I'm Alone In This Apocalypse Vault With 14 Girls?
Chapter 25 - 8.1: Is This My Memories Part 2

Chapter 25: Chapter 8.1: Is This My Memories Part 2

The future leaders of the world were forged at Yamashiro Institute, which was more than just a school. It was established in 2031 by the renowned teacher Kenji Yamashiro and, by fusing modern technology with traditional knowledge, had grown to become the most esteemed university on the planet.

The campus itself was a wonder, combining traditional Japanese architecture with training facilities that could replicate any environment, from the surface of Mars to the deepest ocean trenches, holographic learning environments, and quantum computing labs.

Kael meditated in the Zen garden, where climate control systems allowed cherry blossoms to bloom all year round, at 5:30 AM every day. The garden served as a haven where he was safe from the burden of expectations. He could just be here, with the soft rustle of bamboo and the trickle of water over stone.

His morning routine was methodical: thirty minutes of zazen meditation, followed by solo kata practice with his bokken.

Since he was a young boy, the wooden sword had been by his side, worn smooth by countless training sessions. Kael found comfort in the age-old rhythms of Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu, one of Japan’s oldest and most prestigious sword schools, even though other students might have preferred the sophisticated training simulators..

The students scattered in silence into a wide circle in the center of the room. The first bell rang out from the far end, a low chime, a single, resonating tone that cut through the growing tension.

A tall instructor dressed in dark indigo robes, Sensei Makoto, moved forward. His expression was composed but unreadable, and the wooden shinken at his hip wasn’t just for show. He allegedly disarmed a cybernetic human attacker once with just a folded fan.

"Seiretsu!" he called, his iron voice echoed through the dojo.

The students moved at once, forming perfect rows with practiced discipline.

With his bare feet firmly planted like roots descending into holy ground, Kael stood at the edge of the sparring mat. His shoulders felt the familiar weight of curious stares, but he had long since learned to bear such burdens with silent dignity.

"Tsurugi Kael."

The name carried power in these halls, though not always the kind he wished for.

"Is that... him?" Mina whispered, her voice barely audible above the settling silence.

Lucien adjusted his glasses, the subtle glow of his neural interface flickering as he accessed Kael’s profile from the student database. Information flowed across his enhanced vision in streams of light.

"Tsurugi Kael. Mother’s Japanese nobility. Father’s... no one knows. Heard he vanished when Kael was seven."

"Tsurugi?" Mina’s eyes widened with recognition. "That Tsurugi family?"

Lucien nodded, his expression thoughtful as he continued to scan the available information.

"Lady Reika Tsurugi, former heiress of the Tsurugi Zaibatsu — one of Japan’s oldest and most secretive noble clans, originally descended from samurai. A woman once groomed to lead the family’s empire in arms development, AI philosophy, and traditional martial code. Until she left it all... for love."

The weight of those words settled heavily in the air. Everyone knew the story, though few spoke of it openly.

Lady Reika had been the pride of the Tsurugi clan, brilliant and beautiful, destined to merge tradition with innovation as the family’s next leader. Then she met a man.

"He doesn’t look like much," Arjun observed, though there was no malice in his voice, only curiosity.

"I heard she was disowned when she ran away from the clan," Mina added, her voice carrying a note of sympathy. "They say she chose love over her duties."

With fluid movements like flowing water, the students watched as Kael stepped forward onto the polished center mat. The shinai he was holding seemed nearly weightless. His dark eyes remained unwavering and focused as he bowed gracefully.

His sword is all he has in a world where students compete by flaunting their connections and wealth. He merely existed in the pauses between words as others talked about their families’ accomplishments, their corporate sponsorships, and their assured futures.

Arjun leaned toward Mina, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "What do you think of him?"

Mina tilted her head, studying Kael with the calculating gaze. "He looks... weak," she muttered, though something in her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely sure.

Kael’s eyes briefly darted to the side, taking in the hushed judgment. Then they closed once more, and he breathed calmly and steadily, unconcerned by anything. He had heard worse, and from people whose views were far more important than those of teenage gossip.

But the whispers continued.

"Do you think the rumors are true?"

"That he’s never lost a sparring match?"

"We’ll see soon enough."

Across from him, another figure took shape—taller than Kael, broader in the shoulders, with the confident bearing of a senior student who had never known defeat. The face remained frustratingly unclear in the dream’s haze, but Kael could sense the arrogance radiating from his opponent like heat from a forge.

His opponent, is a Korean exchange student named Park Jimin, shifted uneasily. Jimin was skilled—a practitioner of Haidong Gumdo with impressive credentials and a scholarship funded by Samsang’s educational initiative. Kael’s senior and holder of multiple tournament victories. His wooden sword was carved from ebony.

"Ready to be humbled again?"

Kael merely bowed politely, his shinai in a perfect chudan position. He ignored the insult.

"Please teach me, Park-senpai," With the same sincere humility that had always enraged his tormentors, he responded.

Sensei Makoto raised his hand, and the dojo fell silent except for the soft whisper of climate control systems and the distant hum of Neo Tokyo beyond the walls.

"Hajime!"

Jimin struck with the self-assured violence of someone used to winning, his blade slicing through the air in a flawless arc intended to overwhelm with swiftness and accuracy. It was a sound technique supported by years of practice.

But Kael was not there when the strike arrived.

His movement had been so smooth that he had slid to the side like smoke. The way his shinai moved in unison with his body described a tiny arc that captured Park’s weapon and deflected its destructive force innocuously.

Like a gunshot, the sound of bamboo snapping against protective gear reverberated through the suddenly quiet dojo.

A point to Kael.

His counterattack, a gentle tap that hardly seemed to make contact with Park Jimin’s wrist.

The Korean student’s grip suddenly became uneasy as his shinai clattered to the ground. He gazed bewilderedly at his hand before turning to face Kael, who had already gone back to his ready position.

"Yame," Sensei Makoto called, though the match was clearly over.

The students who were observing whispered their gratitude for what they had just seen. Park Jimin took a step back, his self-assurance faltering.