Training Hiroki-I

The next morning, at the Akagitsune estate, the world was still cloaked in darkness when the clock struck 4 AM. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city and the occasional rustling of the wind through the estate's carefully maintained gardens.

Shotaro, however, was dead to the world, sprawled out across his futon like a corpse that had given up on existence. His silver hair was a mess, his breathing slow and steady, lost in a deep sleep.

Then came the noise.

A faint, persistent rustling. The soft thud of movement outside his window.

Shotaro groaned, cracking open a glowing crimson eye, still half-asleep. He ignored it at first, assuming it was just a stray cat or maybe one of Rin's onee-san employees sneaking back home after a late night.

But then it happened again. Louder this time.

He grumbled, dragging himself upright. His movements were sluggish as he staggered toward the window, rubbing the last bits of sleep from his eyes before pushing the curtains aside.

And there, standing beneath his window in the dim pre-dawn light… was Hiroki Mazino.

The fat kid was drenched in sweat, panting like he had just fought off a bear to get here. He was in a tracksuit—clearly too tight for him—his face red from exertion.

Shotaro blinked.

Then he smirked.

"I didn't think he'd actually..." he muttered before pausing. Who was he kidding? Of course, Hiroki came. He knew he would.

With a lazy stretch, Shotaro cracked his neck, yawning as he grabbed a shirt and slipped it on. He was already amused by how much this dumbass wanted to change.

"Alright, Church Boy," he muttered under his breath. "Let's see if you can survive the morning."

Without a second thought, Shotaro leaped straight out of the window.

Hiroki barely had time to react.

"A—A—Aniki?!" he stammered, stumbling back in shock. His eyes widened as Shotaro landed effortlessly in front of him, the impact barely kicking up dust.

"What?" Shotaro said flatly, stretching his arms above his head. "Surprised at the jump, kid? I can fly."

But Hiroki wasn't even listening anymore. He was too busy staring at Shotaro's current state—specifically, his very questionable choice of sleepwear.

And then he cracked.

"Hahahahahahaha!" Hiroki burst out laughing, doubling over and pointing. "AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh man, you—you sleep in dolphin pajamas?! And that—pffft—that weird-ass sleeping cap?!"

Shotaro blinked.

Then, as if realizing what he was wearing for the first time, he slowly looked down. His loose-fitting pajamas were covered in a cutesy blue dolphin pattern, and his nightcap—a long, floppy one with a tiny bell at the end—swayed slightly as he moved.

The corner of his eye twitched.

His glowing crimson gaze locked onto Hiroki, whose laughter only grew louder the more he tried to hold it in.

Shotaro stared at him, completely unbothered. "Yeah, and?" he muttered, arms crossed, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim pre-dawn light.

Hiroki's laughter died in his throat.

The pressure in the air shifted—just a little, but enough to make the hairs on his arms stand up. He felt it. That weight. That terrifying, casual dominance radiated off Shotaro like it was just another part of him. Like breathing.

Hiroki's entire soul momentarily left his body.

"I—I'M SORRY, ANIKI!" He immediately dropped to his knees, bowing so fast his forehead nearly slammed into the pavement.

Shotaro exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Tch. That's what I thought."

Rin, perched by the window in a loose yukata, took a slow sip of her morning tea, her smirk widening as she watched the scene unfold. The crisp morning air tousled her deep brown hair, making the golden ornaments woven into it shimmer under the faint light of dawn.

"Good. This will be fun," she murmured to herself.

Shotaro's crimson eyes flicked up toward her. "Ms. Rin?" He arched a brow. "Weren't you up late drinking again? I thought you'd be asleep till noon like usual."

Hiroki, still on his knees, suddenly stiffened, his entire body straightening in an instant. "M-Ms. Rin...!!! G-Good morning!" He clumsily scrambled to his feet, bowing so fast it almost looked like a spasm.

Rin chuckled, resting her cheek against her hand as she lazily gazed down at them. "Ara, how polite. I should make you my ward instead; at least you have manners."

Hiroki flushed, waving his hands frantically. "N-no, no, Aniki is the one I want to learn from—!"

Shotaro clicked his tongue. "Tch. Suck-up."

Rin just smiled. "Boys will be boys."

Shotaro crossed his arms, eyeing Rin suspiciously. "Why are you crying again?"

Rin, still perched by the window, sniffled and wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "You two..." she murmured, her voice softer than usual. "You two remind me of my father."

Shotaro blinked. "Huh?"

Hiroki, oblivious as ever, tilted his head. "But... we're alive?"

Silence.

Rin's face darkened instantly, her pink-reddish eyes twitching as an ominous aura seeped from her body.

Shotaro's entire soul evacuated his body at the sheer stupidity of the statement. "F U C K..." His brain short-circuited.

Hiroki, still reeling from his own verbal misstep, waved his hands frantically. "Ah—Wait, wait, that came out wrong! I meant—!"

