*****
I'd like to leave a small note regarding this chapter.
I don't usually rewrite episodes once they're published. I prefer to keep the story moving forward. However, this time I felt that the previous version didn't fully satisfy me. There wasn't a specific issue, but something about it didn't feel quite right, so I decided to revise and adjust it until it better aligned with the direction I want for the story.
I also apologize for the delay in the next episode. Thank you for your patience and continued support.
*****
The inn's dining room was quiet, broken only by the steady sound of a spoon lightly striking the rim of a pot.
Liza moved naturally between the table and the improvised stove, focused on the meal with a seriousness that required no words. There was no tension in her gestures, but neither was there carelessness. She treated it as seriously as any other task.
Tama and Pochi helped her with different things. One washed, the other passed ingredients, exchanging quick glances and soft comments. They smiled as they cooperated smoothly. The scene was calm, almost fragile, as if they all understood that moments like this would not be repeated many more times. Even Hans assisted with speed and precision, without disrupting that silent harmony.
Satoru watched from his seat without intervening.
He was thinking about tomorrow's fight—more specifically, about his decision to take part in it.
He could stand up and leave right now. Disappear before dawn fully settled, ignore the meeting, ignore the hero, ignore what was expected of him. Nothing prevented him.
From a practical standpoint, the duel had no immediate usefulness. It did not resolve an urgent threat nor offer him a tangible benefit. Even with what he had learned from the witch, and with his mana recovery no longer in danger, the confrontation did not represent a real risk.
He could avoid it.
And yet, the idea did not satisfy him.
The spoon struck the pot again. Liza tasted the contents, frowned slightly for a second, and added something more. Tama watched her with curiosity; Pochi leaned forward, waiting for her final approval.
Satoru looked away.
Why fight?
He had been in this world for very little time—less than a month.
Even so, he had already understood something basic: he could not simply ignore problems and expect them to disappear.
That night, when he fought the woman with the sword, he had understood something more uncomfortable. There were things he could not master no matter how much theory he knew. He could analyze, process, and understand—but that did not replace practice.
There were skills that could only be acquired by facing them directly.
And someone like him, with so little real experience, needed to pass through different scenarios if he wanted to become something more than what he was now.
This duel was an opportunity.
A way to move forward.
Besides, the fight with that woman was still present in his mind.
The reason was not complex. He had been naive. Like a child discovering something new and fascinating, Satoru had not been able to avoid feeling a slight admiration.
Her swordsmanship had captivated him.
A part of him, simple and almost childish, had thought: I want to do that too.
An impulse unbefitting of an undead—or perhaps something entirely expected from a curious species.
His thoughts were interrupted when Liza and Hans brought the plates to the table. Steam rose slowly, filling the space with a simple, comforting aroma. Tama was the first to sit down; Pochi followed. All of them looked at Satoru, waiting for him to mark the moment.
Satoru picked up his utensils.
For an instant, the scene felt almost normal.
They ate in silence. Not because there was nothing to say, but because any word would divert attention from the inevitable.
When they finished, Pochi hesitated before speaking. She looked at Tama, then at the others, and finally at Satoru.
"Master… can you read to us today?"
The question was simple, as always.
Satoru watched her for a few seconds.
"Very well."
He added nothing more.v
Later, when the room lay in dim light and the book rested closed on the table, Satoru remained seated a moment longer, unmoving.
The fight could be avoided, but despite everything, he was looking forward to it.
There was a faint sense of anticipation vibrating within him.
***
In the castle hall, the atmosphere was different, but no less heavy.
The table had food on it—cut meats, a few side dishes, everything already served. Nothing fancy, just enough for everyone.
His team was gathered there. Aside from Hayato, they were all women, and all of them good-looking in their own way. They sat around the table like they usually did, relaxed and used to each other.
Even so, none of them seemed hungry.
Except Hayato.
"Ahhh… this is really good," he said honestly, taking another bite. "Who cooked this?"
His tone was as always—light, almost appreciative. He chewed calmly and even seemed to be trying to turn the dinner into a normal evening, as if he were not sitting in front of a subject no one wanted to name.
Glances crossed without words. Ringrande let out a sigh that sounded more like contained impact than fatigue. Her elbow pressed heavily against the table, enough for the metal of her armor to make a faint sound. Maryest Saga, seated nearby, watched him with a strange mix of relief and annoyance, because part of her was grateful to see him acting as usual—but the other part could not stand that he was doing so right now.
