The room was small—quiet except for the soft hum of the television.
> "We revisit the legend today—Rikuya Kagehisa, the man known worldwide as the 'God of Combat.'"
Onscreen, a much younger version of him stood bare-chested in a ring, eyes sharp like a blade drawn in silence. The crowd roared as his opponent, a 200-pound kickboxer, fell with one precise strike to the temple.
Rikuya, now well into his 80s, watched in silence. Deep lines carved his face, and his once-iron frame had shrunk, but his back remained straight, and his eyes still burned with quiet fire.
He turned off the TV.
The world remembered him as a warrior. But that was a lifetime ago.
Now, he was just an old man.
Outside, the autumn air was crisp, the sky clear. Rikuya jogged slowly down a familiar path—his joints ached, but his rhythm was steady. He passed the local park, the shrine, the street vendors setting up shop.
Then he heard it.
Crying.
Turning the corner, he saw a teenage girl—maybe 14—pushed to the ground by three older boys in school uniforms. One held her bag, laughing. Another kicked dirt at her.
"Oi," Rikuya's voice cut through the air like a blade.
The boys turned.
"Old man, this ain't your business."
Rikuya stepped forward.
"I'm making it my business."
They laughed.
One lunged. Rikuya dodged with the ease of a drifting leaf. A hand gripped the boy's wrist and twisted—gently, surgically. The boy dropped to his knees with a scream.
The second boy tried to punch him. Rikuya sidestepped, tapped his chest—bam—and the wind left the thug in a gagging wheeze.
The third ran.
Within seconds, it was over.
Rikuya turned to the girl, helped her up gently. "You're safe now."
She looked up at him, teary-eyed. "T-Thank you, ojii-san…"
But something was wrong.
Rikuya's vision blurred. His chest tightened.
He staggered.
The girl's voice became distant. Her hand reached for him, but he was already falling.
> "Heh… Looks like this old tiger... really used his last claw."
Everything went dark.
Silence.
He was drifting.
There was no ground, no sky—just an endless void. Not cold. Not warm. Just… still.
He was not a man anymore. Only a soul.
He couldn't move, yet he sensed motion—like he was being pulled through layers of time and memory. He didn't fight it.
So this is death...
No battlefield. No honor. Just fading away.
Then, it stopped.
A presence filled the nothingness. It wasn't loud or bright. It didn't need to be.
The space around him bent, recognizing it.
And then, a voice:
"So this is the warrior who mastered them all."
It rang like distant thunder, not violent—powerful. Deep. Ancient.
A form began to shape before him. Tall. Armored in molten black steel streaked with divine light. His sword floated beside him, and his eyes burned—not with anger, but with eternal purpose.
"I am Akuro. God of Combat. I've watched every battle that ever was."
Rikuya's soul pulsed in quiet awe. He bowed—not out of fear, but out of earned respect.
"…So you're the true one."
Akuro nodded. "You, Rikuya Kagehisa, are the only mortal who has ever moved in ways even I could not predict. You walked the Earth as a man, but fought with the soul of something greater."
Rikuya gave a wry chuckle. "I only walked the path laid before me. You watched every battle... but I lived every technique. Every scar, every broken bone… was my teacher."
Akuro's eyes softened with something rare—genuine reverence.
"And that is why I respect you."
"You mastered the art without a divine spark. You became a god in your own right, without ever knowing it."
There was a pause.
Then Akuro stepped forward.
"Now… will you walk a new path? One filled with blades not forged by human hands, beasts not born of Earth, and a world crying out for a warrior's will?"
Rikuya didn't answer right away. He looked into that divine gaze, then lowered his head slightly.
"If there are battles worth fighting… then I will walk it."
The silence that followed hung heavy, but not uncomfortable—like two blades meeting with equal force, neither yielding.
Then, Akuro's voice echoed once more:
"Tell me, Rikuya… what does the title 'God of Combat' mean to you?"
Rikuya paused.
Even in death, the question made him reflect.
Finally, his voice came, quiet but clear.
"It is not about strength."
"It is to bear the weight of battle without letting it stain your soul."
"To master violence without becoming its slave."
"And to keep walking—even when no one is watching, and the path is soaked in blood."
Akuro closed his eyes for a moment, as if engraving those words into the divine halls of memory.
"…Well said."
Another question followed, softer this time.
"Do you regret walking such a path? One of solitude, hardship, and endless trial?"
Rikuya didn't hesitate.
He smiled.
"If the path was easy, it would not have led me here."
"I do not regret a single scar. They are the proof that I kept moving, even when others stopped."
"A blade that never dulls is one that has never been drawn. I am proud to be worn."
Akuro's eyes gleamed.
There was no more need for words.
Only what would come next.
Akuro stepped forward, the void around them humming with divine power.
"Rikuya."
"I will grant you one skill."
He raised a gauntleted hand, and light coiled around it like a living flame.
"It is not the strongest. It is not the deadliest. But it will be the most useful—a skill that adapts to the wielder, useful in many ways, in many moments. And you… you will make it something no one else could."
The flame floated to Rikuya's soul—merging into him silently.
Akuro spoke again, with finality in his tone.
"Your experience—the weight of every stance, every war, every decision you made in your world—that will be your power in the next."
"You won't start as a child. You'll awaken in a young body, yes—but a vessel that can endure your will."
Then Akuro asked one last question.
"Tell me, Rikuya. If you stand before one who wishes to destroy the world…"
"…Or see someone who cries for help while others look away… what will you do?"
Silence again.
But not for long.
Rikuya's voice echoed through the void, calm and clear.
"If a hand reaches to burn the world…"
"…then I will ask: Who failed to offer them warmth?"
"If someone cries for help…"
"…then I will stand beside them—because a blade unused in defense is no different from one left to rust."
"I do not fight because I seek justice or vengeance."
"I fight… because I remember how it feels to be alone with no one to stand for you."
Akuro smiled—not the smile of a god, but of a warrior who found his equal.
"Then go, Rikuya Kagehisa. Bear your scars. Carry your wisdom."
"The world you enter will not know you—but it will remember you when you leave."
And with that—
The void shattered.
Light engulfed everything.
And Rikuya fell—
Not into death, but into a new beginning.