Morning came with a metallic chill. The air of Ash Lane District reeked of rust and smoke. Rein's training was merciless — push-ups on broken concrete, sprinting across shattered alleys, and carrying rusted pipes filled with sand. Every movement tore through Jiro's aching muscles, but Rein's only response was a silent glare.
"Your body must remember pain," Rein said, "so your core never fears it."
At night, Jiro meditated. He sat cross-legged in the flickering shadows of the workshop. Sweat trickled down his back as he focused on the mark on his abdomen — vitanova mark.
It pulsed faintly, absorbing energy from the air, then pushing it into his bones, skin, and deeper — toward the Vitanova region near his navel.
When he shifted his focus to the heart and brain, the process changed. He tried to guide the energy through his meridians, letting it flow like a current, burning and freezing at once. His body twitched — veins glowing faintly under his skin.
"So this… is how the cores connect," he muttered, gasping. "Essentia… Aetherion…"
For a moment, his consciousness blurred. His heartbeats echoed like drums — one beat in the heart, one pulse in the head. They were trying to synchronize.
Then daylight broke again — and with it, another round of Rein's brutal drills.
He ran through the dusty streets, his muscles screaming. Sweat mixed with grime. His focus drifted — until a voice cut through the air.
"Hey, kid," one of the older boys said, stepping from behind a pile of scrap metal. "That's a nice watch. Drop it."
Three of them. Scarred, grinning, and hungry. They looked five or six years older — street survivors of Ash Lane.
Jiro didn't answer.
He clenched his fist. "No."
The tallest one laughed. "You're new here, huh?"
They lunged. The first punch hit Jiro's jaw — but he didn't fall. His body reacted on its own. His muscles remembered Rein's drills, his mind replayed the flow of energy he'd moved the night before. His fist glowed faintly — heat bursting from the mark as he swung.
Crack!
The first boy flew into a wall.
The second one tried to grab him from behind, but Jiro ducked, elbowed him in the gut, then kicked his knee out. The third backed away, but Jiro's glare froze him. The aura around him flickered — unstable but fierce.
When it was over, his knuckles bled and his breath was ragged, but he was alive.
He stumbled back toward Rein's workshop, clutching his ribs. Rein stood at the doorway, expression unreadable.
"You saw them," Jiro said. "Why didn't you help?"
Rein looked down at him.
"Because the world won't. Survive on your own, or die like the rest."
Jiro didn't reply. He just sat down in the dirt, blood dripping down his hand — and smiled faintly.
"Then I'll survive," he whispered. "Even if I burn."
*****