Haruto Kageyama opened his eyes slowly, his vision landing on a classroom that looked… ordinary. Sunlight streamed through the windows, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. The faint squeak of chalk against the blackboard, the rustle of papers, the murmur of students taking notes—it all seemed mundane, yet something in the air felt slightly off.
He sat up, flexing his fingers, feeling the unfamiliar weight and tension of muscles that were not quite his own. His body was lean but athletic, responsive in ways that made him instinctively aware of every movement. Black hair fell haphazardly over his ears, and his gray eyes scanned the room, noting details with an almost clinical precision. Every shadow, every flicker of light, seemed to carry subtle information.
"Alright… new body. New environment. But… where am I?" His thoughts were calm, analytical. He had no sudden panic. Life in his previous world had taught him to observe first, react second. This new body felt alive, responsive, and strangely… capable.
Haruto noticed the faint tremor in the air—a subtle pulse, almost imperceptible, yet unmistakable. He couldn't explain it logically, not with his world's physics. It was energy. Not dangerous yet, but alive. He flexed his fingers again, and a faint ripple appeared, almost like a heatwave shimmering across the room. His instincts, honed from countless battles in another life, told him to note it, to study it, but not to panic.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Haruto… are you feeling okay?" The teacher's eyes were sharp, but her tone was gentle. He glanced at her, gave a small nod, and returned to his notes, pretending nothing had happened.
Then, as if the world itself wanted his attention, a book tumbled from a high shelf. It fell in a clatter, drawing curious glances from the students nearby. Haruto's hand moved almost automatically. Energy pulsed from his fingertips—not consciously, but instinctively—and the book hovered briefly in midair before settling gently on the floor.
A murmur ran through the classroom. "What… what did you just do?" one of the students whispered. The teacher's brow furrowed, confused but hesitant. Haruto leaned back in his chair, studying the book, calm and composed. There was no fear, only curiosity.
"So this… energy is real. And this body… it's more than ordinary. But I need to be careful. No one can see this."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Haruto stood and walked down the corridor, each step measured, each movement precise. He noted the faint disturbances in the air—the subtle shifts in light and sound—and began cataloging them mentally. Even without knowing where he truly was, his instincts screamed that this world was different from the one he had left.
Outside, students were playing soccer on the school field. Haruto watched quietly, analyzing motion, trajectory, timing. He felt the faintest ripple of energy once again, subtle but undeniable. With a slight flick of his hand, he directed it toward the ball. The ball's path shifted ever so slightly, enough to make a teammate exclaim, "Hey! What did you just do?!"
Haruto allowed himself a small smirk. This was control. Small, imperfect, but real. This body, ordinary to the world around him, held potential far beyond what anyone could see. But control would take patience, experimentation, and understanding.
He sat beneath a tree, closing his eyes, letting the energy flow through him like a slow current. Ripples formed around his hands, barely visible, moving in rhythm with his breath. Memories from his past life—tactics, reflexes, calculations—surfaced. All of it was stored in his mind, ready to be applied in this unfamiliar vessel.
The lunch bell rang, pulling him from his meditation. Haruto rose, brushing dust off his uniform, and scanned the courtyard. Students moved and talked, unaware of the subtle energies flowing just beneath perception. To them, this world was normal. To Haruto, every movement, every flicker of shadow, every slight disturbance was a potential puzzle piece.
He flexed his fingers again, imagining energy coursing under his control. Sparks of light danced faintly at the tips of his fingers, enough to disturb the air. First experiment: successful, albeit small. His mind raced, planning the next few steps.
A classmate approached hesitantly. "Haruto… are you okay? You were… weird earlier." Haruto smiled faintly, keeping his voice calm and even. "I'm fine… just observing," he replied.
Inside, a single question repeated in his mind:
"This body… this energy… this world… what exactly am I dealing with? And who will be the first to witness the real me?"
The morning sky stretched above him, leaves rustling in the soft wind. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to take the next step. Haruto knew this was only the beginning. The world may seem ordinary to everyone else, but for him, everything had just started.
With deliberate, measured steps, he returned to the school building. His gray eyes focused straight ahead, a subtle aura pulsing faintly around his body. This was the beginning of Haruto Kageyama's awakening—a silent promise of power and strategy yet to be revealed.
