Now, inside my newly arranged room — the air lightly perfumed with bamboo and tea — I was still trying to process everything that had happened.A new body. A new world. New rules.
But before overthinking any of that… I needed to test those abilities.
That was when, during a brief moment of relaxation, panic suddenly struck — that sharp, dreadful feeling, like when you reach into your pocket and don't feel your phone… only a thousand times worse.I whipped my head around frantically, heart pounding. My eyes scanned every corner of the room — until I saw it, resting calmly on the low table.
My ocarina.
A massive wave of relief washed over me. I rushed over and grabbed it with both hands, holding it as if it were a long-lost treasure. That small instrument was one of the few things I could never bring myself to leave behind — dangerously so, considering I even took it with me to buy bread.It was the last gift I had received from my parents before the accident… my final living memory of them.
I played a few notes, and the gentle sound filled the room, creating a nostalgic, comforting atmosphere.♫⋆｡♪ ♩ ♬
Memories flowed like a calm river — sad, yet somehow warm.What would they think of all this madness? I wondered.
Soon, I shook my head, pushing those emotions aside."Enough sentimentality. Time to warm up."
As I glanced toward the doorway, I noticed something leaning against the frame.A long, slender piece of wood… and the moment I picked it up, the answer was clear: a training sword, stored in a bamboo scabbard.The familiar feel of the wood reignited a quiet excitement within me. I needed to test the Breathing Techniques — and there was no better time than now.
I opened the door.
And in the very next instant, I froze.
The sword slipped from my hand and hit the wooden floor with a dull thud.Standing right in front of me was a small-statured woman, long black hair like silk, and gentle green eyes — an emerald hue so vivid it felt impossible to forget.
The words barely escaped my mouth, trembling and confused:
— M… mo… Mom?
— Oh! Yuto, dear, are you alright? — she asked, her voice light and warm, exactly as I remembered. That unmistakable tone of maternal concern struck me like an arrow.
The tears came instantly. I ran to her and threw myself into a desperate embrace, burying my face in the fabric of her dress.The words leaving my mouth were completely unintelligible — nothing but broken sounds from someone crying too hard to speak.
— I… ughh… nhnhhh…!
She looked utterly confused, unable to understand the sudden flood of emotion.
— Dear! Have you seen where I left my— huh? What's wrong with him?
A masculine voice echoed from the hallway.And when the man stepped into view, my body locked up once again. Tall. Muscular. Short black hair. A firm yet gentle gaze.
— D… Dad?
And once more, the tears fell.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆
Alright, let me explain what just happened.
Up until that moment, Kazehara Yuto's memories — the original owner of this body — hadn't fully synchronized with mine yet.Maybe they still haven't.
But the fact was… this body's parents never died.
And the strangest part?They were almost identical to my parents from my original world. The same smiles. The same presence. Only with East Asian features and different names.
Kazehara Daichi, my new father, was a man of Japanese descent. Strong, disciplined — a former dojo master who, over time, adapted to reality and turned his dojo into a small swordsman guild.He never became a hero, but he was a respected D-rank leader with C-rank potential. In the current era, that made him surprisingly powerful.
Kazehara Miyu, my mother, possessed a calm, ethereal beauty.A lover of music, an artist at heart, and above all, a gentle mother. She was the one who had gifted me the ocarina — and taught me how to play it.
Honestly, I think my reaction was… reasonable.I mean, for someone who believed their parents had been dead for two years, desperately clinging to them makes sense, right?
Still, the "Yuto" side of me was visibly embarrassed.
Even so… I couldn't put into words how happy I was to see them again.
— So then, son — my father said with a determined smile. — How about breaking a sweat?
We were now in the central hall of the dojo.The space was wide, the polished wooden floor reflecting the orange glow of the late afternoon sun. He rested one hand on the wooden sword at his waist and tossed another toward me. I caught it instinctively.
— If you're going to train, take a bath before dinner! — my mother's voice echoed from the other room.
— Got it! — we replied in unison.
For a while, an odd silence settled between us, as if foreshadowing the seriousness of what was about to happen.
