Roen remained seated for several minutes after dismissing the panel.
The spiral had slowed, but not vanished. Thoughts still pressed at the edge of his mind, trying to branch outward again. Canon deviation. Timeline uncertainty. Hidden variables.
Speculation without data.
Useless.
He exhaled once and stood.
If prediction was unstable, foundation was not.
His body was still trembling faintly from the earlier training session. Fatigue lingered in the thighs and shoulders. Weakness was measurable. Weakness was solvable.
He slid the door open and stepped into the corridor. The house was quiet. Voices drifted faintly from the rear room where his father and Genryū were speaking. Shigure moved somewhere deeper inside. No one paid attention as he stepped past.
The yard was empty.
The training posts stood in their usual places, scarred and uncomplaining. Morning light had shifted higher now, thinning the earlier chill but leaving a residual coolness in the air.
He stepped toward the center of the yard and drew the wooden practice dadao from the rack.
It felt heavier when no one was watching.
He planted his feet the way he had seen a hundred times already: right foot slightly forward, heel grounded, weight distributed through the outer edge. Left hand angled for balance. Spine straight. Shoulders relaxed.
The Shinra foundation stance.
He held it.
The first minute passed easily. His breathing was controlled, measured. The position did not feel unnatural yet.
By the third minute, the strain began to settle into his thighs.
He adjusted instinctively.
The system flickered faintly.
Correction required: structural deviation.
He stilled himself immediately.
No micro-cheating.
He returned to the original alignment and held.
Five minutes.
His calves began to tighten. The wooden blade felt marginally heavier than before. Not because it changed, but because his grip weakened by degrees too small to see.
He focused on breath.
In through the nose.
Out through the mouth.
Seven minutes.
A tremor started in his right leg.
It was small at first, barely noticeable. Then it deepened into a rhythmic shake that traveled upward through his knee.
His mind catalogued the sensation calmly.
Quadriceps fatigue.
Stabiliser muscles failing first.
Frame too light for prolonged compression.
His body did not care about the analysis.
At ten minutes, sweat formed along his temple and slid down slowly.
He did not move.
The yard felt larger without voices.
Twelve minutes.
The shaking intensified. His arms began to feel the strain next. The blade tilted half a degree.
Correction required.
He tightened his grip.
Fifteen minutes.
The tremor became visible now. His breath shortened slightly against his will. His core tightened to compensate, but the compensation transferred pressure downward.
Seventeen minutes.
His right knee buckled.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
The blade dipped.
Structural collapse detected.
The stance broke.
He stepped back quickly to prevent falling entirely, chest rising and falling harder than he intended.
The panel appeared without fanfare.
Mission Available.
He stared at it through blurred vision.
Mission: Foundation Before Force
Objective: Maintain Shinra Right-Hand Stance for 30 uninterrupted minutes.
Constraint: No chakra reinforcement.
Failure registered.
Retry available.
His jaw tightened.
Seventeen minutes.
He dismissed the panel and reset his feet.
The second attempt began without ceremony.
His legs protested almost immediately, residual fatigue compounding the effort. The tremor returned faster this time, more aggressive. Pain settled deeper into the muscle fibers.
Five minutes.
Ten.
His vision narrowed slightly around the edges.
He felt something else beneath the strain irritation.
Not at the system.
At his body.
It was small.
Too small.
Too soft.
He held.
Fifteen minutes passed.
The shaking was constant now. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the packed earth below. His arms burned steadily, grip threatening to loosen.
Twenty minutes.
His breathing became louder despite his effort to control it.
The yard seemed unnaturally silent.
Twenty-three minutes.
His lower back began to ache sharply. He adjusted instinctively.
Correction required.
He forced the spine straight again.
Twenty-six minutes.
His thighs felt like hollowed wood.
Twenty-eight.
The tremor became violent enough that the blade quivered visibly.
Thirty.
He did not relax immediately.
Thirty-one.
He let the stance drop.
He did not collapse, but he staggered once before catching himself.
The panel reappeared.
Mission Complete.
Vitality recalibrated.
VIT: 5.0
He stood there breathing hard, legs unsteady, heart pounding against his ribs.
The number did not feel dramatic.
But the difference did.
The fatigue was still there heavy and real but recovery began faster. The ache dulled sooner than it should have.
He flexed his fingers once around the wooden hilt.
Five.
Still small.
But no longer fragile.
From the corridor, he heard a faint shift of movement.
He did not look toward it.
Not yet.