Izumi opened his eyes to a strange, empty space—endless black in every direction. No ground to stand on, no sky to look up at. Just. nothing. But he was somehow standing.
He gazed down at his hands. His white, still bloodied fingers from the fight curled weakly.
"Huh." he spoke, his voice confused but questioning. "Is this. hell?"
His voice didn't echo. There was nothing to bounce it off. He didn't move, impassive as ever, his dull purple eyes raking the vacancy. No sound. No pain. Just silence. Until—
"Izumi."
A soft, gentle voice borne on the breeze. Comforting. Gentle. Loving.
He shifted.
The gloom faded, evaporating into hue and heat. Great sweeps of green lay out before him. He was standing in a large backyard garden, with great trees, wildflowers, and the heat of distant cicadas. The sky was a pale gold, with sun setting just beginning.
Next to him stood a tall man—black hair peppered with grey, bright purple eyes mirroring Izumi's own. Before Izumi could even process it, his body shrank—he was five again, small and wide-eyed, and completely unaware of the battle, Nymrathis, or his pain.
"Gotcha," his grandfather chuckled, scooping the boy up and holding him overhead. "There you are, little scamp. Thought you'd be able to escape from me again?"
Izumi laughed and squirmed. "Put me down!"
Before Haruki could protest, a maid approached him in a gentle rush. "Lord Haruki—Izumi's mother is calling for him."
The sweetness of the moment was lost a bit. Izumi's tiny body went rigid.
Moments later, he stood before his mother—tall, regal, eyes sharp as knives and always disappointed. She towered over him, a frown carved deep into her face.
"Look at me," she said coldly.
Izumi lifted his gaze slightly. It wasn't enough.
"I said, look at me properly!" she snapped.
He winced, raising his head more. "You and dad hit me a lot… that's why I'm scared," he said, his voice trembling.
Her grip on the glass bottle in her palm grew tighter. She raised it in anger—but Haruki stood behind her, grasping her wrist.
"That's enough," he said softly but firmly.
His daughter stopped, took a deep breath, and turned aside. Haruki took Izumi's little hand.
"Why did I have to be born in this family…?" Izumi whispered, struggling not to cry.
Haruki smiled graciously. "Because I'm here. And no matter what your parents might tell you, wear the Virasat name with honor. We're the most powerful royal family of the four kingdoms."
Izumi sniffled and laughed half-heartedly.
The scene shifted again. A bright, grand ceremony. Hundreds of nobles clapped and bowed. Izumi, still a child, stood beside his towering father, Duke Alistair—the strongest man alive. For the first time in years, the Duke lifted his son in front of the crowd.
Izumi smiled slightly—until he felt his father whisper coldly into his ear.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm doing this for my reputation. Sinner."
His smile vanished. The warmth vanished, and a stoic face took place.
The Empress of Zhongsu Kingdom approached, clapping her hands in delight. "Aww, look at the strongest man in the world cradling the prettiest little thing in the world. May I take him?"
Alistair, in one swift moment, handed Izumi over.
Izumi blinked, unyielding. "I'm a sinner. Don't touch me."
The Empress simply laughed. "How would that make any difference? You're still cute pie."
For an instant, he almost smiled.
But then his grandfather came back, taking him gently from the Empress's arms.
"Sorry. Your highness. He's mine," Haruki said with a teasing smirk.
Another shift. Izumi was seven now, taller, sitting across from Haruki in the garden, both sipping tea.
"Remember this," Haruki said, gently tapping Izumi's chest. "Your mark doesn't define your future. Only your heart does."
"Thanks, Grandpa," Izumi replied.
Haruki frowned playfully. "That's it? No excitement?"
Izumi blinked. "I'll keep that in mind."
But then Haruki turned more serious. "And always remember—your heart isn't your mark. Don't forget that."
Izumi nodded slowly.
Haruki turned away. Izumi glanced to the side and mumbled, "I hate tea."
But something was off.
When he looked again, Haruki was gone. Someone else sat in his chair.
Long, white hair. Dark red eyes.
Izumi's face tightened.
It's the Monarch of Gluttony—Nymrathis Gourvalis.
The garden disintegrated. The black nothingness returned, consuming all. Izumi was sixteen again, wounds raw and burning.
Nymrathis sat still, arms folded, a frozen smile curving across his mouth.
"How adorable," he sneered.
Izumi scowled. "What? Want to die again?"
Nymrathis chuckled. "Tch. You can't do anything, brat. You're in the middle phase of death and life. No power. No strength. Only consciousness. You can't fight here."
"So?" Izumi whispered. "That means both of us had the opportunity to be alive again?"
Nymrathis smiled even wider. "No. Only you. I'm here merely to bid you farewell—and to deliver you a message."
Izumi stood numbly. "Then say it."
The Monarch of Gluttony leaned forward, smiling. "Those recollections. The ones you just had. The ones with Haruki. All of them—they'll be frozen, forever. That's the power of my soul conduit channel."
Izumi's fists clenched. He stood in silence.
"They'll rot in your mind, unreachable. Never to be relived again. It's like hell… but colder," Nymrathis whispered, smug.
Izumi didn't respond.
Nymrathis raised an eyebrow. "Cat got your tongue?"
Izumi's expression didn't change. "Suffer in hell, Nymrathis."