Akira woke on the dojo's wide wooden floor, staring up at exposed ceiling beams darkened by age and smoke.
Pain greeted him immediately.
Shoulders.Ribs.Spine.
Every place that mattered.
Good.
That meant he wasn't dead.
Ito crouched beside him, one knee down, eyepatch catching the light. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed for someone standing over a half-conscious kid.
"Can you sense it yet?"
Akira groaned and scratched the back of his head. "Sense what?"
Ito flicked his wrist dismissively. "Tao. I jump-started your nervous system with it." He smiled, casual. "Little dangerous. But you're breathing, so I'll call it a success."
Akira blinked.
Once.Twice.
"…Oh," he said slowly. "Yeah. I can see it."
Ito froze.
Then he grinned.
"Perfect," Ito said. "Look at mine—those gates are pretty cool, right?"
Behind him, a massive Shinto gate loomed into existence, ink-black Tao flowing through its carvings like veins beneath skin. The air felt heavier just looking at it.
Akira squinted.
"…I guess."
Ito stared at him. "You guess?"
Akira tilted his head. "They're big. Kinda dramatic."
A pause.
Ito laughed. "You're unbelievable."
Akira rubbed his temples. "So… where exactly was I just now?"
Ito's grin slipped. His gaze drifted upward, like he was replaying something he'd rather not dwell on.
"…Right," he muttered. "Probably should've explained that before blasting your soul open."
He straightened, hands clasped behind his back.
"Tao reflects who you are," Ito said. "Your will. Your instincts. Your damage." He glanced over his shoulder. "What you saw was your manifestation. Your True Realm."
Akira pushed himself upright. "That throne thing?"
"Yes."
"And the lion?"
Ito didn't answer immediately.
"That space," Ito continued, "is where all your techniques are born. For most Taoists, it takes years just to see it."
Akira frowned. "Then why—"
"Prodigies don't wait their turn," Ito cut in.
He turned. "Now get up. I need to show you something."
Akira yawned and stood, joints popping. Ito rose as well, cracking his knuckles.
"Alright," Ito said, clapping once. "Important part. Tao has five basic applications."
He raised a finger.
"Sword. Reinforces your physical attributes."
Another finger.
"Spear. Reinforces objects."
"Bow. Projects Tao outward."
"Shield. Hardens your body."
He raised the last finger, eye sharp.
"And Armor. You project Tao outward to disrupt other people's techniques."
Akira nodded slowly. "So… hitting things."
Ito smiled thinly. "Simpler than it sounds."
Then he tapped his temple.
"One more thing. There's a difference between output and techniques."
Akira frowned. "Aren't those the same?"
Ito smirked. "Not even close."
Golden Tao flowed into Ito's finger. He slammed it into the floor.
Crack.
The wood shattered outward, a shallow crater spreading in a rough circle.
"That's output," Ito said. "You're just placing Tao somewhere."
Then his Tao sharpened.
Compressed.Refined.Almost angry.
He struck again.
BOOM.
The floor collapsed inward, planks folding and tearing as if crushed by something invisible.
"That," Ito said calmly, "is a technique."
Akira stared.
"…That's insane."
"Correct," Ito said. "And necessary."
He rolled his shoulders. "Techniques are stronger. More personal. More dangerous." He shrugged. "But output's easier. That's why cowards stop there."
Akira's lips twitched. "You really sell this stuff."
Ito stepped back.
"Anyway," he said lightly. "Let's start."
Akira barely had time to register the shift—
A fist slammed square into his forehead.
His vision exploded white as he crashed onto his back.
Ito looked down at him, utterly unfazed.
"The best way to learn Tao," he said evenly, "is real experience."
Akira groaned, staring at the ceiling again—this time smiling. Crooked. Uneasy.
"…You're insane."
Ito smiled back.
"And you're learning fast."