Time passed.
Not in clear intervals.
Not in moments that could be counted.
Just repetition.
Hunt.
Consume.
Return.
Again.
At first, nothing changed.
The same movements.
The same mistakes.
A strike would go too far.
A limb would shift when it shouldn't.
Control would slip at the worst moment.
But each time—
the correction came faster.
What once took multiple attempts—
now adjusted within the same motion.
A limb lifted.
Held.
It didn't tremble anymore.
Not immediately.
The delay between control and failure grew longer.
Then—
failure stopped coming as often.
The creatures that approached didn't last.
They moved the same way.
Lunged the same way.
Predictable.
Yuto no longer reacted late.
He moved before they committed.
His strikes didn't overshoot.
Didn't drag.
Each one stopped exactly where it needed to.
Pierced.
Held.
Consumed.
Again.
And again.
The cycle continued.
But the mistakes faded.
Two came.
He didn't rush.
One moved first.
He intercepted.
Clean.
The second followed.
Already accounted for.
No hesitation.
No correction needed.
Both stopped.
No wasted motion.
Later—
three.
Different angles.
Different timing.
It didn't matter.
His limbs didn't conflict anymore.
They didn't overlap.
Each movement had its place.
Each action followed the next.
Nothing broke.
Nothing slipped.
Inside the crack—
he stopped moving.
Not to rest.
To test.
A limb lifted.
Held.
No tremor.
No shift.
He changed it.
Slightly.
The edge tightened.
Sharpened.
It stayed.
Not briefly.
Not for a moment.
It held.
Yuto didn't push further.
Didn't force more change.
Just maintained it.
The pressure inside him stayed even.
No surge.
No instability.
It remained where he directed it.
Time passed.
The shape didn't collapse.
That hadn't happened before.
He lowered it.
Slow.
Controlled.
It returned to its previous form.
Not snapping back.
Not failing.
Just… changing back.
That was new.
He moved again.
Back into the open.
The next creature came.
Fast.
Violent.
It didn't matter.
Yuto moved first.
His limb extended—
stopped exactly where intended.
No adjustment.
No correction.
Pierced.
Held.
Finished.
No damage taken.
No wasted movement.
Nothing to fix after.
Yuto didn't stop.
There was nothing to correct.
No instability to settle.
No misalignment to adjust.
The body followed without resistance.
Completely.
He moved again.
More came.
It didn't change anything.
Each one ended the same.
Quick.
Clean.
Certain.
The pressure inside him didn't fluctuate.
Didn't scatter.
Didn't spike.
It stayed.
Always where it needed to be.
Directed.
Controlled.
Consistent.
Yuto stopped.
Not because something forced him to.
Because there was nothing left to fix.
He lifted a limb one last time.
Held it.
No tremor.
No delay.
No shift.
He changed it.
The edge sharpened.
Stayed.
Time passed.
It didn't collapse.
Didn't weaken.
Didn't slip.
It remained.
Exactly as he held it.
Yuto lowered it.
The shape returned.
Slow.
Intentional.
Under control.
There was no difference between what he intended—
and what happened.
No gap.
No loss.
No error.
The body didn't fight him anymore.
Didn't lag.
Didn't fail.
It followed.
Perfectly.
Yuto moved.
Not testing.
Not adjusting.
Just moving.
The cycle still existed.
But it no longer controlled him.
He controlled it.
Completely.
And for the first time—
there was nothing left to correct.