By the standards of even the Tokugawa family, the artefact Mitsunari sought was difficult to procure.

It was only after many meandering, frustrating phone calls that he had even managed to locate his quarry. Sealed in a glass chamber filled with inert gases at the University of Warsaw in Poland, a visitation to such a piece of history was not something anyone other than the tenured professors and historians who worked there were typically allowed to access, as had been explained to him several times throughout his myriad phone calls and emails. Tokugawa, of course, was a man of great reach, but the deciding factor was that his influence was surpassed yet still by the deepness of his pockets. And so, the distinguished members of the board at the university had found it in their hearts to allow him not just a visit but to examine the artefact in detail. The only provision was that he must be accompanied by a seasoned historian and preservationist who could instruct him on handling such a priceless object without leaving his dirty fingerprints on it.

A stout, serious-looking man with a long, greying beard waited for Tokugawa outside of the campus library, one could say he certainly looked the part of a scholar of medieval history if nothing else. The man greeted Tokugawa just outside of their destination, and the two hurriedly entered the lobby to escape the fall wind that was battering them outside. A set of four men quickly greeted them upon their entrance. Clad in suits, they were primarily a security detail but would likely double as a moving team. If the musings of the historians of Midland were true to life, they would soon need several men to help carry an absurdly heavy object. They made their way to the elevator situated at the back of the foyer, the historian scanning his badge to allow them to access level 2B, the archive below the basement.

The elevator doors opened, and Tokugawa walked through the dimly lit concrete floors of the archive, lined with books and objects he was sure all had some legendary history behind them, all located in a basement not many were permitted to enter. Tokugawa immediately noticed how surprisingly dim the massive storage room was, straining his eyes as they adjusted to the change in light compared to the lobby above them. Much of the archive was rather unassuming. Anything of any value was inside a plain plastic bin to protect it from dust or the occasional clumsy custodian. It took perhaps a minute for the historian to guide them to their prize, though it took Tokugawa less than a second to spot it when he had entered, as the display dominated the very centre of the room

The object in question was somewhat crude and barbaric to warrant such delicate treatment as to be perfectly preserved. A massive object that would likely tower a few inches above most men, resembling a sword at least in its construction, but far too unwieldy and obviously too heavy for any human to begin to attempt to use. Indeed, it was more like a slab of iron than a sword.

The weapon lay on a plinth watched dutifully by a set of dim fluorescent lights. The historian who had been tagging along and nagging his guest about the history of the establishment chimed in. He explained that just as bright light damages paintings, they did not want to expose something so old to intense radiation on any end of the spectrum, even if it was just white light. Tokugawa wasn't sure if it was such a lack of ambient light in the room and the weapon's imposing posture or something else entirely, but he found his heart catching as he moved closer and closer to the glass container. The shelves fell distant as he approached the centre of the room, cowering from the sword whose edge caught the light and cast rays across the aisles. He squinted as he pushed closer still to the sword, palpitations in his chest becoming almost unbearable. A trickle of sweat formed on his brow as he set his hand on the glass. Suddenly, he felt his age become much more apparent, as fatigue washed over him. His wrinkles felt deeper, and his breathing more shallow. Whatever you wanted to call what had sealed itself inside that casing, it was a great weapon, capable of inspiring fear with its mere presence, or perhaps something even more sinister; A dread that didn't necessarily overtake your mind, but something more primal hiding behind your body, the soul, if you were inclined to believe such things. What horrors had this weapon inflicted to impart such misery upon even such a casual glance?

Tokugawa refocused on the issue at hand. Such excellent preservation of this old artefact may have contained exactly what he was looking for. "Let's get it out of the glass." The team of assistants that had tagged along, silently thus far, moved to the display, although they also appeared to feel what Tokugawa had, as they moved at a snail's pace to move to position. The historian had distanced himself to close the valve that had been pumping argon into the casing, as the team began unscrewing the clasps at the back of the rectangular case. They were quite hefty, to ensure a good seal, and they were caked with a fine amount of rust, a testament to how long the sword had remained untouched, buried beneath the ground. The historian mentioned casually that the sword had only been found about a decade ago, sealed in a container along with a few other valuable objects at a massive dig site. He remarked that everything inside the box had shown next to no signs of ageing you typically associate with old weapons. The remark inspired a bit of hope in Tokugawa, there was a chance the blade still contained what he was looking for.

'They will not be happy when I ask to purchase this weapon.' Tokugawa thought to himself. 'Still, this may be a dead end, but if I could get a sample of anything off of the hilt, this discovery may change the arena forever.' He resolved that he must have the weapon, at any price.

A week later, Tokugawa made his way to the underground laboratory buried beneath the Sky Tree, the same one that had housed their experiments regarding Musashi. He stared for a moment at the now completely cryogenically frozen swordsman. A six-meter wide glass sphere surrounded him, filled to the brim with nitrogen designed to freeze and preserve his cells. Tubes ran into the major arteries in his arms and legs, supplying him with a constant source of dialyzed blood. He mused over this abhorrent creation, a vessel to contain the soul of a man of legend. Perhaps it was not his place to play God as he did with this man, and for a moment the neutral expression on his face wavered. But before he could ponder such a question, footsteps echoed from the catwalk behind him. The woman he had summoned had arrived.

"Listen, brother, you know I am happy to entertain even your most absurd requests for the right price, but, this is a little silly isn't it?" A voice quickly followed the footsteps. Mitsunari Tokugawa's sister, Sabuko.

You've seen your fair share of the impossible haven't you sister? Why don't you try calling for him and see for yourself?" Mitsunari mused.

"I can't call people back from the dead if they don't exist." His sister said. "I came here more out of curiosity, I wanted to see what crazy experiment you were planning this time after Musashi nearly wrung out my neck." Mitsunari smiled.

"Come with me for a second."

The trip out of Japan bore more fruit than he possibly could've hoped for. He returned to his homeland with something far more valuable than the precious cargo that was still making its way there.

The true purpose of his visit to Poland was not to purchase the massive weapon, it was to have his team swab it. After agreeing to a less-than-small sum for the transfer of the weapon to his ownership, he had it essentially biopsied, shaving a piece of metal off the rough, almost serrated hilt to see if tiny bits of flesh or skin had hidden away inside the cracks or bumps in the hilt. The extraction had been successful, though Tokugawa had no great expectations for the quality of the samples. Whoever used this weapon would have been dead for 400 or so years at this point, and even though it was found perfectly preserved, and had been kept in airtight storage, the chance of a big enough sample being found was slim.

The DNA had, of course, denatured almost completely. No amount of preservation short of what they had been pulling with Musashi could keep cells alive for such a long time. But, what he needed wasn't a viable sample, it was just a match.

"The cells we found inside the sword were all worthless and dead," Mitsunari said. "But, they provided us with something of equal value, information. We have access to the largest catalogue of genetic information you'd find anywhere in the world. Once we had a tiny tissue sample, we just needed to see if we could match it with anything in there. And wouldn't you know it, there was only a single match." His grin grew as he spoke.

The elder Tokugawa led his sister to a second chamber right next door. Entering a key code only he and two lead scientists knew, he stepped into the heavily sanitized operating room along with his sister, the door clicking closed behind them. Bright overhead lamps illuminated the centre of the room. Laying on the table across from them was a familiar sight to the scientists at this point. A mummified corpse, much like the one Mitsunari had shown the prime minister. The body was quite large, but very frail-looking, a consequence of being buried in the earth for hundreds of years.

"He will be done being grown by tomorrow, sister, sorry for calling you in a little early." Mitsunari said. Sabuko paused for a moment, examining the body. She was naturally more in tune with spiritual presences than most people, she could feel things others couldn't, and for the first time, she wished that was not the case. A confusing, dangerous aura surrounded the corpse in front of her. Every dead thing left a certain amount of residue behind where the soul of the deceased used to inhabit, yet she could feel more than just that this time. Whoever inhabited this body, his soul had been tampered with, more than once at that. But such a feat should be impossible.

"It's him." The words slipped out of her mouth before she could catch them. Her brother raised his gaze to look at her, smug satisfaction coating his visage.

"And who would that be?"

The Tokugawa sister stepped back to take in the discovery for a moment, was this really happening?

"The Branded Swordsman, you truly found him."

It was a clear day, about a week after a certain man had begun his experiments. A young man and woman were walking back from school together.

"Sorry." The young man was the first to speak on their mostly silent journey together. He stood at a rather unimpressive 5'6", yet his taught muscles hidden under his baggy tee shirt attested to a secret, unassuming strength, as harmless as he appeared from the outside. Baki Hanma, performing his best impression of a regular Japanese teenager. Short brown hair, and an innocent smile adorning his face, the unkempt hair and mole just above his mouth radiated innocence. Yet he was also known to a select few as the strongest teenager in the world. Although, not a teenager for much longer, having celebrated his 19th birthday not too long ago.

"What are you apologizing for?" His girlfriend, Kozue, standing slightly below the boy's height, was the second to speak, looking less than amused at her partner's vague apology. She had been paying more attention to her appearance lately, her dark hair was straightened, hanging over her shoulders as she had permitted it to grow a bit longer recently, she gave Baki a half smile, goading him into explaining himself.

"I feel like I've been a bit busy recently…" Baki wasn't sure what words he was looking for. He felt bad for not spending time with his girlfriend recently, especially considering how close they had gotten, and how much she had helped him over the years.

"Are you feeling a little guilty?" Kozue went straight for the heart, letting the smile creep further onto her lips. Baki started for a second but the 'yes' got caught in his throat before he could spit it out. He choked on his words for a moment before mumbling a second apology. His hands naturally wandered to the seemingly nonexistent wounds he had suffered against Musashi. A cut across the chest, a grandiose cut through his torso, the severing of his foot from a cut across the shin; The places he had been 'cut', without leaving so much as a mark. Still, the wounds radiated pain even weeks after the ordeal. Guilt, maybe wasn't the word, between spending time with Kozue, or fighting another warrior that could deliver such deep wounds without a weapon even in hand… Baki let his thoughts of such matters end there.

Inadequate was the word. He felt like he was betraying her somehow, by being more excited by his next fight than the time he spent with her. But now such thoughts could be banished. He truly was the strongest in Japan right now, other than his father, who seemed content to leave him be for the moment. He intertwined his hand with hers, letting his eyes wander shut for a moment, as he relished in the normalcy of his day so far. It was a relaxing fall afternoon, he'd spend some time with her, do his usual training, and send himself off to sleep having enjoyed a completely average day. The two of them turned the corner to the graffiti-filled street Baki called home. Yet, after the corner had been rounded, they walked not a step further. Kozue felt Baki's grip tighten around her hand.

"Yo, kid."

Oh boy.

The street Baki had made his home on was not a very pedestrian area, being somewhat run down and vandalized, it was probably home to more birds and rodents than people. Yet today there was a distinctly human obstacle standing between the two and Baki's front door. A man, to be exact.

Standing at what must be 6'3" at least, he towered over the younger, smaller Baki. His absurdly taught muscles resembled tightly bound coils of steel wire, and his dark tan and long hair gave the impression of a travelled man. A grim smile adorned his face, pulling at the corners of his lips and giving him the general appearance of a dangerous creature that at least resembled a human on the outside. His hands squarely in his pockets, he strolled up to the couple, acknowledgement of his unwanted interruption not appearing anywhere on his face. "Having fun playing house with your girl there?"

The man in question was obvious from even a glance, Yujrio Hanma, Baki's father. Baki spoke with confidence, "Hey, pops, if you wanted to stop by you should've let me know." He shot his father an unenthusiastic look. "I haven't had a chance to clean the place up." He matched his father's smile with his own, not interested in appearing hostile, nor in any rush to defer to the man he had only recently had a rather brutal bout with, the winner being somewhat indeterminate, though the young man would happily admit his father was probably the more decisive victor.

"Well, at least you're starting to learn some decent manners." Yujiro's smile remained despite his son's jab. Baki began to walk towards his father, keeping his hands in his pockets as well. To most, that would be a visual indicator of nonchalance, but there was a special significance shared only between the two of them of such a gesture, that either could explode and attack the other before a human being would even be able to register any hostility. The two radiated such a feeling, neither desiring to make the first move.

"I learned from the best. You come here for dinner or something? I'm a little low on cash, so maybe you wanna treat us today?"

"You can't feel it, can't you, boy?" Yujiro continued to ignore his son's meaningless quips. His smile had faded from his face, his eyes boring into Baki. He had leaned forward, dominating the personal space of his smaller son.

Baki paused, caught off guard by the unexpected topic of conversation.

"Feel what?"

Yujiro chuckled. "The air is starting to change again. Another strong one is coming." Baki felt his hair stand on end, almost literally as the muscles in his face and scalp all started twitching. He could feel the bloodlust trickling through the holes in his father's seemingly calm demeanour. The larger man's muscles visibly tensed and relaxed as he spoke. He was excited, a rarity for a man who regularly took lives with the same enthusiasm most displayed when waiting in line at the bank.

Kozue, meanwhile, had refused to move the entire time. Although she had spoken rather brashly to Baki's father before, she was still very weary of him, he wasn't the most stable man in the world after all.

"So, what, you've just got a hunch?" Baki continued to poke the bear, admittedly curious about his father's vague language.

"I guess you really are still just a kid, huh? You can't even smell when a rival enters your territory. You'd better get growing fast." Yujiro sidled up to his kid, nearly chest to chest. He walked to Baki's side and grabbed him by the shoulder, his fingers digging into the small boy's frame. "I'm here to give my son a gift. I'm going to give you the first crack at this next one." Yujiro had a proud look on his face.

"Huh?" Baki was overcome with an entirely new kind of confusion. A lot was happening at once. His father was implying that whoever had arrived in Japan without him noticing was such a big deal that he needed to get back into the zone, but that was ridiculous on its face, and now he was trying to play nice and set up some kind of fight between them? Was there a second Pickle that recently got dug up? Did Alai Junior need another thrashing? "What are you talking about, old man? You expecting some sort of big show soon? Do you even know who you're talking about?" Yujiro said nothing for a few seconds, but his following comment was even more outlandish.

"You need to get training."

"What are you on about now?" Baki found himself getting irritated. He clenched his jaw, ready to deck his old man in the face for being so… annoying around him, but a resounding boom broke his concentration-

"I said go train!" Yujiro's grip tightened around his son's shoulder, grabbing the scruff of his loose t-shirt and tossing him forward the rest of the distance to his home. "You can get it on with your girl here later." Kozue nearly let out a yelp at the sudden reminder of her presence, but she continued her statuesque performance.

Those were the final words Yujiro uttered, marching off quietly. Baki had many things he might've said if he wasn't now 30 feet away from his father and facing upside down, but the proximity to the strongest creature on earth still put him on edge. Even if he had fought his father to a kind of draw in the past, there was still plenty of reason to be cautious around him, especially with Kozue around. A far more pressing thought dominated Baki's mind. His father had just ordered him to train. The last time he had so much as suggested such a thing was when Baki was a little boy just starting to learn to fight. Ever since then, his father's interest in his development seemingly dropped off completely, except for the few occasions where they had fought. Why, all of a sudden, was Yujiro rearing back around and trying to whip him into shape? Baki could think of one completely absurd possibility.

His father feared for his safety.

But that was ridiculous! Who was this new fighter that was such a big deal that the old man thought he could boss him around?

"I'll take you up on that." Baki muttered to himself, confused and somewhat angry. It would be rude to outright refuse his father's 'gift', but if Yujiro was talking up this new, seemingly out-of-nowhere fighter, he could think of one possible explanation that seemed all too likely, and that was Tokugawa doing something shady for a second time. One more task to add to his shopping list. But was there a second fighter, even in ancient history, whose threat equalled that of Musashi? Baki felt the old wounds flare up once more as he cracked a smile at the possibility.