"Honestly…" Maryest muttered. "How can you eat like that at a time like this?"
Hayato looked up, blinked, and pointed at his plate with his utensils, as if the answer were obvious.
"With appetite?"
No one laughed. Not even Fifi, who usually laughed at anything if it broke tension. Rusus had her arms crossed, her tail rigid behind the back of her chair. Loleiya, normally serene, kept her lips pressed together. Ringrande did not even bother hiding her irritation.
Hayato noticed. He noticed immediately. He just kept eating a couple more bites, as if still trying to stretch that façade one more minute, as if prolonging the ordinary were a way to delay the inevitable.
At last, he set down his utensils calmly.
"Alright, alright…" he said, leaning back. "I guess I can't pretend nothing's happening all night."
Silence settled in. No one pressed him right away, because they all knew that once someone spoke first, there would be no turning back.
Maryest broke the ice, her voice lower than usual, almost as if it bothered her to ask.
"Are you really going alone?"
Hayato tilted his head, as if he did not understand why that was the strange part of the situation.
"Yes."
Maryest frowned.
"Against that man?"
Hayato scratched the back of his neck and smiled faintly—the smile he used when he wanted to lessen the weight of something that had him tense inside.
"It was a promise between men."
The answer landed poorly. It showed. Ringrande narrowed her eyes as if she had just heard a joke out of place.
"That's the cheapest excuse I've ever heard from you," she said, "and I've traveled with you for years."
Hayato raised both hands.
"Hey, hey. Don't be so harsh."
Ringrande did not move.
"Do you find this funny? You disappear in the middle of the night, force an evacuation, make half the city panic, and now you intend to go fight somekind of a demon king all by yourself."
Without us.
Hayato opened his mouth to answer, but what came out was a short sigh. Not a dramatic one—more resigned, as if he knew he could not keep the joke going any longer.
"When you put it like that… yeah, it sounds bad."
Fifi spun a knife between her fingers without looking at him.
"It doesn't sound bad. It is stupid."
Hayato smiled sideways, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
Maryest pressed her fingers against the table. It was obvious she was not angry out of pride. She was afraid, and fear in someone brave does not look like panic—it looks like insistence.
"Is it because you don't trust us?" she asked, holding her voice steady.
That question reached him.
Hayato lowered his gaze to his plate. For a moment he seemed to search for a joke, an easy way out, a phrase that would loosen the tension—but he did not find one. And that, for someone like him, was already an answer.
"I don't want to lose anyone again," he said.
He did not raise his voice. He did not become solemn. He simply said it like someone admitting something he had been carrying for a long time.
The air shifted. Even Ringrande, who was usually the first to hit him when he acted like an idiot, went still.
Hayato took a deep breath and continued more carefully.
"It's not that I think you can't fight. That's not it. You're not afraid to die, and I know that. You've prepared for the day we have to face a Demon King, and if that day comes, I won't tell you to stay behind."
He lifted his gaze to make sure they were listening—not just hearing.
"But this isn't the same."
Rusus frowned.
"What's different?"
Hayato took a second before answering. Not because he did not know, but because he was choosing simple words—words that did not sound like a speech meant to convince a council, but like a truth spoken to people who mattered to him.
"When you fight a Demon King—even if it's difficult, even if the battle is horrible—there's something holding it together. There's a purpose. A concrete threat. A clear objective. And, as harsh as it sounds, there's always a possibility of victory."
Fifi stopped spinning the knife.
"And with him there isn't?"
Hayato fell silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
"With him, if we make a mistake… there is no 'possibility.' No margin. Nothing."
Maryest swallowed.
"Is he really that dangerous?"
Hayato clenched his jaw before answering. For the first time that night, the mask truly cracked. It did not disappear entirely—Hayato was not someone who broke down in front of others—but the weight showed.
"Yes," he said. "He is."
Ringrande leaned slightly forward.
"Explain."
Hayato let out a short laugh without humor.
"I've seen demons. All of us have. We know how they feel. Their hatred, their intent, the desire to cause harm. With him, there's none of that. No cruelty, no chaos. None of that 'villain' aura that at least lets you understand them—even if only to hate them."
He ran a hand through his hair, uneasy.
"With Satoru, it's different. It's like…" He searched for the word. "Like a natural disaster. Something that's just there, that doesn't owe explanations to anyone—and if it moves in your direction, the only sensible thing is to get out of the way."
