Because everything I touch is cursed...

* * *

I sit down on the bed, flipping through a few extra pages. Yep... just slashes. I guess there's a reason this technique is D rank.

I frown, tossing the book behind me. I've got different things to practice right now. With my original sword, it wasn't big enough to hold with 2 hands, but I can use a different style since this sword is larger.

I stand up and draw my new sword from its sheath, looking at the blade. A dull black with some dark black scorch marks near the tsuba. It's cool...

I take a rudimentary stance, imitating what I saw on tv one time. Kasumi No Kamea is its proper name, but I can't quite remember that. I just know it looks cool.

I flow mana through my arms and chest, breathing deeply. Closing my eyes, I attempt to get a feel for how my mana is flowing before actually moving my body.

Clara said that the reason I caught fire last time was lack of control combined with extreme exhaustion, so I just have to control my mana... easy enough. I take an inhale.

I stop channeling my mana, simply taking a practice swing with unenhanced stats. I rotate the blade in my hand and bring it down, bringing it from low to high in the form of an upward slice in the next moment.

It's nice... but I wish I was able to cast a spell at the same time... although I haven't learned a proper spell yet, so the possibility wouldn't do me any good anyways.

I exhale.

I get back into the standard position before channeling my mana into my arms and chest. The scars on my arms heat up and even seem to glow a dull red, but I press on. Some of my mana flows into the blade. I can do this. I won't fail twice in a row this early in the journey.

I re-enact my earlier movements, causing the air to ripple slightly with a distinct heat. I can hear the wind as I move the blade through the air before I cease movement. I look at the sword before going back into a normal stance for standing.

"..."

I stay silent for while, simply looking down. Why do I want to be a hero when I'm so... normal? Is there even anything that a hero needs to fight against right now? If anything, I might just end up as a washed-up mercenary who kills people for money. Would that future still be me?

My blade glows a slight red at the base, letting out a dull hum. The hum slowly gets louder as I stand, although I'm not exactly sure why. Looking down at it, I can't help but be slightly concerned.

"Huh... why is it-"

I get interrupted by a flash of darkness engulfing my vision, staying there. When I open my eyes again, I'm somewhere else. I'm starting to get tired of all this teleporting bullshit.

I'm in an endless black space, illuminated yet foggy. There's nothing here, so I turn around. 

No one.

I turn around again, looking where I was originally positioned... I think. There stands a man, tall and aged. He has long white hair and blue eyes, a hakama tied around him. The left side of the robe is folded over the right side.

"Young man, what is it that you fear?" The man asks, not introducing himself at all. I get that weird feeling of connection from him, although far fainter.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering what exactly he means. I tack a few extra questions on since the original one was redundant. "Where is this? Who are you?"

The man stays silent, looking at me. He's a short distance away, but it feels far. He lets out a sigh, an exhausted and tired sigh. He seems disappointed, but at the same time, not surprised.

"None of your questions matter to me, boy," He says simply, refusing to lay out the details. "I am forgotten, that is all that matters about me anymore."

He stops talking, gazing at what could be considered the pitch black sky. Another sigh. This man... he seems depressed.

"So be it," He says, resuming his stare at me. "Boy, why do you want to master your weapon? Is it to protect or to destroy, to make or to steal? What enemy do you wish to fight? Is it an external battle or an internal battle that you wish to emerge victorious?"

"Oh, that's easy! It's..." I pause, looking down at my feet. Why am I fighting? Why am I trying in the first place?

Do I have a valiant purpose or am I driven by the human want to destroy? I want to be a hero, but why? To save the world? To get attention? To get the girl?

The man doesn't look surprised, simply nodding. If I can't answer such a simply question, then do I really know myself?

"Rest easy, young man. I was once asked the same question as you many years ago and I would say I performed worse when giving an answer," He says, reassuring me. "May I impart on to you a piece of advice?"

"..." I stay silent, but nod. This man feels far wiser than I'll ever be.

"Destiny is never set in stone. One must chase their destiny and carve it as they see fit, not letting themselves be molded by what others believe. You are only the villain or the hero when you consciously make attempts and change into who you truly are."

In the next moment, he's stood behind me with his hand pressed to my back. Something sharp is poking into my shoulder blade.

"Until you realize the destiny that you want, you will not be worthy of this swords power."

* * *

I wake up on my bed, covered in sweat. I stand up immediately, tossing the sword away from me. There's a hole through the shoulder of my shirt, but no scarring on my shoulder. I look in the mirror to check where the entry wound would be, but find nothing of the sort.

I guess I will just... never channel my mana into this sword ever. I'm not sure what triggered that unskippable cutscene of wisdom and age, but I'm not keen on seeing the man again for... a while.

"... Is every sword I touch cursed?" I ask myself, trying to lighten my mood with humor. It doesn't work, so I pick up the sword again.

It looks exactly the same, plain and boring yet somehow elegant. I sheathe it, not wanting to enter what I've dubbed as 'the shadow realm' again. So... did the guy want me to meditate or do yoga or-

* * *

Another day, another 10 minutes of Gram knocking on my door. I get up and get dressed, heading out of the room. For the first day since I was discharged, I'm wearing a short-sleeved shirt that shows the burn scars.

"About time, dude. Come on, we're gonna be late..." He pauses, looking at my arms. He looks sorry, like he was the one who caused it and not me.

"What?" I ask, just wanting him to act normal. So I have scars, so what? "Dude, I get that I'm beautiful, but stop staring."

He chuckles, happy that I'm in a good mood this morning. I laugh with him before we begin speed walking to class.

"Get over yourself, reckless idiot," He says, clearly teasing. God... it's a good morning.

* * *