บท 2: 2. A New Beginning

"Hey everyone! 🎉 Let's give a huge, thunderous welcome to our newest adventurers, Legend Wolfpack Studios and Legend frandley mesidor! With them on board, our journey just got even more exciting and fun!"

🌟 These legends have taken the plunge, joined our exclusive crew, and are now getting all the extra perks and early access on this amazing journey!

Who's ready to follow in his and many others' footsteps? 😉 Don't miss out—there's a whole world waiting for you too!

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The first sensation Kenshiro remembered in his new life was warmth—an overwhelming, all-encompassing warmth. It wasn't the searing heat of a grueling training session or the blood-boiling intensity of a fight. It was softer, and comforting, as if the universe had wrapped him in a blanket and whispered.

"Rest now."

He was reborn, and this time, his world began with love.

"Kenshiro,"

A soft, melodic voice cooed, waking him from his infant slumber. His mother's face was the first thing he saw—a vision of gentle beauty framed by sunlight pouring in through a window. Her emerald eyes sparkled with adoration, and her smile was the kind that could banish even the darkest of fears.

"Look at you," She whispered, stroking his tiny hand. "Our little miracle."

Beside her stood his father, Ayato Arisawa, a tall man with a composed yet kind demeanor. His sharp features softened when he looked at Kenshiro, his large hands cradling the baby as if holding the most precious treasure in the world.

"He'll grow up strong," Ayato declared with a grin. "Just like his old man."

Even as a baby, Kenshiro's mind was sharp, remnants of his previous life's discipline refusing to fade. He recognized these emotions—love, care, and warmth—but they were unfamiliar, like the notes of a song he'd never heard before...

Years passed, and Kenshiro grew into a curious, intelligent child.

The Arisawa household was a palace of activity. Maids bustled through the halls, the butler, Mr. Takeda, ran the estate with military precision, and his parents spent every moment they could with their son despite their busy schedules.

"Kenshiro-sama," called Misaki, one of the maids assigned to care for him. She was young, barely in her twenties, with a kind heart and a sharp wit. She had quickly become Kenshiro's favorite—not that he'd ever admit it aloud.

"Yes, Misaki-nee?" Kenshiro responded with the politeness his parents insisted upon, though his tone carried a hint of playfulness.

"It's time for your piano lesson," Misaki said, kneeling to fix the crooked collar of his shirt.

Kenshiro sighed, glancing at the grand piano in the corner of the room. While he appreciated music, his heart longed for something else—movement, precision, and the discipline of his past life.

But he was a dutiful son, so he climbed onto the piano bench and played the piece his instructor had assigned.

Late at night, when the estate was quiet and the world seemed to hold its breath, Kenshiro practiced.

He'd discovered the perfect spot—a small clearing in the sprawling garden behind the estate. Shielded by trees and shrouded in darkness, it became his dojo. There, beneath the stars, he recreated the movements he'd perfected in his previous life. His young body was still unrefined, lacking the muscle memory he once had, but his mind was sharp, guiding him through every strike, every block, every shift in stance.

"Your form is improving, Kenshiro-sama," Misaki's voice broke through the stillness one night.

Kenshiro froze mid-strike, spinning around to face her. Misaki stood at the edge of the clearing, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice you sneaking out every night?"

"You can't tell anyone," Kenshiro said quickly, his young voice firm but pleading.

Misaki chuckled, walking closer. "Relax, I'm not going to snitch. But you need to be careful. If your parents find out, they'll worry."

Kenshiro hesitated before nodding. "I just… need this. It feels like a part of me I can't let go."

Misaki crouched down to meet his gaze, her expression softening. "I don't know what's driving you, but I can see it matters to you. Just promise me you won't push yourself too hard, okay?"

"Promise," Kenshiro said, offering a small smile.

From that night on, Misaki became his confidante. She brought him towels to wipe his sweat, helped patch up his bruises, and even guarded the clearing to ensure no one interrupted his training.

At three years old, Kenshiro was a ball of energy and charm, adored by everyone in the household. Yet, despite the love and laughter that surrounded him, he couldn't shake the faint sense of unease buried deep within. His past life's memories were a double-edged sword—a source of strength but also a reminder of the harsh realities of the world.

One evening, his father returned home early from work, carrying a mysterious package.

"Kenshiro," Ayato called, his voice echoing through the grand halls.

Kenshiro ran to him, his small feet pattering against the marble floors. "What is it, Dad?"

Ayato knelt, presenting the package with a flourish. "A gift for my little warrior."

Kenshiro tore into the wrapping, revealing a beautifully crafted wooden bokken. His eyes widened as he traced his fingers along the polished surface. "For me?"

"Of course," Ayato said, ruffling his son's hair. "Every man needs to learn how to defend himself."

Hana, who had just entered the room, frowned. "Ayato, he's only six. Don't encourage violence."

"It's not about violence," Ayato countered. "It's about discipline and self-control. Besides, I'll teach him myself. Nothing too dangerous."

Kenshiro's heart swelled with gratitude. He wasn't sure whether his father had sensed his need for something more or if it was a mere coincidence, but the gesture meant the world to him.

Months turned into years, and Kenshiro's life became a delicate balance of childhood innocence and the echoes of his past. By day, he was the perfect son—studious, respectful, and full of laughter. By night, he was a shadow, honing the skills that had defined his previous existence.

He grew close to everyone in the household, especially Misaki, who had become more like an older sister than a maid.

"You're going to be unstoppable one day," She teased after one of his midnight training sessions.

"I don't want to be unstoppable," Kenshiro replied, his young voice tinged with wisdom beyond his years. "I just want to be ready."

Misaki's smile faltered, but she didn't press further. She had long since learned that Kenshiro's mind was a maze of secrets, and while she was curious, she respected his boundaries.

The Arisawa family's bond was unshakable. Dinners were lively affairs filled with laughter and storytelling. Ayato often shared tales of his business ventures, while Hana regaled them with anecdotes from her charity work. Kenshiro soaked it all in, cherishing these moments of togetherness.

He allowed himself to simply exist in the warmth of his family's love, unaware of the storm that lay ahead.

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