The train wasn't crowded. Not empty—but quiet enough that everyone stayed in their own space. Ken stood a little far from me, near the other side of the door. I could see him, but not close enough to talk normally.
The train moved steadily, the sound of the tracks repeating like a rhythm.
Then the lights flickered.
The train entered a tunnel.
Darkness swallowed everything for a moment, leaving only dim lights inside the carriage.
I glanced around. Everyone looked normal. Some on their phones, some talking quietly. Nothing felt wrong.
But something was.
A strange feeling crept up my spine, like someone was standing too close.
Slowly, I turned.
And froze.
There was someone inside the train.
No—something.
Long black hair flowing down his back, moving slightly as if touched by a wind that wasn't there. He wore a long kimono, old and worn, the fabric hanging loosely like it belonged to another time. A blindfold covered his eyes.
My breath caught.
In his hand—a sword.
Slowly, he began to pull it out. A faint blue glow reflected along the blade, lighting his figure in the dim train.
"…What is that…" I whispered.
No one reacted.
No one even looked.
"…Am I the only one seeing this…?"
My hands started trembling.
He stood just a few steps away. Too close.
Then his head moved.
Slowly.
Toward me.
My heart slammed against my chest.
"…No…"
Even with the blindfold—I could feel it.
He was looking at me.
The sword slid out further with a quiet metallic sound.
My body refused to move.
Cold sweat ran down my neck.
"…Ken…" I tried to call, but my voice barely came out.
He was too far.
The figure raised the sword. Slow. Controlled. Like it was natural to him.
Then he took one step forward.
That single step felt heavier than anything.
I couldn't breathe.
"…Stop…" I tried again, but no sound followed.
The blade lifted higher.
For a moment—everything went silent.
Then—
The train burst out of the tunnel.
Light flooded the carriage.
The darkness vanished.
The blue glow disappeared.
And the figure—
was gone.
Just like that.
I gasped, my legs slightly weak.
Everything returned to normal. People talking, scrolling, living like nothing happened.
But my hands were still shaking.
"…What… was that…"
Slowly, I turned toward Ken.
He was already looking at me.
Calm.
Watching.
"…You saw it," he said.
My chest tightened.
"…Ken, I—"
"Don't ask."
I froze.
"I know what you're going to ask," he continued. "I will tell you."
"…Then tell me."
"Not here."
"…Why?"
"Because this is not the place."
I clenched my fists.
"…Then when?"
"After we reach home."
He didn't say anything more.
And this time—
I couldn't argue.
The rest of the journey felt longer than usual. Every shadow felt wrong. Every reflection made me uneasy.
Ken remained silent.
We reached home.
The moment I stepped inside, I turned to him.
"…Now tell me."
"Be ready first."
"…What?"
"Wear something thick. It will be cold outside."
"…Outside? Where are we going?"
"You will see."
"…Ken—"
"Do it."
His voice was calm, but firm.
I didn't argue.
A few minutes later, I came back wearing a jacket.
"…Now tell me."
Ken looked at me.
This time, his expression was serious.
"…From now on," he said slowly, "I will train you."
"…Train me?"
"Yes."
"…For what?"
He paused for a moment.
"At first, I thought I could protect you. And finish my work quickly."
"…Your work?"
"It seems… I was wrong."
I didn't understand.
"…What are you talking about?"
He stepped closer.
"That day," he said quietly, "when you stepped into that train…"
My heart skipped.
"…You got connected."
"…Connected to what?"
He looked straight into my eyes.
"To the spirit world."
Silence filled the room.
"…That's not funny."
"I am not joking."
My throat felt dry.
"…Then what I saw…"
"…Was real."
My hands tightened.
"…Why me?"
"No idea."
"…That's not helpful."
"It is the truth."
I looked away, trying to process everything.
"…So… what happens now?"
Ken's voice turned colder.
"If you can see them… they can see you."
My chest tightened.
"…And if they see you…"
He looked directly at me.
"…They can harm you."
A chill ran down my spine.
"…Then that thing…"
"…Was going to attack me."
"Yes."
"…Why didn't it?"
Ken didn't answer immediately.
For a moment, he just looked at me—quiet, as if thinking.
Then he spoke.
"You already noticed something, didn't you?"
"…What?"
"That spirit… doesn't belong to this era."
I stayed silent.
"…Yeah," I said slowly. "It felt… old."
Ken nodded.
"It's a warrior spirit."
My chest tightened.
"…Warrior?"
"In the past, warriors would challenge others to prove their strength," he continued. "They believed no one could defeat them."
A small pause.
"He challenged you for the same reason."
"…Me?" I almost laughed nervously. "Why me?"
"Because you are human," Ken said calmly. "And you can see him."
Silence.
"That alone makes you… interesting to him."
