A wave of heat wrapped around Tatsuya's body as he stepped into the natural hot spring. The moment his skin touched the steaming water, a deep, aching warmth spread through his muscles, loosening the stiffness that had taken root from endless hours of training. His breath hitched as the heat surged through him, both comforting and slightly overwhelming.
The hot spring was encircled by massive, smooth rocks, their surfaces worn down by centuries of flowing water. Steam curled into the cool evening air, rising in ghostly wisps that vanished into the dense canopy above. A thin stream of water trickled down from the mountain's heart, feeding fresh, mineral-rich liquid into the pool. The quiet murmur of running water blended seamlessly with the rustling leaves, forming a peaceful harmony that contrasted with the brutal intensity of his training.
Lush green moss clung to the damp stones, their surfaces glistening under the fading sunlight. Ferns swayed gently at the edges of the pool, their delicate fronds drinking in the humid air. Every element of the landscape spoke of time and patience—unmoving, yet constantly shaped by the forces around them. It was a hidden sanctuary, one that seemed to exist outside the normal flow of life, untouched by the struggles of the world beyond.
Tatsuya let out a slow breath and lowered himself deeper into the water. The soreness in his arms, legs, and shoulders throbbed dully, a reminder of Paul's relentless training. Each movement he had performed, each swing of his sword, had left an imprint on his body. And yet, despite the exhaustion, he welcomed the pain.
"Seriously… if this wasn't here, I would've quit a long time ago," he muttered to himself, sinking lower until only his nose remained above the water.
The warmth wrapped around him like a cocoon, making it easier to ignore the fatigue pulling at his limbs.
Tatsuya had never worked this hard for anything in his life. Not for school. Not for his future. Not for himself.
It wasn't that he had no motivation. It wasn't that he didn't care.
No—he had simply convinced himself that he couldn't do it. That he wasn't capable.
And that belief… wasn't something he had created on his own.
His classmates. His teachers. The people around him had fed him those words, over and over again, until they became his reality.
"You're not talented."
"You'll never succeed."
"People like you don't have what it takes."
Those voices had drowned out everything else. No matter how hard he tried, no one had ever acknowledged his effort. It was easier to give up before even trying than to fail in front of their judgmental eyes.
But now… now was different.
This time, he had sworn to himself that he would give it everything. That he wouldn't run away.
Paul was harsh, but Tatsuya understood why.
Paul had never once praised him. He had never given him empty words of encouragement. Every mistake was pointed out. Every flaw was exposed. Every failure was met with a demand to do better.
At first, it had felt unfair. It felt as if Paul had decided from the start that he wasn't good enough. That no matter what he did, it would never be enough.
But that wasn't it.
Paul wasn't training him to win.
He was training him to survive.
Tatsuya had lost every single sparring match. No matter how much he improved, he always lost. But that was exactly the point.
Because in reality, victory didn't belong to those who stood alone.
No matter how strong he became, there would always be someone stronger. No matter how skilled he became, there would always be a challenge too great for one person to overcome.
He wasn't being trained to be the strongest.
He was being trained to rely on others.
To fight alongside them.
To trust them.
That was the true lesson Paul was teaching him.
Tatsuya leaned his head back against the stone, staring up at the darkening sky.
"What unseen truth binds every warrior, no matter how strong?"
Tatsuya replayed the question in his mind, his chest tightening as the answer echoed back at him.
He had answered wrong.
His first instinct had been to say self-reliance—that strength came from within, that only those who stood on their own could truly be powerful. But that wasn't it. That wasn't the answer Paul wanted.
No, it was the opposite.
Dependence on others.
That was the answer.
"Ts."
The sound escaped Tatsuya's lips, half a scoff, half a bitter exhale, as he turned his head to the right—like he was looking away from someone after hearing something he didn't like. A childish reaction. A petty one. But it wasn't like anyone was here to call him out on it.
Dependence on others.
Why would it be different now?
New place, new world… but people were the same. That much hadn't changed.
Humans were creatures driven by self-interest. Even when they helped others, there was always a reason behind it—gratitude, obligation, pride, guilt, or just the simple, selfish desire to feel good about themselves.
And on top of that…
He clenched his fist under the water.
He had no mana.
No magic.
In this world, where strength was dictated by one's ability to wield supernatural power, he was still powerless. He was still just a weak, ordinary person.
In the end, nothing had changed.
He had died to escape that reality. He had thrown away his entire existence, left behind everything and everyone, all to chase a new life—a life where he could be free.
But now?
Now, it felt like he had come back.
Back to the world he had so desperately run away from.
Back to hell.
A sharp breath pushed past his lips. The steam from the hot spring curled around him, thick and heavy, but it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache settling in his chest.
He had killed himself for this.
