Months flowed smoothly into years. Seito Kagami grew, and his life in Stonedale took on familiar, solid outlines. He was no longer that unsteady toddler struggling to take his first steps. At just over three years old, he was a sturdy, active child with an inquisitive gaze in his brown eyes and perpetually tousled chestnut hair.
He had become a full-fledged part of the village's life. He helped his father in the workshop—handing him tools, learning to distinguish oak from pine by touch, watching in delight as rough scraps of wood turned into elegant stools, sturdy doors, or toys for younger children under Kenshi's skilled hands. With his mother, he went into the forest for berries and mushrooms, and his system, with its developed "Observation" and "World Sense," helped him find the best spots, hidden under leaves or at the roots of trees.
His daily training became a routine, woven into the fabric of his days. Rising before the sun, running through the sleeping village, exercises for strength and agility in some abandoned field. The system dutifully issued quests, and he dutifully completed them. His parameters grew slowly but steadily. He could already carry a bundle of firewood that some teenagers wouldn't be able to lift, or climb the tallest tree on the edge of the forest to admire the sunset.
But beneath this external, almost idyllic calm, a storm raged inside Seito. He was driven forward not merely by interest or a desire to improve. He was propelled by an obsessive, profound thought that came to him every night before sleep, when he was alone with the system's blue glow.
*True Name: ———*
That empty, crossed-out line was his constant companion. It was his biggest secret and his most tormenting mystery. Why? What for? What did it mean?
He tried to approach the question with a mechanic's logic. He checked all possible options. He tried mentally uttering his past name: "Light." The system didn't react. He tried to will it into the void—nothing happened. He studied the system's archives, hoping to find at least some trace, a mention of a similar phenomenon. But there was only dry statistics of his achievements and collected information about the world.
One day, as he was staring with despair into that gaping emptiness yet again, the system finally reacted. But not in the way he expected.
For an instant, the interface dimmed, and then the letters in the "True Name" line cracked like shattered glass. Thick, black smoke poured from the cracks, and a voice sounded in his head. Not the impersonal, electronic voice of the system, but a low, grating voice, full of ancient inertia, that made his blood run cold.
"You think you deserve to know? You are nobody. A shadow in a child's body. Dust blown by the wind into a foreign world. Your name has been erased, like a mistake wiped from a slate."
Seito recoiled, his heart hammering wildly. He physically felt an icy cold emanating from the interface. This was not just a line. It was a seal. And behind it lurked something… alive. And hostile.
The vision vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. The line was simply empty again. But now that emptiness was terrifying.
From then on, he began to notice hints. Random, fleeting, as if the system was sometimes glitching and letting something slip. They didn't appear as direct messages, but as barely noticeable prompts in the corner of the screen, disappearing in a fraction of a second, or as distorted whispers on the edge of hearing when he was between sleep and wakefulness.
"…the key lies in a power beyond mortal reach…"
"…when your blood ignites with divine fury…"
"…wor-thy…"
One day, after an especially exhausting training session, when he was dead on his feet from fatigue but satisfied with completing a quest at his limit, the system issued a notification:
[Endurance limit reached. Analyzing will to grow… No signs of worthiness detected.]
And immediately after, another line flashed and disappeared, this time written not in the usual font but in ornate, ancient letters resembling script:
"The True Name will awaken when you are worthy."
Seito froze, forgetting his fatigue. There it was. Not an explanation, but a direction. A reason. He was *unworthy*. His current strength, his perseverance, his slow but steady progress—it was all insufficient to unravel the mystery of his own soul.
For the first time in a long while, he was gripped not by a child's resentment, but by a real, adult, cold rage. The rage of the humiliated. Who were they to decide if he was worthy or not? What right did they have to judge him and hide a part of himself?
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He remembered his past self. Light. The unwanted, lonely mechanic who died in the dirt and darkness for daring to demand what he had honestly earned. He had been deemed "unworthy" then, too. Unworthy of respect, unworthy of justice, unworthy of life itself.
And now history was repeating itself. Maybe in a different world, maybe in a different form, but he was being judged again, sentenced again, denied the right to be whole again.
"No," he whispered into the darkness of his room. "No. This won't happen."
