Noon had finally arrived.
Kaizen had already gathered his belongings, showered, and eaten in silence. The food had tasted fine, yet he remembered very little of it.
His thoughts were already elsewhere—fixed on the destination he now approached with measured steps. The corridor leading to the Gorosei's office stretched long and immaculate, its marble floor polished to a sterile shine.
Every footstep echoed louder than it should have. The air felt different here— older, heavier, as though it had settled centuries ago and never moved again. Kaizen walked straight, his posture disciplined beyond what was normal for an eight-year-old.
He had learned early that posture invited judgment. Slouching was a weakness. Hesitation was a question mark others would answer for you. He knew what awaited him.
The talk.
Not an interrogation. Not a trial but something far subtler— and far more dangerous. He knew himself to be an anomaly. That much was undeniable.
His progression through training, his comprehension of combat, his instinctive grasp of danger and outcome— none of it matched his age.
The instructors never said it aloud, but their eyes did. They watched him as one might watch a weapon that had learned to think.
The question that lingered in Kaizen's mind was not whether he was different. It was whether he was necessary. Or merely… unacceptable.
The hallway ended at a pair of massive doors, taller than any Kaizen had seen before. They were crafted of dark wood reinforced with gold, engraved with symbols he did not recognize but somehow felt he should.
A line separated the space he stood in from whatever lay beyond.
Two worlds.
One where he was a boy being trained.
Another where decisions were made that erased islands. Kaizen stopped just before the doors and raised his hand to knock.
Before his knuckles could touch the surface, the doors nudged inward on their own.
They opened slowly, deliberately, as though time itself had decided to make room.
Inside stood five men. All were tall. All were broad.
All were old.
And yet—none of them felt frail.
Each bore a different presence, a different pressure, like five incompatible storms forced to exist in the same sky.
At the center stood Saint Marcus Mars, arms folded, his expression unreadable. To one side leaned Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, his gaze sharp and assessing, as if already dissecting Kaizen into components.
Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro stood calmly, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his posture that of a warrior who had never stopped being one. Saint Topman Warcury, massive and immovable, radiated a crushing authority that pressed down on Kaizen's chest without him realizing it.
And finally, seated slightly apart, Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, fingers steepled, eyes deep and cold like a well that had never reflected light.
"Enter, Kaizen." The voice belonged to Warcury.
It was ancient. Immense and heavy. It did not command, it expected. Kaizen stepped forward. The doors closed behind him with a soft but final sound.
The world outside ceased to exist.
Kaizen felt it immediately—the shift. His instincts sharpened, not in fear, but in awareness.
This was not a place where children belonged. This was a place where truths were managed. Warcury's gaze fixed on him.
Those eyes were absolute. Kaizen felt a chill crawl up his spine, not because the gaze was hostile—but because it was measuring worth.
Here, weakness was not punished.
It was discarded.
"Stand there," Warcury said, gesturing to the center of the chamber.
Kaizen obeyed.
The room was vast, circular, with tall windows that allowed light in but gave no view of the outside world. The floor bore a massive symbol— the seal of the World Government.
Kaizen stood directly atop it. Intentional, he noted. Ju Peter was the first to speak.
"You know why you're here." It was not a question. Kaizen considered his response carefully. He had learned that the wrong truth could be more dangerous than a lie.
"…Because I am different," he said.
Mars' eyebrow twitched slightly. "Different how?" Nusjuro asked, his voice calm but edged with steel. Kaizen lifted his gaze—not defiantly, but steadily.
"I learn faster. I see outcomes before others do. Combat feels… familiar. As if I'm remembering something instead of learning it."
Silence followed.
Saturn leaned back slightly in his chair. "An interesting choice of words," he said.
"Remembering."
Kaizen's fingers curled subtly at his side.
"I didn't mean—"
"No," Saturn interrupted gently. "You meant exactly what you said."
The elders exchanged brief glances—silent, efficient. Warcury stepped forward at one pace.
