Play with Mad Scientists!

In the house, a man in a chair was eager to carry out the work.

The man, wearing a grey dust hat with a wide tip and a prominent grey robe of flaking and dirt, is slightly stabbing a strange tool like a long needle many times in the eyeballs of his red eyes on his palms, whining something in his mouth with a small voice.

The man's age is probably in his late twenties. Her golden hair is long and straight up to her waist. The colour of the eyes is the same crimson as the eyes I have had. He was the owner of a delicate aesthetic, long faceted, long eyelashes, calm and gentle. You may also look like a woman if you just look at her face, but you can see that her physique is disappointing even from above the robe, which is entirely the man's.

"It's fixed. Your Devil's Eye"

Smiling gently, the man offered his eyes to the girl beside him. In his apprentice, the girl wore a robe matching his master, but this one was not wearing a hat.

"Stay thankful, Master"

When she receives her eyes from her master, the girl smiles uncontrollably and expresses her gratitude, placing it in her own eye hole. She stretched her brown hair to her shoulders and was a beautiful girl with different colors of skin than the man.

"So, what was the master's prediction?

The grin disappears from the man's face to the girl's question, turning into a face so serious and extreme that he hesitates to call it a true face. The girl was breathtaking, not only for the facial changes, but also for the sharpness of the man's eye.

"My hope may come true for a distant future"

When I heard the words from the man, the girl wondered if that was something to rejoice about, but I can't see anything like it at all from the master.

"Hmm? Didn't I predict it might come true?

"I saw one of the possibilities. I could see that the secret I was trying to knit was done by someone other than me."

A man closes his eyes. Predictive footage is clearly reflected in the back of the brain.

The figure of one boy was there. Black hair, black eyes. skin of colour that seems to be of the same race as the girl who is the disciple. An outfit I've never even seen. A sword that remains placed on a shaped sheath that has never been seen with both hands. Beauty with adorability and pride.

The clothes are torn all over and the blood bleeds out, bleeding out of the head as well and a few strips of red muscle dripping over its beauty. I heard that the boy was in the middle of a battle and was already full of creativity.

Before the boy, there was one girl. Another beautiful girl with thin, long hands and feet and long dark hair stretched to her feet. With a long wooden stick along the tip, the girl spread her mouth wide aside against the boy breathing rough in front of her, showing her teeth and making her laugh. Obviously, I heard you were relative to the boy.

The man knows who the boy is. And what the girl would do to the boy after this, the man had predicted.

(I mean, I have to be prepared as if I were going to follow this prediction now. To a distant future - a grand plan to entrust hope that will never come true in this world)

The man opened his eyes and glanced at the girl, a disciple.

(Let's ask this kid to help us, too. It could be harsh on her.)

A girl with eyes the same color as a teacher will wander through the years without knowing her teacher's thoughts or anything else.

That was about a thousand years ago.

Ohne field at the foot of the mountain. Before the harvest, radish leaves filled a side with blue until a few minutes ago. Now many of its radish leaves are dyed red.

Inside the field were buried countless corpses wrapped in armor. It seems that the word "corpse mountain blood river" is appropriate.

Only one of them, a bloody samurai, stands up and looks up to heaven with a ragged face.

Carry a pitch-black sword full of blood, with no helmet on. He's a tough looking man with long, hairy hair tied at the top of his head. I have wounds all over my body, and the amount of bleeding is good.

"Hey... Tired... Tired"

With his eyes on his feet, the long-haired samurai is falling at his feet, speaking to the samurai wearing the same armor as himself. This one is also wearing a helmet.

"I'm tired... are you alive?

"He's alive..."

A fallen samurai opens his closed eyes. His eyes were green, his skin was clear white, and he could be heard to be an Inhuman child. Around eleven or twelve when I was old. She looks beautiful enough to look like a girl, but half her face has mud attached to her when she fell, and the other half has blood attached to her return.