Part 2
The moment his foot touched the wet stone outside the hot spring, a biting wind slid over his bare skin like icy fingers dragging across his back.
"Gh—! Why am I like this…?"
Tatsuya winced, instantly regretting his decision to leave the comforting heat of the water. The mountain breeze was merciless, as if the spring had been protecting him from reality, and now, stepping out of it was like waking from a dream.
Steam curled off his damp skin in lazy tendrils, chased away by the chill. He hugged his arms around himself and hurried toward the spot where his kimono was folded neatly on a flat rock.
But even through the discomfort, something warm crept into his senses—their smell of food.
A rich, savory scent carried by the breeze tickled his nose, and just like that, all his complaints melted into a drooling hunger. His body reacted faster than thought, his stomach giving a traitorous growl that echoed louder than expected in the quiet forest.
He was starving.
He pulled the kimono on quickly, the fabric still holding the faint scent of fresh cotton, mixed with something herbal—maybe the mountain flowers Paul used when washing their clothes. It was a clean smell, oddly comforting. He held it against his face for just a moment, breathing in deeply.
"…Thanks, Paul."
The words didn't leave his lips, but they whispered themselves in his heart.
He had never worn a kimono back on Earth. It wasn't that his family was poor—they weren't. But western clothes had always been the norm in their household. His mother had a strange fixation on them, and his father never questioned it.
He remembered his school uniform: plain slacks, stiff collar, always the same. No room for expression. No space to be someone else.
The kimono clung gently to his skin, as if trying to wrap not just his body, but his aching soul.
It was something he had always wanted.
Mom… Dad…
The names floated up before he could stop them.
He stood still for a moment. The trees swayed quietly. The sound of running water filled the silence.
He hadn't thought about them in days. Not since waking up in this world. He had tried so hard to forget. To push it all down.
But now… in this quiet place, wrapped in something he had longed for as a child… he felt it.
A weight deep in his chest.
A sorrow too vast to look at directly.
Did they cry? Did they even know?
The last time he saw them, he had left no words. No goodbye. Only a decision.
And now, even after being given a second chance in another world… he still carried the wounds they never saw.
He clenched his hands into fists beneath the sleeves of the kimono.
Don't start crying. Not now.
The wind blew again, softer this time, almost like a hand brushing his cheek.
He breathed out slowly, and began walking toward the scent of food—toward the warmth of the fire and the man who had given him a place to rest.
Even if it hurt to remember, even if it was easier to forget…
Tatsuya realized he didn't want to let go completely.
Because even if he had left that world behind… he hadn't stopped being their son.
I should show more appreciation.
The thought struck him quietly as he stood there, the last traces of heat from the spring still clinging faintly to his skin beneath the soft fabric of his kimono.
Paul didn't say much. In fact, he rarely did when it came to praise or comfort. But his actions spoke louder than most people's words ever could. The man had provided him with a place to stay, trained him harshly but honestly, and even given him something as thoughtful as a kimono.
And yet, what had he done in return?
"…Oh. That's right."
Tatsuya's eyes widened slightly as he remembered. He fumbled in the inner pocket of his kimono, fingers brushing against the cloth-wrapped object he'd placed there earlier.
He carefully retrieved the small bundle—worn, faded cloth tied with a humble piece of string.
A breath. A pause.
He untied it gently.
Inside lay a hand-carved wooden sword, no longer than his forearm.
The craftsmanship was rough in some places, yet unmistakably deliberate. The blade shimmered slightly, polished until it held a soft luster that caught the dying rays of the sun. The hilt was wrapped with leftover leather from his old training gloves—stiff and cracked, but still holding form.
And on the pommel… a symbol.
A diamond, with a stylized "Z" carved through the center.
Tatsuya had replicated it from memory—the same mark etched into the hilt of Paul's that he gave to him.
This carving… it was his way of saying something he couldn't with words.
That Paul was a warrior he admired.
That this place, as harsh as it was, had started to feel like… like something more than just a training ground.
He wrapped it back up with careful fingers and began walking toward the cabin.
The sun was already dipping below the ridgeline, painting the clouds in soft ambers and violets. The trees were bathed in gold, their leaves rustling in the cool wind like whispers among old friends.
I wonder what New Years is like here…
The thought came without warning, carrying a quiet excitement with it.
Would they use fireworks? Or maybe they'd have some crazy magic displays—giant dragons made of light, or spells that lit up the sky? That'd be awesome.
He let the image play in his mind as he walked.
It's in about a week or so.
The cabin came into view before he even realized how far he'd wandered.
But the moment he opened the door, that warm feeling was instantly replaced by tension.
Paul was already sitting at the table.
His brow furrowed, jaw tight, eyes cast downward like he was about to deliver bad news.
Don't tell me… did Loki run away again?
Tatsuya's eyes scanned the room—no sign of the tiny troublemaker.