— You know, son… I still haven't congratulated you on entering Lock — my father said, lightly spinning the wooden sword between his fingers. — You can imagine how hard your mother fought to keep you from choosing that path. It's dangerous. Cruel, even… but in the end, we can't chain your dreams.
— Ah… I understa—
— However… — he cut me off, his gaze suddenly sharpening — before you go, I must show you a glimpse of what awaits you out there.
Before I could react, an overwhelming pressure engulfed the hall.The air thickened, heavy and vibrating, and my legs trembled on their own. His presence — once gentle and paternal — distorted into a blurred silhouette, wrapped in raw, wild, suffocating mana.
Strong… incredibly strong!
— Stay calm and adjust your breathing — his voice rang out, deep and cutting. — Out there, no one will wait for you. They will crush you, humiliate you, and throw you to the ground without hesitation.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished.The attack came straight at me — no warning, no mercy.
Instinct took over. My hand moved on its own.The sword was drawn from its sheath with a sharp sound — CLANG! — and the impact echoed through the dojo.
I blocked it. Perfectly.
A strange sensation coursed through my body. I had been wondering why my swordsmanship felt so natural, so instinctive — until I finally understood.
At some point in life, everyone has held something pretending to be a sword. A tree branch during childhood play, a wooden stick, even an axe for chopping firewood.The weight always feels uneven. The balance is off. Part of the impact travels back through your arm, and a single wrong angle is enough to make your muscles scream in pain. That's how the human body reacts to crude, unrefined movement.
But here… it was different.
The blade moved with impossible precision.The air itself seemed to obey the trajectory of the strike. The angle was flawless, the impact flowed as if my body absorbed and redirected the force naturally. No tremor. No strain. Only lightness.
The sword felt weightless — or perhaps it was my body that had mastered its weight.
So this is it… the feeling of being inside a genius's body?
TEC! TAC! TEC!The sound of wooden blades clashing echoed rhythmically through the hall. With every exchange, the air trembled between us.Even with all my precision, I was being pushed back — the difference in strength and speed was overwhelming.
— Oh… you're keeping up? — he smiled, leaning forward. — Then let's raise the tempo.
TEC— TAC—!
— Argh!
A lateral strike slipped past my defense and slammed into my shoulder. The pain was blunt and crushing, like being struck by a sledgehammer.
I staggered back several steps. My chest heaved, my lungs burned.
— Hah… hah… hah…
— Your breathing is completely out of control… MOVE! — he roared, taking a stance that made one thing clear: this was the finishing blow.
Damn… I need to calm down…
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.A wave of cold air flooded my lungs. The sharp hiss of air escaping between my teeth cut through the silence.
Tssssssssssss…
The entire dojo seemed to hold its breath.
— Total concentration…
A small smile curved my father's lips.
— Heh… very good.
He lunged forward.Fast as lightning, his body blurred — and at that exact moment, my sword moved on its own.
— Water Breathing, First Form — Minamo Giri!(Water Surface Slash)
A deafening crack echoed through the hall.The blade carved the air in a clean, fluid arc — and with it, a real jet of water erupted outward, splashing violently across the room.
Something flew.It hit the floor with a sharp clack.
My father's sword.
Mine remained firmly in my grip.He stared at me, stunned, eyes wide, body soaked.
— Y-you… h-how…?
But the shock wasn't because he had lost.It was because of the water.
It was real.And even more impossibly — I had used mana.
— Actually… — I began, sheathing my sword. — I don't think I used mana exactly.
His expression froze.
— The Mana Leakage Syndrome is still there. I can't condense mana freely… but it still circulates through my body.
I lifted my gaze, watching droplets of water fall from the dojo ceiling.
— My theory is that Breathing Techniques mix oxygen and mana at high rotation within the body. With nowhere to go, the energy seeks an escape route… and manifests through the strike.
I paused, observing the growing puddle on the floor and the faint steam rising from the soaked wood.
In other words…Breathing Techniques in this world have real effects because of mana.Water Breathing literally drenched the environment — and amplified the strike itself.
Water dripped slowly from the tip of my sword.I let out a small laugh.
— This is… really interesting.