The crowd held its breath as the final match of the All-Japan Kendo Championship reached its climax. The grand arena, filled with thousands of spectators, felt suffocating under the intensity of the moment.
Haruto Kiryuu tightened his grip on his shinai. This was it. His moment. Years of relentless training, countless hours of practice—everything led to this one final strike.
The referee signaled. "Hajime!"
Haruto exploded forward, his shinai cutting through the air with lightning speed. His opponent, a kendo prodigy known for his unshakable defense, stood firm.
Then—it happened.
A single, precise counter. Not just a block, but a deflection.
His shinai was knocked clean out of his hands.
Time seemed to slow as the wooden sword spun through the air before crashing onto the polished floor.
A perfect opening. His opponent didn't hesitate.
A decisive strike to Haruto's unguarded chest.
The sharp crack of impact echoed through the arena. The referee's call followed, sealing Haruto's fate.
Match over.
Silence filled his mind, drowning out the deafening cheers of the crowd.
Haruto stood frozen, staring at his fallen shinai. His hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the crushing weight of failure. He had lost. Again. And this time, he didn't even get to land his final strike.
---
That night, as he walked through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, his shinai bag felt heavier than ever. His own weapon had been torn from him so easily.
The humiliation burned deeper than any loss before. No matter how hard he trained, he was always one step behind.
Then, a scream.
Haruto's body reacted before his mind could process the situation. His eyes darted to a narrow alley where a man held a trembling woman against the wall, a knife glinting in the dim light.
His grip tightened on his shinai bag. His legs moved on instinct.
"Oi!"
The mugger barely turned before Haruto swung. The wooden blade struck true, sending the man stumbling back.
But reality wasn't a kendo match.
The man recovered, pulling out something Haruto hadn't expected. A gun.
A deafening bang.
A sharp, burning pain.
Haruto staggered, his vision blurring as his knees buckled. The city lights twisted into a mess of colors, his breath shallow, his body collapsing onto the cold pavement.
So this is how it ends…?
His fingers twitched, reaching for his shinai, but his strength was fading fast. The last thing he heard was the woman's frantic voice calling for help.
Then—darkness.
---
He woke to the scent of blood and dirt.
The distant sound of steel clashing rang in his ears. The cold ground pressed against his back, unfamiliar and rough. His body ached, his muscles sluggish as he tried to move.
Above him, the sky stretched endlessly—not the familiar glow of city lights, but a dull gray, streaked with smoke.
A shadow loomed over him.
A man clad in battered armor tossed something heavy onto Haruto's chest—a sword, its metal gleaming under the dim light.
Then came the words that sent a chill down his spine.
"You are finally awake… I thought you were done after that cavalry charge."
Haruto froze. His breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't Tokyo.
---
End of Prologue.