The meal had already been set out on the table. A simple dinner: grilled skewers and some kind of root stew still steaming in a wooden bowl.
He didn't sit. Not yet.
Instead, he walked over to the table and stopped just short of Paul. His expression softened, and he held out his hands.
The cloth bundle lay quietly across his palms.
Paul blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down. Slowly, he reached out, hesitating for just a moment before taking the gift into his hands.
He didn't say anything.
His fingers moved slowly, carefully unwrapping the cloth like it might crumble if handled too harshly.
You don't have to be that careful with it.
When the sword revealed itself, the flickering candlelight danced across its surface.
Paul's eyes didn't widen, but something in his face shifted.
"…Where did you find this?" he asked, voice low.
Find? I made it myself, thank you very much.
Tatsuya scratched the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. His gaze fell to the floor, then shifted back up to Paul.
"It's… something I've been working on, A gift. I saw that symbol on your sword and in one of those old history books. I thought maybe it meant something to you."
Paul didn't respond.
He just stared at the carving in his hands.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Tatsuya sat down, reaching for one of the skewers.
He took a bite—juicy, savory, perfectly seasoned—and immediately his entire face lit up.
"SOOOOO GOOD!" he mumbled with his mouth full, eyes sparkling.
He'd almost forgotten the earlier tension. The moment was too delicious to ruin.
Then—
"Thank you."
Tatsuya froze.
He looked up.
Paul was still looking at the sword. His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt, as if it were something precious.
It was the first time he had ever thanked him.
Not for training. Not for effort. Not even when Tatsuya had pushed himself to exhaustion.
But for this.
A simple gift.
Something small, yet filled with meaning.
Warmth pooled in Tatsuya's chest, unexpected and bright.
He looked down at his plate, lips curving into a wide smile he couldn't suppress.
The room felt different now. Quieter, but in a comforting way.
After Tatsuya had finished his meal, Paul's voice broke the silence once more.
"Tatsuya."
The tone was different this time.
Firm. Direct.
It cut through the moment like a blade.
Tatsuya looked up.
Paul's eyes met his—serious, but not unkind.
"What unseen truth binds every warrior, no matter how strong?"
That question again.
Tatsuya's expression didn't falter this time.
He knew the answer.
But what mattered more now was why Paul kept asking.
And what he was truly trying to teach.
"Dependence on others." Tatsuya replied.
Paul nodded in satisfaction. "No victory is forged by a single hand. Strength comes from those who shaped you—mentors, rivals, and allies. Even alone, you carry their lessons and sacrifices. Without them, a fight is survival, and triumph is empty."
"I am glad you have found the right answer" his expression changed, a little sad.
"And that's why I have to let you go."
"Congratulations Tatsuya, you have finished your training."
Tatsuya's eyes widened. Finished?
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"Like I said, I have taught you all I can, you can call yourself a swordsman."
"No I don't…."
"I mean… my technique is still below average, my physical ability is still below average. How am I supposed to survive out there?"
Paul let out a soft smile. "You already gave the answer to that."
Tatsuya was lost in thought but quickly caught on.
Paul didn't train me to become some kind of swordsman hero, he trained me to show that dependence on others is the only way to strength.
But I can't belief in that.
Tatsuya's hands shook by his thoughts.
They would hurt me all the same….
Paul laid an hand on Tatsuya's shoulder, "you'll never be alone, remember I will always be looking over you. I, Loki and of course, God he will always protect you."
Tatsuya knew that, Tatsuya believed in that, he wasn't afraid to be alone, he was afraid to be not alone.
Tatsuya nodded. "Okey master, but where do I need to go?" He asked.
"Search for the man named Yatsu Davida, he is an acquaintance of mine, maybe he will have a way for you to use magic?"
"What?! But you said without mana you can't use magic, right?"
"Yes that right, but he is an expert when it comes to mana so I believe that he will find a way."
"I will sent a letter to him. Your departure will be at dawn."
Tatsuya lay down on his bed for the last time.
Tomorrow he will be gone, he will see the world. He had never traveled far before on earth, never gone to an other country. Its exiting but also scary.
Tatsuya moved nervously in bed, not seeming to fall asleep.
"Meow" Tatsuya heard.
Loki who lay between his legs had woken up.
"Sorry" he said.
"No I can't sleep." Tatsuya said to himself.
and got up to go for a late night walk.
The night was cold but the kimono was surprisingly warm.
As he stepped outside he was met with an beautiful night sky.
Night skies like these are the most beautiful
As he walked out of the porch he was a figure laying against a tree.
He was cloaked in knight armor, it was Paul, he was wearing the same outfit he had worn when Tatsuya came to this world.
How can that be comfortable enough to sleep in?
The knight was sleeping under the night sky full of stars, a sight Tatsuya only remembered from movies or books, but in this world it was real.