Maryest tensed.
"That doesn't explain why we can't help you."
Hayato looked at the table, and in that gesture something slipped through that he almost never allowed to show.
Fear.
Not fear of pain. Not fear of death. Fear of the inevitable—of what cannot be argued with or negotiated.
"I'll put it as simply as possible," he said. "A dragon."
The word dropped like a stone into a well.
No one asked what he meant. They did not need to. In that world, "dragon" was not merely a powerful creature. It was a boundary etched into the collective psyche. You do not fight a dragon. Not because of cowardice—but because it is absurd. It is not war. Not a duel. It is vanishing from the map.
Hayato pointed lightly at the table, as if anchoring the idea.
"You know what that means. It doesn't matter if you're a soldier, an adventurer, a noble, or a hero—you don't provoke a dragon. To a dragon, our lives aren't different from stones in the road. There's no epic tale. No glory. No 'it was worth it.' There's just death."
Ringrande opened her mouth, then closed it. Not because she had nothing to say—but because she understood the exact point.
Hayato continued, his voice firmer now. He was no longer arguing. He was drawing a line.
"Satoru isn't threatening the kingdom. He isn't chasing someone we love. He isn't trying to spread chaos. If it were up to me, I'd turn around with all of you and leave. That would be the correct choice."
Maryest gripped the edge of the table.
"Then why don't we?"
Hayato did not answer immediately. He looked at his hands for a second. The tremor was slight, almost imperceptible—but it was there. In the silence of the hall, it felt like a confession.
"Because I'm the only one who understood what that means," he said at last. "And if I walk away without doing anything, the world won't learn it."
He lifted his gaze. His eyes were no longer trying to reassure anyone. They were asking to be understood.
"The Empire will keep getting in his way. They'll keep thinking he's a 'potential Demon King'—something they can defeat if they gather enough strength, summon another hero, organize better, make a bigger plan."
He slowly shook his head.
"And that's exactly what they must not do."
Fifi tightened her grip on the knife.
"And your plan is… to fight?"
"My plan is to send a message," Hayato replied. "Not to him. To the rest of the world."
Ringrande looked at him sharply.
"And what message would that be?"
Hayato held her gaze.
"That Satoru isn't an enemy you 'defeat.' He's a phenomenon you avoid. That if you provoke him, there won't be a second chance. That the correct response isn't war, revenge, or a hunt. It's to leave him alone."
The hall fell silent again, but it was no longer an uncomfortable silence. It was a silence of understanding—and for Hayato, that was harder than any argument.
Maryest drew in a long breath.
"And why only you?"
Hayato clenched his jaw.
"Because if you go with me, this stops being a duel and becomes an incident. And if it becomes an incident, the result is simple. You die, I die, and there's no one left to clearly tell what happened."
He leaned slightly forward.
"I'm the hero. My word carries weight. If I come back alive, I can stop the Empire. I can make them halt before they commit the stupidity of trying to 'solve' this with more force. If I die… at least it will be clear that not even I could do it—and that buys time."
Ringrande looked at him with a mixture of anger and respect.
"You're still an idiot," she said.
Hayato let out a short, humorless laugh.
"I know."
Ringrande clicked her tongue, stood, and walked toward him with firm steps. She struck him on the head with her knuckles—hard enough to hurt, restrained enough not to be a real assault.
"You better come back," she said. "Because if you die out there, I'll find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you myself."
Hayato smiled, and this time the smile was genuine, though brief.
"I'll do my best."
Maryest lowered her gaze, resigned—but when she spoke, her voice carried the firmness that proved why she was there.
"Then at least let us prepare an escape plan."
Hayato looked at her and nodded.
"That I'll accept," he said with genuine gratitude. "Because… if there's something that gives me peace, it's knowing you'll stay alive."
And for the first time during the entire dinner, the elephant in the room stopped being a nameless shadow. It did not become less terrifying—but at least it was on the table, and all of them could look at it directly.
***
The road toward the north gate was empty. There were no spies, no curious onlookers. No one remained in the streets who wanted to come close to what was about to happen.
Satoru walked at the front with a steady pace, unhurried. Liza was at his side, half a step behind. Tama and Pochi followed in silence, alert to any gesture. Hans remained within Satoru's shadow as always—invisible, yet present.
When the gates became visible in the distance, Satoru spoke without stopping.
"You can stay here."
He did not turn when he said it. It was not an order, nor a warning. Just an option offered naturally.