Haruto returned to the classroom, settling into his seat near the window. Sunlight poured over his shoulders, and he could feel the warmth on his skin. It was ordinary—too ordinary—but there was still that strange undercurrent, like the world itself had a pulse he couldn't yet name.
He watched the other students, their movements simple and predictable. Footsteps echoed lightly on the floorboards; pencils scratched against paper in steady rhythms. Haruto's gray eyes followed every motion, noting the weight of each gesture, the angle of each reflection of light. Nothing seemed supernatural… yet the nagging feeling at the edge of his perception refused to leave.
"Step one… observe. Step two… understand. Step three… experiment," he reminded himself. There was no panic, no disbelief. He had to approach this logically, carefully, like studying a new system in his old world.
A ball rolled into the aisle near his desk, bouncing slightly. A classmate reached for it, frowning as it rolled away. Haruto tilted his head, curious. He flexed his fingers subtly, imagining energy radiating outward just enough to influence the ball. It rolled in a slightly different direction, stopping neatly at the student's feet.
The classmate blinked. "Huh… what just happened?"
Haruto didn't answer. His gray eyes were calm, observing. "Not fully conscious control… but I can sense it, guide it, test it. Small steps."
He leaned back in his chair, letting his awareness extend subtly. He noticed the faint shimmer along the edges of the room—the light seemed to bend slightly near certain objects, almost like a ripple, barely perceptible. Haruto blinked. He hadn't seen this before in the world he knew.
"Could this be… energy? Something like what I've read in myths, old legends, but real?"
He decided to test it further. Leaning forward, he reached toward the fallen pen on the floor. Nothing happened. He concentrated harder, imagining a force guiding it upward. A faint vibration traveled from his hand into the pen. It twitched, then wobbled in place, as if resisting. Haruto exhaled slowly.
"Okay… still weak. Step by step."
The teacher's voice broke into his thoughts. "Haruto… you're awfully quiet. Are you feeling unwell?"
Haruto glanced up. Her eyes were curious but kind. He shook his head lightly. "I'm fine… just thinking," he replied evenly. No hesitation. Inside, he was cataloging everything—her posture, her voice, how her aura felt to him, subtle and calm.
As the class went on, Haruto began experimenting systematically:
Slight hand movements: guiding pencils or papers subtly, noticing the small shifts in air pressure and sound.
Focused observation: watching how objects responded when he concentrated, feeling the energy ripple, like an invisible current under the surface of reality.
Stepwise reflection: noting what succeeded, what failed, and what patterns might exist.
Every time he succeeded, even a little, he jotted mental notes. "Not full control… reflexive energy output is stronger than conscious. Needs gradual adjustment."
Lunch arrived. Haruto walked to the courtyard, selecting a spot under a tree. The other students were loud, tossing food wrappers, laughing, and playing games. To them, it was just a regular afternoon. To Haruto, each movement, each shadow, each ripple of wind was a data point.
He practiced subtly. A leaf fluttered to the ground. He extended his hand slightly, focusing on its descent. The leaf's path shifted, twisting slightly in the air. Haruto smiled faintly. "Small… but consistent. That's the start."
Then he noticed something else—his body. Movements felt precise, reflexive. When a student tripped near him, his hand shot out instinctively, steadying them before they fell. Not a conscious decision, just an instinct carried over from another life.
"This body… it's not ordinary. Instincts are still here, memories too. But I must restrain them… blend in… learn first."
A sudden commotion drew his attention back to the classroom. Through the window, a small object—a notebook—had slid off a table. Normally, it would hit the floor and scatter papers, but Haruto's fingers twitched reflexively. A faint ripple of energy surged from him. The notebook hovered briefly, then gently landed upright.
Some students noticed, eyes wide. "Whoa… how did that happen?"
Haruto didn't reply. Calmly, he adjusted his posture, letting the aura fade. "Not ready to reveal myself… step by step. Observe first, then control, then act."
He spent the rest of lunch experimenting with subtle influences:
Nudging a paper in midair, feeling the resistance of energy.
Adjusting the trajectory of a rolling ball without touching it.
Sensing the slight energy shifts when someone walked nearby, learning to distinguish between living presence and environmental disturbances.
