Raising his head was like pulling it through thick water.
Kazuya's eyelids parted to an assault of unfamiliar light. The ceiling above was strange, its texture was alien.
He didn't allow himself the luxury of a slow awakening. In one fluid motion, he threw back the fabric covering him and sat up. He was no longer in his travel-worn rags; he wore clean clothes.
An unfamiliar place.
The room was functional. A desk, a chair, a wardrobe, and a few simple decorations. On the desk sat water and bread, the latter veiled by a simple cloth.
His stomach cramped. In the forest, he had forced down bitter roots, vomiting them back up only to swallow them again for the sake of survival. But here, in the quiet of a strange room, his caution stopped him. A stranger's kindness was often just a slower form of poison. He wouldn't test the limits of his body on a whim.
He moved to the window. Below was a wide street made of polished stone. Hundreds of people moved through it. The crowd was chaotic but had a rhythm to it.
It was a city, though Kazuya didn't know that word yet.
Click.
The door's mechanism made a loud clang in the silent room. Kazuya pivoted, his center of gravity lowering as he took a sharp step back. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the threshold.
The door swung open.
"Oh! You're awake already."
The voice was gentle and tender. The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties, draped in a dark brown dress. But it was her hair that demanded attention, a dazzling, silky red that was hard to look away from. Her eyes were wrapped in white bandages.
"Who are you?" Kazuya's voice was flat.
The woman chuckled. She closed the door, a basket hooked in the crook of her arm. She moved with ease, navigating the room as if the bandages were mere decoration.
She set the basket down and pulled back the cloth. Inside was a cherry pie, golden and red, looking good enough to make anyone hungry.
She took out a knife and cut a slice. Her smile was wide, radiating a warmth that Kazuya found suspicious.
"Here, open wide. Say ahhh..."
Kazuya didn't move. He stared at the pie silently, then at the bandages.
"Did I not say it clearly? Open wide," she urged, moving the crust closer to his face. The scent of cooked sugar teased his nostrils, making his mouth water against his will.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice a low rasp.
The woman tilted her head, her red hair swaying. "Isn't it obvious? I'm feeding you."
"I can see that. I'm asking why."
She paused, as if the concept of a motive was something she had to invent on the spot. "You must be hungry."
It was a truth he couldn't refute. The hunger was clawing at his ribs. His eyes calmed, the hostility replaced by a weary pragmatism. He reached out his hand. "Give it to me. I can eat by myself."
"Tch, tch, tch. No can do," she chirped, pulling the slice back. "It's either I feed you, or you stay hungry."
Kazuya's face remained a mask of stone. He didn't argue. Turning to the desk, he ripped the cloth off the bread he had previously distrusted, and shoved a dry hunk into his mouth. He washed it down with the water.
"Lame," the woman pouted, her shoulders dropping in feigned disappointment. She took a bite of the pie herself, licking a stray drop of cherry juice from her finger.
Kazuya swallowed the last of the bread. The immediate crisis of his stomach was silenced, but the crisis of his situation remained. "So. Who are you? And why did you help me?"
The woman held up one finger. "First: I am Ling Wu. Second..." She raised a second finger. "Is there a reason not to help? You were a heap on the dirt. I brought you back. It's that simple."
Kazuya processed her words, but his gaze remained fixed on the bandages. "When you helped me... did you notice anything unusual?"
Ling Wu smiled, and for the first time, the expression felt sharp. "Aside from your frightening regeneration speed? No. I haven't seen a thing."
A cold spike of adrenaline shot through Kazuya's chest. His eye twitched slightly.
She knows.
His mind raced, a frantic calculation of risks. If she revealed his secrets to the public, he'll become a target, a freak, or a prize to be dissected. Could he eliminate her? No. Her movements, her lack of sight, her sheer presence, everything about her screamed that she was anything but ordinary.
"If you know," Kazuya sighed, the tension leaving him in a slow breath, "then I don't have to act. What are you after?"
Ling Wu tilted her head in genuine bewilderment. "After? Young man, I think you've got the wrong idea. I'm not after anything. I saved you because you were there. Don't tell me you're one of those people who thinks every nice thing comes with a price?"
Kazuya stared at her for a long time. "I'm not. I've met plenty of people who do kind things without wanting anything back. I'm just not one of them, and I never really understood how they think."
"You're even worse," she muttered, crossing her arms. She pushed the remaining pie toward him. "Eat. You're still hungry."
He didn't refuse this time. He took the pie. The taste was sweet, yet lacking. His mother had been a baker; he knew the weight of flour and the bite of salt. After he finished, he looked at her.
"How is it?" she asked.
"Horrible."
Ling Wu recoiled as if he had struck her. "What?! I saved your life and you insult my baking?"
"You asked for my opinion," Kazuya said, his voice flat. "I gave it to you. You don't know the measurements, you're just winging it and calling it baking."
He stood up, wiping his hands.
The dejected slump of Ling Wu's shoulders was almost comical, but he wasn't laughing.
"I'm Kazuya," he said, finally offering his name as a bridge. "Since you know about my body, it'll be easier. I need help."
"Help with what?"
"Getting stronger." He looked at her directly. "I can tell you aren't ordinary. You seem to be my only way to find the truth I'm looking for."
"The truth, huh." Ling Wu's voice lost its playfulness. She seemed to be tasting the word. Then, she held up three fingers.
"If you want me to help you get stronger, I have three conditions," she stated.
"First: You become my disciple and address me as Master Ling Wu. Second: You follow my orders without question. Disobey once, and you're out. Third: You teach me how to bake."
Kazuya weighed the second condition. "Won't you be using me with that?"
"Of course not," she waved her hand, though her next words were a barely audible mumble, "...I hope."
