**[Opening Scene - Flashback]**
The scene begins with two silhouetted figures dressed in traditional samurai robes—no armor, just flowing fabric that whips dramatically in the wind. Their identities remain hidden in shadow as they clash, the *clang* of steel against steel echoing through the darkness.
One of them suddenly leaps backward, his feet skidding across the ground. He raises his sword in a ceremonial stance, gripping it with both hands, and shouts an incantation—words that blur and fade, as if the world itself refuses to let them be heard clearly.
The air splits open.
A skeleton materializes from nothing. It wears a tattered hoodie-robe that billows around its bony frame, looking like the Grim Reaper's edgy younger brother. In its skeletal hand, it grips a massive scythe that gleams with unnatural light.
And then—it runs.
Not toward the men. Toward *her.*
A girl, barely visible in the chaos, stumbles backward as the skeleton gives chase. Her breath comes in panicked gasps as she weaves between trees, but the creature is relentless. It closes the distance with inhuman speed, scythe raised high—
—until the *other* man intervenes.
He moves like lightning, his blade meeting the skeleton's scythe in a shower of sparks. For a few precious seconds, he holds the creature at bay, giving the girl just enough time to scramble to her feet and run.
The man doesn't chase her immediately. Instead, he waits—just long enough to ensure she's gotten a head start—before breaking off and pursuing her himself.
When he catches up, the girl is already cornered. The man with the skeleton stands before her, blocking her escape.
But the second man doesn't hesitate. He raises his katana, cut his thumb and begins to chant—another spell, equally inaudible, but this one hums with a different kind of power.
The girl's body begins to glow. Softly at first, then brighter, until she's nothing but pure white light. The light spirals inward, drawn toward the man's blade, and in an instant, she *vanishes*—absorbed completely into the katana.
The sword flares brilliantly for a moment, bathed in radiant energy, before fading back to normal.
The silhouettes remain hidden. The men's faces, their katanas, even their intentions—all obscured. Only the girl's terrified face lingers in the fading light.
---
**[Present Day]**
*"My name is Takamichi Rin. And today is the day I become a samurai."*
Well, that's the plan, anyway.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush still hanging out of my mouth like some kind of deranged walrus. My hair's sticking up in three different directions, and I'm pretty sure I've got toothpaste on my cheek.
Not exactly the "legendary warrior" look I was going for.
I spit, rinse, and then strike my pose—both index fingers pointing at my reflection, thumbs up, like I'm about to challenge myself to a duel. It's dumb. I know it's dumb. But it's also *tradition.* My tradition. The one thing that gets me hyped before a big day.
"You've got this, Rin," I mutter to my reflection. "Today's the day. Sixteen years old. Minimum age for the samurai exams. You're gonna pass, join a squad, and finally—*finally*—prove to everyone that you're not just some broke kid from the bad side of town."
My reflection doesn't look convinced.
"Okay, fine," I admit, dropping the pose. "Maybe I'm a *little* nervous."
*"Rin!"*
I nearly jump out of my skin. My mom's voice echoes from downstairs, warm and loud and completely incapable of sneaking up on anyone except me, apparently.
"Coming!" I yell back, grabbing a towel and wiping my face.
---
When I get downstairs, Mom's waiting for me in the living room, hands clasped behind her back like she's hiding something. She's wearing her usual worn-out kimono—the one with the faded floral pattern that's been stitched and re-stitched so many times it's basically held together by willpower—and she's got that look on her face. The one that says she's either about to cry or laugh, and I can never tell which until it happens.
"Mom?" I say cautiously. "What's up?"
She beams at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're sixteen now, Rin. That means you're officially old enough to take the exams."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm—"
"Which *also* means," she interrupts, pulling her hands out from behind her back with a flourish, "that it's time I gave you this."
I freeze.
In her hands is a *katana.*
Not just any katana. A beautiful, pristine white katana with a long white fiber hanging from the end of the handle and a white rope coiled neatly around the sheath six or seven times. It practically glows in the morning light streaming through the window.
"Mom…" My voice cracks a little. "Is that—?"
"It's yours," she says softly, holding it out to me. "It's been in our family for generations. But… well, there's something you should know."