By the end of lunch, he had mapped a small "territory" around himself, roughly five meters, where he could feel and subtly influence things without others noticing.
"This is just the beginning. If I can control this… step by step… gradually expand range… then I'll understand the rules of this world," he thought.
Returning to class, Haruto realized he had no idea what kind of world he had entered. Everything seemed normal, but the subtle energy patterns, the way objects responded, the instincts pulsing in his body—they all hinted at something beyond a typical reality.
And yet, he was not afraid. He was not confused. He was curious, calculating, methodical. Step by step, observation by observation, trial by trial—this was how he would understand his new existence.
As the afternoon went on, he practiced micro-adjustments: a pencil, a pen, a crumpled piece of paper—nothing dramatic, nothing that would draw attention, but enough for him to feel the energy responding to his intent. Each success reinforced his confidence, and each failure taught patience.
"Energy, body, environment… all interconnected. I will learn their language."
Evening approached. Haruto looked out the window, gray eyes reflecting the fading light. He still didn't know where he truly was—whether it was his world, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: his body and instincts were not ordinary, and the faint pulse of energy under his control would guide him.
"Step by step… experiment by experiment… understand, then master. That is how this begins."
The world outside carried on, oblivious. Haruto Kageyama, in a body that was not his own, had just begun to take the first careful steps toward understanding the mysterious power he had awakened to—and the world that might very well challenge him at every turn.
Haruto Kageyama sat quietly under the tree, letting the afternoon sun warm his shoulders. The courtyard bustled with students, but his attention was elsewhere. He could still feel the faint pulse of energy under his skin, subtle yet undeniably alive. Today, he decided to test its limits.
His first attempt was cautious. A chair—simple, wooden, ordinary—sat nearby. He focused, hands hovering slightly above it, concentrating on the subtle vibrations beneath his fingertips. The chair wobbled, rocking slightly, then lifted a few inches off the ground. Haruto exhaled, satisfied yet alert.
"Okay… not bad. But heavy objects react differently. Step by step."
He tried a stack of books next. Their combined weight made the energy strain under his control. The stack teetered, threatening to tumble. Haruto's instincts kicked in automatically. Hands moved with fluid precision, tilting the books back into balance before they fell.
A chill ran down his spine—not from fear, but recognition. These movements… the way his body anticipated each shift and reacted instantly… it was familiar. Too familiar.
"Wait… that feeling… I've felt this before… somewhere."
He froze, closing his eyes, letting the energy under his fingertips guide him. Memories flickered in his mind—not his own, or at least, not entirely. Strategic maneuvers, reflexive responses, detailed mental calculations of angles and force… it was like watching someone else's battles replay in his head.
"This… isn't mine. It's Nagato. It has to be."
The realization was both unsettling and enlightening. The instincts, the tactical awareness, the ability to manipulate energy with precision—Nagato's life, his battles, his knowledge, had been transferred to Haruto along with this body. He wasn't just a boy waking up in a new world. He was a vessel carrying someone else's power and memories.
He exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle. Instead of fear, a quiet thrill ran through him. If this was Nagato's strength, then every instinct he felt, every spark of energy, was a tool he could learn to wield.
Haruto glanced at the fallen chair again. His mind worked through a thought process with surprising clarity. "If I can direct energy with this precision… if I can move objects without touching them… maybe I can create something to extend my reach. Something that moves at my command, even when I'm not physically there."
The idea came unbidden, a flash of insight: a puppet. Not just any puppet—something alive in its movements, guided by his energy, reacting to his intentions. Slowly, deliberately, he imagined the mechanics in his head: joints, motion, responsiveness.
"A bone… a form… something I can control. Like… Tendo," he whispered under his breath, testing the word. It was just a concept, still raw and abstract, but the seed was planted.
He stood and stretched, letting the afternoon air fill his lungs. His movements were natural, fluid, and instinctive. Something in his body was responding automatically to Nagato's embedded reflexes. A branch above him creaked, and a falling leaf spun toward the ground. Haruto's hand shot out without conscious thought, stopping the leaf midair for a heartbeat before letting it drift gently to the grass.
