Training Hiroki-II

"Who the hell are you?" she muttered, still in shock.

Hiroki scratched his cheek. "Still me, you dumbass."

Kanoko's eye twitched. Still him? Still him? No, the hell it wasn't.

This was some JoJo protagonist. This was some Greek god. This was some delinquent gang leader straight out of a manga.

And worst of all—this was her little brother?

She set her coffee cup down, hands shaking. Then, with narrowed eyes, she walked up to him, grabbed his face with both hands, and squished his cheeks.

"Where the hell did you hide the old Hiroki?" she shouted.

Hiroki groaned. "Tch—get off, woman!" He shoved her hands away.

She staggered back, staring at him in disbelief. Her little brother had never been able to shove her like that before.

Kanoko was still reeling from the shock, but she wasn't the most affected. Not by a long shot.

Kaede Mazino stood at the end of the hallway, frozen. The coffee cup in her hands trembled. Her breath hitched in her throat.

Hiroki… was unrecognizable.

He wasn't the short, soft, pudgy little boy she had smothered in hugs. He wasn't the child she had coddled, overfed, and wrapped in layers of protection. He wasn't the boy who reminded her of him—of her late husband, of the man she lost so many years ago.

He had grown.

His muscles were sharp, his height towering. His body was carved with strength, his posture straight and unyielding. The round cheeks she used to pinch were gone, replaced with a strong jawline.

For the past thirteen years, she had convinced herself that as long as Hiroki stayed small, weak, safe, then nothing could take him from her.

As long as he stayed her little boy, the world couldn't take him like it took her husband.

But now—

He's gone.

The realization crushed her. She swallowed hard, her fingers clenching around the ceramic cup until she feared it would break.

"Hiroki…" she whispered.

Her son turned toward her. And that was when it truly hit her.

His eyes—there was something in them that hadn't been there before.

Not just strength. Not just confidence.

Maturity.

A piece of her little boy had died, and something else had taken its place.

Kaede tried to smile, tried to speak, but the words got caught in her throat. Because she knew.

She had lost him.

Not completely. Not physically. But the version of him—the small, clumsy boy who always clung to her, the little arms that always reached up for comfort, the child she could still hold onto like a piece of the past—

That Hiroki was gone.

And she didn't know how to deal with it.

So she did the only thing she could.

She swallowed her grief. She pushed down the lump in her throat. And she forced a smile.

"You look…" her voice wavered. "You look… handsome."

Hiroki scratched his cheek, clearly embarrassed. "Tch—don't be weird, Mom."

Kaede chuckled softly, but inside, her heart broke.

Because she knew something was wrong.

Her son wasn't a little boy anymore.

The morning air was crisp, the faint glow of dawn casting long shadows across the Akagitsune estate's courtyard. Hiroki stood with his fists clenched, his body still sore from the brutal training of the past two weeks. His transformation had been undeniable—his height had shot up, his muscles had hardened, his fat had burned away like paper in fire.

But he knew this was only the beginning.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cold morning air.

"Alright, Aniki... I'm ready for phase two of the training."

Shotaro, perched lazily on the edge of the wooden engawa, yawned. He scratched the back of his silver hair and stretched like a bored cat.

"Your Buddhic plane has been activated… you're on the plane of phasing now," he said, his crimson eyes half-lidded with disinterest. "Next, we tenfold the suffering, break your soul over and over again, and boom—your Atmic layer activates. Then you can finally access your chakras."

He tilted his head, eyeing Hiroki up and down. "You'll also have to decide which route to follow when that happens."

Hiroki frowned. "Huh? What do you mean, Aniki?"

Shotaro yawned again, rubbing his eyes like he hadn't just dropped a life-changing bomb on him.

"So, I told you about the seven chakras that exist in the Atmic layer, right?"

"Yeah," Hiroki nodded. "Natraja, Krishnaa, Sadashiva, Hanuman, Lakshmi, Parvati, and Ganesha."

"Good." Shotaro leaned back against a wooden pillar. "Then you should also know that Karma resides in the Causal plane. The same way people inherit talents, intelligence, and instincts, their past-life karma influences their potential in this life. Some people are born with specialties—subtle abilities influenced by the echoes of their previous existence."

Hiroki nodded slowly, absorbing the information.

"But here's the thing," Shotaro continued. "Once your Atmic layer is fully awakened, you'll need to make a choice—what path you'll take. Think of it like… cultivation genres."

Hiroki blinked. "Wait, what?"

Shotaro smirked, his crimson eyes glinting.

"You ever read cultivation novels?"

Hiroki scratched his head. "I mean, yeah? There's usually a bunch of different paths—like body cultivators, soul cultivators, martial arts, stuff like that."

"Exactly." Shotaro snapped his fingers. "The chakras are the same. Some people focus on one chakra, pushing it to godlike levels. Some spread their growth evenly. Some use external means to boost their abilities. Some people let their karma decide for them, and others forge their own destiny with sheer willpower."

He leaned forward, his gaze sharp.

"You, Hiroki, will have to choose what kind of warrior you want to become."

Hiroki felt his heartbeat quicken.

For the first time in his life, his future wasn't decided by fate, by his mother's smothering, by his past weaknesses.

For the first time—he had control.

And he was ready.

Shotaro exhaled, watching the sky shift from deep indigo to gold as the sun climbed higher. His crimson eyes gleamed with an almost predatory sharpness as he looked at Hiroki.

"Alright, let's break it down in a way your cultivation-novel-reading brain can process," he said. "Say you take the Lakshmi route—you'd be investing everything into your Lakshmi Chakra, pouring in all your willpower, all your karma, and pushing it to the limit. What happens then?"

Hiroki frowned. "I… start controlling fate?"

Shotaro smirked. "Not just controlling it. Becoming it. In cultivation terms, think of it like the difference between a sword cultivator and a body cultivator. A sword cultivator hones everything into the blade—eventually, they become the sword itself. Likewise, if you master the Lakshmi Chakra, you won't just be manipulating probability… you'll be weaving the very fabric of fate itself."

He gestured toward the ocean, where the tide was beginning to shift.

"If someone throws a spear at you, before they even think of attacking, the conditions that allow them to throw it could collapse. The air might shift, a bird might fly in the way, their fingers might twitch at the wrong moment, their heart might stutter, their breath might catch—the sequence of events itself will warp. And the more you refine your Lakshmi Chakra, the more you'll be able to dictate what happens and what doesn't. Eventually, you won't just be predicting the future. You'll be writing it."

Hiroki swallowed. That sounded absurdly powerful.

"But there's a catch," Shotaro continued, crossing his arms. "A sword cultivator who only trains the sword loses other strengths. They lack defense, they lack body refinement, they might even lack endurance. It's the same with this. If you only cultivate Lakshmi, your control over fate will be unparalleled, but your physical strength, your durability, even your ability to withstand direct attacks? Mediocre. You'd have to rely purely on never letting the opponent's attack even reach you in the first place."

Hiroki tensed at that. He wasn't sure how he felt about being someone who couldn't take a punch.

Shotaro grinned at his hesitation.

"That's the nature of specialization. Power always comes at a cost. You either go all-in on one chakra and dominate that field, or you balance your growth, sacrificing absolute mastery for well-rounded strength. If you train Lakshmi and only Lakshmi, you'll be feared as an untouchable manipulator of fate. But the moment you fight someone who can counter that—someone with raw, overwhelming power—you might not have a way out."

Hiroki clenched his fists. "Then… is it better to balance?"

Shotaro shrugged. "That depends. A jack-of-all-trades lacks true dominance. A specialist risks weaknesses. There's no right path—only the one that fits you. But once you start walking it, you better be ready to commit. Half-measures will get you killed."

The ocean waves crashed against the shore, as if punctuating his words.

Hiroki took a deep breath, staring at the horizon.

Shotaro exhaled, his crimson eyes sharpening as he looked at Hiroki. "Alright, fatass. Here's a question for you—what do you do when someone throws a mantra at you?"

Hiroki furrowed his brows. "Uh… block it? Dodge?"

Shotaro smirked. "No. You deny it."

Hiroki blinked. "What?"

"Willpower," Shotaro said, his voice steady. "That's how you counter a mantra."

Hiroki tilted his head. "That… doesn't make sense."

Shotaro sighed, rubbing his temples before stepping forward. "Listen carefully, because this is important. Willpower isn't just some fluffy concept. It's a force of the universe—as fundamental as gravity, space, or time. When the universe was created, willpower was already there, woven into the fabric of existence itself."

Hiroki swallowed. "So… what does that have to do with countering a mantra?"

Shotaro's gaze burned. "A person's willpower resides in the highest plane of their metaphysical existence. Higher than the Buddhic layer. Higher than the Atmic layer. Higher than karma itself. The Absolute Layer—that's where your willpower rests."

Hiroki's breath hitched. "Wait, you mean—"

Shotaro nodded. "If your willpower is strong enough, you can reject reality itself. That includes mantras. Someone tries to warp space around you? You refuse to be moved. Someone tries to rewrite fate? You refuse to be written. Someone tries to erase you from existence? You deny them."

Hiroki stared at him, his body stiff.

"That… sounds broken."

Shotaro chuckled, voice dark and knowing. "Life is broken, dumbass. The universe doesn't care about fairness—it bows to those with the strength to impose their existence upon it. Willpower isn't just resistance. It's an unyielding declaration. The stronger your will, the more you can bend reality to your truth."

He placed a hand on Hiroki's chest, right over his heart.

"And that, Hiroki, is the difference between those who are ruled by the world and those who rule it."

Hiroki felt his heartbeat pounding. This was more than just strength. This was something deeper. Something terrifying.

Shotaro grinned. "So, tell me, right hand—what will your truth be?"

For the next week, Hiroki and Shotaro didn't even bother showing up at Toyotaro Miracle High. Attendance? Irrelevant. Homework? Forget about it. Hiroki's existence had been condensed into a singular, hellish purpose: suffering.

this was basically just a teenage boy torturing his classmate until he fucking ascended.

Shotaro had no mercy. Every waking second was a new torment, each one meticulously crafted to push Hiroki's body and mind beyond their limits.

He subjected him to extremes.

One day, Hiroki found himself shirtless in the Arctic, his breath crystallizing into ice, his skin screaming in agony as the subzero winds sliced into his flesh. Shotaro just stood there, arms crossed, crimson eyes watching with detached amusement.

"Adapt," he said. "Or die."

Before Hiroki could even process that, the next day, he was dumped in the middle of the Sahara Desert—wearing a goddamn sweater. The sun was merciless, cooking him alive as sweat drenched his body.

"Survive," Shotaro said, perched comfortably on a dune with an umbrella and an ice-cold drink. "Or die."

The day after that? The Amazon Rainforest. Shotaro let him loose in the middle of the jungle with nothing but his bare hands, surrounded by creatures that could kill him in seconds.

"Endure," Shotaro said, lounging in a tree, casually watching as Hiroki fought off a jaguar with nothing but sheer desperation. "Or die."

It was endless. Fire, ice, suffocation, starvation, dehydration, sensory overload—Shotaro threw it all at him.

Hiroki's body was breaking. His mind was shattering.

But something else was happening, too.

With each torment, with each impossible trial, his metaphysical existence strained—and then, like a dam cracking under relentless pressure, it began to give way.

He was phasing.

He could feel it.

The Buddhic Layer had been awakened. Now, the threshold of the Atmic Layer loomed before him.

Shotaro watched with a knowing smile.

After an entire week of pure, unrelenting torment—of freezing, burning, starving, drowning, suffocating, and surviving things no normal human should endure—Hiroki Mazino had finally clawed his way to the edge of something beyond himself.

His body was battered, his mind in pieces, but his soul...

His soul was awakening.

And so, like a benevolent god who had dragged his disciple through hell only to grant him a taste of heaven, Shotaro Mugyiwara cooked.

Not just any cooking.

Divine cooking.

Back at the estate, the kitchen filled with a fragrance that could revive the dead. The sizzling of perfectly seared meat, the soft bubbling of rich broths, the delicate fragrance of spices intertwining like an orchestra of scent. Every movement of Shotaro's hands was precise, controlled—lethal in the way only a master could be.

The result?

A banquet fit for a kaiju.

Mountains of perfectly grilled Wagyu. Bowls of golden curry so rich it looked like liquid gold. Towering plates of karaage fried to a crisp so light it shattered with a touch. Ramen that glowed with umami. Sushi so fresh it tasted like the ocean itself.

And Hiroki?

He devoured.

No, that was too weak a word—he rampaged through the food like a kaiju leveling a city. Every bite sent waves of ecstasy through his battered body. Every gulp restored something deeper than just his hunger.

And then—

A hand shot in.

"Oi!"

Rin Akagitsune, the red-light queen herself, had materialized at the table like a starving fox, fork in hand, eyes locked onto the feast before her.

"Shotaro~" she practically purred, her gaze flicking between him and the divine banquet he had just laid out. "You made all of this, and you weren't even gonna tell me? After everything I've done for you?"

Shotaro, still calmly plating another dish, didn't even blink. "Didn't think you'd be awake before noon."

Rin's eye twitched. "I smelled it in my dreams."

And just like that, the fight for food began.

Hiroki, still in a food-induced trance, barely registered it as Rin tried to steal entire plates from him, only to get swatted away by Shotaro, who kept her at bay with perfectly timed slaps to the wrist.

"Eat up," Shotaro said to Hiroki, completely ignoring Rin's increasingly violent attempts to steal from the table. "You'll need it."

Hiroki didn't need to be told twice.

And so, the battle raged on—one side fighting to eat, the other fighting to steal, and Shotaro Mugyiwara, as always, reigning over the chaos with nothing but a ladle and a smirk.

The early morning sky stretched endlessly above them, the waves crashing softly against the shore as Hiroki hovered just above the sand. His control over flight had become second nature now—a testament to the suffering Shotaro had put him through. But as he watched his mentor standing calmly on the beach, hands in his pockets, he could tell something else was coming.

"You've already learned how to fly," Shotaro said, his voice steady, almost casual. "But you still haven't learned instant teleportation like me."

Hiroki landed, dust kicking up beneath his feet. "Then tell me," he said, eyes sharp with curiosity. "Aniki, what route did you follow?"

Shotaro exhaled, glancing at the horizon as if measuring the weight of his next words.

"I…" He paused for a moment. Then, with an almost imperceptible shift in his stance, his crimson eyes locked onto Hiroki's. "I am a Rudra."

Hiroki blinked. "A...what?"

"A Rudra."

The name carried weight—an unfamiliar power behind it that made Hiroki's gut tighten. He had heard of different mantra users, of prodigies who mastered one chakra, of geniuses who could tap into multiple… but he had never heard of this.

"What do you mean?" Hiroki pressed, his brows furrowing.

Shotaro's expression remained unreadable. "Instead of seven separate chakras," he said, placing a hand on his chest, "my Atmic Layer only has one. A single, massive Rudra Chakra."

Hiroki felt a chill crawl up his spine. "That's—"

"There are always just twenty-two Rudras at any given time," Shotaro continued, his voice eerily calm. "No more. No less."

Something about the way he said it made Hiroki feel like he was standing before something ancient, something far bigger than just Shotaro Mugyiwara. The weight of his words settled into Hiroki's chest, pressing down like gravity itself.

Twenty-two in the entire world?

A single chakra instead of seven?

This wasn't just a route. This was something else entirely.

The door knocked before Hiroki could register the sound. His mother's voice followed almost immediately.

"Wait, Aniki, let me get it."

He barely managed to step aside as Shotaro passed him, heading toward the door. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Hiroki's limbs, the remnants of the morning's grueling training still clinging to his body like a second skin. But at least, for now, he wasn't on the verge of collapsing.

When Shotaro opened the door, Hiroki's breath hitched.

There, standing in the doorway, was his mother.

Kaede Mazino.

Her sharp, indigo eyes locked onto Hiroki instantly, unreadable and unwavering, yet beneath the cold facade was something darker—something volatile and unsettling, a storm barely held back by the thin veneer of control she always maintained. Her long blonde hair, which was usually immaculately groomed, looked slightly tousled now, strands falling out of place as if she had rushed here without thought for her appearance.

And then she stepped forward.

The air in the room thickened, as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her presence was suffocating, almost tangible in its intensity. Hiroki instinctively took a step back, but his feet felt as if they were cemented to the floor.

"Where is he?" Kaede's voice was unnervingly calm, like the quiet before a storm. "Where is that Mugyiwara Totaro, or whatever his name is?"

The words made Hiroki's blood freeze in his veins. His heart thudded heavily in his chest.

"W-Why do—"

"I read them, Hiroki."

His stomach lurched, and everything in his world tilted.

"Read... what?"

Kaede's eyes remained locked on his, unyielding and intense, her presence filling the entire space. Her next words landed like a slap to his face.

"All your video diaries."

A wave of cold dread washed over Hiroki, and his mind raced in a desperate scramble to come up with an excuse, a reason, anything to stop the flood of truth from drowning him.

He hadn't thought she would ever find them. He had recorded his training, those endless hours of agony and frustration, not to show anyone, but to see how much he had changed, how far he had come. To track his progress as his body and spirit transformed under Shotaro's relentless guidance. But now, now it felt like the most foolish thing he'd ever done.

His mother had always known something was off. She'd felt it in the subtle changes in him, the shifts in his movements, in the way his feet hit the floor with more force, more purpose, each time he walked. And that was before she noticed the bruises, the strange, inexplicable marks on his body that faded with unnerving speed.

He should've known. Should've realized that, no matter how well he hid it, she would be able to see through the cracks. She always did.

And then, the school had called.

They told her that Hiroki hadn't shown up for an entire week.

And, of course, she had put the pieces together.

The missing school days. The bruises that healed too quickly. The exhaustion. The growing distance between them. All of it pointed to one thing.

Shotaro.

And now, here she stood, with that cold, calculating gaze, demanding answers.

Her voice, once smooth and composed, now trembled ever so slightly as she added the final weight to the already suffocating silence.

"The school called." Her voice wavered, a crack of vulnerability breaking through her otherwise steely exterior. "They told me you haven't attended for an entire week." She paused, her breath catching. "Along with a student named Shotaro Mugyiwara."

Hiroki didn't need to turn around to know that Shotaro stood right behind him. His presence, usually so casual, now felt almost detached, like none of this was his concern. Hiroki could hear the soft clink of porcelain as Shotaro sipped his tea, the rhythm of his breathing completely at odds with the tension in the room.

Kaede's gaze shifted, narrowing in on Shotaro, her eyes darkening as she took in the silver-haired, crimson-eyed boy who, despite his youth, carried the air of someone who had already lived many lifetimes. The silence stretched, hanging in the air like an invisible thread pulling them all toward an inevitable conclusion.

She wasn't leaving without answers.

And Hiroki could feel the weight of her gaze, searing into him, demanding something he wasn't ready to give.

Kaede's eyes, sharp and unforgiving, turned to Shotaro, who stood with an almost eerie calm in front of her. His towering figure, 7'11" and broad-shouldered, seemed almost out of place in the small doorway. His serious expression was unreadable, a perfect mask that concealed the thoughts behind his crimson eyes. He didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle. There were no words, just the steady, unblinking gaze he fixed on her.

Kaede's voice, however, was not so restrained.

"First of all," she began, her voice trembling with suppressed fury, "you bring my boy into a red-light district like this?"

The words cut through the silence like a blade. Hatred dripped from her tone, raw and unfiltered, a reflection of the same burning disdain that Principal Sakura held for Shotaro. The kind of hatred that wasn't just about the present, but about everything Shotaro represented to those who still remembered the chaos he had brought.

Before Shotaro could even respond, Kaede's anger snapped. Her hand shot out, and in an instant, she was standing face to face with him, her palm striking his cheek with a sharp crack.

The slap wasn't hard. It didn't leave a mark. Yet, somehow, it hurt more than any physical blow could. There was a deep sting in the air between them, the weight of everything unspoken, everything that had been building up. Hiroki felt his stomach churn, torn between wanting to stop the madness and a sickening sense of helplessness.

Shotaro didn't react. His gaze never wavered from Kaede's. He took the slap without so much as a flicker of emotion, his face still as calm and composed as ever, as if he were completely untouched by the act. But even then, there was something about the way his shoulders tensed—just a little—that betrayed his inner turmoil.

Kaede's chest heaved with barely contained rage, but before she could take another step, a voice cut through the tension.

"Ms. Mazino—"

Shotaro's words were interrupted as the air in the room shifted with a sudden, sharp presence. Behind him, the door to the room opened slightly, revealing a figure who had been quietly watching from the shadows.

Rin Akagitsune.

She had entered the room so quietly that Hiroki hadn't noticed her, but now, she stood tall, her crimson-pink eyes narrowed in an unmistakable look of fury. Her long brown hair, tied up with traditional Japanese ornaments, shimmered in the light, the intricate details of her kimono flowing as she moved toward Shotaro's side. Her presence was commanding—elegant yet fierce—like a protector ready to defend what was hers.

When she saw Shotaro's face, her lips curled into a dangerous frown, her eyes darkening with anger.

"Don't you dare," she hissed under her breath, her voice laced with venom. "Touch him again, and you'll regret it."

Her anger was palpable, the tension thickening in the room as she took another step forward, her figure now fully visible. Kaede's sharp gaze flickered toward her, sizing up the kimono-clad woman who was far from a simple bystander in this storm.

For a brief moment, the room stood still, the air heavy with unresolved animosity, as if the world itself were waiting for the next move to be made.

But Kaede Mazino had no intention of backing down.

"Second of all," Kaede's voice dropped, heavy with accusation, as she locked eyes with Shotaro. "You torment him, make him go through hell just as 'training.'"

Hiroki, feeling the sharp edge of his mother's words, stepped forward, trying to ease the tension. "Mom, I asked for that," he said, his voice strained, but his words were cut off before he could say more.