I shouldn't wake him up. Wait has he been sleeping like that for almost 4 months??
Part 3
A soft meow fluttered into his ears, like a distant chime wrapped in fur.
"Ughhh…" Tatsuya groaned, his eyelids slowly peeling apart to greet the morning.
Light streamed through the wooden slats of the window, painting gold on his face.
And there, right above him—
"Meow."
A cat nose touched his own.
"…Loki?"
The tiny gray cat was sitting on his chest, paws kneading gently, his tail flicking in satisfaction.
"Can I help you?" Tatsuya mumbled.
Loki responded by sticking his nose directly into Tatsuya's face and sniffing him.
"Okay. That's… one way to say good morning."
With minimal effort, Tatsuya picked up the small cat and placed him delicately on the floor beside the bed. He then flopped onto his side, turned his face toward the wall—
—and immediately began falling asleep again.
Peaceful. Serene. Quiet.
Too quiet.
"RIVER KING'S TORRENT!!!"
"W-WHA—?!"
He didn't even have time to scream. A massive surge of water, like a miniature tsunami spawned from a magical waterpark gone rogue, blasted into the room.
In an instant, the floor, the walls, the bed, the cat, and Tatsuya himself were swept into the chaos. Furniture spun through the air like startled ducks. Loki let out a meow of existential betrayal as he surfed the current on a wooden bucket.
Tatsuya was flailing like a ragdoll in a washing machine.
The water carried him all the way out the door of the cabin and dumped him unceremoniously into the yard, face-down, soaked, and shivering like a wet towel with trauma.
"G-GLLBHH—!"
"TATSUYA FUKUSHU!!!"
The booming voice echoed like divine judgment from atop Mount Olympus.
Tatsuya coughed out water and looked up.
Paul stood in the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed like thunderclouds ready to drop another storm. The morning sunlight framed him like some kind of divine war god—if divine war gods did laundry-based executions.
"I TOLD YOU TO BE UP AT DAWN, DIDN'T I?!"
"Y-Y-Yes, Master!!" Tatsuya yelped, springing to his feet in full military posture, water dripping from his sleeves, his hair, even his socks.
Paul's face remained stern for one second longer… then relaxed into a proud smile.
"Then I'm glad you're here."
Tatsuya blinked. That was… almost wholesome?
Later…
He was sitting on a goat.
But not just any goat. No, that would've been too easy. This one was built like a linebacker.
Its name was Stefan.
It had the bored expression of someone who had seen war, death, taxes, and whatever lay beyond human understanding. Its horns spiraled like ancient weapons from an age where animals casually went toe-to-toe with dragons.
Tatsuya sat atop it with the poise of a noble knight.
Or at least, he tried to. His legs were already cramping.
"I still think this is animal cruelty," he muttered, adjusting his saddle for the fifth time. "For both of us."
"You'll be fine," Paul said, arms crossed with the smugness of a teacher watching his student suffer through a pop quiz. "Stefan is the most reliable mountain goat this side of the continent. He once climbed an entire cliff face to eat moss."
"…I fail to see how that's relevant."
Paul ignored him and gave one final check. Tatsuya's sword was secure on his hip—the one Paul had given him, once his own. The weight of it grounded him, a reminder of both how far he'd come and how far he still had to go.
On his back was a medium-sized backpack filled with essentials: food, a language guidebook, some money, and a marked map.
Paul gave him a once-over, nodded approvingly, then asked, "You ready?"
Tatsuya smirked, the wind ruffling his hair.
"Born ready."
The man and the boy stared at each other.
Then, without words, they leaned in and shared the manliest, back-breaking, tear-invoking hug of the decade.
"I'm proud of you," Paul said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Tatsuya didn't say anything back.
Because if he did, the tears would fall, and they both knew it.
"Remember," Paul said, pulling back. "Go south until you reach a village called Shiloh. From there, it should be obvious. I marked it on the map. Shouldn't be too hard unless you somehow manage to get lost on a straight path."
Tatsuya gave a thumbs-up.
Paul continued, his tone dropping slightly. "And one last thing—try to avoid the Kingdom of Deity."
Tatsuya tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because they hate outsiders."
"…Got it."
"And they think goats are sacred, so riding one might count as blasphemy punishable by exile."
"…Oh."
Tatsuya looked down at Stefan.
Stefan looked back.
Neither blinked.
"Well," Tatsuya coughed, "too late now."
Paul stepped back.
Tatsuya gave a final wave, and with a gentle kick, Stefan began moving at a surprisingly elegant trot.
And so, with the wind at his back, a soggy soul in his heart, and absolutely no sense of direction in his head, Tatsuya Fukushu began his journey.
A journey of adventure.
A journey of growth.
A journey—
Stefan sneezed.
And the story… ended.
For now.