Chapter 27: The First Realization
Sunlight trickled down through the dense canopy of the forest, golden rays falling like rivers of warmth upon the jungle floor. Birds chirped cheerfully, calling out to one another as the forest awoke. But Bokuro… was not in the mood for nature's beauty.
"Ughhh…" he groaned, rolling onto his side. His face was slightly squished against a jagged rock.
His body ached. His back felt bruised. And his mood? Rotten.
"This is the worst sleep I've ever had," Bokuro muttered, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His hair was messy, his eyes puffy. "I didn't sleep for a single second. Not one!"
He looked around the cave he had stayed in for the night. Moss, dirt, rocks, and a few branches surrounded him. The cold had crept in during the night, biting into his bones. And the ground — oh, the horrible ground — had been harder than any battlefield he'd trained on.
"This isn't a cave. This is a stone torture chamber," he grumbled. "I want a soft bed. I want my blanket. I want my pillow!"
He dramatically fell backward into the moss, groaning again.
write," he whimpered, mocking himself.
But after a few moments of wallowing, he sat up again and smacked his own cheeks.
"Okay. Focus. No one's going to come save you. You're here to become a B-Level Scriptor. So let's make this place better."
He jumped to his feet with new determination.
"Today, I build a bed! Soft-bed mission: Start!"
---
Making Comfort
Bokuro began collecting jungle ferns, wide leaves, and dry moss. He used thick branches to form a sort of hammock-style frame between two tree roots, layering the top with the leaves and moss for padding.
It wasn't luxurious, but compared to last night?
"Ten out of ten!" Bokuro grinned, flopping onto the new bed. "I could sleep here forever. Well… at least until I become a legendary Scriptor."
His stomach growled loudly.
"Okay, maybe not forever. Time for breakfast!"
He grabbed his pouch and walked deeper into the jungle in search of food. After spotting a few mushrooms and finding the same sour blue fruits from yesterday, he returned to his cave.
Using the flint stones again, he struck sparks onto dried bark, slowly blowing until a flame caught. He built a small fire and roasted the mushrooms over a sharpened stick.
Crunch.
"Hmm… edible."
---
The Mystery of the Others
As Bokuro sat cross-legged, chewing thoughtfully, a question suddenly hit him.
"Wait a second… where is everyone else?"
He hadn't seen a single other student. Not even a glimpse. There were supposed to be dozens of examinees like him, all scattered throughout the jungle. And yet, nothing.
No footsteps. No voices. No signs.
"Did I take the wrong path or something?" he wondered aloud.
Then it struck him — Kitsui's words from before the trial.
> "The forest is massive. But more than that, there's a special barrier around it. You won't be able to see the others, even if they're right beside you."
> "It's a spell — an invisible script cast by Master Rinjigo, the oldest Master alive."
Bokuro's eyes widened.
"That's it!"
It wasn't that the others weren't nearby — it was that they were hidden. The forest itself had a script over it, an illusion that blocked sight and presence from one another. A test of pure solitude.
"No wonder I felt alone. This isn't just about surviving the jungle… It's about surviving yourself."
---
Remembering Takiyu
Bokuro stood and wandered into the forest once more, but his excitement was now tinged with thoughtfulness.
"I have to make my Anthem… but what is it really?"
He had been asking this same question since yesterday. He had tried to distract himself with food, with sleep, even with bees. But deep inside, the question still gnawed at him.
What is an Anthem?
He climbed up a small slope, sat beneath a large tree, and looked at the sky through the leaves.
And then, in the silence, a memory returned.
Takiyu.
That strange, fierce man with sorrowful eyes and powerful words. In their last encounter, just before the battle… he had said something.
> "Your Anthem will shape your path. It's your soul's mirror. Write it with truth, or it will haunt you."
Bokuro's breath caught in his throat.
"That's right… Takiyu knew about Anthems. He understood it."
Bokuro clenched his fists.
"I was so stupid… thinking this was just some cool spell or power. The Anthem… it's more than that."
His thoughts swirled. Bits of training with Raiko, Master Yusugo's warnings, Kitsui's advice, Takiyu's words.
> "The Anthem is your truth."
Suddenly, Bokuro's legs gave way. He knelt before the tree, breathing heavily. Not from exhaustion — but from clarity.
---
The Spark of Creation
"I understand now…"
"The Anthem… it's a script written with your truest emotion. It's not copied. It's not taught. It's felt. It's the deepest part of yourself, turned into power."
He stood up, energized like never before.
"No more wasting time."
Bokuro dashed back to the cave. He threw down his pouch, pulled out his script book, his ink pot, and the old quill he carried from his father's bookstore.
He stood before a wide, ancient tree — its bark lined with cracks like wrinkles of wisdom.
He placed his palm against it.
"Let this be the place where I begin."
He sat down, legs crossed, heart pounding.
He opened the Script Book to the first blank page after his initiation line: I will not be broken.
He dipped the quill in ink.
And for a long moment… he did not move.
He thought of the bees. The sleepless night. The softness he missed. The laughter of friends now far away. His father's calm voice. His mother's lullabies. Takiyu's tragic eyes. Kitsui's precision. Nensudo's fire.
All of it.
Then, slowly, he placed the quill to the page.
He began to write.