"Kaizen," he said, "do you know what an anomaly is?"
Kaizen nodded. "Something that deviates from the norm."
"Incorrect," Warcury replied. Kaizen stiffened. "An anomaly is something that appears where it should not," Warcury continued. "Deviation implies allowance. Anomalies are instead, accidents."
The word lingered in the air. Saturn spoke next. "Yet accidents sometimes reveal truths that systems prefer to forget." Kaizen felt something tighten in his chest.
Mars finally addressed him directly. "You were found," Mars said. "Not born into any known lineage. No registered parents. No recorded island of origin."
"Your documentation begins the moment you were noticed." Kaizen swallowed. He had known this.
But hearing it spoken here made it heavier.
Ju Peter leaned forward. "Do you know what that means, child?"
"That I don't belong anywhere," Kaizen answered quietly.
A faint smile crossed Ju Peter's face.
"On the contrary," he said. "It means you may belong somewhere very important."
Nusjuro's fingers tightened slightly on his sword.
"Or somewhere very dangerous." The air grew tense. Saturn's eyes never left Kaizen.
"Tell me, Kaizen," Saturn said softly, "do you ever dream?"
Kaizen hesitated. "Yes," he admitted.
"What do you dream of?"
Kaizen's voice was steady, but his heart was not. "Places that don't exist. Ruins older than time. A sky split by something that shouldn't be there. And… silence. Not empty silence. Watching silence."
The room went still.
Warcury exhaled slowly through his nose.
Mars closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Saturn's expression did not change—but something behind his eyes did.
"You dream of things you have never seen," Saturn said. "Yet they recognize you."
Kaizen looked up sharply. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Saturn replied, "that some truths do not originate in memory… but in inheritance."
Kaizen's breath caught. Ju Peter spoke, almost casually. "Have you ever felt like the world was… wrong?"
Kaizen answered without thinking. "Yes."
That was when the pressure changed. Not increased but focused. Nusjuro stepped forward.
"Explain." Kaizen struggled for words.
"Like things continue when they shouldn't. Like endings are delayed. Like… something important was erased, and everything after has been pretending it wasn't."
Silence fell again—heavier than before.
Warcury turned his back to Kaizen and faced the others.
"He hears echoes," Warcury said. Mars nodded slowly. "Too early."
"Too clearly," Ju Peter added. Saturn finally stood. When he did, Kaizen felt something deep within him recoil—not in fear, but in recognition.
"Kaizen," Saturn said, "do you know what the letter 'D' means?"
Kaizen's eyes widened just slightly.
"No," he said truthfully. "But… I feel like I should."
Saturn smiled thinly. "That," he said, "is precisely the problem." The elders looked down at the boy, not as rulers, not as judges, but as men standing before a variable.
"You are not being tested today," Saturn continued. "You are being observed."
Kaizen straightened. "For what?" he asked.
"For whether you will become a necessary anomaly," Saturn said.
"…or an unnecessary one."
The words settled like a sentence waiting to be finished. Warcury turned back toward Kaizen. "You will continue your training," he said.
"You will obey. You will grow. And we will watch."
Mars added quietly, "Should you ever reach a point where your existence threatens the balance of this world…"
Nusjuro's hand rested fully on his sword now.
"…we will act."
Kaizen met their gaze one by one.
He did not bow.
He did not plead.
He simply said, "Understood."
Saturn studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "Good," Saturn said.
"Because one day, Kaizen…" He paused.
"…the world will have to decide whether it fears you."
The doors behind Kaizen opened on their own.
"Go," Warcury commanded. Kaizen turned and walked out. The moment the doors closed behind him, the pressure vanished.
But the weight remained.
Inside the chamber, Saturn spoke one final time. "He does not know what he is," Saturn said.
Ju Peter replied, "But he will." Warcury's voice was low. "And when he does… the
world may not survive the answer."
"Hm…"