Shotaro, sensing the imminent disaster, quickly interjected. "Heh, heh… So, uh, how exactly do we remind you of him, Ms. Rin?" His voice was calm, a clear attempt to steer the conversation away from homicide.

Rin inhaled deeply, still glaring at Hiroki, before sighing and leaning on her palm. "He also used to wake me up early and tell me to exercise outside daily," she muttered.

Shotaro exhaled in relief. "Oh, that's sweet," he said, shooting Hiroki a look that screamed, See? This is how you do not die.

For a moment, the atmosphere softened, the warmth of nostalgia settling in.

Then Rin wiped another tear from the corner of her eye and shattered it in an instant. "Before he started his own exercise with my mother in their room…" she added, voice deadpan. "You know, the one that required… extensive stretching."

Silence.

Shotaro blinked. Hiroki's mouth hung open in sheer disbelief.

"Ms. Rin—!" Shotaro began, his face caught between horror and secondhand embarrassment.

"I DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW THAT!" Hiroki all but screamed, clutching his head as if physically in pain.

Rin took another slow sip of her tea, completely unbothered. "What? You asked."

Shotaro, still processing, scratched the back of his head. "Damn… how were you the only child then?"

Hiroki, without a single thought behind his eyes, muttered absentmindedly, "One disappointment was enough, I guess."

The world stopped.

A breeze drifted through the courtyard. Birds chirped in the distance. Somewhere, a monk probably rang a bell for someone's funeral.

Shotaro's eyes widened in horror. Rin's fingers tightened around her teacup, her pink-reddish eyes darkening with something sinister.

Slowly—oh so slowly—her gaze snapped to Hiroki.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice so calm it sent chills down Shotaro's spine. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Hiroki blinked, realizing about three seconds too late what exactly had left his mouth. "W-wait, no, that came out wrong—I didn't mean—!"

"Oh, I think you meant exactly what you said," Rin said, setting her teacup down ever so gently. "And I think…" she cracked her knuckles, "you and I need to have a little conversation."

Shotaro took a step away from Hiroki, shaking his head. "Damn, fatso. You really have to start thinking before you speak."

"PLEASE, HAVE MERCY, MS. RIN!" Hiroki yelped, already backing away. "I'M JUST A STUPID FATASS—I DIDN'T MEAN IT—!"

Rin sighed dramatically, rolling her shoulders. "Oh, don't worry, Hiroki. I'll make sure you understand exactly what you meant."

Hiroki gulped.

And just like that, he knew—he was absolutely screwed.

4:30 AM—Four Hours Before School

The beach was empty, save for the crashing waves and the cold morning breeze rolling over the sand. The sky was still dark, but the first hints of sunrise peeked over the horizon.

Shotaro stood barefoot on the damp shore, arms crossed, his silver hair catching the faint light. In front of him stood Hiroki—short, round, and already wheezing from the walk here.

"Alright, fat fatass," Shotaro said, cracking his neck. "Time to teach you the basics."

"You—you could say 'student' instead," Hiroki muttered.

"And you could've not called Ms. Rin a disappointment," Shotaro shot back. "Yet here we are."

Hiroki shut up real fast.

"Listen up," Shotaro continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Humans—like any other living being—are metaphysical in nature."

Hiroki blinked, confused. "Uh…"

Shotaro exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, okay. I expected you wouldn't get it."

Hiroki scratched the back of his head, looking like a lost puppy. "Uh… we have… layers?"

"Yes, fatass, layers." Shotaro reached out and poked Hiroki's belly, making it jiggle. "For example, this? This is your physical layer—your body, your muscles, your fat. It's the most basic, the one everyone can see and touch."

Hiroki swatted his hand away with a pout. "Alright, alright, I get it!"

Shotaro ignored him and continued. "Beyond that, you have the etheric layer. It's where your life force flows—energy, stamina, vitality. It's what keeps your physical body running, kind of like a battery."

Hiroki nodded slowly, trying to keep up.

"Then there's the astral layer," Shotaro said, tapping his own temple. "That's where your dreams and emotions exist. Everything you feel, everything you imagine, that's your astral self working."

"So... like when I dream about eating an all-you-can-eat buffet?" Hiroki asked.

"Yes, but also no, because that's all you ever dream about," Shotaro deadpanned. "Moving on—"

"Hey!"

"The mental layer." Shotaro's tone sharpened. "That's where your consciousness lies. Your logic, your reasoning, your ability to think beyond just emotions. The mental layer is what separates a person from an animal."

Hiroki furrowed his brows, trying to process everything Shotaro had just said. "Wait... so what happens if someone has, like… no mental layer?"

Shotaro didn't even hesitate. He crossed his arms and deadpanned, "Then they're probably watching Taylor Swift."

Hiroki blinked, confused. "Huh? What does that even mean?"

Shotaro exhaled like a disappointed teacher dealing with a particularly slow student. "It means their brain is on airplane mode, my guy. No thoughts. No critical thinking. Just vibes." He shook his head. "Like those people who sit through an entire three-hour Taylor Swift concert, crying, screaming, and spending their life savings on overpriced merch—yet somehow, they still can't process basic logic."

