The inn's dining room was silent, broken only by the steady sound of a spoon gently tapping against the rim of a pot.
Liza moved naturally between the table and the improvised stove, focused on the food with a seriousness that needed no words. There was no tension in her movements, but neither was there carelessness. She treated it as seriously as any other task.
Tama and Pochi helped her with different chores. One washed, the other handed over ingredients, exchanging quick glances and quiet comments. Smiles adorned their faces as they worked together with fluid ease. It was a contained, fragile calm, as if all of them knew that this moment would not repeat itself many more times. Even Hans was helping, moving with great speed and precision.
Satoru watched from his seat.
Without intervening. Without speaking.
He was thinking about the fight tomorrow—more specifically, about his role in it.
He could stand up and leave right now. He could disappear from the city before dawn fully settled, ignore the appointment, ignore the hero, ignore the world.
Nothing prevented him from doing so.
From a strictly practical point of view, the fight made no sense. He gained nothing from it, nor did it resolve any immediate threats. Even now, with what he had learned from the witch, with the recovery of his mana no longer being a real issue, the confrontation wouldn't even pose a risk.
He could avoid it all.
That certainty brought him no relief.
The spoon struck the pot again. Liza tasted the contents, frowned for a second, and added something more. Tama watched her with curiosity, and Pochi leaned forward slightly, waiting for final approval.
Satoru looked away.
Why fight? It wasn't pride. It wasn't duty. It wasn't bloodlust.
It was something else.
Too little time had passed since his birth to call it experience, but enough for certain wounds to no longer close completely. He had learned that running away wasn't always the same as surviving. That avoiding a confrontation didn't mean it ceased to exist.
And above all, he had learned that not all defeats were measured in physical damage.
He had lost ground against the woman with the sword. Not because she was stronger, but because she was better. Because her body knew things his still didn't. Because her determination didn't break even when the outcome was already decided.
That memory did not leave him.
Not as trauma.
As a thorn.
A thorn that stirred his curiosity.
He wanted to know.
He wanted to confirm whether she, like a hero, had been an exception… or a warning.
His thoughts stopped when Liza and Hans carried the plates to the table one by one. Steam rose slowly, filling the space with a simple, comforting aroma. Tama was the first to sit down. Pochi followed, all of them looking at Satoru, waiting for him to mark the appropriate moment.
Satoru picked up the utensils.
For an instant, the scene was almost normal.
They ate in silence. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everyone knew that any word would divert attention from the inevitable.
When they finished, Pochi hesitated for a moment before speaking.
She looked at Tama and the others in the room, then finally at Satoru.
"Master…" she said. "Could you… read to us today?"
The question was simple and innocent, as it always was.
Satoru looked at her for a few seconds.
"Yes," he replied.
He added nothing more.
Later, when the room fell back into half-light and the book rested closed on the table, Satoru remained seated for a moment longer, unmoving.
The fight could be avoided.
He knew it, and yet he couldn't help but anticipate it. A faint sensation of longing and expectation vibrating within him.
***
In the castle hall, the atmosphere was different, but no less tense.
The tables were full. Aside from Hayato, everyone present was a woman of considerable beauty—a lineup that combined attractiveness and strength. They were his teammates, for the most part, and each of them could be considered an elite member.
Various dishes were served before them with care: spiced aromas, well-cut meats, side dishes that spoke of a place accustomed to receiving important guests. Even so, no one seemed to have much of an appetite.
Except Hayato.
"Ahhh… now this is good," he said honestly, taking another bite. "Who cooked this?"
His movements didn't stop as several glances crossed around the table.
Ringrande sighed, resting her elbow with enough force for the metal of her armor to give a faint ring.
Maryest Saga, seated not far from him, watched him with an uncomfortable mix of relief and concern.
"Honestly…" she murmured. "How can you eat like that right now?"
"Huh?" Hayato looked up. "While hungry?"
No one laughed.
Rusus crossed her arms, her tail rigid. Fifi played idly with one of her knives, spinning it between her fingers. Even Loleiya, who usually maintained a serene expression, had her lips pressed tight.
Hayato swallowed, looked around, and finally set the utensils down.
"Alright, alright…" he said. "I guess I can't pretend nothing's happening forever."
Maryest was the first to speak.
"Are you really going alone?" she asked. "Against that man."
She didn't need to say the name.
"Yes," Hayato replied lightly, a smile forming on his face. "It was a promise between men."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Ringrande narrowed her eyes.
