The courtyard was quiet at dawn, blanketed in a soft mist that curled around the stone tiles like breath held too long. I had arrived early ---nerves didn't allow sleep anyways and waited near the temple bell, watching the sky bleed from grey to gold. My hands were wrapped in fresh cloth, still aching from the night before, and every time I blinked, I saw that blade again, the one that had split both the dacoit and the fear inside me.
I didn't expect anyone to speak. Most passed by with cautious glances, respectful nods, or awkward silence.
But not Ren. I sensed him before I saw him, his footsteps measured and calm. He walked like someone who trusted the earth not to betray him. When he stopped beside me, he didn't speak immediately. Just stared ahead at the rising sun, his breath visible in the morning air.
"I heard you didn't hesitate," he said at last.
I turned, surprised he'd addressed me at all. His face was hard to read, carved from stone but not unfriendly.
"I was terrified," I admitted.
"That's not the same thing," he said. "Hesitation is fear without action. You acted. The sword answered and that means something."
I didn't know how to respond, but something in his voice gave me permission to just listen.
Ren folded his arms, watching the mist thin out. "You felt the strain afterward, didn't you? The exhaustion behind your eyes? The shaking in your core?"
I nodded.
"Lightning-affinity Kettai always demand more from the body. Especially when they're untrained. You'll need to learn control quickly or the Kettai will consume you faster than your blade ever could."
Then, without another word, he walked away, his steps as steady as ever.
.
.
.
Master Genzo's voice carried across the training hall like iron wrapped in silk.
"There is power in your blood. But that power is not yours unless you know how to hold it without bleeding."
The hall was shaped like a crescent moon, open to the garden, with tatami mats laid out in precise rows. Twelve initiates sat cross-legged, each one cloaked in the deep blue of the Hoto Clan's trainee robes. I was seated near the end, my posture stiff, trying not to fidget under the scrutiny of my first formal session.
Genzo stood in front of us, his robe sharp as ever, his greying hair tied neatly and behind him, hovering on a shallow stone dish, was a single shimmering soap bubble, perfectly round and floating just above the surface. It caught the light like glass and shimmered faintly with Kettai energy.
"This," he said, gesturing to the bubble, "is your first gate."
Some of the initiates looked confused. Others, nervous.
"Your Kettai is not a sword. It is not a flame. It is not the lightning some of you dream of commanding. It is a current. And before it can be shaped into anything, it must first be made still."
He extended his hand.
With the ease of someone pouring tea, he guided his breath into the air around the bubble. It quivered but then stabilized. Even as the wind from the garden stirred, the bubble remained intact, suspended on nothing but will.
"This exercise is not about power. It is about restraint. You will project a thread of your Kettai outward and hold this form, keeping the bubble intact for as long as your concentration allows. If you lose control, it will burst. If you overexert, it will warp and collapse. You must balance your breath, your energy, and your mind. But remember not many of you will succeed today."
He stepped back.
"And that's the point."
We were each given a small silver dish and a drop of soap essence. The moment it touched the surface, the bubble rose, fragile and glistening. My hands shook slightly as I exhaled, trying to feel my Kettai without pushing it. The memory of Inazuma Nuki still burned in my arm, it was a wild rush, all momentum and fire but this was the opposite. It needed stillness, precision and most importantly-- Control.
I failed in less than five seconds.
The bubble popped with a soft sigh, and the energy I'd tried to project sputtered out like a broken reed.
Next to me, a boy with wavy hair and an easy grin gave a long whistle. His bubble lasted ten seconds before collapsing.
"Not bad, huh?" he said, flashing me a grin. "Name's Kento Hoto. Don't let the family name fool ya -- my old man's only a Genin. So technically, we're the peasants of the elite."
I blinked. "Aoto," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "The dacoit-slayer?"
I shook my head. "That's… not really how it happened."
"Sure it is," he said, leaning in. "If I kill someone and the elders call me to the high hall, you better believe I'm taking the title."
I couldn't help, so I laughed, just a little though. Kento's presence was strange. Light-hearted, but grounded. He didn't look at me like I was some miracle. He looked at me like a rival he'd already decided to beat.
And somehow, I didn't mind.
For the next two hours, we repeated the same exercise.
Breath in. Energy out. Stabilize.
Then fail. Again. And again.
Some initiates managed ten seconds. A few even reached twenty. Kento made it to twenty-five on his third attempt and stuck out his tongue when I burst mine after four.
By the time Genzo called the session to a close, my head was pounding, my body aching in places I didn't know could hurt from not moving.
"You are not expected to master it today," Genzo said calmly with his hands behind his back. "But the longer you train, the more your Kettai will learn to listen. The more you breathe, the more it will recognize who it belongs to."
As we bowed and began cleaning our stations, Kento leaned over.
"You'll get it tomorrow," he said, grinning. "If not, I'll just have to carry your sword for you."
"Or I'll trip you and win by default," I replied, before I could stop myself.
He laughed, and for the first time since all this began, I felt something settle in my chest.
Not ease. Not quite.
But something like it.