Water burned his throat and eyes at the same time. Renzo kicked desperately, trying to keep his head above the churning waves. The salt stung, clawing at his eyes, making it hard to breathe. His arms flailed clumsily as if they did not belong to him. Panic clawed at his chest.
A shout cut through the roar of the ocean. "Hold on, kid!"
Rough hands wrapped around him and pulled him toward the shore. Renzo coughed violently, salt water streaming from his mouth and nose. Sand scraped his arms as he was dragged onto the beach. His legs trembled. He could barely stand.
"Easy… just breathe," the voice said again.
Renzo blinked, trying to focus. "Where… am I?" His voice was hoarse.
"You are on Whale Island," the man said, kneeling beside him. His skin was tanned, weathered from the sun and sea. "I am Takehi Yamamoto. You almost drowned out there. Are you hurt?"
Renzo shook his head, though every muscle ached. He did not know why he was here. He did not know how he got into this body, this world. Memories of another life flashed through his mind—cheers, medals, tournaments, strategy, games—but his body was weak. Every movement reminded him that he was eight years old, small, and vulnerable.
"I… I do not remember much," Renzo said quietly, keeping his tone light. "Just bits and pieces. That is all I know."
Takehi raised an eyebrow but did not press. "A dojo, huh? Or whatever you remember. Let's get you cleaned up and fed first." He held out a hand. "Come on. You can tell me more later."
Renzo hesitated, then took it. His body shivered, half from the cold and half from exhaustion. The man's hand was firm but steady. Somehow, it grounded him.
They walked along the shore. The smell of salt and fish mixed with the fresh air. Seagulls cawed overhead. Waves crashed against rocks rhythmically. Renzo kept his gaze low, letting the new world wash over him without overwhelming his senses.
"Do you live here?" Takehi asked casually.
Renzo shook his head. "I do not know," he admitted. He swallowed hard. "I… just woke up in the water."
Takehi frowned slightly but did not press. "Well, you are safe now. That is what matters."
The house Takehi led him to was small, near the docks. Nets and ropes hung from wooden beams, drying in the sun. The smell of salt, fish, and wood smoke was strong but comforting. Takehi opened the door and gestured inside.
"Sit here," he said, pointing to a bench. "I will get you some water."
Renzo sank onto the bench, feeling every ache in his muscles. Memories of a different body and life floated in his mind, distant and vivid. He knew he could not reveal any of that. This body, this life, had to stay his secret.
Takehi returned with a cup of water. "Drink slowly," he said.
Renzo nodded and sipped carefully. The water was sweet after the brine of the ocean. He felt some warmth return to his chest, though he was still shivering.
"You do not talk much," Takehi observed.
"I… I do not remember much," Renzo repeated, voice soft. "Just enough to get by." Inside, every skill, every strategy, every memory from the other life burned like fire, but no one needed to know.
Takehi studied him for a moment. "You are alive, and you are safe. That is enough for now."
Renzo nodded silently, swallowing back the urge to speak of things no one could understand.
The days passed slowly. Takehi helped him bathe, provided dry clothes, and small meals. Renzo watched the rhythms of Whale Island—boats coming in and out, children playing, fishers hauling nets. He absorbed everything, learning the pace and sounds of this place.
Once he regained some strength, Renzo began moving carefully in the yard. He climbed over rocks, tested his balance on logs, and ran short distances along the shore. His past life skills whispered in his mind. He remembered martial arts movements, footwork, reflexes, strategy—but his body felt foreign. He had to relearn every motion.
Takehi noticed. "You move with purpose," he said one afternoon, arms folded. "Even if you are small, you seem to know what you are doing."
"I… I just try to think ahead," Renzo said, pausing to catch his breath.
"That is good," Takehi said. "Thinking and observing will keep you alive here."
Renzo's gaze wandered toward the forest. The trees swayed gently in the wind, shadows stretching across the ground. He imagined running through them, climbing cliffs, testing himself. He did not know why, but a part of him felt drawn to it, as if something waited for him.
Over the next week, he explored cautiously under Takehi's watch. Streams, rocks, hollow trees became part of his training ground. He moved silently, throwing punches into the air, ducking imaginary attacks, balancing on narrow edges. His body protested, but he adapted, learning new ways to use muscles and reflexes.
One evening, Takehi watched from the doorway. "You are working hard," he said softly. "Do not push yourself too far."
Renzo wiped sweat from his brow. "I know," he said. Yet he did not stop. Each movement felt like a puzzle, a challenge. His mind ran simulations, replaying fights from the past life that only he remembered. His body was small, weak, but every step, every punch, every leap brought him closer to the strength he knew he should have.
That night, under a sky filled with stars, Renzo lay on the soft sand. He stared at the constellations and let the waves wash over his thoughts. This body was not his own, yet it was the only one he had. He had to master it, bend it, make it work.
The forest waited. The ocean roared. Somewhere deep inside, determination flared. He would survive. He would adapt. He would grow stronger.
And no one would ever know the life he carried inside his mind.
Renzo closed his eyes and planned the first steps of his training, unaware that the forest, the cliffs, and the waves of Whale Island would become the foundation for everything he would achieve.