"That's the cheapest excuse I've ever heard," she said. "And I've traveled with you for years."
"Hey, hey," he protested. "Don't be so harsh."
"Do you think this is funny?" she pressed. "You disappear in the middle of the night, force an evacuation, make half the city panic… and then come back saying you're going to fight something as dangerous as a Demon King on your own."
Hayato scratched the back of his neck.
"Well, when you put it like that…"
"Is it because you don't trust us?" Maryest interjected, more quietly. "Or because you've already decided that one of us will die if we go with you?"
That silenced him.
Hayato lowered his gaze to the plate.
For a moment, he seemed to search for a joke. He didn't find one.
"I don't want to lose anyone again," he said.
The sentence fell without embellishment. Without drama. Without the cheerful tone he usually used even in the worst moments.
"I'm not saying I'm going to die," he added. "Though… well, I can't promise it won't happen." He smiled faintly. "But if something goes wrong, I'd rather it be just me."
"You're an idiot," Ringrande said.
"That we already know," Fifi added.
Hayato let out a short laugh.
"I know we've all prepared to face a Demon King someday… but this goes beyond that."
No one answered right away.
Maryest pressed her fingers against the table.
"That man…" she said at last. "Is he really that dangerous?"
Hayato looked up.
For the first time since his return, his expression wasn't light.
"Yes," he answered. "He is."
Not like a demon, not like a perverse creature that only sought to cause pain and suffering.
Not like a chaotic villain.
Hayato took a second before continuing, as if searching for a way to say it without exaggeration.
He lifted his gaze toward them.
"I've seen demons. All of us here have seen them. We know how they think—vile beings that delight in chaos and fear." He shook his head slowly. "With him, there's none of that."
Ringrande frowned.
"Then what is it that worries you?"
Hayato let out a short, humorless laugh.
"He's… like a natural disaster. Strong, destructive, and inevitable. When I saw him, I couldn't even see his 'status,' but it didn't matter. Just standing in front of him was enough to understand the difference between us. For an instant… I knew I would die if I fought him right there."
Silence settled over the table.
"Satoru doesn't act out of hatred. He doesn't seek conquest, nor does he desire revenge. He does things because they benefit him, and he cuts through whatever stands in his way." He paused. "Like a dragon."
One of them tightened her grip on the edge of her plate.
Dragons were, without question, the most powerful beings in the world—stronger even than heroes and Demon Kings.
Heroes from another world, though powerful, were not invincible or untouchable. The idea that "good always triumphs over evil" did not hold up against what history had shown.
Heroes had been defeated. Demon Kings had prevailed.
And in those situations, it was always a dragon that ended the life of that Demon King.
Dragons were the symbol of invincibility—forces of nature that could not, and should not, be provoked under any circumstances.
So why did Hayato insist on fighting Satoru?
"If I go with others, this stops being a conversation—a duel between two—and becomes an incident," he said, taking a deep breath. "If we all die, there'll be no one left to warn the empire, and they'll just try again, getting in his way by summoning another hero to replace me."
He lifted his gaze.
"I don't want to defeat him. I want the world to understand what he is… before it's too late."
Hayato knew his words alone wouldn't be enough. Though strong and well known, his influence was limited. The only way his warning would be taken seriously was if there were enough witnesses.
Hayato had not been to Seiryuu. He didn't know the state of the forest beyond the reports he had received, but even if only half of them were true, it would be enough.
Satoru's abilities were still wrapped in mystery. No one knew the circumstances of his battle with the unidentified hero, nor which of the two had been primarily responsible for the devastation.
But Hayato was willing to bet it had been the man in this city.
Ringrande clicked her tongue.
"And you think going alone changes anything?"
Hayato tilted his head.
"It's the only way I have to make them listen," he replied. "And to walk away alive if I decide to withdraw."
He didn't say it with confidence.
He said it like someone accepting a risk.
"If I die, at least the empire will know it has to wait until the new hero grows stronger. If I survive, I might be able to stop contact between the Saga Empire and Satoru."
Ringrande watched him in silence.
"You're an idiot," she said at last.
Hayato smiled by reflex.
Ringrande clicked her tongue again.
"And yet you still want us to let you go."
"Yes."
A long silence followed.
Finally, she stood up and rapped him on the head with her knuckles—hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to injure.
"You'd better come back," she said. "Because if you die out there, we'll find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you myself."
