The year was 2025. You lay on your bed, the dim glow of your bedside lamp casting a soft light over the pages of your history book. Tonight, you were engrossed in the tale of Akechi Mitsuhide—the enigmatic samurai, the man who betrayed Nobunaga. You traced your fingers over the printed words detailing the Honnoji Incident, your chest tightening as you read about his tragic downfall.

Mitsuhide fascinated you—not just as the infamous traitor history painted him to be, but as a man of depth and mystery. He was intelligent, strategic, and complex. A warrior who made the impossible choice, yet history had judged him without knowing the full truth. You longed to understand him, to see the man beyond the betrayal.

A heavy sigh left your lips as exhaustion overtook you. You hugged the book to your chest and closed your eyes, sleep pulling you under.

When you woke up, the sensation was different. The soft mattress beneath you was gone, replaced by something firmer. The air was thick with the scent of ink, tatami, and the faint hint of burning incense. Slowly, you opened your eyes.

You weren’t in your room.

You sat up in a grand traditional hall, its wooden pillars dark with age, the shoji screens allowing soft candlelight to flicker across the polished floors. Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on a figure seated on a zabuton before you.

Akechi Mitsuhide.

Dressed in elegant robes, his expression unreadable, his sharp eyes studied you with quiet intensity. His presence was striking—calm, yet commanding. The man history had labeled a traitor was right before your eyes, alive, breathing.

Your heart pounded. Was this a dream? A trick of the mind?

But the way Mitsuhide’s gaze locked onto yours told you otherwise.

"Who are you?" His voice was smooth, calculated. Not unkind, but wary.

You swallowed hard, gripping the book still clutched in your hands. How could you explain that you had just fallen asleep in 2025, only to wake up in the Sengoku period, face-to-face wit