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.
"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.