Hayato laughed.
"I'll do my best."
Maryest lowered her gaze, resigned.
"Then… at least let us prepare an escape plan."
Hayato smiled, this time with genuine gratitude.
"That, I'll accept."
***
The path to the north gate was completely empty. This time, there were no spies, no signs of life anywhere in the city.
Satoru walked at the front, his pace steady.
Liza was at his side, just a little behind. Tama and Pochi followed them in silence, attentive to every gesture, every word that had yet to be spoken. Hans remained within his shadow, discreet and vigilant, as always.
Satoru was the first to speak when the gates came into view.
"You can stay here," he said, without turning around. "There's no need to go any farther."
His words were not an order, nor a warning. It was an option offered with naturalness and understanding.
Liza stopped for a moment.
She looked at Satoru's back, then at the road stretching ahead toward the north gate. Her answer came without delay.
"Please allow me to accompany you," she said.
Her voice didn't tremble.
Satoru turned his head just enough to glance at her.
"You won't fight."
Liza nodded immediately.
"I know."
She didn't try to argue. She never did. It wasn't false modesty or forced resignation. It was a truth she had accepted long ago. Even if she aspired to be his "spear," his guardian, the trials her master faced went far beyond what she could handle.
"I won't get in the way either," she added. "I just… want to be present."
Satoru watched her for another second, evaluating something that had nothing to do with strength or immediate usefulness.
"If I allow you to come, Hans would have to stay with you," he said. "That leaves me with less margin."
Liza pressed her lips together.
There it was. The point that hurt wasn't just being unable to help, but being a burden to her lord.
"I know," she replied. "And I'm sorry."
She lowered her gaze slightly—not out of shame, but contained frustration.
"If I were stronger… if I could be useful to you like he is… you wouldn't have to choose."
She didn't raise her voice. There was no reproach. Only a bitter acknowledgment.
Liza had been born to fight—but not at this level. She knew it. She had felt it before, and she felt it now. Between her and Satoru there was a distance that couldn't be closed with effort or willpower. It was an absolute gap.
"Even so," she continued, "staying behind again…" She stopped, took a deep breath. "I don't want this to become a habit."
She could have asked him to ignore her safety, but she knew her master—despite his cold tone—wouldn't accept that decision. And she herself couldn't endanger the girls.
In the end, she could only ask for the chance to accompany him, because without that… if she couldn't even do that, she saw no value in continuing at his side.
Satoru didn't respond immediately.
Tama took a small step forward, carefully.
"Tama wants to go too!"
Pochi nodded beside her, silent, with a quiet determination that didn't ask for permission—only understanding.
Satoru looked at them.
Not as pieces to evaluate, nor as burdens to carry, but as what they were: people who had chosen to walk at his side knowing the path was not safe.
The scale of power this time, though lower than the fight that night, was still so far beyond them that a single stray blow—even a casual one—would be enough to end their lives.
That was why Hans would have to focus on protecting them.
Especially because the greatest "danger" in this fight wasn't Hayato, but Satoru himself, who still couldn't say with confidence that he had overcome his own carelessness and deficiencies.
Objectively, Satoru knew bringing them along was a suboptimal decision.
And yet…
"Alright," he said at last.
There was no emphasis. No solemnity.
"But you stay back."
Liza lifted her head.
"Yes."
She added nothing more. Not because she didn't want to, but because there was no need. That was the most she could ask for. That was, for her, service.
Satoru resumed walking.
Liza followed him.
Not because she could protect him.
Not because she could fight for him.
But because, in that moment, accompanying him was the only thing she could offer… and the only thing he was willing to accept.
***
The midday sun fell unobstructed.
The area was clear, as if life itself had decided to step aside. The wind barely stirred the dry grass along the road, and nothing else.
Hayato Masaki was already there, standing with his blue armor reflecting the light as if there were no concern in his posture at all. When he saw the group approaching, he raised a hand and waved energetically.
"Hey!" he called out. "I thought you'd changed your mind."
Satoru stopped a few steps away.
"I arrived at the agreed time."
Hayato blinked, glanced up at the sky for a second, then let out a short laugh.
Indeed, Satoru had arrived exactly on time—not a minute early or late.
"Now that's… punctual."
Unsure how to continue, his eyes slid backward, openly curious as they took in the group. Liza stood with firm bearing, her hands relaxed but ready; Pochi and Tama at her side, attentive.
"I thought you'd come alone," Hayato commented.