I take the sword carefully, like it might shatter if I breathe on it wrong. It's heavier than I expected, but it feels *right* in my hands. Like it was made for me.
"This sword," Mom continues, her voice dropping, "has a god sealed inside it. A low-level one. Nothing fancy. My family… they were always ashamed of it. They said it was weak. Useless. A disgrace to the Takamichi name."
She laughs bitterly, though there's no humor in it.
"That's why they kicked me out when I married your father. They said I was tainting the bloodline by choosing a nobody. And when he left…" She trails off, shaking her head. "Well. Let's just say they didn't come running to help."
I grip the katana tighter. "Mom—"
"I'm sorry, Rin." Her eyes glisten, but she's smiling now. Really smiling. "I know it's not much. I know it's not one of those fancy swords with a high-tier god that everyone brags about. But it's all I have to give you. And I want you to know… I'm so, *so* proud of you."
For a second, I can't speak. My throat's too tight, and my eyes are stinging, and I'm suddenly *really* glad I didn't put on eyeliner this morning because that would've been a disaster.
"Mom," I manage, voice wobbling, "this is the best gift anyone's ever given me."
And I mean it.
Growing up poor means you learn to appreciate things. Not just the big stuff, but the small stuff too. A full meal. A warm blanket. A mom who works three jobs just to keep the lights on and still finds time to smile at you every morning.
This sword? It's not just a weapon. It's proof that she believes in me.
I pull her into a hug, katana and all, and she laughs—this time for real—as she hugs me back.
"Go knock 'em dead, kiddo," she whispers.
---
The walk to the exam facility is long, but I don't mind. It gives me time to think. And talk to myself. Which, okay, maybe makes me look a little crazy, but whatever. Nobody's around to judge me.
"Alright, Rin," I mutter, adjusting the katana strapped to my back. "Let's go over the plan. Step one: don't trip in front of the captains. Step two: don't accidentally insult anyone. Step three: *definitely* don't let Yuji get in your head."
I grimace just thinking about him.
Takamichi Yuji. My cousin. The golden boy of the Takamichi family. The guy who's basically everything I'm not—rich, talented, respected, and *absolutely insufferable.*
He's hated me ever since we were kids. Or, more accurately, he's hated my mom. And by extension, me. Because apparently, being poor is contagious or something.
"Whatever," I say aloud, kicking a pebble down the street. "He can think whatever he wants. Today, I'm gonna pass these exams, and then I'm gonna join a squad, and then I'm gonna become the greatest samurai this country's ever seen. Just like Kento Yamato."
Kento Yamato.
The legend. The man who single-handedly saved humanity twenty years ago when Amatsu-Mikaboshi, Chaos itself, went berserk and tried to destroy everything. Thousands of samurai fought and died trying to stop him, but it was Yamato—just *one guy*—who figured out how to seal a god into a katana.
He's the reason the samurai system even exists. The reason guys like me get a shot at proving ourselves.
And he's also the reason I can't stand my dad.
Because my dad? He's nothing like Yamato. He's a coward who ran the second things got hard. Who abandoned Mom and me because he "couldn't handle the responsibility."
I clench my fists.
"If Yamato can save the world," I mutter, "then I can at least pass a stupid exam."
---
The facility is *massive.*
I mean, I knew it would be big—this is where they test every potential samurai in the region—but *wow.* The main building alone is like five stories tall, all sleek white stone and red banners fluttering in the breeze. There are hundreds of people milling around, some in fancy robes, others in plain clothes like me. Everyone looks nervous. Or excited. Or both.
I take a deep breath and head inside.
Registration is a blur. Name, age, family lineage (which I mumble through because, yeah, "disgraced branch of the Takamichi clan" isn't exactly a flex), and then they hand me a number—**777.**
"Lucky number," the registrar says with a smile.
I grin back. "Let's hope so."
---
After registration, we're all herded into a massive hall. It's packed—easily two hundred candidates, maybe more—and the energy is *electric.* Everyone's whispering, speculating, sizing each other up.
At the far end of the hall, elevated on a platform, sit the **Seven Captains.**
They're ranked from strongest to weakest, left to right. I recognize a few of them from stories and rumors, but the one that catches my eye is the guy on the far left.