Hiroki nodded slowly, as if Shotaro had just unlocked some hidden truth of the universe. "Damn… that's deep."

"Not as deep as their pockets after buying a tenth re-release of the same album," Shotaro muttered before moving on.

"Now, the last one—the casual layer. That's where your karma is stored. Your choices, your past, the consequences that follow you, everything you've done and will do—it lingers there."

Hiroki swallowed. "That sounds... heavy."

"It is," Shotaro said. "And these are just the layers everyone has access to. Beyond these?" He smirked, his crimson eyes glinting under the early morning light. "That's where things get really interesting."

Shotaro crossed his arms, looking at Hiroki with a rare moment of seriousness. "When you transcend the lower layers, you activate the Atmic Layer—the foundation of what you really are."

Hiroki wiped some sweat off his forehead. "And that means…?"

Shotaro tilted his head. "What do you think a soul is?"

Hiroki hesitated. "Uh… the thing that makes us… us?"

Shotaro snorted. "That's vague as hell, but not completely wrong." He stepped forward and pressed a finger against Hiroki's chest, right over his heart. "You remember the Etheric Layer, right? The one that contains your life force?"

Hiroki nodded.

"Good. Because a soul is not something you're born with—it's something that is forged."

Hiroki blinked. "Wait, what?"

Shotaro smirked. "Your Etheric Layer is just raw, living energy. Everyone has it, like a battery running on instinct. But when that energy is tempered—through battle, suffering, enlightenment, whatever the hell pushes you beyond your limits—it starts taking shape. Like molten metal being poured into a mold, that shapeless life force is forced to take form. And when that happens, you no longer just 'exist'—you transcend."

Hiroki swallowed, suddenly feeling like the air around them had gotten heavier. "And that's when…"

Shotaro nodded. "That's when your existence stops being something ordinary. That's when your soul is born. And when that happens, it ascends beyond all the lower layers… into the Atmic Layer."

Hiroki felt a shiver run down his spine. "And… that's where the chakras are?"

Shotaro folded his arms and looked at Hiroki, his crimson eyes gleaming like molten embers in the dim pre-dawn light. "Mantra isn't some magic trick or energy blast bullshit you see in anime. It's alive. Sentient. It exists beyond all realities, in some place no one understands. It doesn't just exist—it wants to exist here. And the only way it can do that is through us, through the chakras."

Hiroki, still struggling to catch his breath from the light jog to the training grounds, blinked. "S-So… the chakras are like… portals for Mantra?"

Shotaro gave him a nod of approval. "More or less. They're the access points. But each one channels a different kind of Mantra. Let me break it down for you."

He took a step forward, the wind picking up around them as the ocean waves crashed softly against the shore.

Natraja Chakra – The Dancer of Space and Time

Shotaro raised his hand, and in an instant, he vanished. A fraction of a second later, he reappeared behind Hiroki, flicking the back of his head.

"Ow! What the hell!?"

"Natraja governs movement, space, and time," Shotaro said with a smirk. "Speed, teleportation, flight—this is what lets you move in ways others can't. With strong enough control, you could even freeze time. But be careful—time is a bitch to mess with, and it will bite back."

Hiroki gulped, rubbing the spot where he got flicked. "O-Okay, noted…"

Krishnaa Chakra – The Lawbreaker

Shotaro held out his hand, and suddenly, a flame appeared above his palm. Then, in an instant, the flame turned into water—then into a tiny bird, which flapped its wings once before disappearing.

"Krishnaa is the chakra of impossibility," Shotaro explained, his voice calm but filled with weight. "It doesn't follow logic—it destroys it. Things that shouldn't happen… happen. Miracles, paradoxes, straight-up bullshit abilities. This is the cheat code of reality itself."

Hiroki's jaw dropped. "That's so unfair."

"Yeah, well, reality isn't fair," Shotaro shrugged. "And Krishnaa makes sure it stays that way."

Sadashiva Chakra – The Eternal Destroyer

The air suddenly grew heavy.

Shotaro lifted a finger, and a single grain of sand rose from the ground. He stared at it for a moment… and then it simply ceased to be.

No explosion. No flash. No dust left behind.

It wasn't burned, broken, or disintegrated. It was just… gone.

Hiroki felt his stomach drop. "Wh—what the hell did you just do?"

"Sadashiva is destruction. But not in the way you're thinking," Shotaro said, lowering his hand. "It doesn't just break things—it erases them. Permanently. No bringing them back. No reversing it. Concepts, ideas, objects, even memories—if Sadashiva erases something, it never existed to begin with."

Hiroki shuddered. "That's… terrifying."

Shotaro's eyes darkened. "Yeah. That's why you never use it recklessly."

Hanuman Chakra – Strength of the Gods

Shotaro flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, time for something a bit simpler. Hanuman Chakra. This one's all about the body—its strength, shape, size, and endurance."