Liza paused for a moment. She looked at his back, then at the clear path stretching toward the duel's location.
"Allow me to accompany you," she said.
Her voice was firm.
Satoru turned his face slightly.
"You won't be fighting."
"I know."
There was no argument. Liza had never argued about something like that. It was not false modesty. It was acceptance. She knew her place in that level of combat.
"I won't get in the way," she added. "I just want to be present."
Satoru watched her for a moment longer. He was not evaluating her strength. He was evaluating her resolve.
"If you come, Hans will have to stay with you," he said. "That reduces my margin."
Liza pressed her lips together. Not from wounded pride, but because she understood exactly what that meant.
"I know. And I'm sorry."
She lowered her gaze briefly.
"If I were stronger… you wouldn't have to choose."
It was not reproach. It was a bitter acknowledgment. Between her and Satoru there was a distance that could not be closed through effort alone. She had known it for some time.
She took a deep breath before continuing.
"But staying behind again… I don't want that to become normal."
She did not ask him to ignore her safety. She knew he would not. Nor could she endanger Tama and Pochi. The only thing she was asking was to accompany him.
Tama took a small step forward.
"Tama wants to go too!"
Pochi nodded with quiet determination.
Satoru looked at them. Not as burdens. Not as tools. But as people who had chosen to walk at his side knowing what it meant.
The difference in power was overwhelming. A single misdirected blow would be enough to kill them.
And it was not Hayato who concerned him most in that regard.
It was himself.
He still could not state with absolute certainty that he would not make a careless mistake.
Objectively, bringing them was a bad decision.
Even so…
"Very well," he said.
Without solemnity.
"But you stay back."
Liza lifted her head.
"Yes."
She added nothing more. It was enough.
They resumed walking.
Liza followed him—not because she could protect him, not because she could fight for him—but because, in that moment, accompanying him was the only thing she could offer.
***
The midday sun fell unobstructed. The terrain was clear, as if life itself had decided to step aside.
Hayato Masaki waited at the agreed point, blue armor reflecting the light. When he saw them approaching, he raised a hand energetically.
"Hey! I thought you'd changed your mind."
Satoru stopped a few steps away.
"I arrived at the agreed time."
Hayato glanced at the sky and let out a short laugh.
"Of course you did."
His eyes shifted toward the group behind him.
"I thought you'd come alone."
"They insisted," Satoru replied. "I expected you to do the same."
Hayato looked at the empty ground around them and shrugged.
"I promised it would be between us. I don't like dragging others into things that can go wrong."
He looked again at the demi-humans.
"Though I am a little worried about hurting them by accident."
"That won't be necessary," Satoru said.
Hayato raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Your strength would be lethal to them. It is not to me."
Hayato clicked his tongue.
"That stung a little."
Then he lifted a hand with exaggerated theatricality.
"What if I take one hostage?"
Satoru calmly shook his head.
"You wouldn't do that."
Hayato studied him for a second.
"You that sure?"
"If you had ill intentions, you would have acted last night."
There was a brief pause.
"I haven't thanked you for that."
Hayato looked away, uncomfortable, and let out a genuine laugh.
"You're nothing like I imagined."
He drew a deep breath and took a step back.
"Well. I suppose we've talked enough."
His sword appeared in his hand. A shield materialized on his other arm.
"Try to go easy on me."
Satoru removed the black wrappings from his own sword with calm deliberation. The pale metal was revealed.
"We'll see."
Hayato moved first.
There was no warning—he simply advanced. The weight of his body fell forward decisively, his sword drawing a direct line toward Satoru's torso.
Satoru responded without altering the rhythm of his breathing. A lateral cut intercepted the advance—clean, measured, with no apparent excess force.
Hayato raised his shield by reflex, prepared to absorb the impact and counterattack in the same motion.
Then he felt it.
A tingling at the back of his neck, like a warning that bypassed thought. His instinct reacted before strategy. Instead of forcing the advance, he planted his feet and received the blow with his whole body behind the shield.
The impact pushed him back anyway.
It was not elegant. It was brutal. The shield vibrated violently and his arm went numb as his boots slid over the dry earth, leaving clear marks on the ground.
He stopped several steps from his original position and exhaled forcefully.
"Hey… I thought you were going to take it easy."
Satoru did not pursue him.
"I gave you a warning. Not taking advantage of an opening is also taking it easy."
Hayato rolled his eyes, shaking his arm.
