The morning sun began to rise over Bres Village, painting the sky in gentle shades of soft orange and pink. Its warm light spilled into a small wooden house nestled near the edge of the forest.
Yamato stood in front of the window, eyes locked on the horizon. The glow of dawn touched his face, but his expression remained unreadable—calm on the outside, restless within.
The message from the book echoed again in his mind. The strange words. The unknown meaning. The weight.
He took in a long, slow breath.
"I need to stop thinking and just work," he muttered.
He tied a cloth around his head and got to work. First, he swept the wooden floors with long, practiced strokes. Then he washed the dishes, cleaned the windows, dusted the shelves, rearranged the furniture. Every motion was clean, deliberate, mechanical. The more he moved, the less he thought. The chores anchored him.
When the last task was done, Yamato stepped into his room.
The storm from last night had left its mark. A slow drip echoed faintly from a damaged spot in the roof. His blanket—still damp—lay crumpled on the bed.
"Tch… I should've fixed this yesterday."
He climbed up carefully, pressing a patch of cloth and resin over the leak. Arms raised, fingers steady, his brow furrowed in silent concentration. Dust from the ceiling floated gently down, catching the light.
When he stepped back down, his eyes scanned the room.
Clothes, books, old tools—everything was scattered. He sighed.
"This room's a mess too…"
He started tidying up again, folding clothes, stacking books, pushing aside boxes. But as he shifted a heavy wooden chest, something caught his eye.
A faint glow.
He froze. Slowly, he turned back to the wall.
There, etched into the wooden planks—barely visible but glowing faintly with golden light—were two strange words.
The aura he released earlier must've activated it.
His heartbeat quickened.
His breath caught.
His eyes widened.
"This is it…" he whispered.
He stepped back, chest rising and falling faster. Then—
Boom!
He punched the wall.
Boom!
Again.
CRACK!
The wood finally gave way. A small compartment split open, and something fell to the floor with a soft thud.
Dust flew up.
Yamato knelt down. His hands reached into the hollow space and pulled it out—
A book.
Its surface was coated in dust and cobwebs. But even under the grime, he could see the soft golden shine underneath. He wiped it with one clean stroke of his hand.
The title glowed:
Esther's Son
His hands trembled. He could feel it now. Something pulsed inside the book—like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
He sat on the floor, legs crossed. Focused.
Aura moved through his arms in a faint glow, stirring the air.
The book responded.
Fwoom!
The cover lifted. The pages turned on their own, flipping rapidly before stopping in the middle.
And then—the first line burned itself onto the page:
"Yamato, you are an Outlook."
He stared, lips parted, breath shallow.
"…What is an Outlook?"
Just then, the wooden floor behind him creaked. Light footsteps approached.
He turned his head.
His mother stood in the doorway, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair slightly messy.
"Yamato?" she said softly.
He blinked. "Mom…"
She smiled gently. "Can I join you?"
Yamato hesitated, then nodded.
"…Yes, Mom."
She walked over and sat beside him on the floor. She didn't say anything. Just placed her hand gently on his back.
"I always wondered when you would open it," she whispered. "Your father told me… that one day, this book would call to you."
Yamato turned back to the book.
New words were forming now—like a letter appearing in real time.
"Yamato, I don't know if I'll ever see you again. But I wrote this to help you understand who you truly are. You are an Outlook."
He read it aloud. Esther sat still, her eyes shimmering.
"All gods were created from nothing. That's why they're called gods. But an Outlook… is different. An Outlook is a god too—but unlike the others, they are born.
From a human."
Yamato's jaw tightened.
"We gods—or I, specifically, from the Order—declared long ago that any Outlook should be killed at birth. It was my law. Because of it, many Outlooks died."
Esther closed her eyes. Her face remained still, but her heart ached again hearing those words.
"But when you were born, Yamato… I couldn't do it. I couldn't follow my own law.
You were born from love—your mother's and mine. You were happiness made real. Something I never thought I could feel."
Yamato gripped the book harder. His arms trembled.
"So I sealed your power. I used a high sealing technique—one that even most gods couldn't break.
I didn't know if you would ever reach it… but the fact that you're reading this now—
It means you're stronger than I ever imagined."
Esther smiled through silent tears. "He was so happy when he held you," she said softly.
Yamato continued.
"The reason for the law was the first Outlook we allowed to live. He grew too strong. Even the elder gods feared him.
Eventually, one of the Seven—Kiro, the god of Gravity—was summoned to stop him.
They fought.
Until the Outlook made a deal…
To become the God Slayer."
"Because of him, I made the rule to end all Outlooks from birth."
Yamato closed the book halfway. The room fell silent.
He stared at the floor.
Then at his hands.
Then back at his mother.
"So… I'm not part-god," he said slowly. "I am a god.
An Outlook."
Esther nodded, placing her hand on his shoulder again.
"Yes."
A fire started to build in his eyes.
"It doesn't scare me. It doesn't change me…
I just want to know everything."