Memories

— When I reach my goal... everyone will talk about me. I want to be remembered. — K.K.

Twelve Years Earlier

I don't know when it started.

I don't even know why.

But once upon a time, my life was a symphony.

Joyful. Fluid. Full of light.

Now?

Glitches turning real.

Shadows that breathe.

Secrets hidden in the walls of my own home.

Memories... slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

To understand the present,

we must first walk through the past.

Because memories...

are the only thing that can still keep us alive.

---

Knock, knock.

"Kairo, what are you doing in there?" a voice called from behind the door.

"Woooah!"

He slipped off his bed and hit the floor with a loud thud.

The book he'd been reading spun in the air, landing flat on his face—still open.

"Ow, ow," he muttered, rubbing the spot where his head had hit.

The door opened immediately.

"Kairo, how many times do I have to tell you? It's time to sleep," a tired, hoarse voice said behind him.

"But Dad, I'm not sleepy," the little Kaiaba protested.

Kenji chuckled softly.

"You're always full of energy, huh? Little rascal," he said, lifting the book from his son's chest.

Kenji glanced at the cover and smiled.

"The Theory of Memory and Parallel Worlds"… Isn't that a bit heavy for a kid like you?"

"Oh, come on, Dad! I'm tired of silly bedtime stories. I wanted to read something you read," Kairo replied, crossing his arms with a puffed-up cheek in mock annoyance.

Kenji ruffled his hair gently.

"Haha, alright, alright. That sharp tongue… you definitely got that from someone I know very well," he said with a smirk.

"Hey!" Kairo grumbled, but didn't move away.

"Sharp tongue or not, it's off to bed. You've got Kendo early tomorrow, don't you? What would Master Hayashi say if you show up late?"

Kairo swallowed and looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

"He'd probably make me do a hundred push-ups, three laps around the field, a hundred sit-ups, and then tell me that was just the warm-up…"

"Then come on, to bed. And maybe, after practice, I'll read this book to you," Kenji said with a warm smile.

Kairo's eyes lit up with innocent excitement.

"Really?!"

"Really," Kenji said, lifting him onto the bed. "Then you can say you're an intellectual—just like your old man."

He leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Girls like smart boys, just ask your mom."

Kairo frowned as he settled under the blanket.

"I don't care about girls. I don't understand them. They like playing with flowers… a flower is just a flower."

Kenji laughed softly as he tucked him in.

"They're different, yes. They feel things differently. They're emotional, fragile… but stronger than you think."

He looked his son straight in the eyes and smiled.

"One day, you'll meet someone you'll want to protect at all costs. Someone who, with just a glance, will make you feel something strange—right here,"

he said, tapping his own stomach.

Kairo rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, Dad."

"Trust me, one day you'll see I was right. But for now, enough talk. Sleep."

Kenji leaned down and kissed his forehead gently.

He walked to the door, turned off the light, and stood in the doorway, fingers resting on the wooden frame.

"Goodnight, little swordsman."

"Goodnight, Dad."

The door closed with a soft creak,

leaving Kairo alone in the dark, lost in the dreams of a six-year-old boy.

---

The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.

Kairo woke up immediately.

He went to the bathroom, washed, and got ready.

Kendo meant everything to him. Ever since he'd told his father, and Kenji had introduced him to Master Hayashi two years ago, he'd been obsessed.

"I'll become the greatest swordsman in the world,"

he'd always say—though most kids his age didn't understand him.

In 2110, most children were into tech, video games, and futuristic trends.

Sometimes, it made Kairo feel out of place.

When he talked about his training, other kids would mock him:

"Still with swords? What are you, from the Middle Ages?"

Kairo laughed on the outside… but inside, he felt hollow.

A hollow space no one understood.

A void that couldn't be filled.

He began to hate going to school.

Sayuri pushed Kenji to reason with him, but the young writer-father had little success.

Even his younger brother Yuto—just one year apart—tried to include him in tech games and his love for electronics.

Kairo smiled, played along, saying things like:

"This is actually pretty fun," or "Wow, didn't think I'd enjoy it this much."

But it was just to make his little brother happy.

Thanks to Yuto, he could sneak into some conversations with other kids.

But the emptiness remained.

It felt like the world moved forward while he was trapped in a time capsule.

Still… he didn't care.

He kept practicing Kendo,

building himself a social mask to wear.

"Okay Kairo, focus. Today I'm gonna land at least one hit on Master Hayashi," he said to his reflection in the mirror.

Though it had been two years,

that dream sometimes felt like mist slipping through his hands.

Knock, knock.

"Kairo, are you ready?" his father's voice echoed behind the door.

"Almost, coming!"

