The late afternoon sun rested low above the rooftops, its golden light stretching long shadows across the Nozomi family's backyard. The dirt training circle bore the marks of an entire day's effort—footprints layered over one another, shallow grooves carved by sudden turns, and patches where the soil had been kicked loose during repeated clashes.
Kosoku stood near the center of the circle, breathing heavily.
Sweat ran down the side of his face, and his arms trembled faintly from exhaustion. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to steady his breathing after hours of relentless training.
Across from him, Gabriel Nozomi appeared untouched by fatigue. The contrast between them was obvious. Kosoku had been training since midday. Gabriel looked as though he had just begun warming up.
"Again," Gabriel said.
Kosoku groaned quietly. "Dad… we've been doing this all afternoon, I'm tired."
Gabriel remained exactly where he stood.
"And?"
Kosoku recognized that tone immediately.
Complaining would lead nowhere. He let out a tired sigh and stepped back into position, raising his fists once more. His muscles burned with every movement, but he forced himself to focus.
"Remember," Gabriel said calmly, "no lightning."
Kosoku nodded. That rule made everything harder. Lightning was his fastest element. Without it, every motion depended entirely on his physical strength and reflexes.
Gabriel moved.
The attack came without warning, his hand shot forward like a sudden strike of wind aimed at Kosoku's shoulder.
Kosoku reacted instinctively, twisting his body just in time. The attack brushed past his sleeve as he slipped aside and launched a quick punch toward Gabriel's chest.
Gabriel blocked it effortlessly their arms collided with a dull impact. The force traveled through Kosoku's arm and into his shoulder, pushing him backward across the dirt. His feet slid slightly as he struggled to keep his balance.
Gabriel stepped forward again and Kosoku retreated, one step, then another. His breathing grew heavier then, without warning—
Gabriel stopped he stepped back.
Kosoku blinked, confused. "...Why did you stop?"
Before Gabriel could answer, a gentle voice spoke from the edge of the yard.
"Because your father finally realized he's bullying a five-year-old."
Both of them turned.
Standing near the wooden porch was Alisa Natalia Volkov Nozomi.
Her long silver-blonde hair shifted softly in the evening breeze, and the warm sunlight reflected in her calm ocean-blue eyes. In her hands she carried a small tray holding two glasses of water.
It was clear she had been watching for some time.
Kosoku's face brightened immediately. "Mom!"
Alisa walked across the yard and handed him one of the glasses. "You've been training since lunch," she said softly.
Kosoku took the water gratefully and drank half of it at once. The cool liquid washed away the dryness in his throat and eased the exhaustion clouding his mind.
Alisa then turned her gaze toward Gabriel.
"And you," she added calmly, "should remember that he's still growing."
Gabriel shrugged. "He's doing fine, Honey."
Alisa crossed her arms lightly. "That isn't the point."
Kosoku watched them quietly while catching his breath. This discussion happened often.
Gabriel believed strength came from pushing limits and Alisa believed strength required balance.
Both were right.
Alisa turned back to Kosoku and smiled.
"Show me your hands."
Kosoku lifted them. Small sparks flickered briefly along his fingertips before disappearing.
Alisa observed carefully. "Your control improved," she said.
Kosoku nodded. "Dad made me fight without lightning."
Alisa raised an eyebrow and looked at Gabriel. "That explains why he's exhausted."
Gabriel chuckled quietly. "Exhaustion builds discipline."
Alisa shook her head slightly before stepping closer to Kosoku. "Close your eyes."
Kosoku obeyed. Alisa placed her hand gently on his shoulder. A faint green glow appeared around her palm as nature mana flowed outward. The energy entered Kosoku's body like a cool current of water.
The tension in his muscles eased immediately. The soreness in his arms and legs faded as the healing mana moved through him.
Kosoku opened his eyes again.
"...That's cheating."
Alisa laughed softly. "It's called support."
Gabriel leaned against the fence while watching them. "That's why healers are dangerous."
Kosoku stretched his arms, testing his body again. The exhaustion remained, but the pain had vanished.
Alisa continued observing him for another moment.
Then she asked quietly, "Did you notice them?"
Kosoku blinked. "You mean the people watching?"
Alisa nodded. Kosoku glanced toward the street. "They left."
Gabriel spoke calmly behind them. "Warrior Association scouts."
Alisa sighed quietly. "I expected that."
Kosoku looked surprised. "You already knew?"
Alisa smiled faintly. "You're not exactly subtle when lightning is jumping around the yard."
Kosoku scratched the back of his head.
Gabriel stepped forward again. "They're curious."
Kosoku frowned. "So, should I hide my abilities?"
Gabriel answered immediately. "No, not all."
Alisa spoke at the same moment. "But don't show everything."
Kosoku looked between them. Both had said nearly the same thing.
Gabriel smirked. "Looks like we agree."
Alisa nodded gently. "You cannot hide talent forever," she explained, "but you can decide how much people see."
Kosoku considered their words before nodding slowly. "I understand." Alisa placed a hand on his head and ruffled his silver hair.
"You're still a child," she said softly. "Don't carry the world on your shoulders yet."
Kosoku smiled faintly.
Gabriel folded his arms again and looked toward the empty road beyond the fence.
"The scouts will report back to the Association."
Kosoku followed his gaze. "What happens after that?"
Gabriel shrugged. "They'll watch you more closely."
Alisa's expression remained calm. "Let them watch."
Kosoku looked up at her.
She smiled gently. "Our son has nothing to hide."
Kosoku said nothing.
But somewhere deep in his mind, another thought quietly formed. Nothing obvious to hide because the truth about the power inside him...
Was something the world was not ready to see.