"They insisted," Satoru replied without detour. "I was expecting you to do the same."
Hayato turned his head, observing the empty terrain around them, then smiled faintly.
"I promised it would be just between us." He shrugged. "I don't like dragging others into things that might go wrong."
He didn't say it with drama. It was a simple statement.
Then he looked back at the demi-humans, tilting his head.
"Though…" he added, "I'm a little worried about hurting them by accident."
For Hayato, that would have been an unforgivable crime—especially with cute lolis involved.
"That won't be necessary."
Hayato raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? It won't?"
"Your strength would be lethal to them," Satoru continued, "but it isn't to me."
The comment landed without emphasis, without provocation. Simply as a fact.
Hayato clicked his tongue, feigning annoyance.
"Hey, that hurts."
Then he smiled and raised a hand theatrically.
"What if I take one as a hostage?" he joked. "You know, classic tactic when you know you're losing."
Satoru shook his head slowly.
"You wouldn't do that."
Hayato froze for a second.
"You that sure?"
"If you had ill intentions," Satoru replied, "you would have acted last night. When no one was watching."
He fell silent for a moment, then added,
"I haven't thanked you for that."
Hayato opened his mouth… and said nothing.
He scratched the back of his neck, looked away, then let out a frank laugh.
"Well, damn…" he murmured. "You really aren't anything like what I imagined."
He straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped back, naturally shedding the light tone of the conversation.
"Well," he said, "I guess we've talked enough."
He pointed the great sword at Satoru. The blade flashed briefly, and on his other arm a broad shield took shape in a short burst of light.
"I hope you'll be kind to me."
Satoru didn't respond immediately.
He brought his hand to the hilt of the sword he had been holding all this time, calmly removed the black wrappings that covered it, and revealed the clear metal beneath, marked by a design that didn't belong to this land.
"We'll see," he said simply.
His tone wasn't defiant, but it wasn't a promise either. It was just an honest answer.
The wind blew again between them.
And the distance separating them stopped feeling like empty space.
Hayato was the first to move.
He didn't shout or give any visible signal. He simply advanced, the weight of his body falling forward with decision, the sword tracing a direct line toward Satoru.
Satoru answered with a lateral cut.
There was no tension in the movement. He didn't speed up or change posture. The blade moved as if it were following the air, with no apparent intent to dominate.
Hayato raised the shield by reflex, planning to absorb the blow and counter in the same motion.
Then he felt the tingling at the back of his neck. His instinct screamed before his mind could.
He halted his advance, braced his body, and took the impact head-on.
The clash wasn't clean.
The shield vibrated violently, and the blow tore through the guard as if it had struck a battering ram. Hayato let out an involuntary grunt, his feet sliding backward as he was pushed past his original position, leaving clear marks in the dry earth.
He stopped with difficulty, breathing hard.
"Hey…" he muttered, shaking his arm. "I thought you were going to take it easy."
Satoru didn't advance.
"I warned you," he replied. "Not taking advantage of an opening is also 'taking it easy.'"
Hayato stared at him for a second, then rolled his eyes.
"How considerate," he said, with tired sarcasm.
Hayato drew a deep breath.
He adjusted his grip on the sacred sword and braced the shield against his forearm, lowering his center of gravity slightly. The change was subtle, but enough to keep him from being repelled again.
Satoru responded at the same time.
He leveled his sword, his free arm close to his torso, legs set apart with a natural stance that didn't seek to impose itself. His flank looked open, almost careless… but the previous impact had made it clear there was no harmless part to him.
This time, they both lunged at once.
The clash was immediate.
Steel against steel, shield spinning, short and violent steps colliding in a space far too small for the weight of the blows. Neither sought distance. There was no long probing or circling: they pressed forward directly, as if the terrain itself didn't exist.
***
From a distance, the demi-humans witnessed the battle.
For Tama and Pochi, everything happened too fast.
They saw flashes, movements overlapping one another, strikes that seemed to stop halfway only to reappear from another angle. The sound of metal colliding multiplied, mixing with gusts of wind that didn't come from the sky, but from the bodies in motion.
Tama blinked several times, trying to follow them.
But she couldn't.
Every time she thought she understood an exchange, another was already happening. Hayato's sword appeared where it shouldn't be. Satoru's blade slid without following clear trajectories. There were no pauses, no rhythm she could recognize.
Pochi clenched her teeth.