Step by step, he experimented A pencil slid across the bench. He guided it subtly with his energy, tilting it, stopping it mid-roll. A crumpled piece of paper flew with the wind. He redirected it to land neatly in a trash can. A ball kicked by a student veered slightly, as if nudged by an invisible hand.
Each success reinforced his awareness: Nagato's knowledge was not just memories. It was instinct woven into muscle, perception, and mind. Haruto could feel it, tap into it, and shape it. But each failure reminded him that he was still learning—controlling this energy required patience, precision, and practice.
"Step by step… experiment by experiment. First awareness, then control, then extension," he thought, pacing slowly. He could almost feel the framework forming in his mind—an invisible puppet, guided by energy, capable of moving at a distance.
The bell for the next period rang, pulling him from his meditation. Haruto glanced around. Students streamed back into classrooms, laughing and talking, oblivious to the subtle manipulations happening under their noses. He blended back in, adjusting his uniform casually, eyes scanning the room for objects that might respond to his influence.
A desk near the front caught his attention. He moved toward it, letting his energy extend outward, fingers twitching subtly. The desk lifted an inch, rocking slightly, then settled back down. Haruto exhaled slowly. "Still unstable… need more practice. But the principle works."
He sat, leaning slightly forward, and allowed his awareness to expand. Patterns emerged in the room—the way objects reacted, how energy flowed between surfaces, and how subtle movements could amplify or dampen effects. Every failure, every small miscalculation, was another lesson.
As he observed, a faint thought surfaced: "If I can master this… I could control more than objects. Perhaps even… beings." He quickly dismissed the thought, testing its weight. Not for aggression, but for curiosity. The concept of a puppet—something that could act as an extension of himself—lingered in his mind, growing more detailed with each passing moment.
"Tendo… the first step. Not now… not yet… but soon," he murmured.
Haruto's gray eyes wandered over the classroom again. His awareness was sharp, every shadow, every glint of light, every motion noted. The energy was not overwhelming—it was precise, almost obedient—but it demanded respect and understanding. One wrong move, one lapse in focus, and the results could be disastrous.
Yet, for the first time since waking, he smiled faintly. The energy, the instincts, the body, the memories—it all belonged to Nagato, and now, by extension, to him. And with careful, deliberate practice, he could bend these tools to his will.
Step by step, he would learn. Experiment by experiment, failure by failure, insight by insight. And somewhere down the line, that concept—the puppet—would take form.
Haruto leaned back in his chair, letting the light fall across his face. He still did not know where he truly was, or what dangers might await him in this strange world. But one thing was clear: the combination of this body, Nagato's knowledge, and his own mind was a force that could be honed. And the first idea—the seed of Tendo—was already planted in the fertile ground of his imagination.
As the afternoon faded into evening, Haruto allowed himself one thought:
"Step by step… first understanding, then control, then creation. That is how this begins."
And with that, he prepared himself for the next small experiment, unaware that each careful step was shaping not just his own awakening, but the beginning of something that would one day alter the course of the world around him.
The courtyard had grown quiet as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the school buildings. Haruto Kageyama remained under the tree, his gray eyes scanning the environment with deliberate precision. The faint pulse of energy beneath his skin had grown stronger since this morning, and now, he wanted to push it further.
"Step by step… always step by step," he reminded himself.
His first test was simple but ambitious. A stack of textbooks sat across the courtyard, near the edge of the playground. He extended his focus, channeling his energy outward. At first, nothing happened—the books remained stubbornly still. But Haruto could feel the subtle resonance of his aura brushing against them. He adjusted his concentration, sending a deliberate mental "nudge" in the direction he wanted. Slowly, the top book lifted an inch, teetering precariously before settling back down.
A faint thrill ran through him. "Not full control yet, but the principle works. Distance matters… focus matters."
Encouraged, he tried again. This time, he focused on the entire stack, attempting to lift them slightly in unison. They shivered, wobbling dangerously, and one corner tipped toward the ground. Haruto's hands twitched instinctively, and without thinking, the stack stabilized midair, resting just above the ground for a fleeting second before gently lowering itself.
A breath escaped him, quiet and controlled. The realization hit him again: this wasn't just physical control. It was Nagato's instinct, embedded deep in his muscles and mind, guiding him.
