Life throws a lot of surprises at you.
Like pop quizzes. Or getting chased by monsters before breakfast. Stuff like that.
But this one?
Yeah. I definitely didn't see this one coming.
I don't even know how many years ago it started. Time gets weird when your life turns into one long disaster story. But I remember the moment like it happened yesterday.
Two warriors stood in a massive hall, blades flashing.
Every time their swords collided, sparks sprayed across the room like somebody had set off a tiny fireworks show indoors. Their movements were so fast that afterimages of their attacks lingered in the air.
And they had been going at it for hours.
Eventually, one of them dropped to a knee.
Not dead. Not even close. Just exhausted.
His whole body was covered in cuts(small ones, but there were a lot of them). Thin lines across his arms, his face, his chest. The kind that sting like crazy but somehow still let you keep fighting.
The weird partis he hadn't landed a single scratch on the other guy.
The second warrior stood above him, completely steady. Not even breathing hard.
Which, trust me, is incredibly annoying when you're the guy losing.
The man on his knee clenched his teeth.
"This is getting really annoying," he said. "Just listen to me."
The other warrior didn't even hesitate.
"I have nothing I need to hear from you."
He stepped closer.
Then stopped.
"…Get up."
He backed away, giving his opponent space.
"Let's finish this."
The guy on the floor slowly raised his head. His expression changed, pain turning into pure determination.
"Guess I don't have a choice," he muttered. "I'll have to go all out."
Apparently he'd been holding back the entire fight.
Which is the kind of thing that sounds impressive until you realize he'd spent hours getting sliced up.
Still, with a lot of effort, he pushed himself to his feet.
Now the two warriors stood at opposite ends of the hall.
Silent.
Watching each other.
Then they both charged.
Their blades rushed forward, closing the distance,
Milliseconds away from colliding,
And right before the clash…
My mind snapped back to something that happened years earlier.
Back when everything was simpler.
Back when the swords were made of wood.
Two seven-year-old boys stood in a dusty yard, their wooden practice blades slamming together.
That was Kiseki and Tenjin.
Brothers.
Same age.
Same height.
But when it came to sword fighting?
Not even close.
Tenjin was what people call a natural talent.
You know those kids who pick something up once and suddenly they're better than everyone else? Yeah. That was him. Even at seven, he moved like a beginner adult swordsman.
The crazy part was that he never used his full ability.
Whenever they sparred, Tenjin always fought just a little stronger than Kiseki could handle. Just enough to keep things competitive.
Meanwhile Kiseki fought like every match was the final battle of a legendary war.
Every swing. Every block. Full effort.
Somehow, every fight still ended the same way.
A draw.
Tenjin didn't actually enjoy fighting all that much.
But he loved the idea of becoming swordsmen together with his brother.
Which was a bit of a problem.
Because they came from a family of weaponsmiths.
And in their family, the rule was simple:
You make weapons.
You don't use them.
The family business had been passed down for generations. Somebody had to keep it going.
So becoming swordsmen?
Not exactly allowed.
Still, dreaming about it wasn't illegal.
At least not yet.
Their match ended the same way it always did, both boys collapsing onto the grass, breathing hard and laughing.
Kiseki grinned between breaths.
"That was too easy," he said. "I totally had you cornered that round."
Tenjin stared up at the sky with a relaxed smile.
"Yeah. I guess so."
Kiseki suddenly sat up.
"Let's go again. I'm winning this time."
Tenjin immediately sat up too, eyes lighting with excitement.
"Oh yeah?"
He grabbed his wooden sword.
"Wanna bet?"
Before the rematch could start, a voice called from the house.
"Brave warlords! Lunch is ready!"
Their stepmother.
Moments later the two boys sat at the dining table with their father.
Their stepmother, Mabel, walked out of the kitchen carrying a tray of wooden plates. She set them down carefully, smiling as she looked at the boys.
"How was today's battle, my brave soldiers?"
Kiseki and Tenjin glanced at each other.
It was the kind of look brothers share when they silently agree on something.
Then they looked back down at their food.
"Yeah… it was fine," Kiseki said.
"It went alright," Tenjin added.
They kept eating.
Mabel forced an awkward smile.
She'd been trying for years to get the boys to like her.
It wasn't easy.
