Kyuroto Mitsuyo remained atop the shattered spire, wind curling around him like obedient servants.
The city below was alive with soft neon light, yet it seemed to recede in significance — for above all, above infinity itself, there existed a presence no law could contain.
> The enemy watches. Always. Everywhere. Nowhere.
Kyuroto's eyes, calm yet piercing, scanned the invisible currents of multiversal probability. Even at 25 years old, fully aware of his outerversal capabilities, he approached this presence not with arrogance, but with meticulous calculation.
He extended a single thought — a microthread of 0.0001% power — a test.
Across infinite timelines, across dimensions layered like fractals, the pulse rippled. A response came instantly: subtle, silent, impossible to define. The enemy's aura bent, reshaped, ignored, and yet simultaneously absorbed it.
> "Interesting…" Kyuroto whispered. His reflection fractured across the spire's broken glass, a thousand simultaneous calculations flickering in his piercing blue eyes.
"You are vast… beyond measure… but not infinite in strategy."
He shifted slightly. A probability probe — woven into a spiral of mirrored realities — extended into the enemy's presence. It flickered like a ghost, a paradoxical thread designed to observe without interference.
Instantly, the enemy reacted.
A ripple of unreality spread — matter twisting into impossible geometries, sound splitting into patterns of thought, time momentarily folding in on itself.
Yet Kyuroto remained still. Calm. Balanced.
> "I see you," he murmured, almost to himself. "You exist everywhere and nowhere, beyond inside and outside… but every action leaves a trace. Even infinity leaves a footprint."
He extended another probe, stronger this time — 0.001% of his total power, still infinitesimal compared to what he could unleash. It was a test, a whisper, a knife of probability slicing silently through infinite realities.
The enemy did not speak, yet the multiverse responded with a pulse of raw, cosmic opposition — bending stars, reversing causality, fracturing dimensions.
Kyuroto tilted his head, analyzing every distortion, every ripple, every impossibility with precision.
> "You are not the one who killed my parents," he said softly. "That thread remains hidden, waiting. But I can feel your pattern… your rules… your intent."
The petals of distant cherry blossoms — thousands of kilometers away — quivered in the resonance of his aura. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable.
> "You think your scale frightens me," he whispered, voice calm as a glacier. "You think your infinity cannot be unraveled. Perhaps. But I am beyond probability itself. I am the Whisper of Infinity. And I see."
The enemy pulsed in response — a wave that could collapse worlds, yet Kyuroto did not flinch. Instead, he smiled faintly.
> "I will dance in your shadow. I will study your impossibility. And when the threads align… I will show you the pattern you cannot predict."
With a final flick of his hand, Kyuroto retracted the probes, folding the microthreads back into the infinite lattice of his awareness.
> "For now… observation is enough."
The spire trembled beneath the weight of unspoken power. The city below seemed fragile, tiny, like a toy beneath a child's fingers.
Kyuroto exhaled softly. Calm. Controlled. Immortal in patience.
Somewhere beyond the boundaries of existence and non-existence, the enemy waited.
> The game had begun. And Kyuroto Mitsuyo had already written the first move.