The pain in his chest was unbearable. Takakura Toji clutched at his heart, gasping for breath as his vision blurred. He had lived a long life—ninety-nine years of unwavering faith, preaching the gospel despite every obstacle. Even as his body failed him, his mind remained strong, reaching out to the heavens one last time.
"Lord… your son has played his part," he whispered, tears rolling down his wrinkled face. "I have done something for You… but… if—just if—I could achieve my childhood dreams, I would be forever grateful."
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Then… light.
Toji's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in slow, steady inhales. He sat up abruptly, cold sweat clinging to his skin. The towering trees around him swayed gently in the wind, their rustling leaves the only sound in the otherwise silent woods.
"Just a dream," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The memory of his death had felt so real—the pain, the longing, the desperate prayer. But here he was, alive and breathing, with the earthy scent of the forest filling his nostrils.
He sat in silence for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He felt different—lighter, younger. He looked down at his hands, no longer frail and wrinkled but strong, calloused. His clothes were different as well, simple and rough, nothing like the garments he had worn before. Something had changed.
Shaking off the eerie feeling, Toji pushed himself to his feet. He had more pressing concerns: food, water, and shelter. The sun was high in the sky, meaning he had plenty of time to find a town before nightfall.
He made his way through the thick forest, his movements careful and calculated. The walk was longer than he had anticipated, each step pressing him further into unfamiliar territory. He noted the trees, the sky, the distant hills—everything felt oddly vibrant, more alive than he remembered from his old world.
Soon, the trees thinned, revealing a dirt road leading toward a small town in the distance. The sight brought a sense of relief, though he knew better than to expect an easy life here.
Stepping into the town, Toji took in his surroundings. The streets bustled with activity—merchants shouting their wares, children playing in the dusty roads, and townsfolk moving about their daily routines. He listened closely, trying to pick up any details about this world. Conversations about trade, farmers discussing crops, and distant laughter filled his ears. The dialect was different but understandable.
His stomach growled at the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air, but he had nothing to trade, no money to his name. He resisted the temptation to steal—his faith would not allow it. Instead, he wandered through the town, his eyes scanning for opportunities. A kind soul, perhaps, willing to share a meal with a stranger. A job, maybe, to earn his keep. But as the day stretched on, reality set in. No one paid him much mind, and his presence was met with wary glances.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Toji found himself at the back of a row of buildings, sitting against a cold stone wall. He sighed, staring up at the darkening sky. The first night in this world, and already, he was struggling. Yet, he had faith. He had faced greater trials before, and he would endure this one, too.
The chill of the evening seeped into his bones, and hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he endured. He had survived worse before. He was adjusting to his new reality when movement caught his eye.
A group of people, their voices hushed, dragged a large sack down the narrow alley. Something about the way they moved—their urgency, the way they kept glancing over their shoulders—sent a chill down his spine.
Curiosity and caution warring within him, Toji edged closer, sticking to the shadows. As they reached a secluded corner, one of them bent down to adjust the sack, and in that brief moment, the fabric shifted just enough to reveal a pale, lifeless hand.
His breath hitched. His heartbeat quickened. His instincts screamed at him to step back, but something held him there, frozen in place.
Someone was inside.
Toji's mind raced. Who were these people? What had they done? He could feel the weight of his choices pressing on him. Would he turn away and pretend he saw nothing? Or would he act?
Gritting his teeth, he inched closer, trying to hear their conversation. Words were hushed, but he caught pieces: "No one can know... dispose of it... midnight." His muscles tensed. He had seen much in his life, but this world—this situation—felt different, dangerous.
Then, as if sensing his presence, one of them turned, scanning the alley. Toji held his breath, pressing against the wall. The figure lingered, their eyes narrowing.
He needed to move. Now.