The library of the Satori family estate was unlike any collection of knowledge that had ever existed in Shin's previous world.
Towering shelves of crystalline bookcases reached toward a domed ceiling painted with constellations that actually moved, tracking the real positions of stars in the night sky above.
Books bound in materials ranging from ordinary leather to scales shed by ancient mythical creatures filled every available space, their spines etched with titles in glowing script that shifted languages depending on who viewed them.
At three years old, Seiya could already read at a level that astounded his tutors. His small frame perched on a floating cushion that hovered at just the right height near one of the grand reading tables, where an enormous tome lay open before him.
The book was taller than he was, its pages crafted from a material that resembled parchment but was cool to the touch like metal.
The Complete Taxonomy of Yuusuatouri Peoples: Volume III – The Legends.
For weeks now, Seiya had been drawn to this particular book, requesting it specifically during his study hours.
His parents had exchanged meaningful glances when he first asked for it by its exact title, as if he had somehow known it existed among the tens of thousands of books in their collection.
"Young master, perhaps something more suitable for your age?" his tutor, Scholar Kenzo, had suggested on the first day.
"This is graduate-level material from the Grand Academy."
But Seiya had simply looked at him with those mismatched eyes—one gold like his father's—and said with unexpected clarity: "I need to understand what I am as a Legend."
Now, as afternoon light filtered through the crystal windows of the library, casting rainbow patterns across the polished stone floor, Seiya turned the massive pages with careful concentration.
The book responded to his touch in ways it wouldn't for others, the text enlarging slightly when he leaned closer, the illustrations shifting to show different angles when his fingers traced their outlines.
As he read, something stirred within the depths of his consciousness—a presence separate yet intertwined with his own awareness.
It had been there for as long as he could remember, growing stronger as his infant mind developed neural pathways capable of supporting more complex thought.
By now, it felt as natural as breathing, this other awareness that seemed to know things he couldn't possibly have learned yet.
Shin.
The name had floated to him in dreams first, then in quiet moments of reflection. A name that belonged to him but also didn't—like an old, comfortable garment that had been handed down from someone else.
Today, as he read about the origins of the Legends, that presence within him seemed more alert than ever, drinking in every word on the page with a hunger that matched his own curiosity.
The book's text glowed faintly as he read one particular passage aloud, his childish voice carrying a gravity beyond his years:
"The Legends are not the product of evolution as commonly understood, but rather the ultimate expression of the universe's natural engineering."
"Their genetic structure is a composite of all living beings—flora and fauna alike—not merely existing in harmony with nature but embodying the entirety of life's cycle. They are, in essence, the universe's perfect creation."
As Seiya spoke these words, the air around him seemed to vibrate slightly, and the birthmark on his chest—usually concealed beneath his fine linen tunic—began to pulse with gentle light.
"Young master?" Scholar Kenzo looked up from his own work at a nearby desk, sensing the subtle change in the room's atmosphere.
Seiya didn't respond immediately. His eyes had taken on a distant quality, as if he were looking at something far beyond the library walls. Inside his mind, memories that were not his own began to crystallize with sudden clarity.
...
Shiratori Shin's life has been nothing short of a tragedy. Born with a rare genetic disorder causing extreme fragility in his bones and tissues, he was abandoned at birth by parents unwilling to care for a child with such severe disabilities.
His childhood was marked by constant transfers between understaffed orphanages and abusive foster homes, where his physical limitations made him an easy target for cruelty and neglect.
Despite his brilliant mind, Shin's opportunities were severely limited by his condition. By his early thirties, he lives alone in a dilapidated apartment, surviving on minimal government assistance and occasional remote data entry work.
His only escape from his painful reality is through fantasy novels and elaborate worlds he creates in his imagination—worlds where he isn't defined by his broken body.
The fever came that night, wrapping his thoughts in cotton wool and blurring the boundaries between reality and dreams.
Shin lay on his futon, too weak to reach his phone on the desk just two meters away—it might as well have been on another planet.
In his delirium, the walls of his apartment seemed to shimmer and shift, revealing glimpses of crystal spires and floating islands. The world of Yuusuatouri bled through the cracks of reality, beckoning him.
"Not real," Shin murmured, his lips cracked and dry.
"Just stories."
But as consciousness slipped further from his grasp, the distinction seemed less important. The pain in his chest eased as his breathing grew shallower.
The cold that had been his enemy now wrapped around him like a numbing blanket, bringing a strange comfort.
I'm dying, he realized with odd clarity. There was no fear in the thought, only a distant sadness that his existence would end as it had been lived—alone and unremarkable.
As darkness gathered at the edges of his vision, Shin's gaze fell on the open pages of Yuusuatouri: The Beginning of a Legend beside his futon.
The illustration showed the great Tree of Worlds at the center of Yuusuatouri, its branches extending into different realms, its roots drawing strength from the collective dreams of all living beings.
With the last of his strength, Shin reached out a trembling hand toward the book.
"Just once," he whispered, his voice barely a breath.
"Just once, I want to know what it feels like... to be whole. To be strong. To matter."
...
"Seiya? Are you well?" Scholar Kenzo's voice pulled him back to the present. The tutor had risen from his desk and was approaching with concern written across his features.
Seiya blinked, the dual awareness in his mind settling into a new equilibrium. For the first time, he fully understood what he was—a vessel containing two souls now merging into one consciousness.
The soul of Seiya, child of the Legends, and the reincarnated soul of Shiratori Shin, who had wished so desperately to live in this world.
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice steady despite the monumental realization. "I just... remembered something important."
Kenzo studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. After three years as Seiya's tutor, he had learned that the child often experienced insights that defied explanation.
"Would you like to continue your reading, or shall we move on to elemental theory?" he asked.
"Reading, please," Seiya replied, his small fingers trailing over the elaborate illustration of a Legend in various stages of life.
"I want to understand everything about the Lenergy system."
Kenzo settled back at his desk, though he kept a watchful eye on his unusual pupil. Seiya returned his attention to the book, now reading with the combined interest of both the child prodigy and the reincarnated soul who had once only dreamed of this world.