He turned to Hiroki and gave him a once-over. "In other words, exactly what you need, fatass."

Hiroki scowled. "Damn, just say I need to lose weight."

"I am saying that. Loud and clear." Shotaro smirked. "Now, watch closely."

He exhaled slowly, and in an instant, his muscles expanded slightly—nothing grotesque, just a refined, controlled growth. The air around him tensed, as if the weight of his presence had suddenly quadrupled. Then, without warning, he took a single step—and the sand beneath him cratered like a meteor had struck it.

Hiroki's eyes went wide. "What the hell?! You didn't even move that fast!"

Shotaro smirked. "That's Hanuman. It's not about flashy speed or magic tricks—it's about pure, raw, physical power. It reinforces muscle fibers, strengthens bones, makes every part of the body work beyond human limitations. If you train it properly, you could punch through a mountain or run fast enough to outrun sound itself."

He clenched his fist, and the air around it whined from the sheer force. "At its highest level, Hanuman lets you push past your body's limits entirely. Size? Doesn't matter. Strength? Infinite potential. Endurance? As long as your spirit holds, your body will not break."

Hiroki gulped. "So… basically, the ultimate physical enhancement?"

Shotaro relaxed his stance, his muscles returning to normal. "Exactly. No bullshit reality hacks, no fate-bending nonsense—just you, your will, and how hard you train. The stronger your Hanuman Chakra, the more absurd your body becomes."

Hiroki wiped the sweat from his forehead. "That… actually sounds useful."

Shotaro grinned. "Of course it is. Now drop and give me a thousand push-ups."

"...Wait, what?"

Lakshmi Chakra – The Weave of Fate

Shotaro raised two fingers toward the distant cliffs overlooking the ocean. "Alright, fatass, let's play a game. Pick one of those rocks. Which one do you think will get struck by lightning?"

Hiroki squinted at the sky. The right cliff was directly under dark clouds, already rumbling with thunder, while the left one sat under a clear sky. "...Uhh, obviously the right one?"

Shotaro smirked. "Wrong."

A sudden crack of lightning ripped through the sky, slamming into the left cliff—the one that had no storm clouds above it. The ground shook slightly from the impact, and Hiroki's jaw nearly hit the sand.

"Wha—?! But that doesn't make sense! That cliff wasn't even under a storm! That was literally impossible!"

Shotaro clicked his tongue and pointed to his chest. "That's Lakshmi. The power to bend fate. Flip probability on its head. Make the impossible inevitable and the inevitable impossible." He dusted his hands off like he had just done something as simple as tying his shoes. "Doesn't matter how small or large the change is—if you can influence causality itself, you can rewrite the world."

Hiroki still looked like his brain was buffering. "That is the most bullshit thing I have ever seen."

"Life is bullshit," Shotaro said with a lazy shrug. "Lakshmi just makes sure you're the one writing it."

Parvati Chakra – The Mother of Power

Shotaro took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his expression turning more serious. "Now, this one… Parvati Chakra."

He lifted his hand, and for a brief moment, the air itself seemed to vibrate around his palm. Then, from nothingness, something began to form—a simple flower, blooming in midair. No fire, no lightning, no violent force. Just pure creation.

Hiroki blinked. "The hell—? You just made that out of thin air?"

Shotaro let the flower float into Hiroki's hands. "That's Parvati. It's the opposite of Sadashiva. If Sadashiva is the absolute power of destruction—of erasure—then Parvati is the absolute force of creation. It doesn't just move energy or reshape matter. It makes things exist."

Hiroki held the flower like it was about to explode. "That… that sounds insane."

"It is." Shotaro's crimson eyes gleamed. "Parvati is power in its purest form. The ability to generate. It's why women tend to have stronger Parvati Chakras—because biologically, they are already creators. Just like a mother forms a child in her womb, this chakra is tied to the act of bringing something into reality. With enough mastery, you could forge weapons from nothing, materialize energy constructs, create entire landscapes. Hell, theoretically, if you reach a high enough level…"

He flicked his wrist, and the flower crumbled into dust. Then, it reformed instantly as if it had never been destroyed.

"…You could even bring something back."

Hiroki's face paled. "Wait… are you saying Parvati can—?"

Shotaro smirked. "That's just a theory, but it's not impossible. Parvati doesn't believe in impossibility. Where Lakshmi changes fate, where Krishnaa bends reality, Parvati denies limits altogether."

Hiroki stared at the flower in his hand, suddenly feeling like he was holding something divine. "...Okay, yeah, this chakra is terrifying."

Shotaro stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Damn right it is. Now, next question—can you use it to make food?"

Hiroki's face lit up. "Wait, can I?!"

Shotaro deadpanned. "No, dumbass. You have zero control over it right now. But hey, dream big."

Ganesha Chakra – The Eye of Knowledge

Shotaro tapped Hiroki's forehead with two fingers. "This one's your best friend if you ever decide to stop being an idiot."

Hiroki blinked. "Oi."

