The aftermath of the fight lingered in the abandoned lot like a thick fog. Mohit's body ached — not just from the impact, but from the slow, insidious drain of his reverse cultivation defect. Each surge of energy he had forced during the clash now felt partially stolen by his own body, leaving him weak yet strangely exhilarated.
He leaned against the cracked wall, breathing heavily, and observed Kiran, who was brushing dust off his hoodie.
"Not bad," Kiran muttered, smirking faintly despite the bruise forming on his shoulder. "I didn't expect a calm guy like you to adapt so fast."
Mohit wiped sweat from his forehead. "I'm not calm… just careful."
Kiran chuckled. "Careful won't help much next time. But… I admit, you're different."
Different. Mohit repeated the word silently. That's what he had always known — he wasn't like the others. Most people couldn't sense or control the faint spiritual currents around them. Yet here he was, standing against someone awakened.
But the encounter had left more than just pride or bruises.
The residual energy from their fight lingered in the air, unstable and raw. Mohit reached out with his awareness, cautious but curious. Tiny tendrils of energy wriggled under his control, responding weakly to his command. The feeling was intoxicating — not strong enough for full cultivation, but enough to hint at untapped potential.
"Reward," he whispered. "This is the reward… unstable, but real."
Kiran noticed the movement of the energy and raised an eyebrow. "You're feeling it, aren't you? That zone… it reacts differently to awakened individuals."
Mohit nodded slowly. "I think so. There's power here. But it's not safe yet."
They both stood in silence, feeling the faint pulse of the spiritual energy around them. It flickered unpredictably, like liquid fire, teasing, daring them to approach. Each pulse echoed Mohit's own heartbeat, resonating with the warmth inside him.
"You should be careful with that," Kiran said, voice low. "You've barely stabilized yourself, yet you're tempting it. One wrong step…" He shook his head. "…it can break you."
Mohit glanced down at his hands. The familiar pain of his reverse cultivation defect tugged at him like a leash. Even now, after just a short burst, his energy felt partially siphoned, leaving him strained. But the sensation of controlling even a fraction of the unstable zone gave him hope. A fragile hope, yes, but hope nonetheless.
"I know," he said. "But I have to learn. If I don't push myself, I'll never grow."
Kiran stared at him for a long moment, then smirked. "Brave or stupid… time will tell."
The two boys walked out of the abandoned lot together, the fading sunlight painting the streets in orange and gold. A quiet understanding had formed between them — rivals, perhaps, but also unlikely partners in this strange awakening world. For now, neither trusted the other fully, yet the encounter had sparked a connection that would influence everything to come.
That night, Mohit trained carefully in his room, mindful of the defect and the cost of exertion. Every small movement, every pulse of energy he controlled, was a step toward mastery. And as he practiced, he realized something important:
Growth wasn't about overpowering others.
It wasn't even about brute force.
It was about understanding — of energy, of flow, of oneself.
And in the unstable, raw currents of spiritual power, that understanding could become a weapon far sharper than any fist.