The swordsman did not sleep.
He stood alone on the rooftop, city lights stretching endlessly beneath him like a broken constellation. Wind tugged at his coat, cool and steady, but he barely felt it.
His hand rested on the hilt of his katana.
It was quiet now.
Too quiet.
After the encounter, something had shifted—not in the world, but inside him. The command still echoed in his mind, sharp and absolute.
Eliminate the anomaly.
He tightened his grip.
The blade answered with a faint vibration, almost imperceptible. Not a sound.
A reminder.
— …Focus, he muttered.
But his thoughts refused to settle.
When Kaito had raised his arm…When the cut had stopped…
That wasn't resistance.
That was refusal.
The swordsman closed his eyes.
And the past answered.
The room was white.
Not clean—empty.
A child knelt in the center of it, knees pressed painfully against the floor. His hands were bound, trembling, his breath uneven. He couldn't have been older than ten.
Across from him, the katana rested on a simple stand.
Unremarkable.
Perfect.
— Again, a voice commanded.
The boy stood unsteadily.
He lifted the sword.
It was too heavy at first. His arms shook violently as he raised it, teeth clenched, eyes burning with unshed tears.
— Cut, the voice said.
The boy swung.
The blade passed through the air—and the sound disappeared.
Not faded.
Severed.
The echoes of the strike vanished before they could reach the walls. The boy gasped, panic flashing across his face.
— What did you feel? the voice asked.
— I… I don't know, the boy whispered.
The blade hummed faintly.
— You cut the continuation, the voice replied calmly.— Remember that.
The boy nodded, even though he didn't understand.
He would.
They made sure of it.
The rooftop returned.
The swordsman exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the air.
He didn't remember how many times he had trained like that.
Only that each session ended the same way.
Headaches.Confusion.Missing pieces.
He looked down at the blade.
— What did you take from me…? he asked quietly.
The katana remained silent.
Elsewhere, Kaito lay awake in bed.
His left eye burned faintly, warmth spreading behind the scar. The pressure wasn't chaotic tonight.
It was focused.
He flexed his fingers.
For a brief moment, he felt something brush against his awareness—not hostile, not friendly.
Bound.
— …You're not like the others, Kaito whispered.
The sensation faded.
On the rooftop, the swordsman opened his eyes.
For the first time since the command was implanted, a thought surfaced uninvited.
What if the anomaly isn't the threat?
His grip loosened slightly.
The katana vibrated again—harder this time.
A warning.
The swordsman swallowed.
— Not yet, he murmured.— …Just let me remember.
Far below, the city continued unaware.
Two lives, connected by a cut that never finished.
And a blade that rememberedwhat its wielder was forced to forget.