After Urashin pushed Yamikuro into the pit, the training had officially begun.
Yamikuro was stuck in the wide pit, his body covered in dirt, as he stared upwards, where Urashin stood. He blended into the fog, a step backwards, and he would've completely disappeared from Yamikuro's sight.
"Climb out of the pit with your Seikodo. Failure in doing so means you'll die."
Urashin had shifted from the soft mentor taking him through The Hideout to someone trapping him in a pit for training.
"You'll kill me?" Yamikuro hesitated when he asked that.
There was no way Urashin would've done that, but he became rougher than he had ever been. It brought back the feelings from when they first met in the diner, where Urashin gave him, Isabella, and Kaminari the chills.
"I won't lay a finger on you until the twenty-eight days are over. But if you don't climb up, you'll die from malnutrition."
Yamikuro froze, his neck getting stiff from looking above himself. Would he have actually let Yamikuro die that cruelly?
Before Urashin was able to step away, Yamikuro had to ask for help.
"How do I use Seikodo to even climb out of here? I thought it could only be used offensively."
"Seikodo is the externalization of Kishin; never did I say it could only be used to attack."
With those words, Urashin turned around, leaving Yamikuro behind.
Yamikuro had just used his Seikodo for the first time a day ago, and now he had to climb out of the pit with it?
But maybe there was another way.
Yamikuro stuck his fingers into the wet mud, which crept under his fingernails. He had hoped to find a loophole in Urashin's training, climbing out of the pit without Seikodo.
He knew the training was necessary, but he didn't want to spend another second at the bottom of the pit while being dirty.
Yamikuro raised his left arm, sticking it into the mud above himself. It worked, for a second, but the mud came crumbling down at him, sending Yamikuro back-first into the bottom.
He pushed himself up from the ground and jumped at the mud, trying to climb once again. It resulted in the same failure, and he found himself lying at the bottom.
Yamikuro stared at the sky, his body covered in mud that he didn't bother to push off.
It was just a simple failure, one that he could have easily recovered from, yet for some reason, he wanted to give up.
How was he meant to externalize Seikodo to climb up? And the mud was too steep and weak to climb up from.
Just what was he meant to do here?
The goal of getting out of here seemed impossible.
"Impossible..." He whispered to himself.
Impossible shouldn't have been a word for Yamikuro. He stuck his hand into the ground, pushing himself up.
"Damn it..."
'Kaminari, Isabella, Cedar, Rye, Deia... What are you all doing right now?'
'They're working hard, aren't they? We promised to defeat Lucian together... I can't let them down now, just use my Seikodo.'
'The wall is too steep to climb... But how do I use Seikodo to get out of here?'
The sensation he felt when the Seikodo exploded out of him felt grand. But that was for attacking, there was no way for him to-
Seikodo was the externalization of Kishin, which he could send outside of his body.
Yamikuro's eyes fell to his bruised hand.
"Can I direct it into my hands?" He said aloud.
He had figured out the first half of the training, but how was he supposed to direct it into his hands? Up to now, he had just used it to send the blast from all across his body.
The thought circled in his mind, colliding with Urashin's words. Seikodo was the externalization of Kishin. If he could send it outward, then what was stopping him from shaping it into his hands, his feet, anything?
Yamikuro raised his palm. A faint flicker of Seikodo sparked against his skin. He bit his lip in frustration. That was not enough.
He pressed his hand against the wall of mud, forcing the same energy into his palm. A surge of power exploded outward, blowing apart the dirt in front of him and throwing him back onto the ground.
His back ached and his hands stung, but his eyes widened. He had directed Seikodo with his hand, even if it was an explosion.
Yamikuro stood, wiping mud from his face with his forearm. His shirt clung to him with sweat and dirt, but he no longer cared.
"Again."
He slammed his hand into the wall, letting the Seikodo flow into his palm. This time, he tried to keep it steady, letting it reinforce his grip instead of bursting out. For a second, he held the wall.
But the mud gave way, and he slipped back down, his shoulder striking the ground hard.
Pain radiated through him. He cursed, dragging himself up again.
The night dragged on like that. Each attempt ended with Yamikuro covered in more mud, his arms scraped, his chest rising and falling faster with every failure. His muscles begged him to stop. His legs shook whenever he tried to stand. Still, he pushed forward.
He couldn't let Lucian win. He was going to be the one to kill him. His parents, Elara, Kazuhiko, and everyone: They had all suffered because of Lucian.
When the stars above started to fade and the fog grew colder, Yamikuro had stopped counting how many times he had tried. His fingers bled from the effort, his voice hoarse from muttering curses at himself. Yet the spark of Seikodo in his hands grew steadier. What used to explode outward now clung to his palms, forming a faint layer of energy that reinforced his grip.
He dug his fingers into the mud again, but this time they did not slip. His hand sank in, strengthened by Seikodo.
He pulled, dragging himself up, then forced Seikodo into his legs to push higher. The mud trembled but did not give way.
"Almost there…" he whispered.
The wall stretched above him like a mountain, but for the first time, it felt possible. His arms burned, his body begged him to stop, but he climbed one more step. And then another.
Halfway up, his foot slipped. His body lurched, nearly throwing him back down. His heart stopped for a moment, fear flooding his veins. He clawed into the dirt with Seikodo in both hands, refusing to let go. The walls shook, but his grip held.
He pushed again. Higher. Higher. The top drew closer, his arms straining with every pull.
By the time his hand reached over the edge, his body was at its limit. He forced the last of his Seikodo into his arm, pulling himself out of the pit. His chest collapsed onto the ground above, his face buried in the dirt.
He stayed like that for several breaths, his body unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The sky had turned gray, the first hints of the morning sun breaking through the fog.
Yamikuro pushed himself to his knees, his hands trembling, his body covered in mud and blood. His shirt was torn, his arms streaked with cuts. His eyes, however, burned colder than they had the night before.
Urashin stood nearby with a cigarette between his fingers, watching him without a word. His cloak was gone, his hair loose under the bandana. He had been watching the entire night.
Yamikuro met his gaze, his breathing still heavy.
Urashin took a drag of the cigarette, exhaled, and let the smoke fade into the morning fog.
"You did it," he said at last. "Round one is over."
There was no smile, no warmth, just a blunt verdict.
Yamikuro's lips pressed together. He did not thank him. He did not complain. He only stood, shoulders squared, staring back at the man who had thrown him into the pit.
Urashin saw it clearly. The boy who collapsed into the dirt last night was gone. In his place stood someone colder, sharper, someone who could stare back at him without flinching.
"Get cleaned up," Urashin said, tossing the cigarette aside. "The real training begins now."
The words hung heavy in the air. Yamikuro took them in without a word, but his fists tightened.
Lucian's face flashed in his mind. That man was waiting for him at the end of this path.