Chapter 6: The Hero Suite
Sebastian stopped at the final door. His posture remained crisp, but his tone dipped to immediate, cold efficiency.
“And here,” he said, “is the Hero’s suite.”
Throughout the entire tour, Minami had called it the “Post-Arc Healing Episode,” complete with a wooden placard nailed to the common room wall: REST. REFLECTION. ZERO COMBAT. The letters were hand-painted in gold ink, but the brushstrokes were too perfect—like someone had practiced the performance of care.
The pressure in his chest didn’t lift. It simply… shifted.
From weight to absence.
From burden to vacancy.
The day he was told that he was the chosen one, he never wanted to be the hero. Not really.
But now that he wasn’t—what was left?
“Is this real?” he murmured to no one.
As he lay back on the vast bed, he couldn’t stop staring up at the ceiling. It was white. Too white. A blinding, infinite void of potential—a stage waiting for the Kurogane family to write a new, horrifying play upon it.
The silk sheets whispered against his skin, cool and frictionless. Though it was more luxurious than the ones that slept in Luna’s castle, it didn’t feel right. The sheets made him feel as if he was sinking.
Only the hum of climate control remained—and the quiet pressure of a world that no longer needed him.
Across the room, the koi pond shimmered in its glass basin. The water was still—unnaturally still. Then, a ripple. A distortion. A face surfaced in the reflection.
The Demon Lord.
He couldn’t believe it. It was that grotesque grin. Those curling horns. The eyes that had stared into him as the world cracked open.
Kyle lurched upright, a cold, nauseating squeeze tightening in his gut—the physical return of a crime he could never undo.
But when he looked again, the image was gone.
As he knelt beside the pond, the fish continued to swim in slow, perfect circles. Their world was clean. Managed. Peaceful.
He wasn’t.
“I hope you understand what you’ve unleashed.”
The Demon Lord’s final words echoed through his skull, a lingering, icy pressure confirming that the guilt was the final curse placed on him.
Kyle repeated it in mind over and over again. He hadn’t just slain the keystone but broken the cycle. In doing so he’d committed planetary genocide. With nothing but silence to answer back, Kyle turned to the nightstand.
There his eyes focused its attention on the broken weapon.
The blade, Sunbreaker, laid like a forgotten relic—its hilt cracked, its core dark.
He hesitated at first but then reached for it, fingers brushing the cold metal. The dwarven made steel was utterly cold, draining the residual warmth from his fingertips.
“Come, my Sunbreaker,” he whispered.
It was a command that he would often call out yet nothing happened.
He tried again—louder, desperate. His voice sounded raw and pathetic in the vast silence.
“Come, my Sunbreaker…”
Still nothing.
No glow. No warmth. No torrent of Chi unleashed.
Just silence. It was the sound of his last hope collapsing.
A little bit later he let out a short, hollow laugh.
“If it can’t respond to my call I guess I’m not the hero anymore.”
As he decided to call it a night and head back to the bed—three soft knocks.
Kyle sat up, heart steady but alert. He crossed the room, reminding himself that there were no enemies after him in this world. The silk loungewear whispering against his skin as he moved, the vastness of the suite stretching around him like an empty stage.
“Hello?”
Cautiously he opened the door.
By his gaze Kokoro and Kotaro stood there in their own matching pajamas—cotton, oversized, patterned with stars. Kokoro’s frame had grown slightly taller, her posture more guarded. Kotaro, wearing her body, looked smaller than ever.
“Hey you two,” Kyle said softly.
In their two years together, Kyle had noticed subtle changes—like the way Kotaro’s chest had begun to shift. Or the way Kokoro’s expression flickered between protectiveness and uncertainty.
“I understand that it must be difficult to sleep in an unfamiliar place but you should head to bed now,” Kyle gently said before noticing the twins’ uneasiness. “Is something wrong?”
They were the first two companions he’d met. It was two years ago when they were eight that they happened to get summoned after being resurrected from the dead.
And yet while their souls were misplaced in each other’s bodies, they’d never once asked to be fixed—only to be understood.
“Sorry for bothering you,” Kokoro said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We couldn’t sleep.”
“Can we come in?” Kotaro added, already leaning forward.
Kyle understood.
Immediately he stepped aside.
They stood awkwardly for a moment, the light from the hallway illuminating the vast, empty suite, before they finally rushed inside and belly slammed the bed. The furniture absorbed them instantly—laughter muffled by exhaustion, seeking the frayed warmth of a familiar face.
***
Back in the isekai’d world, silence meant ambush.
Here, the opulent silence in the Kurogane Mansion was a sterile vacuum—a reminder of everything they fought so hard to return.