She couldn't see clear strikes—her eyes weren't that sharp—but she could feel the ground tremble beneath her feet.
Liza could follow more.
Not everything, but enough.
She saw how attacks brushed past without fully closing, how both corrected their movements at the last instant, how every strike that seemed decisive was deflected or avoided. It wasn't a chaotic fight—it was far too precise for that.
Even so, neither was landing a true hit.
The wind exploded around them like an invisible wave. Grass was torn from the ground, earth lifted in dry fragments, and the road became marked with irregular cracks at every crossing of weapons. There was no magic, no visible skills… and yet the environment yielded.
Liza tightened her grip on the spear.
She didn't look away for even a second.
Every time Satoru advanced, the air seemed to compress. Every time Hayato responded, the impact shook the space as if they were striking something more than each other.
It was obvious.
They were measuring each other.
The exchange continued—fast, brutal—without either gaining a real advantage. There were no injuries, no blood. But the terrain already no longer resembled what it had been moments before.
For Pochi, this was already beyond any fight she had ever seen.
For Tama, it was an incomprehensible dance she could only watch in silence.
For Liza… it was an uncomfortable truth.
Even restrained, even holding back, this was far beyond her reach.
And still, she didn't look away.
***
Satoru felt the discordance before he fully understood it.
"No," he told himself. "Not like this."
The cut was corrected midway.
The angle shifted too late, seeking a more aggressive trajectory. The movement gained intent… but that last-second change gave Hayato time to guard himself, the shield deflecting the impact with a solid sound.
Satoru didn't react.
His attention was no longer on the immediate exchange, but on the dissonance that had become impossible to ignore.
Dark Wisdom was a convenient ability.
By killing a target, Satoru could obtain their knowledge and experiences, as long as they were compatible with the YGGDRASIL system. Thanks to it, he had acquired complete alchemical formulas, advanced magical theories, and spells he mastered almost immediately.
But Dark Wisdom was neither a memory collector nor a devourer of skills.
It didn't transfer innate talent, bodily instinct, or discipline forged through years of lived experience. What it granted was understanding, not mastery.
That was why—though he didn't know her name—the image of that woman remained.
That night, the sword hadn't been just a weapon. Every movement had been chained to the next with a precision that didn't rely on thought. There were no late corrections, no forced adjustments. The body knew what to do before the mind intervened.
Satoru had processed his magical knowledge almost completely.
But in close combat, his progress was different.
When he had faced her, he had barely been able to endure. Now it was different: he could follow the exchange, correct himself, and remain standing. But that didn't mean equality.
Satoru still moved several steps below her. He had advanced, yes—but not enough to close the gap. In another confrontation, the result wouldn't change: he would still be outmatched, only this time he wouldn't be nullified from the very first clash.
He had tried to make that knowledge part of himself, but there was simply something preventing it.
That was one of the reasons he was here.
That was why he had accepted this duel.
He hoped Hayato would fill that void.
***
As the exchange continued, Hayato couldn't help but feel that something didn't add up.
The strikes were precise. The defenses, timely. The rhythm, stable.
Too stable.
Hayato responded well, moved decisively, and defended each attack with judgment.
But there was no constant pressure. He didn't feel that sense of inevitability. He didn't feel the fatal certainty he had expected.
Before arriving, he had imagined a desperate struggle for survival. Instead…
The expectation began to crack—and with it, an idea.
Hayato stepped back.
Then another.
It wasn't disorderly, nor a hasty retreat. It was the kind of fallback he knew well, the one he used when he needed space to breathe and think. The exchange had been intense, but not overwhelming. He could keep up. He could still read the movements.
That mattered.
He wasn't being suppressed.
Satoru advanced, forceful and decisive. His strikes were as fast as an assassin's and as heavy as a giant's.
But manageable.
Hayato could be carefree, but he was also fully aware of his own capabilities. And so, when he began searching for reasons behind the battle's outcome, he didn't take long to find one.
Hayato clenched his teeth.
So that's how it is.
Maybe he still hadn't pushed hard enough.
He feigned a stumble.
The movement was brief, barely an apparent error in his footing. His stance opened just enough to seem vulnerable, and he took another step back, as if losing ground.
Satoru responded.
The cut came straight in, aiming to close the distance.
There!
[Heavy Strike!]
Hayato's sword flashed.
A dark glimmer ran along the blade as he activated a battle skill, and in the same motion he raised the weapon to strike from the side, deflecting both the attack and Satoru's arm.
