Darkness.

The sensation of weightlessness. A familiar emptiness.

Kiyotaka Ayanokoji was used to silence, but this... this was different. It was not the sterile quiet of the White Room, nor the faint hum of Tokyo’s city life. It was a void — infinite and cold.

And then, suddenly, there was sound.

The rustling of leaves. Birds chirping. The soft, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat — his heartbeat.

Ayanokoji’s eyes snapped open.

He expected to see the ceiling of his dorm room at the Advanced Nurturing High School. Instead, a wooden roof, cracked and aged, greeted him. The scent of earth and grass filled his nostrils, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

He tried to sit up, but his body felt... small. Weak. Wrong.

His hands, once steady and strong, were now tiny, soft, and trembling. He forced himself to breathe slowly, analyzing the situation, suppressing the rising panic. His logical mind kicked in, as it always did.

Assessment: I am alive.

Current body: Approximately six years old. Male.

Location: Unknown. Rural environment.

He swung his legs off the rough straw mat, feeling the cool dirt floor beneath his bare feet. Across the room was a cracked bronze mirror, propped against the wall. Driven by a mixture of dread and curiosity, he approached it.

The face that stared back was not his own.

A child with jet-black hair, slightly unkempt, and sharp golden eyes. Not the cold, calculating gaze he remembered, but something wilder — primal. His skin was pale, his features delicate, but there was a faint intensity behind that youthful innocence.

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He touched his reflection. This is real.

The memories of his life in Japan were intact — the White Room, the endless training, the manipulation of others. But this... this was something else.

A different world.

A soft knock at the door startled him.

“Xiao Tian! Are you awake?” A gentle female voice called out.

Ayanokoji hesitated. Xiao Tian? Was that... his name now?

“I... I’m awake,” he said, surprised at how naturally the words left his mouth. His voice was soft, childlike, yet carried a subtle steadiness.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman in her thirties with kind eyes and a warm smile. She looked poor but sincere, dressed in simple linen clothes.

“Come, child. Today is your spirit awakening,” she said, brushing his hair gently. “A glorious day!”

Spirit awakening?

Ayanokoji didn’t understand, but he knew better than to ask too many questions. He had always been an observer first, a participant second.

He followed her outside, where a small village awaited — stone houses, dirt roads, and a gathering of excited children and their parents. In the center of the village stood an elderly man with a long white beard and a staff adorned with a crystal orb. His presence commanded quiet reverence.

Ayanokoji’s sharp mind took in every detail. The children's anticipation, the way the elder's staff seemed to hum with energy — this was no ordinary world.

“Come forward, children,” the elder announced. “Today, we shall see what fate has in store for each of you.”

One by one, the children placed their hands on a glowing stone. Some conjured small lights, some faint animal shapes, while others failed to awaken a spirit at all, leaving them crestfallen.

Ayanokoji watched with detached curiosity. These “spirits” seemed to determine their place in society — a hierarchy built not on intelligence or manipulation, but raw power.

When his turn came, the crowd fell silent. There was something unsettling about the golden-eyed boy. Even the elder seemed to sense it.

“Place your hand on the Spirit Stone, young one,” the elder said, though his voice carried a hint of hesitation.

Ayanokoji complied. The moment his palm touched the stone, the world seemed to freeze.

A deep, resonant hum filled the air.

Then, black flames erupted around him, licking at the sky, casting long, sinister shadows. Gasps and cries of fear rippled through the crowd.

“The Dark Phoenix…” the elder whispered, his eyes wide with shock.

But before anyone could react, a second light emerged — this one golden, emanating from Ayanokoji’s eyes themselves.

A spiraling pattern of ancient symbols formed in the air, glowing softly, as though seeing through reality itself.

“Twin spirits…” the elder breathed. “The Spirit Eyes and the Dark Phoenix… And… Innate full soul power…”

Ayanokoji withdrew his hand, the energies dissipating as quickly as they had appeared. The stone beneath his palm was cracked, smoke rising from it.

The villagers stared at him, not with admiration, but fear.

Ayanokoji understood this emotion well. In any world, power unsettled the weak.

“Congratulations, Xiao Tian,” the elder finally said, his voice unsteady. “You… have a rare and extraordinary talent. But with great power comes great danger. You must be careful.”

Ayanokoji’s golden eyes met the elder’s gaze, cold and unreadable.

Danger? That… I understand.

As he walked back through the village, whispers followed him like shadows.

But Ayanokoji, even at six years old, knew one thing: in this world, just like the last, strength was the only true security.

And now, for the first time, he had a power even he did not yet understand.

But he would.

He always did.