**Kurosaki Minato.**
The Rank 1 Captain. The strongest active samurai in the country. He's younger than I expected—maybe late twenties—with messy black hair and a bored expression, like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. His squad only has two members, apparently, because he refuses to recruit anyone unless they're *exceptional.*
No pressure.
In the center of the platform sits a *massive* glass sphere, easily the size of a boulder. It glows faintly, pulsing with some kind of energy.
One of the examiners steps forward—a stern-looking woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
"Listen up!" she barks, and the hall falls silent. "The exams are simple. You will approach the sphere, state the name of the god sealed in your katana, and place your hand on the sphere. The sphere will measure your **life force**—your natural potential as a samurai. Your score will range from **1 to 999.** Rankings are as follows: **800 and above is S-Rank. 701 to 800 is A-Rank. 601 to 700 is B-Rank. 501 to 600 is C-Rank.** Anything below is D-Rank and does *not* qualify."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
"However," the examiner continues, "a high score does *not* guarantee you a spot. To pass, at least one of the Seven Captains must show interest in recruiting you. If multiple captains express interest, the highest-ranked captain takes priority."
She pauses, letting that sink in.
"One more thing. I'm sure you all know this, but let me remind you why these exams exist." Her voice drops, taking on a grave tone. "Twenty years ago, the gods—who were created by the Creator Gods to protect humanity—lived peacefully on a sky island above our nation. But then, **Susanoo, the God of Chaos,** one of the Three Prestigious Gods, turned against us. He attacked the human world, and thousands of samurai died trying to stop him. It was **Kento Yamato,** the greatest samurai in history, who developed a forbidden technique to seal Susanoo into a katana. Since then, gods have continued to attack sporadically. That's why we only recruit samurai with *natural-born potential.* Sword skills can be taught. Talent cannot."
The hall is silent now.
"Begin."
---
One by one, candidates step up.
Most of them score in the 400s and 500s—respectable, but not enough to catch a captain's attention. A few crack 600, earning polite nods from the lower-ranked captains.
And then *he* walks up.
Takamichi Yuji.
He's tall, handsome, and dressed in expensive robes that probably cost more than my entire house. His katana gleams at his side, and he walks with the kind of confidence that makes you want to punch him in the face.
He catches my eye from across the hall and *smirks.*
I resist the urge to flip him off.
"State your god," the examiner says.
"**Tsukuyomi,**" Yuji says smoothly. "The Moon God."
Whispers erupt. Tsukuyomi is a *high-tier* god. One of the best you can get.
Yuji places his hand on the sphere.
The number flashes: **829.**
The hall *explodes* with noise. S-Rank! The first one of the day!
And then, from the platform, **Kurosaki Minato** stands up.
The hall falls silent.
"I'll take him," Minato says lazily, like he's ordering coffee.
Yuji grins like he just won the lottery. He bows deeply, milking the attention, before swaggering off the platform.
As he passes me, he leans in and whispers, "Good luck, *cousin.* Try not to embarrass the family name more than you already have."
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
---
Finally, it's my turn.
I step up to the platform, legs shaking slightly. Every eye in the hall is on me.
"State your god," the examiner says.
I hesitate. Mom said it was a low-level god. A disgrace. But it's mine, and I'm not ashamed of it.
"I… I don't know its name," I admit.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. A few people laugh.
"Just place your hand on the sphere," the examiner says, though she doesn't sound hopeful.
I take a deep breath and press my palm against the glass.
The sphere *glitches.*
Numbers flicker wildly—200, 450, 680, 720, 850—up and up and up, until finally, it stops.
**999.**
The hall goes dead silent.
Someone drops a clipboard. It echoes like a gunshot.
"That… that has to be a mistake," someone whispers.
"Only Kento Yamato ever scored 999…"
I stare at the number, my hand still on the sphere. My heart's pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
The captains are all staring at me now. Most of them look skeptical. A few look downright suspicious. No one moves.
And then, slowly, **Kurosaki Minato** stands up.
"I'll take him too," he says.
The hall erupts into chaos.
And me?
I just stand there, staring at the number, wondering if this is real.
Or if I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
---