The morning sun filtered weakly through the paper windows of the Kurogane estate, spilling across polished wood floors and cold white sheets.
Arata Kurogane opened his eyes slowly. The body felt heavier than his own had ever been—sluggish muscles, dull reflexes—but beneath that weakness, a warmth pulsed faintly. A thread. A line.
Ah, right. This isn't a dream.
He flexed his fingers and the world felt different, as though every movement brushed against invisible strands. The lingering memories of the boy's life meshed uneasily with his own. Banquets where he sat in the corner, unnoticed. Training sessions where siblings sneered as he failed to conjure even a spark. Whispers behind his back, laughter echoing in the corridors.
But instead of shame, Arata smiled.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. If this is my starting point, then I've already won.
A knock rattled the door.
"Arata-sama, breakfast has been prepared." A servant's muffled voice, disinterested, almost perfunctory.
He rolled out of bed, dressed himself with the practiced neatness of his vessel's habits, and slid the door open. The servant bowed half-heartedly, as though bowing to a shadow rather than a master.
Arata didn't mind. In fact, he relished it.
The Kurogane family's main hall buzzed with morning chatter. Brothers and sisters lined the long table, their presence sharp and gleaming like drawn blades. The clan head sat at the far end, stoic as stone, his gaze sweeping over his children.
Arata took his place near the lower seats, as he always had. Conversations didn't pause for him; laughter didn't soften when he sat. He was invisible.
But today, something was different.
When he picked up his chopsticks, his posture was steady, shoulders relaxed, eyes calm. There was no nervous fidgeting, no darting glances, no hunched frame trying to shrink into nothing.
His elder brother, Shizuo Kurogane, squinted at him. "What's with you? You look… different."
Arata tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Different? I woke up the same as always." His tone was even, politely dull.
Shizuo frowned, but quickly dismissed it. Why waste energy on the family's weakest link?
Their younger sister, Reina Kurogane, smirked. "Don't bother, brother. Even if he looks different, he'll always be the same useless background. A shadow pretending to be steel."
Laughter rippled down the table.
Arata lowered his gaze, let his lips twitch faintly—as though wounded—but inside his head, his thoughts were sharp and amused.
Yes, yes. Keep laughing. That's the chorus I need. The more ordinary I look, the easier it will be when I finally decide to pull the rug out from under all of you.
After breakfast came training. The siblings sparred in pairs under the watchful eyes of instructors, each unleashing their circuits in dazzling displays. Blades of fire, shields of stone, bursts of lightning that crackled across the courtyard.
Arata stepped into the ring when his name was called. His opponent: Reina, smirking confidently, already summoning a circuit glow along her forearm. Crimson light flared as flame coiled around her hand.
The crowd expected humiliation. They always did.
If I wanted, I could win this in one breath, Arata mused. A chain of gravity, sideways. She'd fall flat on her face. Or… imagine her flame sputtering out like a candle in the wind. Too easy. But winning isn't what shadows do.
The instructor raised his hand. "Begin!"
Reina surged forward, palm blazing, the air rippling with heat. Arata sidestepped with just enough awkwardness to make it look clumsy. He stumbled, regained his footing, and narrowly avoided a strike.
"Pathetic," Reina hissed, driving him back with another flurry of flames.
Arata let himself fall, rolling across the dirt, brushing soot from his sleeve. He raised his fists just enough to appear defiant, then lowered them again, feigning hesitation. His eyes, however, gleamed with quiet amusement.
They'll see a coward. But I'm really testing reaction time, heat intensity, mana flow density… hmm, her circuits flare at three-second intervals. Interesting. Not bad for morning data collection.
Another strike landed near his shoulder. He winced, dropped to a knee, and let the flames lick past his cheek. The instructor's voice rang out:
"Enough! Winner: Reina Kurogane."
Cheers, laughter, mocking glances. Reina preened under their approval.
Arata brushed off the dirt, expression carefully neutral. "I'll… try harder next time." His voice was quiet, even meek.
Inside, his grin was feral.
Try harder? No. Next time, I'll imagine harder. And when I decide the game is over, no one here will laugh again.
Later, when the courtyard emptied and the family dispersed, Arata sat alone beneath the estate's cherry tree. Pink petals drifted lazily around him. He let one fall into his palm, then whispered under his breath:
"Become a blade."
The petal shimmered. For an instant—just an instant—it elongated, gleaming like steel, before fading back into softness.
Arata chuckled quietly.
The rules work. Logic is the key. Petal to blade, possible but unstable. More practice. More refinement.
His left eye throbbed faintly, as though something within it stirred. A circuit not yet awake, but waiting.
He closed his eyes and leaned back, arms folded behind his head.
This family thinks I'm ordinary. Perfect. The world will think I'm ordinary. Perfect. And when I choose to unveil myself… it will already be too late for them.
A breeze rustled the branches, carrying his soft laughter into the air.
"The strongest background character… that's who I'll be."