Kazuya heard it. He saw her turn her head to whistle a tuneless note. He sighed before agreeing.
"I agree."
"Really? I thought you'd reject my offer for slav—training. My offer for training."
"When do we start, Master Ling Wu?"
She smiled. "That's better. Follow me. You need clothes you can actually bleed in."
...
They stepped out into the city.
The stone streets were a cacophony of life. To Kazuya, it was an irritant, a constant buzzing of voices and smells that scraped against his nerves.
"Not good with crowds?" Ling Wu asked.
"Irritating."
"Think of this as part of your training. If you never leave your comfort zone, you won't get stronger."
The advice was sudden. Before he could respond, the rhythm of the street broke. A man, stumbling from a collision, hurtled toward Ling Wu. With a casual flick of her wrist, she caught him, steadying the weight as if it were a feather.
The man began to offer thanks, but the words died in his throat as he looked up. He saw the red hair and the bandages.
His face twisted into a mask of pure disdain. He ripped his arm away from her touch, scoffing as he spat on the stone and walked away without a word.
Kazuya's gaze followed the man, then he turned back to Ling Wu. She was motionless for a heartbeat before she turned back to him, waving her hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about that."
Kazuya watched her for a second before replying. "I wasn't worried in the first place," he said, his voice flat as ever.
Ling Wu laughed. "You really are something, aren't you?"
The walk to their destination wasn't long.
Ling Wu stopped, gesturing with a casual grace toward a storefront. "We're here. Gustall's Tailor Shop."
Kazuya's gaze traveled upward. There was a sign there that read Gustall's Tailor Shop. He could read it, fortunately. When he first met people in this world, he understood them. Now it seemed the writing was the same too
They pushed through the door, and a pair of bells chimed overhead with a cheerful ring.
The air inside was heavy with the scent of expensive dyes and raw linen. Kazuya stood still, his eyes scanning the racks of garments displayed.
"Come," Ling Wu urged. "We're going to have clothes specially made for you."
Kazuya didn't offer a confirmation. He simply followed her to the counter.
The man behind the desk looked exhausted. His hair was a mix of black and grey, too much grey for someone his age. A thick mustache covered his mouth, and deep wrinkles lined his cheeks. He wasn't old, but his work had aged him.
The moment his eyes landed on Ling Wu, the professional mask of a merchant shattered. His friendly smile died.
"Welcome to Gustall's," he said bluntly. "What would you like to acquire?"
Ling Wu placed a hand on Kazuya's shoulder. "Take his measurements. I need training clothes for him. Use the best stock you have, something that lets him move freely but won't tear when things get rough."
The tailor's cold eyes shifted to Kazuya. "Young man, over here."
Kazuya stepped forward. The tailor wrapped the measuring tape around his chest and arms, working fast and rough. His hands didn't linger, like he didn't want to be here any longer than he had to.
"High quality," the man muttered, snapping the tape shut. "My workers will select the materials. What color?"
"Black," Kazuya said before Ling Wu could breathe.
Ling Wu turned to him, her lips thinned into a pout. "Black is so... predictable. It's lame, Kazuya. I'm not paying for a funeral shroud."
Kazuya remained a statue. The silence was his answer.
Ling Wu let out a theatrical sigh, her shoulders slumping. "Ugh, fine. You heard the boy."
The tailor's disdain didn't waver. He reached out a hand and barked a price. The number was an absurdity, a blatant, daylight robbery.
Ling Wu's posture shifted. "Isn't that a bit high? Even for high quality, that's—"
"Supply is thin. Costs are rising," the man interrupted, his eyes fixed on the bandages over her eyes. "You want the best? You pay the premium."
Kazuya watched the exchange, his face an unreadable mask. He saw the flicker of hesitation in Ling Wu's jaw before she smoothed it over with a hollow smile.
"Fine, I'll pay."
She produced several slips of paper, currency that Kazuya had never seen before.
"Five days," the man said, already turning his back on them. "Come back then."
They stepped back into the sweltering press of the crowd. The sun beat down on the polished stone.
"Now, let's—"
"Why?" Kazuya's voice cut through her chatter.
Ling Wu stopped, her head tilting. "Why what?"
"Why do they treat you like that?" Kazuya asked. His voice was devoid of pity; it was a demand for logic. "The man on the street. The tailor who just robbed you in plain sight. Why?"
The silence that followed was long, filled only by the scuffing of boots on stone. Ling Wu finally broke it with a smug, self-satisfied grin. "Are you worried about me, little disciple? I'm touched."
Kazuya didn't blink. He simply waited for the truth.
Ling Wu's smile remained, but it grew heavy, losing its luster. "People hate what they cannot chain," she said softly. "They fear anything more powerful than their own collective mediocrity. My clan... we were strong. We held strength, but that strength was a target."
She turned her bandaged gaze toward the horizon. "The other factions didn't wait for us to grow too large. They burned the clan to the root. Even now, with my family in the dirt, they hate the blood that flows in me. They hate my potential. That's why I stay quiet, Kazuya. If I acted as I could, I would invite the same fire that took my kin."
Kazuya listened. He felt recognition stir in his chest. He had spent his life under the suffocating weight of the islands, a slow-burning hatred accumulating in his marrow until it was a part of him.
He knew what it felt like to carry hatred for years.
He looked at the crowd, the hundreds of people moving like mindless insects. His voice came out then, flatter and colder than usual.
"Then why don't you kill them all?"
A visible shiver ran down Ling Wu's spine. She turned her head toward him, her hidden eyes searching his face for a long moment.
"Kazuya," she said, her voice stripped of its playfulness, "that is not how a normal human being thinks."
Kazuya didn't respond. He simply watched the people move, unable to see what was wrong with his own perspective.