"How considerate."
He adjusted his grip on the sword, lowered his center of gravity slightly, and this time advanced more cautiously.
Satoru responded in kind. His blade pointed without rigidity, his free arm near his torso, his legs naturally spaced. His flank appeared exposed, but the sensation he emanated was anything but careless.
They clashed again.
This time there was no direct shove. There was exchange.
Steel against steel. The shield turning to redirect cuts. Short steps crossing without room for wide maneuvers. They did not seek distance. There was no prolonged testing. Both advanced and corrected in the same instant, as if each tried to read the other half a movement before it was completed.
From a distance, the sound of metal began to multiply.
Tama blinked several times. For her, the movements were already too fast. She saw flashes—arms that seemed to vanish and reappear at a different angle, blows she could not understand how they had changed direction at the last instant.
Pochi could not follow every detail either, but she felt the ground vibrate beneath her feet. Each crossing of blades sent a brief wave through the dry soil.
Liza, however, understood more.
Not everything. Not every trajectory.
But enough to notice that neither of them was improvising. The attacks were not wild nor disordered. Each correction had intent. Each retreat opened a new line. When one seemed to gain space, the other had already adjusted balance.
There was no blood.
No visible wounds.
And yet the terrain was beginning to deform. Dry grass was torn away in fragments. The earth opened into small cracks where boots struck with too much force. The air itself seemed compressed each time the swords collided.
Liza tightened her grip on her spear and did not look away.
She understood something Tama and Pochi did not. This was not the full extent of either of them yet. They were measuring each other—searching for rhythm, adjusting pressure.
The exchange continued—fast, precise, brutal without being chaotic.
That was when Satoru noticed the discrepancy.
A cut changed angle too late. The intention was correct, but the transition was not. Hayato managed to cover.
Satoru did not insist.
Dark Wisdom was a convenient ability: by killing a target, Satoru could obtain the knowledge and experiences of his victims as long as they were compatible with YGGDRASIL's system. Through it, he had acquired complete alchemical formulas, advanced magical theories, and spells he could master almost immediately with the support of his own talent.
But Dark Wisdom was not a collector of memories nor a devourer of skills. It did not transfer innate talent, bodily instinct, nor discipline forged through years of practice. What it granted was understanding—not mastery.
The woman with the sword had not surpassed him through power, but through skill. Each of her movements flowed into the next without hesitation or late corrections; her body reacted before her mind intervened. Satoru could analyze that sequence, break it down, understand it.
He could not replicate it.
He had improved, yes—but not enough to close the gap. In a new confrontation, the result would not change: he would still be outmatched, only this time he would not be overwhelmed in the first exchange. He had tried to incorporate that knowledge as his own, but there was something that simply could not be forced.
That was one of the reasons he was here. That was why he had accepted the duel. He had hoped Hayato could push him to that limit—force him one step further.
However, as the exchange lengthened, something did not fully align.
From the outside, the battle was intense, precise—even brutal. But for Satoru there was not that clean, absolute pressure he had felt that night. The blows demanded attention, yes—but they did not force him to cross the boundary he still could not surpass.
And almost at the same time, Hayato was reaching a similar conclusion.
Everything felt too stable.
He was responding well, moving decisively, defending each attack with judgment—but he did not feel that constant pressure he had anticipated, that sense of inevitability that had pursued him since the previous night.
Before arriving, he had imagined a desperate struggle for survival—a difference so overwhelming he would barely remain standing. Instead, he could read the movements, follow the rhythm, even counterattack without being immediately suppressed.
He stepped back. Then another. Not a disordered retreat—but deliberate space to think. The exchange had been intense, but it was not crushing him. He could handle it.
And that itself was unsettling.
Satoru advanced with the same firmness, his cuts fast and heavy at once—though still within a margin Hayato could sustain.
Then Hayato understood the possibility: perhaps he had not pushed him far enough yet.
He clenched his teeth and allowed his foot to slip slightly. The motion was brief—an apparent mistake in footing. His posture opened just enough to seem vulnerable, stepping back as if he had lost balance.
Satoru responded without hesitation. The cut came straight, seeking to close distance before he could reorganize.
There.
"Heavy Strike!"
Hayato's blade flashed as he activated the skill at the same instant he deflected the attack. The lateral impact was more forceful than normal, concentrating all the strength at a precise point. Satoru's sword was violently knocked aside, opening a clear line toward his torso.