Ignoring him, Shotaro continued, "Ganesha Chakra governs knowledge, wisdom, perception. It's what separates the smart from the stupid, the aware from the blind, the masters from the clueless." He stepped back and gestured toward the ocean. "Tell me, fatass, what do you see?"

Hiroki squinted. "Uh… water?"

Shotaro sighed. "Yeah, you're not ready."

Before Hiroki could protest, Shotaro lifted a single finger. Suddenly, everything sharpened. The details of the world—every wave, every grain of sand, the individual particles of salt in the air—became hyper-defined. Hiroki's breath hitched as his brain overloaded with raw data flooding into his senses.

"I—holy—what the hell?!"

"That's Ganesha," Shotaro said. "It opens your mind to pure understanding. It's not just about intelligence—it's about comprehension. With this chakra, you don't just 'see' something. You understand it."

Hiroki's mind raced. "So it's like—like, super intuition?"

Shotaro smirked. "More like omniscience in bursts. The stronger your Ganesha Chakra, the more you can process reality in ways normal people never could. You can see through lies, predict movements, analyze techniques as they happen. Hell, at high levels, you might even understand things humans were never meant to comprehend."

Hiroki swallowed hard. "That… sounds kinda terrifying."

"It is," Shotaro admitted. "Ganesha users are the most dangerous strategists because they don't fight based on brute force. They fight based on absolute knowledge. Imagine knowing your opponent's every move before they make it. Knowing the outcome of a battle before it even begins. That's why Ganesha users are scholars, tacticians, visionaries."

Hiroki's eyes widened. "Then why don't people just max this chakra out and become gods?"

Shotaro chuckled darkly. "Because the human mind is weak. Ganesha doesn't just grant knowledge—it forces it into you. And not everyone can handle knowing everything."

Hiroki's stomach dropped. "You mean—?"

"Yeah." Shotaro's gaze turned distant. "Ever heard of people who lost themselves to madness? Knowledge poisoning? That's what happens when you try to grasp things beyond human comprehension. Some truths… aren't meant to be known. And once you know them, you can't un-know them."

A cold shiver ran down Hiroki's spine. "…Okay, this one's scarier than Parvati."

Shotaro shrugged. "Depends. If you want to be a genius without turning into a raving lunatic, just use it in moderation."

Hiroki nodded rapidly. "Noted. No brain-melting for me."

Shotaro ran a hand through his silver hair, exhaling. "Alright, before the Atmic Layer, there's something called the Buddhic Layer—but honestly, it's not that important. It's like a transition phase, where emotions, mind, and soul start blending together. Unless you're some enlightened monk sitting on a mountaintop, you don't need to worry about it too much."

Hiroki nodded, trying to keep up.

"But after the Atmic Layer—things get big." Shotaro's crimson eyes glowed faintly under the predawn sky. "That's where you hit the Logoic Plane. This is the layer that connects individual existence to the collective consciousness of all living beings."

Hiroki blinked. "Wait, what? Collective consciousness? Like… some hive mind?"

"Not quite," Shotaro said. "Think of it this way—everything in existence is just a massive, incomprehensibly complex mathematical structure. Every thought, every soul, every action—it's all part of some grand, infinite equation. The Logoic Plane is where all those personal 'metaphysical layers' stop being separate and start becoming part of something... bigger."

Hiroki rubbed his temples. "Okay, that sounds complicated as hell."

Shotaro smirked. "It is. And it gets worse. Because the problem with an equation that massive is that no single human mind can fully grasp it. We get little pieces—gut feelings, déjà vu, instinct—but the whole equation? Forget about it. You'd have to stop being human to even come close to understanding it."

Hiroki shuddered. "Okay, yeah. No thanks."

Shotaro shrugged. "Then there's the Absolute Layer. And honestly? I won't even bother explaining it in detail. All you need to know is that it transcends everything before it."

Hiroki raised an eyebrow. "How much does it transcend?"

Shotaro turned toward the horizon, watching the sun start to rise. His voice was calm. "The Absolute Layer is what philosophers have been trying to describe since the dawn of thought. Plato called it the true reality beyond illusion. Religious texts call it the source. Scientists try to touch it through equations, and mystics try to reach it through meditation. But at the end of the day…"

He turned back to Hiroki, smirking.

"…it's beyond all of them. It exists beyond existence itself."

Hiroki groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Man, I never liked math."

Shotaro let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Too bad. Everything—literally everything—is mathematical. Your body, your thoughts, your soul... all just one massive, incomprehensible mathematical structure running its calculations in real time."

Hiroki blinked. "That's the most depressing thing I've heard today."

Shotaro ignored him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Just like Tegmark once said."

Hiroki narrowed his eyes. "Who the fuck is Tegmark?"

"Dunno," Shotaro admitted with a shrug. "I just read his work once in the library."

Shotaro cracked his knuckles, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim pre-dawn light. "Anyway, we need to activate your Buddhic plane so you can ascend to the Atmic plane and access your chakras."