He tied his shoes,

grabbed his small leather jacket,

and headed downstairs.

Kenji was waiting in their cozy kitchen, the aroma of tea mingling with the roasted scent of fresh coffee.

He stood at his usual kitchen corner, a steaming cup in hand.

"Morning, early birds," a soft voice chimed from behind little Kaiaba.

"Morning, Mom," Kairo replied sweetly.

Sayuri yawned, hugging her little samurai.

Then she kissed Kenji on the cheek.

"Morning, love. You taking him today?"

Kenji nodded, returning the kiss to her forehead.

"Yuto still asleep?"

"Like a rock. He takes after his mother in that," she yawned again.

Kenji chuckled and handed her a cup of coffee.

She took it, inhaled deeply, then glanced at him with a hint of annoyance.

"You stayed up all night again, didn't you?"

Kenji rolled his eyes, already knowing what was coming.

Sayuri gently pinched his cheek.

"Careful, writer-man. If you don't sleep, your stories will turn on you."

Kairo crossed his arms.

"Mom's right. It's not fair you tell me to sleep and stay up yourself."

Kenji laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright. I promise I'll nap this afternoon."

He almost had Kairo convinced, but Sayuri, who knew him all too well, added:

"No writing. That desk is off-limits for two days. I mean it."

Kenji sighed and lowered his arms in defeat.

"Kairo, aren't you eating? An empty sack can't stand," she asked gently.

"Not hungry, Mom."

"Not a chance. Sit down, I'll make something. You, dear?" she asked Kenji.

"I—" he started, but her glare shut him up.

"Alright, I'll sit too."

Minutes passed as Kenji talked about his latest manuscript, and Kairo explained his new Kendo techniques.

The smell of cooked eggs, steamed rice, toasted bread, and grilled mackerel filled the air.

Sayuri, despite her office job, was a phenomenal cook.

Her every move in the kitchen was like a symphony in motion.

By 7 a.m., they were still deep in discussion—Kenji's philosophy clashing playfully with Kairo's passionate descriptions—interwoven by Sayuri's laughter and teasing from behind the stove.

Then, a sleepy "Good morning…" echoed from behind them.

Yuto. The embodiment of five-year-old laziness.

"Morning, little dormouse," Sayuri said, smiling.

"Yo, bro!" Kairo shouted, tackling him with pure energy.

"Mhh… Kai, how are you this hyper in the morning?" Yuto mumbled.

Kairo laughed, while their parents exchanged amused glances at their usual morning banter.

---

After breakfast, the two boys brushed their teeth.

Kenji and Sayuri cleaned the kitchen.

"I'll take Kairo. It'll be nice to see my old friend, Master Hayashi," Kenji said.

"You take Yuto to school?"

"Sure. But remember what we said about Kairo. I know you're training him and alternating school drop-offs, but he needs to adapt to that environment."

"I know…" Kenji sighed. "I just don't get why he won't open up about it. I try talking to him, but he shuts down."

"I've tried too. Maybe he needs someone he sees as important. Someone who speaks his language."

"You mean Hayashi?" Kenji frowned.

"Maybe… maybe he needs a little push from someone who talks in sword strokes," Sayuri joked, mimicking a failed katana swing.

Kenji sighed again, but deep down, he knew she was right.

"Alright, I'll try to talk to him."

"I'm sure he can help," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"After all, he knows him well."

---

Soon after, Kenji and Kairo left the house, waving goodbye to Sayuri and the still-groggy Yuto.

Kenji fastened his seatbelt, catching Kairo's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Ready, champ?"

"Yeah, Dad."

They set off.

Their destination: the Kyumeinkan Dojo, where Kairo had been training for two years.

Where Master Hayashi always waited for him on the tatami.

Hayashi, as usual, was sitting calmly, sipping his tea…

But this morning, he wasn't alone.

As he sipped beneath the great cherry tree in the courtyard, the sound of polished shoes echoed across the stones.

Tamp. Tamp. Tamp.

Footsteps stopped just in front of the tatami.

Without opening his eyes, Hayashi smiled.

"I haven't heard those steps in four years. To what do I owe the honor, Secretary Orion Saito?"

He opened his eyes.

"Or should I say… Director Orion Saito."

In front of him stood a man in a sleek black suit, amber eyes calm, with a youthful smile that carried no threat—only familiarity.

"Hey, Hayashi.

I missed you, my friend."

As Kenji and Kairo approached the dojo,

a reunion of old souls was quietly unfolding.

But when Orion Saito moves…

it's never by chance.

---

When I reach my goal... everyone will talk about me. I want to be remembered... I want to be remembered as the greatest swordsman of all time. — Kairo Kaiba