaze shifts to me, scanning my stance, my grip on the kendo bag, and the resolve in my eyes. His expression changes, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.

"Wait a second," he says, his tone laced with curiosity and menace. "You're that kendo brat, aren't you? Always hanging around the dojo near the station. Thought you'd be smarter than this."

The others catch on, their smirks returning. "Yeah, I've seen him too," one of them adds, cracking his knuckles. "Think you can play samurai, kid? Think again."

Daisuke's sneer deepens, and he taps the knife in his hand against his palm. "Change of plans. Forget the runt. This one's got some fight in him. Let's see how far that gets him."

I step forward, my stance instinctive, honed through years of relentless practice. The first thug lunges at me, his knife aimed at my chest. My body moves before my mind can fully register, sidestepping smoothly as my kendo bag arcs upward, smashing into his wrist with a sharp crack. The knife flies from his hand, clattering to the ground. He recoils, clutching his arm, but there's no time to celebrate.

Another thug charges from my right, his fist raised. I duck low, twisting my body to avoid the blow. Using my momentum, I drive my shoulder into his midsection, shoving him into the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He slumps, gasping, but the others are already closing in.

For a fleeting moment, it feels like a kendo match—the rhythm of movement, the focus, the precision. But this isn't practice. Here, a mistake isn't met with the polite tap of bamboo—it's paid for in blood. Every strike feels heavier, every breath more urgent. This is survival, and I can't afford to lose.

The leader, Daisuke, smirks as he watches me, his knife tapping lightly against his palm. "Not bad, kid. But let's see how you handle this."

Before I can respond, another thug blindsides me, his fist driving into my stomach with brutal force. Pain lances through my side, sharp and unrelenting, but I refuse to stop. My body screams for rest, but my mind shouts louder: Keep moving. The blade taught me one thing above all—when you're cornered, you push forward. Always forward.

I try to push myself up, but a heavy boot slams down on my back, pinning me against the cold pavement. My arms tremble under the pressure as I struggle to move.

"You think you're tough?" Daisuke sneers, crouching down to meet my gaze. His voice is low, mocking. "You're just a stupid kid playing with sticks."

I grit my teeth, glaring up at him through the blood trickling from my lip. My voice comes out hoarse but defiant. "Better than being a coward."

His smirk vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard glare. The boot on my back lifts, and for a fleeting second, hope flares in my chest. I start to push myself up, but then I see the glint of his knife as it arcs downward.

Pain explodes in my chest, but it's fleeting. Time stretches, the world around me fading into silence. The city lights blur into streaks of color, and the faces of the thugs disappear into darkness.

A voice, calm and detached, echoes in the void.

Evaluating Soul... Completed.

My thoughts are sluggish, but I register the words. What... is this?

Life Cycle Progress: 28% Complete. Potential: Unfulfilled.

The voice continues, seemingly oblivious to me, addressing something far beyond my comprehension.

Recommending Soul for Reincarnation... Confirmed.

Could reincarnation really be possible?

Notable Traits Detected: [Unyielding Determination], [Lifelong Dedication to the Blade].

At least I get to train by the sword with other teachers not from this universe in this realm of stretched time.

Unique Skill: Eternal Sword Mastery acquisition successful.

If I was able to... I wish I had a real friend... Hiro… Always running, always leaving me to pick up the pieces. But still, I couldn't let him go down like this. Not when I had the chance to stop it.

Confirmed. Acquiring Extra Skill: Fiend Bound.

Fiend Bound? The words echo, heavy with an unfamiliar weight. Am I supposed to feel relieved? Or is this another trick—some cosmic punchline I'm too slow to catch? Why does it feel less like a gift and more like a warning?

Requesting to evolve Fiend Bound into Unique Skill: Soul Bound... Successful.

Soul Bound... Is that supposed to be better? It sounds less ominous, but why does it feel so heavy? Maybe this is part of the plan. Or part of another mistake.

Time continues to pass although it stopped long ago.

Maybe this lapse in time means I'm gonna get a second chance at life?

Error Detected: Reincarnation Denied... Divine Negligence Confirmed.

I want to laugh, but my body won't respond. Negligence? Sounds about right. 

Compensating for Extended Soul Retention.

The Gods must be laughing, amused by how easily they could toy with my fate. It's infuriating… but what else is new?

Extra Skill: Rage acquisition successful.

Yeah right... why do I think being angry would give me a second chance?

Confirmed. Proper receptacle found, approved by Goddess Elvira. Initiating Reincarnation Process...

The voice fades, and I feel myself dissolve into light. My last thought lingers in the stillness: Well... dying isn't so bad…