Hiroki swallowed hard. "That… sounds kinda important."

"It is," Shotaro said, stretching his arms. "And we have about three hours until school starts, so we're gonna have to speed things up."

Hiroki exhaled in relief. "Oh, okay, so we'll take it slow and—"

"We're gonna kill you. Over and over again. Nearly, of course."

The blood drained from Hiroki's face. "I'm sorry, you're gonna what?"

Shotaro rolled his shoulders, limbering up as if preparing for a morning jog. "Relax. I said nearly. The goal is to push you so close to death that your consciousness starts phasing between layers. It's like a forced out-of-body experience, but instead of meditating for years in a temple, we're gonna cheat our way through it with pure, unrelenting violence."

Hiroki took a step back. "That's not cheating, that's just—"

"—a fast-track method," Shotaro interrupted. He shot Hiroki a smirk. "Don't tell me you're scared now, disciple. You wanted power, right?"

Hiroki's hands clenched into fists, his body shaking—not just from fear, but something deeper. A part of him, buried under years of weakness, was screaming at him to step forward.

Shotaro's grin widened as he grabbed Hiroki by the collar. Before the fat boy could even process what was happening, the world around him blurred.

A sudden, weightless sensation overtook Hiroki, like his stomach had been yanked out of his body. The scent of saltwater thickened, the wind howled in his ears, and then—

Solid ground vanished beneath him.

Hiroki barely had time to register where he was. The beach was gone, replaced by a sheer drop. The roar of waves crashing against jagged rocks below sent his mind into a spiral of primal fear.

He was falling.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!"

Above him, standing at the edge of the cliff, was Shotaro, hands in his pockets, watching him plummet with an unreadable expression.

He had just pushed him off a goddamn cliff.

"WHAT THE FUUUU—"

Hiroki's scream cut off as gravity seized him completely. His arms flailed, his legs kicked uselessly against the air. The ocean below rushed toward him, dark and unforgiving, its waves smashing against the sharp rocks like the maw of some ancient beast.

His heart pounded like a war drum. His breath hitched.

He was going to die.

For the next few hours, Hiroki Mazino experienced hell.

Shotaro Mugiwara showed no mercy. Every time Hiroki thought he had a moment to breathe, to process what just happened, he'd suddenly find himself being thrown off another cliff, dunked into the raging ocean, or hurled off some other ridiculous height.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, the fat boy barely managed to survive. Each time, he came up gasping for air, trembling, cursing his entire bloodline for ever deciding to be born. And each time, Shotaro stood there, hands in his pockets, watching him with the same casual expression.

"This is abuse!" Hiroki yelled as he dragged his drenched, shivering body onto the shore for what felt like the hundredth time. His entire world was nothing but water, pain, and regret.

"No, this is training," Shotaro replied, crouching next to him with an easygoing smirk. "Abuse is when I do it for fun. This has a purpose."

"You—" Hiroki coughed up a mouthful of seawater. "You sadistic—!"

Before he could finish, Shotaro casually kicked him back into the ocean.

"AAAAAAAHHHH—!"

Shotaro exhaled through his nose. "Tch. Still too slow."

This was the method he had chosen: extreme survival.

The Buddhic layer—the plane of phasing—wasn't something one could simply reach through meditation or peaceful enlightenment. It wasn't some divine blessing granted to the wise and kind. No, it was something one had to be forced into.

Pushed to the very brink.

Broken down.

Drowned.

And only when the body and mind couldn't take it anymore—only when a person truly teetered on the edge of death again and again—would their soul instinctively search for something beyond itself.

For a way to phase out of suffering.

To transcend.

Shotaro knew this well. Because that was how he had awakened his own.

So, he continued. No hesitation. No sympathy.

By the time the sun fully rose, Hiroki was barely conscious, floating in the water like a bloated corpse.

"Still not there yet, huh?" Shotaro sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. "Guess we keep going."

Hiroki let out a weak, gurgling sound of despair.

He blacked out.

As Hiroki drifted between consciousness and oblivion, his mind took him back—not to the present, not to the raging ocean swallowing him whole—but to the past.

To his earliest, most defining memory.

His father, Ichiro Mazino, was a name feared and respected in Tokyo's underworld. A Yakuza warrior, a titan among men. His fists spoke in a language more powerful than words, his blade carved his will into history.

But even legends meet their end.

Hiroki had only been three years old when his father walked into a war he could never walk out of. A single man against 340 enemies in a gang war that shook the city. Some said he fought like a demon, like an unstoppable force that tore through his enemies with sheer will and brutality.

But numbers don't lie.

Steel and bullets don't discriminate.

Ichiro Mazino died on his feet, bathed in blood—not just of his enemies but his own. And with his death, the Mazino family was shattered.

Hiroki's mother, Kaede Mazino, took what remained of their broken lives and fled to Musashinoyamato with his older sister, Kanoko. They left behind Tokyo, the underworld, the echoes of his father's name.

But grief is a poison.

