Time moved like drifting petals through the wind.
Three years passed since that night of fire and loss — since the boy named Kyuroto Mitsuyo had cried beneath the rain.
He was twelve then.
Now, at fifteen, he was no longer the fragile child of sorrow — but the calm storm that silence feared to touch.
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I – The Years of Training
The Mitsuyo ruins had been rebuilt into a quiet sanctuary, hidden among glass mountains and floating gardens.
There, Kyuroto trained alone — guided only by memory and discipline.
At dawn, he practiced blade forms beneath the falling blossoms.
At dusk, he meditated, visualizing infinite probabilities, weaving energy threads between atoms like silk.
Each day, his control deepened.
Each night, his aura grew more still — and more terrifying.
He never sought attention. Yet even in solitude, the universe seemed to notice him.
Animals drew near. Wind bent slightly around him.
The cherry blossoms fell slower in his presence — as if reality itself wished to linger beside him.
By the time he reached fifteen, his reflection had changed:
Sharp eyes of crimson-green that shimmered like galaxies.
Hair that moved gently even without wind.
A face calm, regal — but carrying quiet pain that made people's hearts tremble without knowing why.
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II – The Aura of Infinity
When Kyuroto entered the Academy of Strategic Arts — a place where prodigies trained to command nations — silence followed him.
He didn't try to stand out.
He didn't boast. He didn't even speak often.
But wherever he walked, heads turned.
Students whispered:
> "Who is that?"
"He's from the Mitsuyo line… they say he trains without emotion."
"He doesn't need emotion. Look at him — his presence alone…"
Even the instructors grew uneasy when he passed by. His aura was so heavy and refined that space itself seemed to hesitate before touching him.
Girls blushed without understanding why.
Boys admired him, envied him — and somehow respected him all the same.
He didn't flirt. He didn't pose. Yet every breath, every glance, carried elegance that pulled attention like gravity.
Some called it charisma. Others whispered divinity.
Kyuroto called it irrelevance.
> "They're just reacting to the fragments of what I'm suppressing," he thought.
"If they felt even one percent more, the world itself would kneel."
---
III – The Battle of the Six Rings
It happened during a routine academy assessment — a combat simulation against six rival students from other clans.
They called themselves The Six Rings, each one boasting universal-level power.
The instructors watched from the observation deck.
"Don't hold back," one of them warned. "Mitsuyo may look calm, but he's—"
Too late.
The first opponent lunged with a blade of compressed light. Kyuroto sidestepped — no wasted motion, no emotion — and with a single flick of his wrist, the opponent's weapon dissolved into particles.
Another attacked from above. Kyuroto raised a hand — and reality folded, redirecting the strike into a spiral of harmless energy.
"Impossible—!" one of them gasped. "He's manipulating the fabric itself!"
Kyuroto's eyes glowed faintly, his voice quiet.
> "You rely too much on your strength. You forget that the universe breathes."
Then, with a calm step forward, he released 0.0001% of his power.
The world changed color.
Energy rippled through dimensions. The entire arena bent into an endless horizon of light — stars blooming and fading in an instant. The observers couldn't comprehend what they saw; the sensors registered power far beyond measurement.
When it ended, Kyuroto stood alone at the center, his uniform untouched, his expression serene.
The Six Rings lay unconscious — unharmed, but utterly defeated.
He sighed softly.
> "Still too much," he murmured. "I must learn to contain even that."
The instructors could only stare in awe — and fear.
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IV – The Whisper of Tomorrow
That night, Kyuroto stood beneath the moon, watching its reflection ripple across the lake.
His aura shimmered faintly, bending starlight into halos around him.
He thought of his parents — of laughter beneath blossoms, of warmth long gone.
> "Father, Mother…"
"I'm closer now. Closer to understanding what I must become."
The wind whispered through the garden, carrying the scent of memory.
Kyuroto closed his eyes. His voice was calm, resolute.
> "One day, I'll find the one who ended you both. Even if I must walk through infinity itself."
His reflection in the water shifted — his fifteen-year-old self staring back, surrounded by galaxies of light.
Behind that calm smile was something vast. Something silent.
A power that even gods would one day fear.
And with that, the night ended — and the world slept uneasily, as if sensing what was soon to awaken.
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