Kokoro curled up beside Kotaro, who flopped onto his back with theatrical relief.
“This bed is amazing,” Kotaro sighed.
“But it’s not the woods,” Kokoro murmured, melancholy threading her voice. “No tents. No monsters. No campfire smoke to keep the shadow fiends away.”
Kyle sat on the edge of the bed, letting the lie feel true for a moment.
“You miss camping?” he asked.
Kotaro nodded. “Oh yeah. Even when it rained.”
Kokoro smiled faintly. “Oh... And when we got chased by that slime.”
Kyle chuckled. The memory surfaced of Renji’s first encounter with a slime. He’d called it a ‘low-tier mob,’ flicked their middle finger to show how beneath he was to complete a slime request, and walked away.
The slime had disagreed. Loudly.
It summoned friends. Merged. Became a three-story acid-spewing nightmare.
They laughed quietly. Not because it was funny. Because it was theirs.
Kyle laid beside them as he reached out, rubbing their heads gently. His touch was slow, steady, his hand absorbing the silk’s frictionless indifference.
His touch was like a comforting ritual. A promise.
“When things calm down,” he said, letting the words settle like ash, “we’ll go again. No monsters. Just a good fire, the real stars, and marshmallows. Maybe hot chocolate.”
His voice held a quiet, fierce conviction.
Kotaro’s eyes lit up. “Can we bring everyone as well?”
Kokoro grinned. “And those weird spicy crackers Masayuki hates?”
Kyle chuckled. “Deal.”
***
As the laughter faded in the background, they slowly got hungry.
Though Minami said it was okay, Kyle and the twins agreed that it didn’t feel right waking up the chefs. As they deliberated to sneak into the kitchen but that was when Kotaro spotted something. On display were so many to choose from.
After looking at one another and nodding in agreement, the only solution was for them to begin rummaging through the entire snack drawers.
“Oh, oh... Kokoro, look. They have konpeito,” Kotaro's voice cracked with joy.
At first it was not noticeable but the crumbs slowly accumulated across the silk sheets. Soon the snack shelf laid barren in the background as everyone picked through the assortment of treats.
“Yummy... the ramune tastes so good,” Kokoro burped, loud and unrepentant.
Sweet, sour, salty. It was a palette of nostalgia. The smell of sweet ramune and salty crackers lingered in the air—a scent of cheap, immediate joy.
“Hey leave some for me,” exclaimed Kyle.
Seeing how happy and excited the twins were made him laugh as they opened and tried a bunch of different things. He decided to try the kaki no tane rice crackers next.
But the moment of peace passed.
As moments do.
Character Profile
Masayuki — The Reincarnated Samurai in a Child’s Body
A forgotten warrior whose spirit belongs to an era of steel, honor, and death oaths—but whose form is that of a ten-year-old boy navigating modern Japan. His reincarnation into a fantasy world felt like a second chance, but he quickly discovered that swords were relics and warriors were obsolete. Magic had replaced martial skill; honor had been replaced by convenience.
Backstory - He was a minor samurai in the late Edo period—loyal, disciplined, and utterly forgotten by history. Now trapped in the body of a child, Masayuki treats his small form as a karmic trial. Through relentless, silent training, he fused his archaic swordsmanship with lightning magic, creating a style so fast and precise it earned him the title “Lightning Flash.” His discipline and quiet intensity drew him to Kyle, another displaced soul searching for meaning. They became brothers-in-arms—two anachronisms carving purpose into a world that had none for them.
Personality - He views school as a battlefield of strange customs and incomprehensible rules: slang he refuses to use, teachers who mistake his stoicism for shyness, vending machines he regards as suspicious metal spirits. Despite his rigid exterior, Masayuki is deeply loyal and quietly compassionate. He sees the party as his clan, bound not by blood but by shared hardship. He would gladly sacrifice himself for them without hesitation.
Magic and Skills - Masayuki’s combat style is a fusion of ancient discipline and elemental power. His magic is not flashy—it is controlled, efficient, and devastating.
* Lightning Blade Style: By channeling lightning through his sword, he can paralyze enemies, create shockwaves, enhance his speed to near invisibility, or execute precise, surgical strikes.
* Warrior’s Instinct: Even in Japan, he analyzes escape routes, identifies threats, and treats every situation like a tactical scenario.
Visual Design - Masayuki’s appearance blends childlike innocence with warrior intensity.
* Hair: Jet-black, tied in a perfectly maintained miniature topknot.
* Eyes: Steel-gray with lightning-shaped flecks that glow when channeling magic.
* Posture: Straight-backed, formal, and impossibly composed for a ten-year-old.
* Aura: A quiet, intimidating presence that makes adults instinctively straighten their posture.
