"Wait!"
Seeing Rhode's eager stance, Hasky held up a hand, a flicker of alarm in his eyes. "You must match my power level. My... modest frame would not survive your full strength."
Though he was their instructor, Hasky was acutely aware of the chasm between them in raw might. He couldn't hope to withstand even a fraction of their untempered power. Perfect control meant little if the force behind a blow could vaporize him.
Rhode blinked, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Am I really that brutish? he wondered inwardly. "Of course," he said aloud. "I'll match your energy precisely. Controlling power to that degree is training in itself."
A wave of relief washed over Hasky, immediately followed by a spark of competitive anticipation. On equal footing, he was confident this novice wouldn't best a master of Spirito.
Swish!
Hasky vanished, reappearing balanced perfectly on a cone tip some distance away. He beckoned calmly. "Begin when ready, Rhode."
"Then I'll take the initiative!"
Rhode shot forward, his movement a blur even at suppressed speed. His fist lanced out—a testing blow.
Bang!
Hasky deflected it effortlessly, the motion barely disturbing his equilibrium. Rhode, however, felt the impact resonate through his stance, forcing an instant, micro-adjustment of ki to his feet to reclaim his balance on the needle-point.
Seeing the faint hint of a smile on Hasky's composed face, Rhode's eyes narrowed. "Hasky," he stated, his voice calm but pointed. "Did I skip a lesson?"
"Ahahaha!" Hasky's laugh was a tad too quick, a note of guilt threading through it. "Your talent is monstrous, Rhode! Truly, the most formidable I've ever encountered!"
Rhode merely stared, silent and expectant.
Under that steady gaze, Hasky's composure cracked slightly. "Well... I theorized that direct combat would be the most efficient way for you to learn whole-body ki regulation under dynamic conditions. So I may have... omitted an optional intermediary stage."
"Is that so?" A slow, knowing smile spread across Rhode's face. "How... considerate of you."
"All in the line of duty," Hasky mumbled, brushing past the moment. "Now, let us continue!"
This time, Hasky took the offensive. Rhode met him, his world narrowing to a triad of demands: maintain equal power, parry and strike, and continuously channel minute, precise flows of ki to every potential point of contact—knees, elbows, shoulders—with the deadly points below. It was a dizzying mental and physical calculus.
At first, he was clumsy, his movements a half-step behind. But his foundation was rock-solid. Within minutes, his adjustments became fluid, intuitive. The separate disciplines of battle and balance began to weave together.
"You adapt too quickly," Hasky called out, a new respect in his voice. "No more holding back!"
True to his word, Hasky's attacks became a whirlwind of feints, pressures, and angles, all executed while his own body danced flawlessly across the spikes. For the first time, Rhode felt genuine pressure—the thrilling, focusing kind.
Pressure was a catalyst. Instead of buckling, Rhode's focus intensified, his control sharpening under the duress. Ten days of relentless sparring later, the dynamic had shifted. On equal power, Rhode was not just holding his own; he was dictating the pace, pressuring Hasky.
"Your growth is... insulting to my years of practice," Hasky grumbled good-naturedly, though a spark of true amazement shone in his eyes. "But the lesson is not over. Let's raise the difficulty."
As he spoke, Hasky's form seemed to shimmer. Then, with a series of soft pops, dozens of identical Haskys materialized from his body, forming a perfect, encircling ring of adversaries on the cone tips around Rhode.
"Now," the chorus of voices stated, "maintain your control while identifying the real one."
Seeing the array of identical Haskys, Rhode's eyes gleamed with intense interest. He moved in a flash, his hand shooting out to grasp the arm of one clone. The resistance was solid, the texture real.
They're all physically substantial, he realized. This was far beyond an afterimage technique.
"Hasky," Rhode asked, his curiosity piqued, "how does this work? Are these clones formed from condensed Spirito? Or is it a division of the physical form itself?"
If it was the former, it was a marvel of energy manipulation. If it was the latter, it was a revolutionary concept that begged deeper study.
Having received explicit instructions from Elder Pybara to be forthcoming, Hasky offered a patient explanation. "Techniques like Instant Transmission, the Multi-Form, and Giantification are all achieved through the precise movement, division, and expansion of Spirito. They are advanced arts, demanding mastery-level control."
A look of deep reverence crossed his features. "Elder Pybara has even pioneered a Recovery Technique. Its profundity is... staggering."
A developed Healing Technique, Rhode mused, impressed. In his experience, such abilities were typically innate or granted by divine ritual, not cultivated through mortal study. Elder Pybara's prowess was truly exceptional.
"Enough theory for now," Hasky said, refocusing. "A solid foundation precedes all technique. Prepare yourself!"
With that, the dozens of clones surged forward in a coordinated assault. Facing attacks from every angle while maintaining perfect balance and controlled power, Rhode was initially pushed to his limit, his movements becoming a frantic dance of defense and micro-adjustment.
But adaptation was his forte. Hour by hour, day by day, the flustered blocks became parries, the desperate dodges became evasions. The relentless pressure forged his whole-body ki control into something reflexive, seamless.
A month of this grueling, holistic training passed. Hasky no longer sparred with him but instead led Rhode back to the presence of Elder Pybara.
Standing before the tall, blue-skinned Elder, Rhode felt a quiet sense of culmination.
"Rhode," Elder Pybara began, his ancient eyes assessing the Saiyan's now-perfectly harmonized energy. "Your foundation is impeccably laid. The time for technique has come."