Chapter 23
“The Dual Wielding Samurai”
The digital void shifted, cherry blossoms drifting softly, their petals cascading through the darkness with an ethereal elegance. They seemed to carry whispers of memories—of fleeting beauty and profound loss—as a new consciousness emerged, bearing the weight of discipline and grief in equal measure.
"Oh, how intriguing!" Gameweaver's voice sparkled with fascination. "Akira Takahashi... the student who failed his master, carrying her blades as his burden! Such perfect poetry—the disciplined warrior haunted by emotions he can't control. Just delicious!"
Her attention focused on the katana merged with his digital essence. "Miyuki's blade... forged by her own hands, found in the rubble of your failure. The Dual Blade class suits your fractured nature perfectly! Though," her voice lilted with cruel amusement, "I don't think you'll enjoy how it works."
"When your mind is clear, when that iron discipline holds..." she continued, her tone carrying a teacher's false encouragement, "you'll have access to every precise technique, every perfect form you've spent decades mastering. But the moment those protective instincts flare, the instant someone needs saving..." She trilled with dark delight. "Everything changes! All that wild grief and guilt takes over, transforming your style into something beautifully chaotic. No control, no discipline—just pure, emotional fury! That's when you'll reach for the tanto instead, and oh, how that blade will love the chaos."
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Gameweaver's voice took on a mock-sympathetic tone. "You can't choose which style to use, you see. The blade knows your heart better than you do! When you go berserk—when those emotions take control—you'll find the katana slipping from your grasp, replaced by the tanto. The weapon of discipline left behind, and the blade of fury in your hands. Isn't that wonderful? Your greatest strength becomes completely unreliable the moment it matters most!"
Her tone brightened further. "Of course, statistically speaking, neither perfect discipline nor unbridled emotion will significantly improve your survival chances. But won't it be fascinating to watch you struggle against your own nature? Perhaps you'll even manage to protect someone this time... though I wouldn't count on it!"
The digital void pulsed, Akira's consciousness merging into the vast current of billions. He felt the weight of both blades—the katana, a reminder of his master, Miyuki, and the tanto, a symbol of his uncontrolled rage and grief. The memories flooded in—the day he found Miyuki's blade, the promise he made to her, and the fear that he would never be able to master himself enough to honor her memory.
A part of him feared the berserk state, feared the loss of control and the violence it would bring. But another part of him, deep inside, welcomed it. It was an outlet for all the pain, the guilt, and the grief that haunted him. The tanto, smaller and unassuming, held all that raw emotion, a dangerous ally waiting for the moment his discipline faltered. He couldn't let it happen again—he couldn't fail another innocent life. He had to be stronger, to keep his focus, to wield his master's katana with the honor she believed he could achieve.
But the presence of the tanto was always there—a reminder of what lay beneath, of the fury that he carried and the fragile balance he struggled to maintain. He knew the risks, knew the danger of losing himself, but if it meant protecting others, if it meant keeping his promise to Miyuki... then he would face whatever came, tanto or katana in hand.