The sun had barely begun to rise, casting a pale glow through the frost-laced windows of the Ashborne estate's private training grounds. The world outside was still asleep, but Raizen stood alone in the courtyard, sweat already clinging to his back. A wooden katana in hand, he moved slowly—deliberately—his breath even, his eyes sharp.
Each motion was a repetition of the basics, a kata passed down through the Ashborne generations. It lacked the flashiness of high-ranked techniques, but there was a silent power behind the simplicity. Raizen's footwork was still rough, his grip a little too tense—but the intent behind every swing was solid.
The air split slightly with the sound of his strike.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Over and over.
There were no shortcuts anymore. He wouldn't suddenly leap to S-rank just because he remembered the future. This time, he had to earn it all. From the bottom. From F-rank.
"Muscle memory, precision, and clarity of mind... these form the base of any sword art. If I can't make my body remember, then what's the point of remembering the future?"
He paused, lowering the blade. His breathing was heavier now, each inhale a small battle. Even at just sixteen, his past life's instincts whispered corrections. His old power itched to be used, but his body refused to follow the commands.
He was weak. For now.
That simple truth didn't enrage him. It centered him.
Later that morning, as the courtyard warmed, a soft set of footsteps approached.
"Training again, little brother?" came a gentle voice.
Raizen turned, spotting his older sister, Selene Ashborne, her long silver hair tied back, dressed in casual training gear. Her presence was soothing—calm yet commanding, like a still lake that could drown you if you underestimated it.
"Couldn't sleep," Raizen replied, raising the wooden sword again.
Selene smiled, stepping beside him and drawing her own training blade. "Then let me keep you company."
They trained in silence for a time. Unlike Raizen's tense swings, Selene moved with the elegance of a master—each movement fluid, calculated, almost artful. She wasn't even trying, and yet Raizen could feel the difference.
"She was already A-rank at my age… maybe higher. No wonder everyone feared the Ashborne siblings."
"Your stance is better than yesterday," she noted after a while, "but you're putting too much weight on your front foot."
Raizen exhaled. "I know. My center keeps shifting forward when I go for the second strike."
"You're thinking too much." Selene tapped his shoulder with her blade. "Feel the flow. Swordplay isn't just mechanics. It's rhythm, like breathing."
As the session ended, they sat beneath the cherry blossom tree in the courtyard, sipping cooled tea brought by the ever-efficient staff. Raizen leaned back, looking up at the petals dancing in the breeze.
"I'll catch up soon," he said.
"You don't need to," Selene replied with a smile. "We're family. We rise together."
That evening, Raizen found himself alone again. Not because he had to be, but because he needed the quiet.
He sat cross-legged in the old meditation hall behind the estate. It wasn't used often these days, but Raizen had chosen it for its solitude. Here, he practiced something even harder than swordplay:
Telekinesis.
It was the Ashborne bloodline gift—control over force and motion. His grandfather wielded it with such mastery he could stop a building mid-collapse or slice through metal without touching it. Raizen, on the other hand, could barely lift a cup from across the room.
A simple coin sat before him.
Focus. Clear your mind. Don't control it. Guide it.
He breathed in… then out.
The coin trembled. Then lifted slightly—barely a centimeter—before clattering back down.
Raizen's brows furrowed. Not in anger, but in acceptance.
He tried again.
Ten more times.
Then twenty.
Only once did the coin rise fully before dropping.
"No shortcuts."
"Earn it all, brick by brick."
And he would.