Taka was born into the shadows of the world, abandoned in the filthy backstreets of a nameless town, his earliest memories filled with hunger and fear. As a child, he lived among the forgotten, scrounging for scraps in the alleys, barely surviving the harsh reality of life in the slums. There were no friends, no family, only the cold, unrelenting struggle to make it through each day.

The other children on the streets learned quickly that weakness was death, and Taka, small and malnourished, had to fight every day to keep what little he had.

His body bore the scars of countless brawls, his heart hardened by years of isolation.

But even in those early years, there was a fire in Taka—a fierce, unyielding will to survive.

It was that fire that caught the eye of a wandering swordsman named Hayate. Taka had been barely ten years old when their paths first crossed.

He had been cornered by a gang of older street boys, his small hands wrapped around a broken shard of glass as he tried to fend them off. Just as one of them had moved in to strike, a blur of motion cut through the alley.

The boys scattered, leaving Taka on the ground, trembling with exhaustion and fear.

Taka had looked up to see a tall figure standing over him, a man with a long, weathered sword strapped to his back. His dark eyes were sharp, yet calm, and his presence radiated strength and authority.

For a moment, Taka had been too stunned to move. “You fought well for someone so small,” the man had said, his voice deep and steady.

“But you’ll need more than that if you want to survive.” He had crouched down, meeting Taka’s wide-eyed gaze.

“What’s your name, boy?”

Taka had hesitated, unsure of how to respond. No one had ever asked him that before.

“Taka,” he had finally whispered, his voice hoarse from the struggle.

The man nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “I’m Hayate,” he said. “I see something in you, Taka. A fire. You don’t belong in this gutter.” He had stood then, his hand outstretched toward the boy.

“Come with me. I can teach you how to wield that fire.”

Taka had taken Hayate’s hand, unsure of what the future held but too desperate to refuse the offer. It was the first time someone had shown him kindness, the first time someone had believed in him.

Hayate had given him food and shelter, a small, simple tent they shared as they traveled the roads together.

In those early days, Taka had been quiet, distrustful. He had learned long ago that the world was not kind, that people only looked out for themselves. But Hayate was different. He was patient, never pushing Taka to speak, only offering the boy the stability he had never known.

For weeks, they traveled together, and Taka watched in awe as Hayate moved through the world with a grace and confidence that seemed effortless.

He carried himself like a man who had seen countless battles and had come out stronger for it. Taka admired him—idolized him, even. He wanted to be like Hayate: strong, fearless, and untouchable.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Taka had finally spoken up, his voice tentative. “How did you learn to fight like that?”

Hayate had looked at him for a long moment before answering. “Discipline. Training. And time.” His voice had been calm, but there was a depth to it, a weight that spoke of years of hardship and experience.

“I’ve wandered these lands for most of my life. I’ve fought wars, protected villages, and faced men far stronger than me. But the real battle is never with them—it’s with yourself.” He had taken a slow breath, staring into the fire.

“Strength without control is chaos. That’s what I want to teach you, Taka. Not just how to fight—but how to master yourself.”

Taka had listened intently, hanging on every word.

“I want to learn,” he had said, his voice filled with determination.

“I want to be strong like you.” Hayate had smiled then, a warm, knowing smile.

“It won’t be easy,” he had warned.

“But if you’re willing to put in the work, I’ll teach you everything I know. We’ll start tomorrow.”

And so, Taka’s training had begun.

The training had been brutal, far more difficult than anything Taka had ever experienced. Each day, they rose before dawn, their breaths visible in the cold morning air as they began their exercises.

Hayate had started Taka with the basics—footwork, balance, and breathing.

“A swordsman’s strength comes from his foundation,” Hayate had explained as he adjusted Taka’s stance for the hundredth time.

“If you can’t stay on your feet, you’re already dead.” At first, Taka had struggled. His body, still weak from years of malnutrition, had ached constantly, and more than once, he had collapsed in exhaustion.

But Hayate had never shown frustration. Instead, he had offered quiet encouragement, pushing Taka to his limits but never beyond what he could handle.

“You’re stronger than you think,” Hayate would say as he helped Taka to his feet after another failed attempt at a drill.

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“You just don’t know it yet.” Those words had stuck with Taka, igniting a fire in him that burned brighter each day.

He trained harder, longer, refusing to give up even when his muscles screamed in protest. Slowly, over weeks and months, his body began to change. He grew stronger, faster, more agile. And with each improvement, Hayate had smiled that same, proud smile.

As time passed, Taka’s skill with the blade began to show real promise. Hayate had given him a wooden practice sword, and they would spend hours each day sparring in the open fields, the clatter of their wooden weapons echoing through the quiet landscape.

Hayate never went easy on him, but he was always fair, correcting Taka’s mistakes with precision and patience.

“You’re too tense,” Hayate would say, circling around Taka as they sparred.

“Loosen your grip. Let the blade flow with you, not against you.” Taka would nod, trying to mimic his master’s fluid movements.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Taka had sat by the fire, his body sore but his heart filled with pride.

Hayate had sat beside him, handing him a cup of tea. “You’ve come a long way, Taka,” Hayate had said, his voice warm with approval.

“You remind me of myself when I was younger.” Taka had blinked, surprised.

“You were like me?” he asked, his voice filled with curiosity. Hayate had nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.

