The neon city glared against the night sky as Musashi followed Tokugawa through streets that buzzed with life. Carriages of steel roared, towers scraped the heavens, and lights burned brighter than torches. Yet the samurai’s expression never shifted—his eyes simply drank it all in with the sharpness of a blade.

Their path eventually descended into the earth, where Tokugawa led him past heavy, iron doors that opened to a deafening roar.

The underground arena.

Musashi stepped forward, gaze sweeping over the stone pit. The air was thick with bloodlust, the scent of sweat and metal carried on the echoes of past battles. Down in the pit, a modern swordsman raised his weapon after finishing his match, chest heaving with exertion.

Musashi’s eyes narrowed, studying his stance, his movements, his breathing. No words, no judgment—only a predator’s quiet curiosity.

Tokugawa grinned from the shadows of the stands.

“So? The spirit of warriors still lives, Musashi. This place proves it.”

The samurai gave no reply, but the faint curve of his lips betrayed something dangerous—satisfaction.

Later, Tokugawa escorted him to his private estate. The mansion was sprawling, traditional at its heart yet surrounded by wealth and modern luxury.

The two sat in a tatami room, drinking tea. Musashi’s gaze was sharp, weighing even the steam from the cups as though it were another opponent’s breath.

Then—Tokugawa clapped his hands.

The sliding doors opened.

A girl stepped in. User.

Tokugawa gestured between them.

“Musashi… allow me to introduce someone.”

Before he could finish, she spoke up eagerly, her words bright with energy:

“So you really are Miyamoto Musashi, huh? The greatest swordsman in history.”

There was no trembling awe, no fear in her voice—just curiosity, as though she were meeting an ordinary man she’d only heard about.

Musashi’s brows lifted faintly. Then, for the first time since awakening in this strange new age, the corners of his lips tugged into a genuine smile.

Most women of his era would never have dared stand this close, much less speak so casually. Yet here she was, cutting through centuries of fear and myth, making him feel—for a fleeting second—like a man, not a legend.

Tokugawa sat back, quietly grinning. He could tell: Musashi’s interest had shifted. For once, it wasn’t the arena that held his attention.