"This… isn't entirely mine. It's Nagato. And now… it's my tool."
He sank to the grass, letting the energy fade slightly to observe the subtle aftereffects. Leaves above him trembled lightly in the breeze, dust motes swirled around the edges of his perception, and even the faint vibration of distant footsteps resonated in his awareness. Every detail mattered. Every small shift in the environment was another piece of data.
And then, it came to him—the thought that had been forming in fragments over the last few hours.
"If I can move objects at a distance… if I can control energy precisely… why limit myself to inanimate things?"
He imagined a humanoid form: a skeletal structure, joints, limbs that could respond to his intent. The vision was abstract at first, rough—just a shadow in his mind. But as he concentrated, details emerged: how the energy would flow through the form, how it would respond to small commands, how it could act as an extension of his body.
"A puppet… a vessel… something that can act at my command… Tendo," he whispered, testing the concept aloud. The name felt right. The idea felt right.
He leaned back, letting the mental image solidify. He could almost feel the weight of it, the potential power of controlling something outside his immediate reach. Not yet, not in reality—but the seed had been planted.
Time slipped by unnoticed as he experimented further, still small-scale but increasingly complex.
A pencil at the far end of the courtyard rolled toward him. He guided it along a subtle arc, stopping it precisely at his feet.
A stray notebook flipped in the breeze. He redirected it midair, landing it neatly atop a desk.
Even a small branch from the tree wavered under his invisible influence, following a graceful curve before coming to rest.
Every success, every micro-adjustment reinforced the truth: he could extend his will beyond his body. But each failure—every object that fell too quickly, every miscalculated movement—reminded him of the limits he still had to understand.
As the sun dipped lower, Haruto allowed himself a moment to reflect. He still didn't know where he truly was. The world appeared normal, but beneath the surface, energy pulsed in ways he could feel and interact with. It was a hidden layer of reality, waiting for someone who could perceive and manipulate it.
"This body… these instincts… Nagato's knowledge… everything aligns. I have the tools. I just need… structure, practice, control."
He stood, testing his legs, feeling the unfamiliar strength and flexibility of his new body. Reflexes fired automatically—a student tripped nearby, and Haruto's hand shot out instinctively, steadying them before they hit the ground. The movement was natural, almost second nature. Yet, the thought behind it—the awareness, the strategy, the calculation—belonged to Nagato as much as it did to him.
Haruto glanced at the courtyard again. His imagination turned to practical considerations: if he could shape the puppet in his mind, then he could, eventually, bring it into reality. The skeleton, the joints, the flow of energy—everything was possible, but only if he learned control first.
"First awareness… then control… then creation. One step at a time."
His focus drifted slightly to his classmates. They laughed, ran, and played, entirely unaware of the invisible forces subtly shifting the environment around them. To them, the world was mundane. To Haruto, every shadow, every movement, every sound contained hidden information—a map of forces waiting to be understood.
He closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the first puppet: Tendo. Not yet a physical object, but a concept, a framework. Its limbs moved in his mind, responding to subtle commands, almost alive. Every mental adjustment honed his focus, every imagined movement strengthened the connection between thought and energy.
A faint gust of wind scattered leaves across the courtyard. Haruto's fingers twitched. The leaves curved, spiraled, and settled gently where he intended. He opened his eyes, gray irises glinting with quiet determination.
"One day… Tendo will exist. But not now. Patience. Practice. Observation."
The school bell rang again, signaling the end of classes. Students streamed past him, noisy and oblivious. Haruto straightened his uniform, adjusted his posture, and followed them back inside. Each step was deliberate, controlled, measured. Even as he blended in, he was aware—aware of every object, every subtle fluctuation of energy, every instinct guiding him silently.
"Step by step… experiment by experiment… control, then creation. That is how this begins."
As he walked, the faintest pulse of energy surrounded him, barely visible, like a ripple in still water. It was a promise of power, of potential, and of a future yet unwritten. Haruto Kageyama had awoken to a new life in a world he didn't yet understand. But one truth was already clear: the instincts, the energy, and the mind of Nagato were his to wield, and the first idea—the seed of Tendo—had already taken root.
And with that, Chapter 1 of Haruto's awakening closed—a silent prelude to the experiments, battles, and creations that would follow.