Enhancing Powers

[Two Days Later]

[Date: 15th August, 2396 AD]

Hiroshi drifted in a restless sleep—one that felt too real to be just a dream.

He stood in the corner of a small, warm room. The air carried the soft scent of old wood and sunlight, the kind of scent that makes a home feel alive. Thin mist curled through the room, wrapping everything in a gentle haze. It blurred the furniture, softened the walls, but parted just enough to reveal two figures at the center.

A woman… gently holding a baby.

The baby’s pendant was the only thing shining clearly in the dim light—a small, delicate piece resting against his tiny chest, pulsing like a heartbeat.

But the woman’s face…

no matter how hard Hiroshi tried to focus, the mist refused to let him see her.

As if the dream was protecting her image, hiding it from a heart that had lost her long ago.

Still… he felt it.

The warmth.

The love.

The familiarity.

Hiroshi sat in the corner of the room while he saw the woman from afar. She sat with her baby in her arms and whispered, in a voice so soft Hiroshi felt it in his soul rather than his ears:

“Hiroshi… my dear child. May God never let anything harm you.”

Her voice was gentle—like a warm hand brushing through his hair.

Hiroshi’s throat tightened.

Even without seeing her face, he knew.

He knew exactly who she was.

His mother.

The baby—his younger self—let out a cheerful giggle as she tickled him. His tiny hands reached up, brushing her chin, and she laughed quietly, full of life and hope.

Hiroshi's throat went sore, his eyes watery.

“Mom…?” His voice trembled. “Why can’t I see you clearly…? Mom… please…”

The mist thickened suddenly.

The room began shaking as if the dream itself was cracking apart.

The walls folded inwards, collapsing into an endless void of darkness.

“Mom! MOM!!”

His scream echoed—

And he woke up.

[Location: Torojima Family’s Library — Present Time]

Hiroshi shot upright, gasping for breath.

His heart hammered against his chest. His hands trembled.

“Mom… Mom…” he whispered, barely able to breathe.

The library was silent—filled with the scent of paper, ink, and ancient wood. Lantern light flickered across tall shelves loaded with dusty books. Everything felt too calm compared to the storm inside him.

Shinzo and Majuro, who had been sitting nearby, immediately stood up. The moment they saw Hiroshi’s expression—lost, shaken, vulnerable—a shadow of worry crossed their faces.

“What happened?” Shinzo asked gently.

Hiroshi wiped his eyes, trying to pull himself back together.

“…Nothing,” he said, though the word scraped painfully out of his throat.

For a brief second, he truly believed he was still in Majuro’s hut. As if the battle… the crystals… the freezing… the pain… none of it had happened.

But the moment he blinked, reality punched its way back.

“Wait—where am I? Where’s Akuma!?”

Majuro sighed, walked over, and gave Hiroshi a bonk on the head.

“You fought Akuma two days ago. He’s dead.”

The memories flooded back like a broken dam—the final crystal shattering, Akuma turning to frozen stone, Hiroshi’s body collapsing…

“Oh… right,” Hiroshi breathed out. “I remember now.”

He pressed a hand to his chest—and froze.

“Wait… my chest… it completely healed?!”

Majuro crossed his arms. “Because Shinzo and I made a special medicinal soup for you.”

Hiroshi blinked at him, confused. “But… aren’t you supposed to be in Indonesia? Why are you in Antarctica…?”

A long, awkward, heavy silence followed his words.

Shinzo finally spoke.

“He’s not in Antarctica. And neither are you.”

He hesitated for a second.

“We’re actually… already in Indonesia.”

“What…?!” Hiroshi stared at him. “How!?”

Shinzo took a breath.

“When you were injured, I carried you out of the Ice Castle. I was trying to find someone—anyone—who could help. But everyone inside the ring had already melted away as Akuma's powers vanished.”

A cold chill ran down Hiroshi’s spine.

He could almost feel the empty castle again—the lifeless silence, the dripping water.

Shinzo continued, “Then, out of nowhere, a portal appeared. It swallowed us whole. We fell through it and ended up here… and Majuro found us.”

Hiroshi swallowed softly. “Majuro… thank you.”

Majuro shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. I didn’t make any portal.”

“Then who—?”

Majuro’s eyes drifted toward Hiroshi’s neck.

The pendant.

His expression sharpened.

“I saw it,” Majuro said slowly. “Right before you and Shinzo dropped in front of me, the Portal Cube started glowing like crazy. It vibrated so hard I thought it would explode.”

He took a step closer, voice low.

“Maybe… your Surokaya Pendant sensed you were in danger. Maybe it connected with the Portal Cube. It might’ve opened the portal itself… just to save you.”

Hiroshi froze.

“Surokaya Pendant…?”

He lifted the necklace slowly, deeply observing it.

The metal felt warm against his fingers—warmer than it should be.

“You mean… this…?”

He stared at it.

The shape.

The glow.

The strange familiarity.

A tight feeling coiled in his chest.

“This pendant… I bought it at the ring... But I saw it in my dream… And… And maybe somewhere else too…”

As he closed his eyes, a forgotten memory stirred—

like a door he hadn't opened in years…

finally beginning to creak.

[Flashback]

The memory surfaced like a ripple breaking across still water.

Hiroshi remembered the feel of cool river currents brushing against his skin, the sun shimmering on the surface in scattered fragments of gold. He was younger then—carefree, laughing, splashing in the water alongside Ryumi and Krimson.

All three of them were training under Bajuro at the time. They went to a nearby river after their daily training session to relax and enjoy.

Bajuro sat on a stone at the river's bank while the kids rushed and jumped in the river.

The pendant hung around Hiroshi’s neck even then, swaying gently as he swam. It had always been there—almost a part of him.

Ryumi and Krimson exchanged a mischievous grin. Without warning, they scooped up water and flung it toward Hiroshi.

A splash hit his face.

Another hit his shoulder.

Hiroshi laughed and splashed them back, retreating playfully toward a half-submerged tree lying across the river. Its trunk was slick and mossy, water weaving through its twisted roots.

They kept splashing him—Ryumi with her relentless aim, Krimson with his chaotic, messy throws.

Just as Hiroshi leaned back against the fallen tree to defend himself, he slipped with a jerk due to the water current and something sharp scraped against his pendant.

A twig—thin, curved, and jagged—hooked onto the chain.

There was a faint metallic snap.

The chain broke.

The pendant fell from his neck, dipped beneath the surface, and disappeared into the rushing current.

Hiroshi’s heart lurched. “My pendant!!”

He dove after it, but the river’s flow was too fast. The water swallowed the pendant instantly, dragging it downstream and out of sight.

His hands closed on nothing but water.

The memory faded.

[Back to Present]

Hiroshi gasped as he returned to the present.

“I remember! When I was young—back when Ryumi, Krimson, and I trained under Bajuro—we went to a river. I lost this exact pendant there. Bajuro told me that it was the only thing my mother left for me. It meant everything to me… and now, somehow, I got it back. Still intact after two hundred years.”

Majuro snapped his fingers triumphantly.

“I knew it. If it fell into a river, it would’ve been carried to the ocean. Then a fish must’ve swallowed it thinking it was food. And eventually, a fisherman probably caught that fish in Antarctica.”

Shinzo let out a breath of awe.

“Destiny is insane… The universe works in ways we don’t understand.”

He folded his arms thoughtfully and added, almost poetically:

“What belongs to someone will always find its way back—no matter what.”

Hiroshi stared at the pendant in his palm, unsure how to feel.

The warmth of nostalgia mixed with confusion, creating a strange ache in his chest.

“But… Majuro,” he said slowly. “You said my pendant contacted the Cube. But how? And… did you find the history of that Cube?”

Majuro drew in a long breath, shoulders sinking with the weight of the story he was about to tell.

“The thing is…”

And he explained everything.

Everything about Hiroshi’s mother.

About the Beast Gods.

About their boons.

Their ancient ties to humankind.

The cosmic threads that connected Hiroshi to powers he didn’t yet understand.

But Majuro left out one truth—

the truth about Hiroshi’s father being a Varkonian, and the invasion of Earth.

That secret remained buried in Majuro’s eyes.

When he finally finished, he exhaled sharply.

“So… that’s the situation. You understand now?”

“Yeah…” Hiroshi whispered.

But his mind wandered—back to the dream.

Back to the blurred face of his mother.

Back to the warmth he felt only for a few seconds before it all collapsed.

The room felt emptier than before.

Majuro noticed. His expression softened.

“…Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Hiroshi murmured. “But… this Sugokyo Mark. How do we... Like... upgrade it..?”

Majuro gave him a tired look.

“Do you even remember when you first got it?”

“Of course,” Hiroshi answered. “It appeared after my fight with Riyaku, when I regained my fire powers. And it helped me again during the battle with Akuma.”

Majuro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if preparing himself.

Then he walked toward the exit door.

“Follow me.”

Shinzo and Hiroshi followed Majuro through the wooden doorway of the Torojima Library. The cool interior air gave way to a warm, wide expanse of open land outside—an area cleared out long ago for training, surrounded by distant trees and rolling winds. The sky above Indonesia stretched endlessly, painted orange by the late sun.

Hiroshi blinked, confused.

“…Why are we out here?”

Majuro stopped in the center of the open ground, his coat swaying lightly in the breeze.

“Because,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “it’s time for you to enhance your powers—just like the ancient books instructed.”

Hiroshi frowned.

“Enhance…? But how? We don’t even know the method.”

Majuro exhaled as if the answer were frustratingly obvious.

“The only way anyone has ever strengthened their power is through training. Hard, consistent, relentless training. And I’ll help you with everything I can.”

Before Hiroshi could respond, Shinzo stepped forward with sudden enthusiasm.

“Wait. Before we start, let me check everyone’s Varkox levels.”

He pulled out the Varkox Meter. Its surface gleamed faintly as Shinzo activated it, scanning Majuro first, then himself, and then Hiroshi.

The readings loaded in…

And Shinzo froze.

“WOAH—!!” His eyes widened. “I have 250,000 Varkox… Majuro has 200,000… but Hiroshi—YOU have FOUR-HUNDRED THOUSAND VARKOX LEVEL!!”

Hiroshi felt a jolt of excitement rush through him.

“That’s awesome!”

But Majuro turned sharply, almost offended.

“Awesome? It’s terrible.” His voice hardened. “By now, your level should’ve reached at least 450,000. You’re lagging behind.”

Hiroshi’s excitement evaporated.

Majuro crossed his arms. “From now on, you will train every single day with me. You’ll practice every move, every stance, every technique you have until it becomes instinct.”

He shifted his eyes to Shinzo.

“And Shinzo, you’ll practice with guns. That’s your specialty.”

Shinzo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“But I don’t have a properly functioning gun… All the ones at the Rebel Headquarters are weak. I’ve been looking for a strong one.”

“You don’t need a perfect gun,” Majuro replied. “You need to practice. Even a normal gun works for that.”

Shinzo nodded reluctantly.

Hiroshi raised his hand weakly.

“But… how long will this training last?”

“An entire month,” Majuro replied, without hesitation. “Thirty-one days. Three sessions every day.”

Hiroshi nearly fell backward.

“Three sessions?! For thirty-one days?! That’s insane!”

“It’s essential for you to upgrade your powers,” Majuro said firmly. “Power doesn’t grow without effort. You need hard work—more than ever.”

Hiroshi sighed heavily. “Alright… I get it.”

Majuro stepped closer, his tone becoming calmer but heavier.

“And remember one thing. Just like water—fire, too, is unbound.”

His eyes glimmered with a deeper understanding of flames.

“Fire has no shape. No size. It can become anything. It can morph freely. And because of that… your flames can evolve endlessly.”

Hiroshi felt a faint spark ignite in his chest, responding to those words.

“In this training,” Majuro continued, “I will teach you different ways to use your attacks. Each attack of yours will gain multiple variants. You’ll become versatile. Adaptable. Unpredictable in battle.”

He extended a hand forward.

“So, Hiroshi… are you ready?”

Hiroshi took a breath—remembering his mother, his past, his battles, and everything he still had to do.

“Yes,” he said quietly, but with resolve. “I’m ready.”

[The scene shifts]

[An Unknown Place]

In an unknown room located somewhere far from civilization, a massive screen stood against the wall, dominating the darkness. Five tyrants stood before it, silent and uneasy.

Without warning, the screen lit up with a harsh, blinding glow. A mysterious figure appeared on it — his face hidden completely. His voice was deep, heavy, and terrifying, like mountains grinding against each other. The moment the tyrants saw him, all of them bowed instantly in fear and respect.

“Greetings, Master,” they said together.

“You fools!” the figure roared. “That kid has already killed two of our tyrants, and you are standing here in front of me, USELESS!”

Gorokko, the Fourth Tyrant, stepped forward nervously.

“Master, we are extremely sorry. But we are trying to locate Hiroshi Soraya and his friends.”

Kurumi, the Third Tyrant, smirked mockingly.

“‘We’? Which ‘we’ are you talking about?” he said. “Master, I have located the hideout of those brats. Hiroshi and his friends are in Indonesia. I sent robotic bugs across the entire country. Thousands of pictures. It took me an entire day, but I found the exact one we needed.”

“Show them to me,” the Master commanded.

Kurumi quickly opened his laptop and displayed the images. Hiroshi lay asleep while Majuro and Shinzo read the Book of Varkonian History beside him. Near them, the Yellow Portal Cube was clearly visible.

“Yellow?” the Master muttered. “I last saw that colored cube 218 years ago… on the day we invaded Earth.”

His voice hardened.

“Kurumi, at any cost, bring that cube to me. If you do, I will reward you with what you have always craved: more power.”

Kurumi bowed instantly. “Thank you, Master.”

“And the rest of you failures,” the Master growled, “get out of my sight.”

The other tyrants hurried out of the room, leaving only Kurumi behind. The screen flickered once and then turned completely black as the figure vanished.

Kurumi stared at the blank screen, panic rising in his voice.

“Find them?! Get the cube?! I don’t know their exact location, my bugs have just clicked pictures! How am I supposed to find them in the entire Indonesia! What does Master expect from me?! I’m a jester, not an all-knowing magician!”

He took a long breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“I need to start searching… this will take a lot of time.”

Slowly lifting his head, his expression changed — fear fading, confidence returning.

“I won’t disappoint Master. Not at all.”

With a sudden burst of strength, Kurumi jumped high, smashing through the roof and disappearing into the open sky.

[Back at Indonesia]

From the same day onwards, their training began.

Hiroshi’s mornings began with Majuro forcing him to break down every fire technique he knew. Flame Comet, Blazing Tornado, Infernal Slashes — nothing was allowed to stay rigid.

 Majuro made him slow each attack to its smallest movement, reshaping the flames into wider arcs, sharper points, narrow bursts, and sweeping waves. By the third day, Hiroshi could morph a basic flame strike into three different forms without losing power.

The next sessions pushed him further. Majuro had him convert offensive techniques into defensive and reactive forms — turning Blazing Tornado into a swirling barrier, or compressing Flame Comet into a short-range explosive burst. Hiroshi struggled at first, the flames flickering or bursting uncontrollably, but bit by bit, they began responding to his intention rather than force.

Meanwhile, Shinzo trained beside him with moving targets, practicing reload drills and improving his aim. Majuro constantly changed angles, speed, and patterns to break his predictability. Shinzo didn’t have the powerful gun he wanted, but determination alone sharpened every shot.

After several days, Hiroshi’s fire looked different — flexible, alive, and responsive. His techniques no longer locked into single shapes; they shifted mid-motion, bending to his will.

By the time each day ended, both he and Shinzo would collapse on the ground, muscles burning but progress undeniable.

A full month passed under this relentless routine. The drills became second nature: shaping in the mornings, movement in the afternoons, endurance at dusk.

With Majuro’s guidance, Hiroshi eventually mastered multiple variations of every technique he possessed, each faster and more refined than before.

Shinzo’s accuracy reached a level even Majuro hadn’t expected, his reactions sharp and steady. They no longer resembled two fighters learning their place — they now carried the presence of warriors sharpening themselves for the battles ahead.

[One Month Later]

[Date: 15th September, 2396 AD]

The morning sun drenched the open clearing in warm gold as Hiroshi unleashed one fire technique after another. Flames twisted and reshaped at his command — wide arcs, compressed bursts, sweeping waves — the variations Majuro had drilled into him for a month. His breaths were steady. His footing grounded. Every movement looked sharper than anything he had done before.

He finally stopped when he sensed footsteps behind him. Majuro walked across the field with a faint, approving smile tugging at his lips. “Hiroshi. Still at it, I see.”

“Yeah,” Hiroshi replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Just practicing the variations… and trying to create new ones. Everything you taught me this month—it’s really helped. I feel a lot stronger.”

Majuro nodded, satisfaction clear in his eyes. “And you’ve finally completed the training. Just as I expected from you. Well done.”

Shinzo, standing nearby with crossed arms, puffed his cheeks like a sulking child. Majuro glanced at him and let out a soft chuckle.

“You too, Shinzo. You’ve proved yourself as well. You’re far stronger than when we began. Check your Varkox levels.”

Shinzo brightened instantly, pulling out his Varkox meter. He scanned Hiroshi first, then himself. His jaw dropped.

“WOAH! Hiroshi—four-hundred and fifty thousand! You reached 450K Varkox level in only a month! And I’m at 325K!”

Hiroshi grinned. “That’s awesome!”

The atmosphere was light—almost peaceful.

But someone else had been watching.

High on the roof of the Torojima Library, a lone figure stood with the wind brushing against his hat. Kurumi exhaled, bored and impatient.

“…Let’s get this over with.”

He leaped.

A blur of color—white, blue, and red—dropped from the rooftop and landed right between them, cracking the ground beneath his feet. All three froze, startled.

The figure straightened.

White makeup covered his face like a porcelain mask. A wide, unsettling grin stretched from cheek to cheek. His jester outfit shimmered in red, blue, and white, and his twin-tailed hat jingled gently with golden bells.

Hiroshi’s eyes widened. “What the… Who are you?”

Majuro didn’t recognize him. Hiroshi didn’t either.

But Shinzo did.

“That’s Kurumi,” he whispered, voice trembling. “The Jester Tyrant.”

Hiroshi’s heart lurched. A Tyrant? Here?!

Kurumi didn’t waste a second. “Enough talking. Whoever has the cube… hand it over, and I might let you live.”

Instinctively, Shinzo held up his Varkox meter toward Kurumi.

Hiroshi stepped forward, anger flaring. “Never!”

Before anyone could react, Hiroshi leapt back to put distance between them, then launched himself forward in a blazing dash, fist cocked for a powerful strike.

“Hiroshi, STOP!” Shinzo screamed. “HE’S AT FIVE-HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND! HIS VARKOX LEVEL IS 550K!”

Hiroshi heard him a little too late.

Kurumi smirked.

Hiroshi’s fist came flying—only for Kurumi to flick his arm forward with a casual punch. Their fists collided.

Kurumi didn’t budge.

Hiroshi was sent flying like a cannonball.

He smashed into a massive stone behind him, shattering it completely. Dust shot into the air as Hiroshi stumbled to his feet, trembling, breath ragged but eyes burning with fury.

“I’m not scared of you…” he growled. “If you want the cube—COME AND FIGHT ME!”

Kurumi’s grin widened. He tightened both fists, cracking his knuckles one by one.

“Good,” he said, voice trembling with twisted excitement. “This is going to be fun.”

To Be Continued…