"Konoha Mighty Whirlwind!"
Ducking low to evade the incoming strike, Kyle spun into a roundhouse kick, the top of his foot slamming hard into the wooden alchemical puppet before him. A sharp crack echoed through the room.
"Ow, damn it!"
Kyle clutched his foot and plopped onto the floor.
That crisp crack wasn't just the puppet splintering—it was his own metatarsal.
As expected, he hadn't spent enough time training with Lightning Body Forging.
Still, Kyle could feel his physical conditioning improving far faster these days than before.
Prior to developing Lightning Body Forging, he'd been cautious about overtraining during a critical growth period that might stunt his height. His regimen had consisted of little more than daily push-ups, sit-ups, and squats.
As a result, his baseline physique had been roughly equivalent to a college student acing every physical fitness test back in his previous life.
After just half a month of Lightning Body Forging, Kyle figured he could now stroll into an amateur boxing match and mop the floor with his opponent.
Of course, that assumed no magical protection from the wizard's internal reservoir of magic.
Thanks to magic, wizards generally enjoyed better physical resilience than Muggles.
Still, that paled in comparison to the monstrous physiques in One Piece, Naruto, or Dragon Ball.
Snapping a tree trunk with a casual kick—child's play for those freaks of nature—was currently beyond Kyle's unaugmented capabilities.
He could only manage to crack an alchemical puppet like this while channeling Super Strength.
And Super Strength carried risks. When magical reinforcement failed to fully cushion the recoil, the backlash could fracture or splinter his own bones—just as it had now.
Alfred, standing watch nearby, winced in sympathy. He drew his wand and aimed it at Kyle's injured foot.
A few sparkling emerald motes drifted from the wand tip, settling over the fracture. The pain in Kyle's foot gradually ebbed.
Healing magic really was convenient.
Come to think of it, Hogwarts would reopen soon.
Training in taijutsu—especially combat techniques—inevitably led to injuries.
Once he returned to Hogwarts, he couldn't expect Alfred to shadow him during every sparring session, ready to patch him up on demand.
Hogwarts had its own hospital wing, and Snape's potions were remarkably effective, but Kyle couldn't very well bother Madam Pomfrey or Snape every time he scraped a knuckle.
He needed to master healing magic himself.
Sprawled on the training room floor like a beached mackerel, Kyle looked up at the elderly butler crouched beside him. "Alfred, I want to learn that."
Alfred smiled indulgently. "Young Master, learning healing magic requires first understanding the structure of every tissue in the human body to target treatment precisely."
Kyle sat up. "So we start with human anatomy? Where are we supposed to get cadavers for dissection?"
Alfred's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly.
Whether in the magical or Muggle world, becoming a healer capable of saving lives was no simple feat.
Like Muggle medicine, healing magic was a profoundly complex discipline.
Aspiring healers needed at least an "Exceeds Expectations" (E) on their N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Even then, they'd only qualify as interns at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Turning pro as a fully-fledged healer required years of additional on-the-job training.
Alfred had shared all this hoping to dissuade Kyle; even the simplest healing spells were beyond his current grasp.
Yet Kyle's words seemed to imply he expected Alfred to procure actual corpses for hands-on dissection…
Alfred knew the young master differed greatly from ordinary child wizards, but casually discussing corpse procurement still sent a chill down the spine of a man who'd witnessed plenty of killing at Gellert Grindelwald's side.
Alfred shook his head. "Young Master, we needn't study Muggle anatomy."
"Then where do we begin?" Kyle asked.
Alfred wasn't thrilled to see a prodigy in combat magic—every bit his father's son—divert time and energy into healing arts.
But Kyle's enthusiasm was genuine, so the old butler relented.
"If Master Kyle truly wishes to learn, please give me a moment."
Alfred turned and left the training room.
Watching the old man's back vanish through the doorway, Kyle rubbed his chin. Alfred's not about to drag in a half-dead fish and tell me to practice on that, is he?
Come to think of it, magic and ninjutsu shared certain commonalities.
Kyle had initially assumed the energy within him was chakra, so before Dumbledore found him, he'd developed his magic along ninjutsu lines.
To his surprise, ninjutsu did work in the wizarding world—though many techniques were mere facsimiles.
The same visual effects often carried side-effects absent in ninjutsu; Chidori, for instance.
Still, the overlap proved some underlying connection.
So—could magic replicate the Naruto world's Mystical Palm Technique? Using Yang Release chakra to stimulate cellular division and accelerate regeneration?
The thought sent Kyle sprinting from the training room.
...
Moments later, Kyle and Alfred sat facing each other across a basin containing a listless trout, staring each other down.
Several open spellbooks lay scattered on the nearby table. Kyle had flipped through the tomes Alfred brought, realized they were gibberish to him, and promptly set them aside.
Hands-on experience beats theory every time.
"Young Master, you intend to…?" Alfred finally broke the silence.
Kyle fished a kunai from his pocket and sliced the trout's flank. "Alfred, can you demonstrate the healing spell again? Slow it down as much as possible."
"Certainly." The old butler drew his wand and complied.
Under the verdant, life-infused glow, Kyle watched intently as the cut's edges writhed, muscles knitting together.
The joined tissue healed swiftly, followed by the outer layer of scales…
In the end, only a faint scar remained on the fish's body—and even that vanished under Alfred's continued ministrations.
The trout, moments from death, suddenly thrashed with renewed vigor.
Kyle scratched his head.
Kuruso!
He'd witnessed the entire healing process… and learned precisely nothing.
Undeterred, Kyle seized the kunai and slashed the poor fish again. Recalling the principles behind Mystical Palm Technique, he attempted his first spell.
Ten seconds later, the wound had deepened rather than closed. The trout's gills, still fluttering moments ago, fell still.
Kyle shook his head expressionlessly. "No saving it. Send it to the kitchen."
————
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