The moment the spiritual feedback returned, Shinji's eyebrows twitched.
Grade Eight spiritual power?
Good brat... he really is hiding his strength.
Shinji kept his face neutral, showing nothing on the surface as he waved a dismissive hand.
"Take your seat."
"That's it for today's class. As for that question, go home and ask your parents. If you don't have parents, go ask a tavern owner."
Shinji announced the end of the lesson, picked up his teaching materials, and turned to leave.
As he walked out of the classroom, he caught a glimpse of Yandera Mirai sitting back down out of the corner of his eye. The boy's lips had curved upward into a subtle, involuntary smirk.
Hmph.
Tough luck, kid. You're still too green.
Hiding your true self... that's something you have to do every single second, without letting a single drop leak out.
The Sword Forest, outskirts of Junrinan.
Most of the trees here had long since withered. Their bare, jagged branches pointed toward the night sky like countless upturned katanas under the moonlight. The ground was carpeted with fallen leaves that crunched sharply underfoot. The wind whistled through the dead wood, sounding like a distant, ghostly flute.
Mirai stood in a clearing within the woods.
He wore the standard Shin'ō Academy uniform—a white top and black hakama—with the school-issued Asauchi tucked into his belt. It was his second year at the academy. By day, he attended classes; by night, he slipped out here to practice in secret.
To be honest, he had little interest in the Zanjutsu (swordsmanship) taught at the academy.
When you boiled it down, Zanjutsu was just a combination of basic moves: sweeping, slashing, thrusting, and parrying. No matter the school—be it "I-Shin Ryu," "Flowing Water Style," or "Moon Shadow Slash"—they were all just different arrangements of those same fundamentals.
Since everything was just a combination, he figured he only needed to polish the basics to the point of absolute perfection. Why waste time learning flashy, overly-complicated forms?
The results were clear.
The high-level sword techniques demonstrated by the Academy instructors were, in Mirai's eyes, riddled with openings. The movements were too flowery, the wind-up too slow—sacrificing practicality for visual flair.
All style, no substance.
Thus, during his time at the Academy, he spent more effort on Kido and Shunpo. His philosophy for Hakuda (hand-to-hand combat) was the same: if your foundation was solid enough, any "special move" was just a natural extension of a basic strike.
For example...
Mirai took a deep breath, spread his feet, and sank into a firm horse stance.
He pulled his right fist back to his waist, palm up, while his left hand extended forward in a guarding position. His eyes locked onto a withered tree directly ahead; its trunk was so thick it would take two men to encircle it.
He began to gather his Reiryoku into his fist.
He didn't distribute it evenly across his body. He took everything. The spiritual energy used to stabilize his spirit body, to provide defense, to heighten his senses—he mobilized it all, compressing every drop into his right fist.
His fist began to glow.
A pale blue spiritual light pulsed beneath his skin, like countless tiny rivers converging into a single torrent.
His right foot slammed forward, the ground erupting in a circular shockwave. His waist twisted, his shoulder and arm snapping forward with explosive force.
"One-hit... certain kill!"
His right fist roared forward.
"Tenchi Bakko Ken!" (Heaven and Earth Exploding Emperor Punch!)
BOOM!
The moment his fist connected, the withered tree disintegrated. The trunk buckled from the center, wood shards spraying in every direction like deadly fireworks. The upper half of the tree was sent flying over ten meters, tumbling across the forest floor. The bottom half remained standing, but the jagged break looked as if it had been bitten off by a giant beast.
Mirai held his follow-through for several seconds before slowly pulling his arm back.
He looked down at his hand. The skin was red, and the knuckles were swollen, but there was no blood. The pale blue light was slowly dissipating.
"Not bad," he muttered, his lips curling into a smile.
Using only the spiritual power of a Grade Nine—through absolute, extreme control and concentrating it all into a single point—the destructive power could reach the level of a Grade Eight or even a Grade Seven.
Though...
Cough, cough!
Mirai suddenly coughed twice, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, staring at the red stain with a click of his tongue.
The side effect was obvious.
By diverting all the energy meant for defense into a single attack, his body became like a soldier without armor. The recoil of that punch had directly damaged his internal spirit structure.
Fortunately, it wasn't severe. A bit of rhythmic breathing and meditation would fix it.
Mirai sat cross-legged and closed his eyes. The Reishi began to circulate slowly through his body, repairing the micro-tears in his spirit. About ten minutes later, he stood back up.
"Next, let's try..."
He rolled his shoulders, another technique popping into his mind.
Shoryuken!
Legs apart, knees slightly bent, right fist at his waist—he was just about to exert force when he heard something behind him.
It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the sound of falling leaves. It was the sound of a footfall, intentionally lightened.
Mirai froze.
He didn't turn around, nor did he show any outward sign of alarm. Instead, he quietly began to gather Reiryoku into the soles of his feet. This was a perfect time to test that skill.
He expanded his spiritual sensing to its limit. The trees, the leaves, the flow of Reishi in the air... every bit of data fed back to him.
Found you.
Left-rear. About twenty meters back. Behind an exceptionally thick withered tree.
Mirai took a sharp breath. Then, his feet began to hammer the ground with incredible speed. His soles struck the earth in a high-frequency blur, each tap releasing a small burst of spiritual energy.
Thump-thump-thump-thump!
The sounds blurred into one, moving faster than the ear could distinguish the gaps. His body vanished instantly.
"Soru!" (Shave)
It was a movement technique he had reverse-engineered based on a manga he had read in his previous life. The principle was simple: use high-frequency stomps to create explosive recoil for instantaneous high-speed movement. The downside was also simple: it consumed a lot of energy, put a massive strain on the legs, and was incredibly hard to steer.
Zip!
Mirai reappeared directly behind the thick tree.
A figure stood there. The stranger was dressed in black stealth gear from head to toe, even their hair covered, leaving only a pair of eyes visible.
The eyes were golden, glowing like a cat's in the moonlight. The figure was petite, only reaching about Mirai's chest height. The person's back was to him, as if they hadn't realized he had circled around.
"Who are you?" Mirai asked, his voice intentionally deep and cold. "What do you want?"
The figure in black didn't respond, nor did they turn around. They just stood there with their back to him, looking as if they were daydreaming.
But in the next blink, the figure vanished.
Mirai didn't even see the movement before the space in front of him was empty. Immediately after, a violent gust of wind rushed at him from behind, too fast for thought.
Instinctively, Mirai threw up his left arm to block.
THUD!
A sharp pain shot through his arm. He used the momentum of the blow to stomp the ground again—Soru!
He shot backward, putting dozens of meters of distance between them.
Mirai landed in the clearing, his left arm hanging at his side, hissing through his teeth from the cold bite of the pain. He pulled up his sleeve to look; his forearm was swollen, and a bruise was already spreading beneath the skin.
This was the fatal flaw of his "All-In" control style. When his spiritual power was too concentrated in one area, the defense in every other part of his body plummeted. If his physical durability were high enough, it might be fine, but he was currently just a soul with Grade Nine power. There was a limit to how much he could train his vessel.
"Whew..."
Mirai straightened up, shifting some Reiryoku to his left arm to dull the pain, but he didn't dare divert too much. This person in black was dangerous.
"That movement style of yours... it's quite interesting."
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