Mana training didn't start with power.
It started with silence.
Garron noticed it on the fourth morning, when Alex finished a full combat drill without a single visible flare. No shimmer along the skin. No pressure distortion. No instinctive tightening of the air that even low-rank awakeners produced when reinforcing themselves.
Just movement.
Clean. Efficient. Human.
Garron narrowed his eyes—but said nothing.
They trained as usual.
Blade transitions. Footwork over uneven ground. Grappling entries that punished overextension. Alex took hits, rolled with them, adjusted.
And through it all, mana flowed.
Quietly.
Internally.
Alex had learned early—painfully—that mana didn't need to announce itself.
Flash was leakage.
Leakage was attention.
Attention was death.
He began with zero-leak reinforcement.
The principle was simple in theory and brutal in execution: circulate mana only within the closed system of muscle, bone, and nerve. No outward pressure. No skin-layer emission. Reinforcement existed only where force would land—or be generated.
Most awakeners failed at the first step.
Mana wanted to escape.
It sought expression, amplification, visibility.
Alex denied it.
He built loops instead.
Internal circulation paths that never touched the surface. Micro-cycles anchored at joints and the spine, reinforcing structure without broadcasting output.
When Garron struck, Alex absorbed the impact—not by hardening, but by redirecting force through reinforced channels that behaved like shock absorbers.
Garron felt it.
His strike didn't land.
It vanished.
Alex stepped inside and locked his elbow.
"Again," Garron said calmly.
They repeated it.
And again.
And again.
Hours passed.
No one watching would have seen anything unusual. Two men training. One younger, one older. No spells. No glowing veins. No mana pressure radiating outward.
Alex still appeared F-rank.
Mid, at best.
And yet—
Garron's instincts screamed.
He'd fought Rank A elites who leaked mana like bonfires.
He'd dueled Rank C prodigies who thought control meant aiming the blast.
This was different.
This was containment.
"You're reinforcing late," Garron said eventually.
Alex wiped sweat from his brow. "I reinforce where the impact will be. Not before."
"Why?"
"Pre-reinforcement creates tells," Alex replied. "Micro-flinches. Pressure shifts."
Garron nodded slowly. "You learned that somewhere."
Alex didn't answer.
He moved on to internal circulation loops.
This was harder.
Mana flowed through him in closed patterns—spirals anchored to breath, pulse, and intent. Not expanding. Not compressing. Just moving.
Motion without growth.
It strengthened connective tissue, sharpened reflexes, stabilized balance.
All without increasing raw capacity.
Alex refused to expand his mana pool.
Refused to push rank.
He let his control deepen instead.
{Mana precision improving.}
{Capacity unchanged.}
Alex approved silently.
Silent strengthening followed.
The most dangerous technique.
No outward reinforcement.
No hardening.
Just subtle enhancement—slight increases in tendon elasticity, nerve response time, bone density modulation.
Enough to survive.
Not enough to stand out.
When Alex grappled Garron and shifted his weight, the older man felt it immediately.
"That shouldn't be possible," Garron muttered.
Alex released the hold. "It is if you don't fight the force."
Garron stared at him.
"You're doing something wrong," he said flatly.
Alex blinked. "Wrong?"
"No one teaches this," Garron continued. "Because it's inefficient. Because it doesn't scale."
Alex tilted his head. "I don't need it to scale yet."
That made Garron laugh—a sharp, incredulous sound.
"Gods," he said. "You're hiding in plain sight."
Alex said nothing.
That afternoon, Garron sparred him harder.
Not cruelly.
But with intent.
Alex's body responded before his thoughts.
Mana shifted internally, reinforcing joints at the moment of stress. Circulation loops tightened. Breath anchored control.
He still bled.
Still bruised.
Still lost exchanges.
But he didn't break.
And Garron noticed something else.
Alex never leaked.
Not when struck.
Not when pressed.
Not when exhausted.
"Most people lose control when tired," Garron said as they rested.
"I trained tired," Alex replied.
"Why?"
Alex's jaw tightened. "Because pain doesn't wait until you're ready."
Garron studied him.
The abnormality was undeniable now.
Not in output.
In discipline.
In refusal.
Garron didn't comment further.
That was his way.
Chaos watched quietly.
(You are folding power inward.)
"Yes," Alex said.
(When it unfolds, it will be sharp.)
"That's the idea."
The system spoke once, brief and precise.
{Technique classification: Non-standard.}
{Visibility risk: Minimal.}
{Rank appearance maintained: F.}
Alex smiled faintly.
Good.
That night, as he lay in bed, Alex cycled mana through his internal loops one final time before sleep.
No glow.
No heat.
Just presence.
Mana without flash.
Strength without announcement.
He thought of the empire.
Of detection arrays and church scanners.
Of inquisitors trained to hunt brilliance.
Let them look.
There was nothing to see.
And that—
That was power.