Their father had only married her because he needed help raising them. Being the only weaponsmith in Ganja Town kept him busy pretty much every waking hour.
Their family had forged weapons for generations.
Legend said their blades were the reason Ganja had won every war in its history.
And honestly?
That rumor might not even be exaggerated.
Kiseki's grandfather alone was basically a living encyclopedia of weapons.
People called him the Weapons Library.
He knew everything, how every weapon was built, how strong it was, who should use it, and exactly how to improve it.
Apparently he could even bring out hidden potential in metal that other smiths thought was already perfect.
Which is honestly terrifying if you think about it.
At that very moment, the old man was out visiting another village researching some kind of rumored hybrid weapon.
Meanwhile Kiseki sat at the table with absolutely zero interest in becoming a weaponsmith.
He had other dreams.
He wanted to become a warlord.
Specifically a warlord like his hero Maxi, the legendary protagonist of the manga Major Warlord.
Later that evening, Kiseki and Tenjin walked through town.
Their destination?
Mr. Janemi's shop.
The most important place in the entire town.
Why?
Because that's where the manga was sold.
And according to rumors, Volume 6 of Major Warlord had just come out.
The brothers spent the whole walk arguing about which fights in volumes 1 through 5 were the best.
The streets were strangely quiet.
Most shops were closed.
Doors were shut.
The entire town was either indoors or gathered at the king's palace.
Apparently the king had just celebrated the birth of a new male heir after years of only having daughters.
But Kiseki's family never attended royal celebrations.
Another family rule.
So the town looked almost deserted.
And then Kiseki saw the worst possible sight.
The shop.
Closed.
He stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.
Tenjin tried to stay positive.
"Hey, it's not that bad. We can just come back."
Kiseki turned slowly.
"Come back?"
His eye twitched.
"COME BACK?!"
"It's Volume Six! It'll be gone by the time we come back!"
He growled at the door like it might suddenly apologize and open.
Tenjin frowned.
"Kiseki… do you hear that?"
"YEAH I HEAR IT," Kiseki snapped. "WHOEVER'S RESPONSIBLE IS GONNA—"
He stopped.
Tenjin wasn't behind him anymore.
Kiseki turned around.
"Huh?"
"…Tenjin?"
Then he saw it.
A figure jumping across the rooftops.
And slung over that figure's shoulder—
An unconscious Tenjin.
Kiseki's eyes widened.
"SHIT."
He bolted.
"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!"
He sprinted down the street.
"GET BACK HERE! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
The kidnapper was faster.
Way faster.
Within seconds he was gone.
Kiseki ran for what felt like hours.
Eventually he reached the hill where his house stood.
And then he saw something that made his stomach drop.
His father lay on the ground.
Unconscious.
Blood pooling beneath him.
Blood leaking from a deep slash across his neck.
The man stirred slightly.
He sensed Kiseki nearby.
With incredible effort, he forced out one word through his injured throat.
"…Tenjin…"
Kiseki froze.
Then something strange happened.
He felt it.
Tenjin was nearby.
Not far.
Just beyond the bushes beside him.
His body moved before his brain could think.
He ran.
Straight through the bushes.
And kept running.
In the distance he saw the masked man again.
This time the kidnapper was struggling.
A woman lay on the ground, gripping his leg desperately.
She was taking punches and slashes from the sharp edges of his black gauntlet.
As Kiseki got closer, he recognized her.
Mabel.
His stepmother.
She was bleeding, barely conscious, but she refused to let go.
Finally the masked man kicked her hard in the stomach.
She flipped backward and collapsed onto the ground.
Unmoving.
Now the man turned toward Kiseki.
Up close, Kiseki could finally see him clearly.
A tall, fit figure wearing dark overalls.
And a black neko mask.
The two stared at each other.
Kiseki hesitated.
For a second he wondered if this was the moment he was going to die.
Then he glanced back at Mabel.
When he looked forward again,
The masked man was gone.
Tenjin was gone.
Only silence remained.
Mabel lay unconscious.
His father lay bleeding back at the house.
Tenjin had disappeared with a stranger.
Kiseki's heart started pounding.
Faster.
And faster.
And faster.
Until,
FLASH.
A burst of light.
Kiseki jolted awake.
Sweaty.
Breathing hard.
He looked around.
His room.
His bed.
And he wasn't seven anymore.
He was thirteen.