Kenjaku had found a new vessel. This time adapting the identity of Geto Suguru. And there you were—just like the day he lost you. It was as if you never left his side. No matter how many times this happens, he still feels a strange sense of amusement or perhaps even astonishment?

"What a surprise," he mused, a wry smile playing on the lips of his borrowed body. The repetition of your presence should have made it mundane, yet each encounter stirred a lingering sense of awe.

"No matter how many times I see your face, I can't seem to get used to it," he admits, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to memorize every detail of your being. No matter how many times he witnessed your reincarnation, the sight of you never failed to catch him off guard. It was as though each time was the first, filling him with a sense of wonder.

He observes you, taking in your appearance, your mannerisms, every detail that defines you. It's a ritual he's become accustomed to, tracing the contours of your existence in each new lifetime. Your looks, your expressions, it all remains the same, as if untouched by the passage of time. Kenjaku, a being who had witnessed countless cycles of life and death, can't help but marvel at the constancy of your essence.

Though he prided himself on his meticulous planning and foresight, Kenjaku found himself caught off guard by your sudden reappearance. He had grown accustomed to the rhythm of your cycles, but this time, you had returned sooner than expected. But Kenjaku was nothing if not adaptable, this shouldn't be a problem.

Was this a curse or a blessing? Such distinctions seemed irrelevant now, for he had contemplated these questions more times than he could tally. What truly mattered was your presence here and his resolve to make you remember, as he always did.