The rage gave way to an icy, crystalline resolve. He would not wait for mercy from the system or from those behind it. He would not hope that one day he would "become worthy" by their standards.
He would force them to acknowledge him. He would become so strong that no seal could hold back his true self. He would shatter these shackles. He would force that empty line to fill, even if he had to turn this whole world upside down to do it.
His goal ceased to be abstract. "Become strong" took on concrete, clear outlines. He had to grow. Not just for the sake of growth, but to unravel the most important mystery about himself.
From that day on, his training took on a new, almost obsessive character. He no longer just completed the system's quests. He looked for ways to circumvent it, to squeeze out more than it was willing to give. He began to experiment.
If the quest was to "run 5 kilometers," he ran 10. And the system, after a second's hesitation, issued: [Additional effort recorded. Experience x1.5. +0.2 to Endurance].
If he needed to "gather 10 medicinal herbs," he gathered 20, studied their properties, tried to combine them. [Hidden property of "Silverbane" herb discovered. Herbalism skill increased to level 2].
He began to use his "World Sense" not just for meditation, but to search for places of power. He found clearings in the forest where the magic was thicker and trained there, hoping it would accelerate his growth. The system didn't always encourage such antics—sometimes it issued warnings about [Ambient Flow Instability] or [Risk of Attracting Attention]—but his parameters indeed grew faster in such places.
Once, risking getting lost, he ventured deep into a ravine at the foot of the mountains. The air here was thick and sweet, and the silence pressed on his ears. In the center of a small stone basin, a spring bubbled up from the ground, its water emitting a bluish glow. It was a place of incredible power.
Seito stepped into the water, feeling the magic soak into his skin, washing away fatigue and filling him with strength. He closed his eyes and, like that time under the pine tree, tried to feel the connection. And this time, he felt not just the breath of the earth. He felt a *gaze*. An ancient, indifferent gaze, like eternity itself, sliding over him for an instant and then disappearing. It wasn't the spirit of the forest or the spirit of the mountains. It was something greater.
He recoiled in horror and ran out of the ravine without looking back. The system remained silent all the way home, then issued a dry message:
[Zone of anomalous magical concentration discovered. Access restricted. Threat level: Unknown.]
Another hint. The world was full of mysteries, and his own was just one of them.
His parents began to notice changes in their son. He became more focused, more withdrawn. He played less with the other children and secluded himself more often.
"Seito, is everything alright?" Ayame asked anxiously one day, stroking his hair. "It's like you're always in a hurry to get somewhere."
He looked into her brown eyes, full of sincere concern, and his heart constricted. He couldn't tell them the truth. He couldn't explain that he was driven forward by the ghost of his past and the riddle of his future.
"Everything's fine, Mom," he smiled his most childish smile. "I'm just… training. I want to become strong, like Dad."
Kenshi, hearing this, laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly driving Seito into the ground—the carpenter had the strength of a bear.
"You'll become strong when you grow up! All in good time, son. Don't rush life."
"In good time…" Seito thought bitterly. "But I don't have time. I need to become strong now."
He saw the village living its life, people rejoicing in the harvest, enduring the winter, bearing children, and seeing the elderly on their final journey. It was a good life. Simple and real. And he wanted to protect it. But he also understood that his personal battle was on a much grander scale than the threat of goblins or a harsh winter. His battle was within himself, and the stake was his very self.
One night, lying in bed, he summoned the system interface again. He stared for a long time at the line "True Name: ———". Now he saw in it not just emptiness, but a challenge. A gauntlet thrown down.
"Alright," he mentally pronounced, addressing the invisible judge hiding behind the system. "You think me unworthy? You hide my past, my essence? I'll accept your rules. I'll play your game. I will grow stronger with every day, every hour, every breath. I will fight monsters, master magic, learn the laws of this world. I will do everything you demand of me, and more."
He paused, and his eyes glowed in the dark with a resolve that was unchildlike and frightening.
"But know this: I am not doing this for your recognition. I am doing this so that one day I can approach your seal and shatter it with a single blow. I will take my name back. And when I do… you better not stand in my way."
The system, in response, only blinked a mocking smiley in the corner of the screen. But Seito felt it—somewhere in the very foundations of the universe, in the laws governing reality, a thread trembled. His promise had been heard.