Four years passed.
Haruto Kagitsuchi, now four years old, stood before his father, the Patriarch of the Kagitsuchi Sect. His small hands clenched tightly at his sides as he bowed deeply.
"Father," he said, his voice steady despite his age, "train me personally."
The Patriarch studied his son. Haruto was thin, his arms small, his body still fragile like any other child. The request was bold, but the man shook his head.
"You are too young, Haruto. A body without strength cannot endure the weight of the sword. Patience. When you are ready, I will teach you."
Haruto lowered his eyes. The refusal did not anger him, nor did it break his resolve. He knew his father spoke the truth. His mind carried the burden of uncountable lives, but his body was still bound to this one — a child's body. It could not yet keep up with the skill that swirled within his memories.
Still, waiting was not in his nature.
That night, Haruto took up a wooden sword and went into the courtyard alone. Under the pale glow of lanterns, he began to move. His strikes were clumsy, his stances unstable, but he did not stop. Each swing carried the weight of persistence.
His sisters watched in different ways.
Haruno, the eldest, asked their mother, the Matriarch, to let her train like her brother. But their mother refused the sword and gave her meditation instead, teaching her patience of spirit.
Harumi, the youngest, said nothing. She simply sat on the porch with wide eyes, clutching a small doll, watching her brother swing the wooden blade again and again until sweat soaked through his clothes.
Days became weeks. Weeks became months.
For five months, Haruto trained without pause. Before sunrise, his wooden sword cut through the morning air. After midnight, his small frame still moved in the dark, pausing only to eat what was given to him.
And though no one spoke of it, someone was always watching.
From the shadows of the courtyard, his father observed in silence. At first, he thought it was stubbornness, nothing more. But as days turned into months, the Patriarch's expression changed. At four years old, Haruto had done what even chosen candidates four times his age could not.
He had already mastered the Kagitsuchi Sword Style — the clan's core technique, a style so refined that even dedicated disciples required five years to barely grasp its foundation.
The Patriarch narrowed his eyes.
How could a boy so young perform techniques with such precision?
Then he noticed.
Each night, before training, Haruto sat by the lantern and flipped through a worn book. It was not a children's tale. It was a scroll of the clan's sword techniques — the very teachings reserved for disciples far older than him.
His father exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief.