Tomiko looked at Masaru, arms crossed.
"We are not taking them to some damn temple in the middle of Africa."
Masaru raised both hands slowly. "I wasn't saying now."
Her stare sharpened. "You were thinking it."
"…Maybe."
Tomiko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Masaru. Our children learned to forge weapons from Sun Magecraft two years early. Ritsuka is precise to the point of being scary, and Gudako—" she paused, "—Gudako would absolutely try to punch a god."
Masaru rubbed the back of his neck. "She would."
"And Ritsuka," Tomiko continued, "would survive because he planned for it."
Masaru chuckled weakly. "That's… accurate."
She leaned back in her chair. "If you take them somewhere dangerous now, they won't just learn. They'll adapt."
Masaru's smile faded. He knew that was true.
'They always do,' he thought.
He looked back down at the papers spread across his desk—old routes, old sanctuaries, places once meant for training demi-gods.
"Then where?" he asked quietly.
Tomiko thought for a moment.
"Somewhere controlled," she said. "Somewhere boring."
Masaru winced. "They'll hate that."
"They'll survive it," she replied. "Which is the point."
Outside, in the training yard—
Gudako wiped sweat from her forehead, grinning. "Hey, Ritsuka. Race you to the fence."
Ritsuka didn't answer right away.
He was staring at his hand.
Not the skin.
Deeper.
For just a moment, he saw it again—muscle fibers pulling, bones shifting, blood flowing like a map.
It vanished as quickly as it came.
'That's… new.'
Gudako was already halfway there. "Too slow!"
Ritsuka sighed, then stepped forward.
The ground cracked lightly under his foot.
He blinked.
Then he was past her.
Gudako skidded to a stop, staring. "—WHAT."
Ritsuka turned, just as confused. "I didn't… push?"
They looked at each other.
Then, without thinking, they ran again.
Faster.
Cleaner.
Their breathing fell into rhythm—deep, steady, natural. No wasted motion. No strain.
Touko, watching from the porch, slowly lowered her notebook.
"…That's not Sun Magecraft," she muttered.
Her eyes narrowed.
'That's a method.'
Somewhere far beyond time—
Yang Guifei sneezed.
Void Shiki glanced sideways at her. "…Don't."
Yang smiled innocently. "I didn't touch him."
"You touched everything else," Shiki replied flatly.
Yang leaned back, pleased. "Loopholes are beautiful."
Back with Tomiko and Masaru.
Tomiko looked at Masaru. "We, will plan, the trip later, for now, why not teach the kids something that go with Sun Mage craft made Weapon?".
Masaru looked at her. "Like what?"
Tomiko pulled out a old book. "These thing, the onmyoji of Japan use to use, they are called Breathing styles".
Masaru looked at the paper as he recognized it. "That technique… it's old. Very old".
Masaru took the book from her, flipping through the brittle pages with care. Old diagrams filled the margins—postures, breath cycles, strange annotations written by hands long turned to dust.
He frowned. "This isn't modern magecraft. It doesn't rely on mana circuits or external energy."
Tomiko nodded. "Exactly."
Masaru looked up at her. "It strengthens the body first. Breath, blood, muscles, bones. The weapon comes after."
Tomiko folded her arms. "Which makes it perfect."
He exhaled slowly. 'Of course it does.'
"These techniques were designed for humans," Masaru said. "No divine core. No miracles. Just discipline pushed to its limit."
Tomiko's eyes sharpened. "And our kids already break human limits without noticing."
Masaru went quiet.
He remembered the way Ritsuka never wasted movement. How Gudako's strikes carried too much force for her size. How both of them recovered far too quickly after training.
'They're already breathing wrong,' he realized. 'Or… right.'
Masaru closed the book. "If we teach them this…"
"They won't rely only on Sun Mage Craft," Tomiko finished. "They'll learn control. Grounding. Restraint."
"And if they combine it?" Masaru asked.
Tomiko smiled faintly. "Then they won't burn themselves out. Or worse."
There was a pause.
Masaru sighed. "You know this will attract attention."
Tomiko shrugged. "So does everything about our family."
Later that evening, the twins stood in the training yard.
Masaru watched them silently for a long moment before speaking.
"Today," he said, "we're not using Sun Mage Craft."
Gudako blinked. "Huh?"
Ritsuka tilted his head. "Then what are we training?"
Masaru placed the old book down between them. "Breathing."
Gudako snorted. "We already know how to do that."
Masaru smiled. Not amused. Not joking.
"No," he said. "You really don't."
Ritsuka felt it then—a strange pressure in his chest, like the air around him had suddenly become heavier.
Masaru continued, voice calm and firm. "From now on, every swing, every step, every weapon you create—"
He looked directly at Ritsuka.
"—will start with your breath."
Ritsuka swallowed. 'Why does this feel… familiar?'
Gudako grinned, rolling her shoulders. "Sounds easy enough."
Masaru met her eyes. "It won't be."
Meanwhile, in the porch, Touko looked at the book.
She raised an eyebrow. "You, do released the last people who can use these technic, the mages you know".
She looked at Tomiko as she made a cutting motion through her neck with her finger. "By the mages, to study them right?"
Touko's finger stopped mid-air.
Tomiko didn't flinch.
"Yes," she said calmly. "Which is why the book is still here."
Touko stared at her for a long moment, then clicked her tongue. "You really are terrifying in a completely different way than mages."
Masaru adjusted his glasses, eyes still on the old text. "The Church burned copies. The Mage Association dissected practitioners. What survived did so because it looked… useless."
He flipped a page. The diagrams were crude. Breath cycles. Postures. Lines tracing through the body.
"But combined with Sun Mage Craft?" Masaru continued. "It stops being useless."
Touko exhaled slowly. "You're not teaching them magecraft. You're teaching them how to inhabit their bodies better."
Tomiko nodded. "Exactly. No spells. No chants. No circuits."
She glanced toward the yard, where distant thuds echoed—two children training, laughing, arguing.
"Just breathing."
Touko leaned back against the porch railing. "You realize what happens if this works."
Masaru answered without looking up. "They won't rely on mana alone."
"And?" Touko pressed.
"They won't burn out," Tomiko finished. "They won't shatter their bodies trying to keep up with power they were never meant to hold."
Touko went quiet.
After a moment, she laughed softly. "So that's it. You're not trying to make them stronger."
Tomiko smiled, small and sharp. "I'm trying to make sure they survive themselves."
---
Later, in the yard—
Gudako wiped sweat from her brow, breathing a little heavier than usual. "Why does this feel… different?"
Ritsuka stood still, eyes half-closed, hand resting over his chest.
In.
Out.
Slow.
Deep.
The warmth in him didn't spike.
It flowed.
'I'm not pushing it,' he realized. 'It's moving on its own.'
He opened his eyes. "Sis."
Gudako looked at him. "Yeah?"
"…Try slowing down."
She frowned. "I am slowing—"
She stopped.
Breathed in.
The air felt heavier. Fuller.
Her next punch didn't explode.
It cut.
The tree behind her shuddered, bark splitting cleanly instead of burning.
Gudako stared. "…Oh."
Ritsuka exhaled. 'So that's what she did.'
Somewhere far beyond the sky, in a place without breath or time—
Yang Guifei smiled.
Void Shiki did not.
To be continued
Hope people like this Ch and give me Power stones and enjoy