“I was once. Full of anger, full of the need to prove myself. But I had to learn the hard way that true strength comes from more than just skill with a sword. It comes from understanding who you are, and what you fight for.”

Taka had listened in silence, the words sinking deep into his heart. He had never thought about why he wanted to be strong—only that he did.

But Hayate had given him something more. He had given him a purpose, a reason to fight beyond mere survival. And in that moment, sitting by the fire with the man who had become his mentor, Taka had felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

As the seasons changed and the landscape shifted from summer’s warmth to the chill of autumn, Taka and Hayate’s bond grew stronger. They had fallen into an easy rhythm, their days spent training and their evenings filled with quiet conversations by the fire.

Taka had come to look up to Hayate not just as a mentor, but as the father figure he had never had. Hayate’s calm wisdom and gentle humor had become a source of stability in Taka’s life, a light in the darkness that had once consumed him.

One evening, as they sat beneath the stars, Taka had asked Hayate a question that had been weighing on his mind for some time.

“Why did you take me in?” he had asked, his voice quiet in the stillness of the night.

“You didn’t have to. I was just some street rat. You could have left me there.”

Hayate had glanced at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I saw something in you,” he had said simply. “The same fire I had when I was your age. I knew you were meant for more than the life you were living. And maybe… maybe I needed someone to remind me of what I was fighting for, too.”

Taka had been silent for a long moment, the warmth of Hayate’s words settling in his chest.

“I don’t know if I can ever be like you,” Taka had admitted, his voice filled with uncertainty.

“I still get angry. I still feel like I’m not good enough.”

Hayate laughed softly, the sound like a gentle breeze. “I still get angry too,” he had said.

“The difference is, I’ve learned to control it. And you will too, in time.” He had placed a hand on Taka’s shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring.

“You’ve already come so far, Taka. Don’t doubt yourself.”

At that moment, Taka had felt a deep sense of gratitude for Hayate. The man had saved him from a life of despair, given him purpose, and taught him what it meant to be strong. And for the first time in his life, Taka had allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone anymore.

But as with all things, the peace between them could not last. One cold winter evening Taka had just turned 17, Taka and Hayate had gotten into an argument—one that would haunt Taka for the rest of his life.

They had been sparring in the snow, the air crisp and biting against their skin, when Taka had grown frustrated with his progress. No matter how hard he trained, no matter how many years he spent honing his skills, he felt as though he was still chasing after Hayate’s shadow, never able to match his master’s grace and power.

“I’m never going to be as strong as you!” Taka had shouted, his voice filled with anger and frustration.

“No matter what I do, it’s never enough!” Hayate had stood calmly, his breath visible in the cold air as he watched Taka with patient eyes.

“Strength isn’t about being the best,” Hayate had said.

“It’s about knowing your limits and growing from them. You’re pushing yourself too hard, Taka. You need to slow down.”

But Taka didn’t want to hear it. His pride, his desire to prove himself, had clouded his judgment.

“I don’t need to slow down!” Taka had yelled, his hands clenched into fists.

“I need to be stronger! I need to—” But before he could finish, Hayate had stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Taka,” he had said softly, his voice filled with quiet authority.

“You’re not fighting for strength anymore. You’re fighting for pride. That’s not the path I taught you.”

Taka had shaken off Hayate’s hand, his anger boiling over.

“I’m not like you!” he shouted. “I’ll never be like you!” And with that, he stormed off into the night, leaving Hayate standing alone in the snow.

Taka had wandered the frozen landscape for hours, his mind racing with frustration and guilt. But when he had finally calmed down enough to return, it was too late. Hayate was gone.

Taka had found him at their camp, his body cold and lifeless, a deep wound carved into his chest.

The sight had shattered Taka’s world. His mentor, the man who had saved him, who had given him everything, was dead—murdered by an assassin’s blade, a blade that pulsed with the unmistakable taint of magic.

Taka had dropped to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he screamed into the night. “No… no… NO!” He had reached out, shaking Hayate’s body, willing him to wake up, to tell him it was all some horrible mistake.

But there was no response. Only the cold silence of death.

Taka had buried Hayate with trembling hands, his heart a storm of grief and fury. The snow had fallen steadily, covering the freshly dug grave as Taka stood over it, his breath ragged in the freezing air.

He had failed. He had left his master in anger, and now he was gone—taken from him by the very thing Hayate had warned him about: the darkness of pride.

Taka’s hands had clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as hot tears streamed down his face. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” he had whispered, his voice breaking.

But as the hours passed, grief gave way to something darker—something that had always been inside Taka, lurking just beneath the surface.

Rage. Hatred. A burning desire for revenge.

The assassin who had taken Hayate from him had used magic, and in that moment, Taka had sworn to destroy every mage who dared to use their power for evil. He would hunt them down, one by one, and make them pay.

“I’ll never forgive them,” Taka had vowed, his voice trembling with fury. “I’ll never stop.”

From that day on, Taka had been a man on a mission. He had left behind the boy who had once dreamed of being like Hayate, the boy who had wanted to be strong for the sake of strength.

Now, his only purpose was vengeance. And as he walked away from Hayate’s grave, his heart cold and hardened, he knew there was no turning back. The fire that Hayate had once seen in him had become a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

It was that vow that had led him to join the Aegis Guild, where he had met Monica for the first time.