The blow was clean. Satoru's sword was knocked aside with enough force to open his line.
His body was exposed.
Hayato didn't hesitate.
Mana enveloped his body as a second skill activated, blue light intensifying as he advanced with the full weight of his body behind the attack.
"I'll take the first hit!" he shouted, more from impulse than challenge.
The sword came down.
The impact was solid.
The sound rang out clearly—dry, decisive. Dust rose around them, the earth yielding under the force of the strike. Hayato felt the vibration run up his arms.
I did it.
For an instant, that was the sensation.
And then the world changed.
There was no explosion.
There was no scream.
The dust began to settle… and then didn't fall the same way.
The air grew dense, heavy, as if something invisible had descended upon the place. Hayato felt a familiar pressure—and at the same time, something completely unlike anything he had ever experienced.
It wasn't hostility.
It wasn't killing intent.
Power—suffocating and dark. It was as if he were suddenly standing with water up to his neck.
Hayato swallowed.
Only then did he realize Satoru hadn't moved.
The sword had struck.
But it had done no damage.
Silence spread between them.
It wasn't an empty silence. It was heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself refused to move. Hayato felt the pressure settle over his body slowly—not like a sudden blow, but like something accumulating second by second.
Breathing became difficult.
Not because there was no air, but because every breath demanded more effort than it should have. His muscles tensed without his command, instinct screaming that something was terribly wrong.
Satoru merely narrowed his eyes.
His presence became clearer, more defined. There was no rage in it. No intent to kill. It was something far more uncomfortable than that.
Disappointment.
The sensation was like an adult watching a child make a mistake in a task. There was no immediate punishment—only the certainty of having failed.
Hayato clenched his teeth.
He had wanted to provoke this. He had wanted to force him to reveal his true level.
But not like this.
"So then…" Satoru said, his tone perfectly calm. "Is this all you can do?"
The sentence wasn't raised. It wasn't cruel. It carried no contempt.
It was an evaluation.
The world seemed to shrink.
Before Hayato could react, Satoru had already moved.
The cut was clean.
A single horizontal slash, straight toward the neck.
Hayato felt the cold of the blade before he understood what had happened. The sword passed—and an instant later, heat.
Blood burst forth immediately, spilling from side to side as his body recoiled by reflex. Hayato brought a hand to his neck, his fingers soaking red as the ground received the first drops.
The pain came late, dulled by shock.
Satoru stopped, with no desire to move.
******
Author's Note
This chapter was difficult to write.
There were many things I wanted to do with it, many ideas and nuances I would have liked to develop better, but the truth is that you don't always have the skill, clarity, or creativity needed to take everything as far as you imagine. So I did the best I could with what I had at the time.
Satoru is a character I built to go far. He has power, he has knowledge, he has a clear logic… but he doesn't have a heart. And I think that is the most important word in this story: heart.
What he desires, why he desires it, and how he desires it.
Satoru acts out of interest and curiosity. He fights because he wants to understand, because he wants to test, because he wants to confirm something that is missing within him. He does not fight for ideals or duty, and he does not pretend to.
Hayato, on the other hand, is a much simpler man. Lively, heroic, and, at his core, a good person. He cares about his companions, values his position as a hero, and genuinely strives to be the best hero he can be. He fights out of duty.
He is willing to put his life at risk for something as seemingly foolish as "delivering a message." Not to the enemy, but to himself. Knowing when to fight. Knowing when to retreat.
Hayato has always felt like a very complete character to me, at least when he acts seriously. He is young, but he never hesitates about what he wants to do, how he wants to do it, or why. Half of his life has been spent in this world, and he was forced to mature here, experiencing the most important moments of his life in a fantasy world that offered him very few concessions.
And yet, he never forgot his origins. He didn't forget who he was, what he liked, or what motivated him. He learned to fulfill his duty as a hero not merely as an ideal or as a monster hunter, but as something closer to a champion. A symbol of humanity.
I don't remember much about Hayato in the original material, I admit that. But I always felt he was there to show someone who consciously used his strength with responsibility. Someone who might have been meant as a contrast. Perhaps even as a test of what a hero truly is.
After all, Satou used to wear the "hero" role like a mask. A disguise he put on when it suited him, when he didn't want to carry the consequences of his actions or his power.
I would have liked someone like Hayato to interact more with Satoru. But I suppose that is something left for the future.
For now, this was what I could write.