And in Kaede's case, that poison didn't make her violent. It didn't make her reckless.

It made her smothering.

She poured all of her sorrow, all of her fear, into Hiroki. She coddled him endlessly, as if afraid that if she let go, he would disappear too. She fed him when he wasn't hungry, wrapped him in comfort when he needed challenge, sheltered him from struggle instead of preparing him for it.

She loved him too much.

Too much.

And so, the boy who was supposed to inherit his father's fire, his strength, his will…

Became soft.

Weak.

Fat.

Hiroki Mazino—the son of a legend—reduced to a joke.

And now, as his body floated lifelessly in the ocean, as his lungs begged for air, as his muscles screamed in exhaustion, he realized something.

He had spent his entire life running.

Running from pain. Running from struggle. Running from becoming something more than what he was.

But Shotaro wasn't letting him run anymore.

This wasn't just training.

This was a reckoning.

A chance to become someone his father wouldn't be ashamed of.

A chance to become someone he himself wouldn't be ashamed of.

For the first time, Hiroki Mazino reached out—not for comfort. Not for safety.

But for power.

For freedom.

For himself.

Mugyiwara Shotaro, for all the sarcasm, all the wit, all the relentless shit-talking he threw at the world, saw something in Hiroki Mazino that made his chest tighten.

He saw himself.

A version of himself that could have existed if things had been just a little different.

A boy weighed down by circumstances he never chose. A soul buried under tragedy tat crippled.

Shotaro had been there during the hokkaido incident.

He had been the weak one. The lost one. The one who had to claw his way out of the abyss, not because anyone held out a hand to him, but because there was no other choice.

But Hiroki?

Hiroki still had a choice.

Mugyiwara Shotaro refused to let another Mugyiwara Shotaro be born—another boy who could have been great, but wasn't.

Another boy who would look in the mirror years later and see nothing but wasted potential staring back.

Another boy who would realize, too late, that no one was going to save him.

No.

Mugyiwara Shotaro was going to break him.

Not out of cruelty. Not out of malice.

But because he knew—he knew—that somewhere, deep inside this short, fat, pathetic excuse of a punk, was a man waiting to rise.

And if Hiroki Mazino had to die a thousand deaths in the next few hours just to reach that point?

Then so be it.

Hiroki Mazino crawled out of the waves, gasping, coughing up seawater, his entire body trembling from exhaustion. His lungs burned, his limbs felt like lead, and every inch of him was screaming to just stay down. To lie there, unmoving, and let the world pass him by—like it always had.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Something had changed.

His fingers dug into the wet sand, his breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, but he moved. He rose, shaking, but he stood.

Shotaro stood on the rocks above him, arms crossed, watching. For a long moment, he said nothing, just let the sound of the waves fill the silence. Then, he exhaled.

"One hour until school," Shotaro said, voice even, unreadable. "Get ready. Go home. Freshen up."

Before Hiroki could respond, Shotaro vanished, a flicker of space folding around him, like reality itself refused to hold him in place.

Hiroki stood there, soaked, battered, still catching his breath.

For the first time in his life, he felt alive.

Kaede Mazino stood in the kitchen, her hazel eyes narrowing as she caught sight of her son stepping through the front door. Her long blonde hair, slightly disheveled from the morning, framed her sharp yet tired features. She had been up early, making sure Hiroki had breakfast, as always—though he hadn't shown up to eat it. And now here he was, dripping wet, his jump suite clinging to his body, his expression oddly… different.

Something was off.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned to him fully. "Hiroki," she said, voice laced with suspicion. "What happened?"

Her son hesitated. He had been through hell in the last few hours. Thrown into the sea, nearly drowned, and forced to push past his limits until something inside him finally clicked. But looking at his mother now, he saw the same concern she always had—the same worry, the same fear that had made her coddle him all these years. And for the first time, he didn't want that.

He didn't want to be coddled.

"I just went for a run," Hiroki said, forcing a grin. "Figured I should lose some weight."

Kaede's brows knitted together. Hiroki had never once said that in his life. He had never cared. She had always made sure he didn't have to care.

And yet here he was. Soaked. Breathing harder than usual. Standing taller, somehow—not physically, but in a way that made her heart clench.

She wasn't sure if she should be proud or afraid.

Day 2

4 AM.

The world was still drowning in darkness, save for the distant glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of neon signs from late-night bars. The air was cold, crisp, biting against the skin like needles, but Shotaro Mu-gyi-wara stood unfazed, arms crossed, his crimson eyes gleaming under the pale moon.

Hiroki, on the other hand, was already wheezing, bent over with his hands on his knees. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the sand of the beach. His lungs burned, his legs felt like lead, and his entire body screamed in protest.

Shotaro cracked his neck. "That was the warm-up."

Hiroki's soul nearly left his body.

Day 3

Shotaro watched as Hiroki collapsed onto the sand, his limbs trembling violently. His body was pushed past its limits, his breath ragged. He had been running, jumping, dodging, throwing punches into the air until his knuckles ached. But he was still weak.