"Oh well. I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry... you son of a bitch. It's true for a guy like that gun. I don't even have to..."

To the words of the long-haired man, the boy called tired peeled his eyes.

"Your head... no..."

I see a bloody, rough breathing man, and tiredness rises with a sad face.

"Farewell. Take it... think it's me and take care of it."

Laughing powerlessly, the man called your head turns to tiredness and gives you a black sword.

My consciousness fades rapidly. When I felt death imminent and tried to say the final words to my tearful tiredness, my head's vision - no, my consciousness, was forcibly taken away by someone.

"What, this joke? Not in the afterlife. Come on."

Black-filled space. Among them, one man sat on his desk and chair thinking he was exotic. A red-eyed Inhuman with long blonde hair, with a long wooden cane with a twisted tip in his hand, in a strange gray covering.

"You finally showed up who you deserved. It was long."

Rising from the chair, the blonde red-eyed Inhuman showed a soft grin. I knew at first sight that he was not the only one, but his vigilance did not boil at all.

"I'm you. It's my residual thoughts from my previous life."

In that introduction of the Inhuman, your head broke through until the man applied his technique to his soul and left his consciousness and strength until after the reincarnation.

"The boulder is me. The discernment and swallowing are quick and helpful. Hundreds of years ago, I predicted. Thousands of years later, by an encounter, the research I crushed in the middle of my mind would be accomplished. No, it was impossible for me to see someone who had completed the procedure and met me by the guidance of destiny."

Your head immediately understood what the blonde man said about the research and what they meant. There is only one answer to purposefully keeping a record of consciousness, personality and power.

"You also leave the power you have polished with residual thought. At the end of the circle, there will always come a time when it will help."

"Were you waiting at the bottom of your consciousness until someone with the power you deserved showed up? To show up in the middle of death and remember my thoughts and powers."

"Exactly. The record of those who have power is as good as many. That strength is good if it is strong. For when you come..."

Although your head looked at the stranger with a frigid look on his face, he wasn't interested in the story, and there was no reason to reject it. Rather, I even found the story fascinating that I might be able to leave the power I polished intact.

That was about 500 years ago.

A space filled with black - present is a blonde red-eyed man in a robe sitting in a chair in front of a desk. On a tatami tatami, a black long-haired samurai with teapot and yuzu placed and rolled over with his armor tucked in.

It was the first time a visitor had visited there in hundreds of years and when it had stopped it moved.

"You're a monster."

A samurai groans when he sees a man with a cherry blossom colour who crawls in a pitch-black space.

It is human for once, but it is called body color, it is called a horn grown from the head or a wing grown from the back, and it is clearly not human. Her hair is red. Only the back of my hair is stretched to the root. He is bare except for a crude cloth wrapped around his waist. The figure is that of a man, but slightly thin and muscular, and the cherry blossom coloured skin emits a very smooth, glossy glow.

"Khuuuuuuuuuuu"

The cherry demon raises his face, roaring as if squeezing out the air, staring at the blonde man and the brunette samurai.

I strip my fangs, conceive my anger and intimidate her, but from what I've seen her face, she looks like she's still young. At first glance, he doesn't even seem to have eyes. Or the whole red eye is an eye, and you can't see the white eye.

"You're a pretty girl. But the power is amazing. Boulders are sometimes called emperors."

A blonde red-eyed man puts his hand next to his hat and smiles intriguingly.

"Sort of. I let the tired guy get over there. Does this guy make sense to you?

"Even if the words don't make sense, you'll know it by heart. Because we're the same person."

"That's right if you ask me. Which..."

A brunette samurai meditates with her face facing a cherry blossom demon. The demon closed his eyes and stopped roaring as if to go with it, becoming a serene face.

"Well, if I try this, I'll know everything he thinks. Easy to pass on. Is that obvious? Because I have the same soul."

The cherry blossom demon has already de-alerted. I could see who the two people who showed up before me were, and what could I do for you?

That was about a hundred and sixty years ago.