The rain beat down on the roof of the high school as if heaven were exacting revenge on all that lay underneath.
Itsumi Susuki did not find refuge. His eyes were set on nothingness, the world in front of him dwindling to an icy murmur.
"Why?" he whispered, his pain and fatigue causing his voice to crack.
No response was forthcoming. His arms and back were all that remained to prove that he even existed—a mute testimony to being taunted relentlessly on a day-to-day basis. His schoolmates had made him live in hell. Pain ceased to have boundaries.
He shut his eyes, breathed in… and stepped ahead. But there was no plunge.
Within two seconds, it all shifted.
An infinite white expanse lay before him. No ground, no horizon—only dense silence. In the midst of that nothing stood a fluid form: an entity made from multiple ages and sexes. An old man full of white beard at some moments, a playful girl at others—always evoking an ironic tone in their voice.
"Well, another mortal," the figure said. "Itsumi Susuki, is that not your name?""Who… are you?" stammered Itsumi, not being able to understand why he was still alive.
"Call me God if it assists," responded the figure. "But I tend to get bored quickly.""Why me?" he asked, grasping at some shred of sanity.
"Because I needed a new test subject," it responded off-handedly. "I used to have one self-important office employee in that war-torn world. Then she's Tanya—the same one that everyone is afraid of."
Itsumi swallowed hard to try to understand. The being went on:
"My decision is easy: I want to know just how far one broken soul could survive. And yours is shattered.""I don't want to…," Itsumi whispered, but his voice faltered.
"I will rename you to prepare you for your new destiny," God went on. "You'll still have the name Itsumi, but your heritage will shift. You'll be born as Itsumi Kahaderi Matzuri, child of the mighty Asian Alliance—Japan, China, Korea as one empire."
An intense light blinded him, and God's last words reverberated in the silence:
"Get ready for war to be all that exists. Your journey will intersect with Tanya's in due course."
He awakened like an infant.
No pain, but just a gentle cry that soon gave way to his mother's warm voice:
"Welcome, Itsumi Kahaderi Matzuri," Kitzuo whispered gently.
He was accompanied by his extended family:
Miyamura Kahaderi, his father, with an unbreakable hug that lit up the entire room.
His older sister Kitza, whose protective eye and gentle smile brought reassurance.
His older brother Mitzuo, who was always eager to play and full of concern.
And he, being the youngest of the four, receiving everyone's affection.
But peace was not to endure. On his third birthday, the imperial messenger arrived:
Miyamura Kahaderi fell in combat.
The news devastated the family. At five years old, another letter arrived:
Mitzuo Kahaderi was killed in action.
Kitzuo's tears and Kitza's pale face confirmed everyone's worst fears.
Two officers from the Empire came to their door that same afternoon:
"For the Asian Empire, all males have to fight in war. If not, their families die," the taller one announced. "And thus it will go on until all males die in war. If the very last one is decorated—even in death—their family is spared."
She fell to her knees, begging for mercy. But the law was not merciful.
Itsumi was taken from Kitzuo's arms at the tender age of five. In retrospect, he viewed the anguish in Kitza's eyes. He sensed the hollowness that results from an abusive home. And in his chest, without quite knowing why, a flame kindled. It was the germ of something darkly potent: the initial murmur of a war-born warrior.