Life in the village settled into a tense version of normal. At Anna's insistence, Kenji had visited the boy he'd pummeled to offer an apology. He bowed his head as required, though a defiant scowl never left his face while the other boy's mother shrieked and raged. Eventually, she accepted the apology—however reluctantly—and Kenji walked away in a brooding silence.
His training with Ray was proving even more aggravating.
That damn old man can't explain ANYTHING! Kenji roared in his mind. "Be like fire"? "Feel the fire and consume"? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!
Lost in thought, Kenji stared at his palms. He vividly remembered the surge of power he felt during the fight with "Yellow Maw." In that moment, he had taken on the cowboy and the fat bastard simultaneously, absorbing massive damage while dishing out even more. That power had felt natural, yet now, trying to grasp it intentionally was like trying to catch smoke.
Adding to his irritation were the looks from the villagers—the same hushed whispers and wary side-eyes he'd received when he was younger. He tried to shrug it off. The past is the past, he told himself. I survived. I can't stay stuck on things that didn't happen.
Meanwhile, Yushiro remained a phantom. He hadn't woken since he first collapsed onto the bed days ago. Whatever he had done to heal Kenji had clearly drained him to his core. Kenji could feel his own body vibrating with newfound energy, but it felt locked behind a door he didn't have the key to.
"Little Crimson Cat, focus on the energy within you," Ray's voice cut through his meditation.
Kenji squeezed his eyes shut, trying to comply. "Focus deep... find the core..."
WHERE IS THE CORE?! Kenji screamed internally.
He, Yume, and Takahiro were seated cross-legged behind the house, all struggling to stabilize themselves in the Beginner Stage. While a core is present at this stage, it is incomplete and fragile. Takahiro had successfully formed his two days after Yushiro's arrival and was already purifying it of impurities. Yume was making steady progress, her formation sitting at roughly 43%.
Kenji, however, was a total anomaly. He didn't know his percentage or how fast he was absorbing Hashi. He could feel the power moving, flowing through him constantly, but the structured "core formation" felt alien. Usually, a fully formed core allows Hashi veins to grow throughout the body, turning unstable energy into a reliable weapon. To Kenji, it just felt like a mess.
"Kenji, I'm heading out," Takahiro said, rising to his feet.
Kenji didn't open his eyes, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl. Takahiro looked down at his brother and offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Remember: a calm mind."
"I am calm," Kenji snapped, still motionless.
Takahiro didn't argue. He left Yume and Kenji to their meditation and headed toward the porch, where Ray sat polishing an elegant katana. The sword featured a bronze circular guard and a slight, graceful curve, its hilt wrapped in pristine white.
Takahiro's chest tightened. He recognized that blade—it was the one he and Kenji had used in the heat of battle. The memory of the steel biting into flesh made bile rise in his throat. He knew it had been necessary, but the haunting weight of the act remained.
Ray looked up from the shimmering steel. "How are your siblings faring?"
"Kenji is still struggling. Yume is making steady progress, I think."
Ray nodded, returning his attention to the blade. "When I was a little fox like you," he began softly, "I was told a sword could ward off misfortune. They said it offered the strength to cut through life's hardships."
Takahiro listened, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in the old man's voice. Ray held the katana vertically, his eyes turning cold and clear as they reflected in the steel.
"A sword is a mirror, Takahiro. It reflects the wielder—their mind, their soul. When you swing, you must not waver. If the heart is weak or the mind is divided, the blade loses its edge. It becomes a dull, hollow thing."
Takahiro looked at the weapon. "How can a blade have no weight?"
Ray shook his head slowly. "If your body moves to cut, but your mind is elsewhere, the sword wavers. A true swordsman's mind and body must be one—decisive in thought, and ruthless in action. Only then does the blade carry the weight of its master."