Still slow.

Still the same Hiroki from two days ago.

And Shotaro wouldn't allow that.

He walked up to him, crouched down, and yanked Hiroki up by the collar. Their faces were inches apart. "You think I'm doing this for fun? Do you think I'm enjoying torturing you?"

Hiroki's lip quivered.

"Answer me, fatass."

Hiroki clenched his teeth. "...No."

"Then stand up."

"I… I can't—"

Shotaro slammed his fist into Hiroki's gut—not hard enough to do real damage, but hard enough to make him double over in pain.

"You don't get to say you can't," Shotaro growled. "The world doesn't give a damn about your limits. No one is going to hold your hand when you're on the ground. No one is going to stop and say, 'Oh, poor Hiroki, let's wait until he's ready.' Either you move, or you die where you stand."

Hiroki coughed, gasping for air.

Shotaro let go of him, watching as he fell back onto the sand. "Stay down if you want. But if you do, don't come back."

Hiroki clenched his fists.

Shotaro turned away.

Then—

Hiroki pushed himself up. His legs trembled, his arms ached, but he stood.

Shotaro smiled. "Good."

Day 4

"Mantra is not just about strength," Shotaro said, his voice calm, measured. "It's about the will to fight. The will to survive. The will to be more than what you were yesterday."

Hiroki, covered in bruises, his body aching, stared at Shotaro with newfound fire in his eyes.

He charged.

Shotaro dodged effortlessly, stepping aside as Hiroki's fist sailed through empty air.

Again.

Hiroki swung. Faster. More controlled.

Shotaro blocked it with one hand. "Better."

Hiroki gritted his teeth and twisted his body, aiming a kick at Shotaro's ribs.

Shotaro caught his leg mid-air, his grip firm. "Much better."

He let go, stepping back. "Again."

Hiroki wiped the blood from his lip and got into stance.

Day 5

Hiroki stood at the edge of the same cliff Shotaro had thrown him from two weeks ago. The waves crashed violently against the rocks below, the wind howling in his ears.

Shotaro stood beside him.

"Jump."

Hiroki turned to him, shocked.

Shotaro's gaze was unwavering. "If you trust me. Jump."

For a moment, the old Hiroki resurfaced—the fear, the hesitation, the voice in his head telling him he couldn't.

But then he silenced it.

Hiroki took a deep breath—

And he jumped.

The air rushed past him, his heart pounded against his ribs, and for a moment, he felt like he was falling to his death.

And then—

Something clicked.

For the first time, he felt it.

His Buddhic Layer.

He didn't crash into the water.

He did'nt even felt it.

Hiroki Mazino stood before the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was unrecognizable.

The fat, round face that had once been his was gone. In its place was a sharper, more defined jawline. His cheeks, once bloated with years of overfeeding, had sculpted into something lean, strong. His once soft, pudgy arms were now carved with muscle, veins faintly visible beneath his skin.

He raised a hand to his chest—his fingers brushed against solid muscle. His stomach, which had once been a collection of rolls, was now a firm, chiseled core. His legs, once short and stubby, had stretched, giving him an imposing height of 6'2.

He was towering.

He was powerful.

The old Hiroki was dead.

The weight of the moment crashed into him all at once. He felt his breath hitch, his fingers trembling as he pressed them to his face.

How?

How had it come to this?

For years, he had been the weak one. The bullied one. The one who hid behind humor, behind food, behind the lie that he didn't care. That it was just how he was.

But it wasn't.

He had been shaped, molded by hands that weren't his own—by his mother's overprotectiveness, by his past, by his own refusal to change.

But Shotaro saw him.

Shotaro had dragged him out of his grave. Had broken him down until there was nothing left but the raw materials of something greater.

And now, here he stood.

A deep, shaky breath left his lips. He clenched his fists, feeling the power beneath his skin, the raw strength that was now his to wield.

For the first time in his life—

Hiroki Mazino was no longer the weak one.

Hiroki stepped out of the bathroom, steam rolling off his skin, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. The mirror's lingering condensation distorted his reflection, but he didn't need to see it. He already knew—his body wasn't the same anymore.

He ran a hand through his damp blonde hair, letting out a slow breath. The past two weeks had broken him. Had rebuilt him. Had transformed him.

And now, as he stepped into the hallway—

"PFFT—?!"

Kanoko Mazino spit her coffee everywhere.

The rebellious big sister of the Mazino household stood there, wide-eyed, frozen. Her hands trembled, still gripping the coffee mug, while brown liquid dripped down her chin.

Hiroki blinked. "…The hell? You good?"

Kanoko wasn't good.

For years, her little brother had been a fat fuck—a short, round, soft little nerd who got bullied on a daily basis but laughed it off like it didn't bother him. But this? This was not that kid.

The Hiroki standing before her was massive. Tall. Ripped. His chest and abs looked like they were sculpted from stone. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle, and his jawline—when the hell did he get a jawline?

Her brain refused to process it.