My new body is young. Far too young.
Five years old, if that.
Yet when I focus, I can feel it—my power hasn't left me. Even in this fragile vessel, Soul Manifest answers my call. The ability to forge weapons from the energy of another's soul type… it still burns within me.
In this world, every person is born with a soul type, ranked from E to A.
E is the weakest.
A… the strongest.
Before I died, I was ranked Soul Type A.
And even now, I remain Soul Type A.
The door slid open, and a woman in medical robes stepped into the small room I'd been given. She smiled faintly.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yes," I answered. My voice was steady, too steady for a child's body.
"Where's the training room?"
I clenched my fists, staring at my small hands. I could not—would not—waste this second chance.
I have a mission.
And I won't fail this time.
The simulation chamber came alive, shadows forming from the haze. I centered myself, drawing on the familiar pull of my soul.
Light flared—then dimmed.
When the energy settled, I wasn't holding a blade, or a spear, or anything impressive.
Just a faint glow coating my fist. A knuckle guard made of shifting soul energy.
Soul Knuckle.
The trainees watching muttered in disappointment.
"That's it? For an A-rank?"
"Looks more like a child's trick."
I ignored them.
I drove my fist forward, striking one of the shadows square in the chest. The blow landed clean—
and then the backlash hit.
Pain ripped through me as the knuckle guard fractured, shards of soul energy splintering into my skin. My body wasn't strong enough to contain the pressure.
The glow shattered. My fist was left raw, bleeding, a jagged burn etched across my knuckles. A scar that would never fade.
The scar on my fist still burned. I clenched it tighter, forcing myself to stay upright despite the pain. The laughter from the other trainees cut deeper than the wound itself.
From the back of the chamber, Chan's voice rang out.
"That's all you've got, kid?"
I glared at her.
"I don't need commentary from someone who hides behind brute force."
Her arms folded tighter across her chest. "Brute force gets results. At least I don't nearly cripple myself trying to swing one punch."
The words stung, sharper than the scar across my hand. She didn't understand. None of them did.
"Stay out of my way," I muttered.
"Gladly," she shot back, eyes flashing.
For a moment, the chamber was silent, tension thick between us. Two souls who fought side by side once upon a time—reborn into children's bodies, but still carrying the same clashing fire.
We didn't know it then, but that scar and that argument were only the beginning.