My grip tightened slightly.
"…So that's it? He just decided to fight me?"
"Yes."
"…That's insane."
"It is."
I ran a hand through my hair.
"…Then what now?"
Ken looked at me directly.
"He will come again."
My heart skipped.
"…When?"
"In about a week."
The words felt heavy.
"…A week…"
"And when he comes," Ken continued, "he will expect you to fight."
I felt my chest tighten again.
"…I can't do that."
"You will."
Before I could respond—
Ken moved his hand.
Something flew toward me.
"Catch it."
I reacted on instinct and grabbed it.
A sword.
A real one.
The weight surprised me.
"…What—"
"Do you know how to use it?" Ken asked.
I looked down at the blade for a moment.
"…A little."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Explain."
I took a small breath.
"…I learned a bit when I was younger," I said. "I used to go to training classes."
A pause.
"…But I've never fought anyone with a real sword."
Ken nodded once.
"…That's enough."
"…That's enough?!" I looked at him. "Did you hear what I just said?"
"Yes."
"…Then why do you sound so calm?"
"Because panic won't help you."
I clicked my tongue softly.
"…So what now?"
Ken turned slightly and started walking.
"Come."
"…Where are we going?"
"To train."
"…Right now?"
"Yes."
I stared at him for a second.
"…You're serious."
"I always am."
I sighed and followed him.
The air outside was colder than before. The streets were quieter, almost empty. We walked for a while until the houses became fewer and an open ground appeared ahead.
A wide, empty field.
No lights.
No people.
Just silence.
Ken stopped.
"This will do."
I looked around.
"…You really picked a place where no one can hear me scream."
"That is useful."
"…You're not helping."
He ignored me.
"Stand properly."
"…What?"
"If you're going to survive," he said, turning toward me, "you need to stop looking like you're about to run."
I tightened my grip on the sword.
"…I'm not running."
"Your body says otherwise."
I frowned slightly.
"…Then what should I do?"
Ken stepped closer.
"First—stop thinking too much."
"…That's not easy."
Ken stepped back and looked at me.
"Show me what you know."
I didn't hesitate this time.
I adjusted my grip on the sword, my fingers settling into place naturally. My body shifted into stance almost on its own—feet balanced, shoulders relaxed, blade angled forward.
It felt… familiar.
Like something my body remembered even if my mind was unsure.
I moved.
A clean swing cut through the air.
Then another.
Controlled. Precise.
No hesitation.
The sound of the blade slicing through the air was sharp and steady.
Ken didn't interrupt.
So I continued.
A step forward. A turn. A diagonal strike.
Everything flowed better than I expected.
When I stopped, the silence around us felt heavier.
Ken watched me quietly.
"…Not bad," he said.
I exhaled lightly. "…That sounded like a compliment."
"It wasn't."
"…Of course."
He stepped closer.
"You have good basics. Your balance is stable. Your grip is correct."
A pause.
"But."
I sighed. "…There it is."
"You are still fighting like this is practice."
I frowned slightly. "…What does that mean?"
Ken raised his hand slightly—
then in an instant—
he moved.
I barely saw it.
A sharp motion—
and I reacted instinctively, lifting my sword to block.
Clang.
The impact rang through my arms.
My eyes widened slightly.
"…That was fast."
"You reacted," Ken said calmly. "Good."
I steadied myself.
"…So what's wrong then?"
"You stopped after the block."
I blinked.
"…What?"
"In a real fight, you don't stop."
Before I could respond—
he moved again.
This time, I was ready.
I blocked—
and immediately stepped forward, swinging back.
Ken tilted his head slightly and avoided it with minimal movement.
"…Better," he said.
I didn't stop.
I moved again.
Another strike.
Another step.
This time, I didn't wait.
I pushed forward.
Ken watched closely, dodging each movement with small, precise shifts.
"…Good," he said quietly.
"…Don't praise me like that, it feels fake."
"It is not praise."
"…Then what is it?"
"Observation."
"…That's worse."
For a brief moment—
a faint smile appeared on his face.
Then it disappeared.
"Again."
I tightened my grip.
This time—
I moved faster.
More confident.
The blade cut through the air smoothly.
Not perfect.
But not weak either.
Ken stopped me with a single motion.
His hand lightly pressed against the flat of my blade.
Everything stopped.
"…You learn quickly," he said.
I looked at him.
"…I had a good teacher before."
"Not good enough."
"…You're really hard to impress."
"I am not trying to be impressed."
A small silence passed.
"…Then what are you trying to do?"
Ken's eyes met mine.
"Keep you alive."
That shut me up.
For a moment, only the cold night air moved around us.
Then—
"…Again," he said.
I nodded.
This time—
I didn't feel unsure.
I didn't feel weak.
I raised the sword again.
Ready.