Without hesitation, Hayato advanced. Mana covered his body as he activated a second skill; bluish light intensified as he concentrated all his weight behind the blow.
"I'll take the first hit!"
The sword descended and the impact rang out—dry and solid. The earth gave way beneath his feet. Dust rose around them, and the vibration traveled up Hayato's arms to his shoulders—a brutal shock that confirmed contact.
For an instant, he believed he had done it.
Then the world changed.
There was no explosion, no dramatic flash. The dust began to fall with unnatural slowness, as if the air itself had grown denser. The pressure descended gradually—not like a violent gust, but like something settling second by second, accumulating on his shoulders, in his chest, in his breath.
It was not hostility. Not killing intent.
It was power.
Dark and suffocating power that did not need to manifest as an attack to be understood.
Hayato felt his body react before his mind did. The hand holding the sword trembled without permission; instinct screamed that this was not exaggeration—it was a real warning.
He looked forward.
The blade had struck clearly. The edge had reached its target.
Yet there was no open flesh. No blood to justify the blow.
Satoru was unharmed.
Only that presence, becoming clearer and more defined—occupying the space between them as if everything else were irrelevant.
The silence that followed was not empty, but oppressive. The air weighed on his lungs. Each inhalation required more effort than normal. The pressure did not explode—it simply was. Stable. Immutable. A reminder that the difference was not measured in the previous exchanges, but in what happened when one of them stopped holding back.
Satoru narrowed his eyes. There was no anger in his expression, no urgency.
There was something worse.
Disappointment—as if the blow he had just received had confirmed exactly what he feared.
Hayato clenched his teeth. He had wanted to reach this point—had provoked that instant to force him to stop holding back.
He had not been prepared for what followed.
"So…" Satoru said, just as calmly. "Is that all?"
He did not raise his voice. There was no mockery, no contempt. Just a simple observation.
The air seemed to compress.
Before Hayato could react, Satoru had already moved. The cut was precise—a single slash directed at the neck.
Pain came late, dulled by shock. Hayato stumbled back a step—then another. His fingers tried to press against the wound, but blood kept seeping through them. The world tilted for a moment. The sound of the wind returned abruptly—distant, irrelevant.
His knees gave first.
The impact against the ground was dry. His sword slipped from his hand and landed at his side, the metal stained red. The earth beneath his body began to darken as blood spread silently.
Satoru remained where he was, watching him fall without approaching, without speaking—while the field remained suspended in a tense silence no one dared to break.
***
Author's Note
This chapter was difficult to write.
There were many things I wanted to do with it, many ideas and nuances I would have liked to develop better, but the truth is that you don't always have the skill, clarity, or creativity needed to take everything as far as you imagine. So I did the best I could with what I had at the time.
Satoru is a character I built to go far. He has power, he has knowledge, he has a clear logic… but he doesn't have a heart. And I think that is the most important word in this story: heart.
What he desires, why he desires it, and how he desires it.
Satoru acts out of interest and curiosity. He fights because he wants to understand, because he wants to test, because he wants to confirm something that is missing within him. He does not fight for ideals or duty, and he does not pretend to.
Hayato, on the other hand, is a much simpler man. Lively, heroic, and, at his core, a good person. He cares about his companions, values his position as a hero, and genuinely strives to be the best hero he can be. He fights out of duty.
He is willing to put his life at risk for something as seemingly foolish as "delivering a message." Not to the enemy, but to himself. Knowing when to fight. Knowing when to retreat.
Hayato has always felt like a very complete character to me, at least when he acts seriously. He is young, but he never hesitates about what he wants to do, how he wants to do it, or why. Half of his life has been spent in this world, and he was forced to mature here, experiencing the most important moments of his life in a fantasy world that offered him very few concessions.
And yet, he never forgot his origins. He didn't forget who he was, what he liked, or what motivated him. He learned to fulfill his duty as a hero not merely as an ideal or as a monster hunter, but as something closer to a champion. A symbol of humanity.
I don't remember much about Hayato in the original material, I admit that. But I always felt he was there to show someone who consciously used his strength with responsibility. Someone who might have been meant as a contrast. Perhaps even as a test of what a hero truly is.
After all, Satou used to wear the "hero" role like a mask. A disguise he put on when it suited him, when he didn't want to carry the consequences of his actions or his power.
I would have liked someone like Hayato to interact more with Satoru. But I suppose that is something left for the future.
For now, this was what I could write.