Kaede's gaze never faltered, still fixed firmly on Shotaro. "You were beautiful like that," she muttered, as if speaking to herself, a hint of nostalgia lacing her words. "You were just my small, delicate Hiroki."

Hiroki's breath hitched, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I was bullied," he said quietly, his tone almost pleading for understanding.

Kaede's eyes softened for just a moment, but her voice remained firm. "Well, those bullies were just jealous of your beauty." She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I didn't want you to become such a tall, big delinquent... with this red-eyed bastard."

The words hit Shotaro like a blow, but he kept his composure, his stoic expression unwavering. Before he could speak, Hiroki interjected, but Kaede's words came crashing down like a storm, drowning him out.

"Ms. Mazino," Shotaro began, his voice calm but firm, attempting to break through the whirlwind of emotions. "I know you project the loss of your yakuza husband onto Hiroki; you always have."

Kaede's eyes snapped to him, the intensity of her fury almost palpable. Shotaro took a small step forward, his gaze steady, though he knew better than to push her too far.

"You have to let him be strong—"

The words didn't even finish leaving Shotaro's mouth before Kaede erupted.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Kaede screamed, her voice a raw, guttural shout that echoed through the room. Her hand flew to her blonde hair, grabbing a handful and ripping at it as if the pain could somehow anchor her to reality. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Hiroki winced, stepping back in shock, his heart racing in his chest. Shotaro, too, stood unmoving, though even he couldn't hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes at the intensity of her outburst.

Kaede's breathing was ragged as she continued, the words tumbling out like an avalanche of buried grief and fury. "My husband was big, strong," she hissed, her eyes flashing with something dangerous. "And that's why he was sent to fight 340 monsters at once." Her voice trembled with a raw, visceral pain. "I never wanted my Hiroki to live that."

The room felt suffocating, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Kaede's hands were trembling, her body shaking with the force of her emotions, her eyes locked on Shotaro with the ferocity of a woman who had lost so much.

The tension between them was like a live wire, snapping and crackling with every word. Shotaro remained silent, his expression unreadable, but Hiroki could feel the quiet battle raging beneath the surface, one that neither he nor Shotaro could escape.

Kaede's hair, now slightly disheveled from her frantic tugging, fell around her shoulders in loose waves, but her stance remained rigid. The fury still burned in her chest, but there was a deep, unspoken sadness in her eyes—a mourning for a past that could never be undone.

She was still clinging to the memory of the man she had lost. The man who had been everything she thought Hiroki should never become.

Hiroki stood there, caught between his mother's fury and Shotaro's unflinching silence. His heart raced, the weight of everything—every word, every accusation—pressing down on him like a thousand stones. The air felt thick with tension, suffocating him with its heaviness.

"MAA!!!" Hiroki shouted, his voice cracking with the intensity of his frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, the years of bottled-up resentment and confusion breaking free in a single, desperate cry. "I don't want to be a coddled little shit anymore! Can't you understand that?"

The words hung in the air, an echo that seemed to reverberate off the walls. His chest heaved, the raw emotion of his declaration filling the room. He could feel his throat burning, the need to finally speak his truth consuming him. But his mother, standing before him, didn't seem to hear it.

"No—NO!" Kaede snapped, her voice cracking with an almost childlike desperation. She turned toward Shotaro slowly, her eyes wide with disbelief and fury. "You did this," she muttered, her voice low and trembling. "You tainted him with strength… no… no…"

Hiroki's breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were lodged in his chest, unable to break free.

"Ma," he tried again, his voice barely a whisper.

But Kaede didn't hear him. Her gaze fixed on Shotaro, her eyes narrowing, her hatred for him burning so fiercely that it seemed to radiate from her in waves.

"I HATE YOU, MUGYIWARA!!!" she screamed, her voice seething with venom, each syllable carrying the weight of a decade of grief and anger. The words stung like a slap to the face, their bitterness cutting deeper than any physical wound could.

Before anyone could respond, she turned sharply on her heel, her footsteps rapid and frantic as she ran from the room, her figure disappearing down the hallway, leaving behind nothing but the echo of her fury.

Hiroki stood frozen, his heart still pounding in his chest, the sting of his mother's words and actions hanging in the air like smoke. His hands trembled at his sides, and for a moment, he felt like a small boy again, caught in the web of his mother's expectations and fears.

Shotaro, still as ever, didn't speak, but his crimson eyes followed Kaede's retreating form, an unreadable expression etched on his face.

The silence that followed was deafening. Hiroki could feel the weight of it in his chest, a pressure that seemed to crush all the air from his lungs.