Part 7 — The One Who Didn't Struggle
While others strained to sense something—anything—Haruto's breathing had already settled into a steady rhythm. There was no visible effort, no tension in his shoulders, no impatience in his hands.
It was as if he wasn't beginning—
but continuing.
Ryuki brushed against him naturally, slipping in through his palms without resistance. There was no hesitation, no sudden pause that demanded correction. The flow moved smoothly, threading through his body along paths that already felt familiar.
By the time several students were still struggling to guide the energy past their wrists, Seiryu was already circulating quietly through Haruto's system, even, controlled, unnoticed.
And when it settled—
It didn't pool.
It didn't press.
It simply dispersed into temporary storage—Ranshu—as if his body had already decided where it belonged.
Haruto himself remained unchanged.
Same posture.
Same calm expression.
Same slow, even breath.
No sign of strain.
No sign of effort.
Daigo noticed.
Again—not because something stood out—
—but because nothing did.
No disruption in flow. No visible correction. No warning signs. Just completion hidden inside stillness.
After several minutes, Daigo raised his hand.
"Stop."
The field released a collective breath. Some students slumped slightly. Others flexed their fingers, shaken by tingling or discomfort.
"This," Daigo said, "is Tier 1."
He surveyed them—faces flushed, brows furrowed, bodies adjusting back to normal.
"You made mistakes," he continued. "That is expected."
His gaze passed over Haruto.
It paused.
After dismissing the others to rest, Daigo walked across the training ground—not loudly, not urgently—until he stopped in front of Haruto.
"You," he said calmly. "Stay."
Haruto looked up. "Yes, sensei."
Daigo studied him for a moment. "You didn't struggle."
Haruto hesitated. "I… wasn't trying to do anything special."
"That's the problem," Daigo said. "You weren't trying at all."
Haruto blinked. "…Is that bad?"
"No," Daigo replied. "It's unusual."
He folded his arms. "Have you done this before?"
Haruto shook his head slowly. "Not like this."
Then, after a pause, he added, quieter—
"But… something similar happened weeks ago."
Daigo's eyes sharpened. "Explain."
"I was training with my big brother," Haruto said. "Just physical stuff. Breathing. Movement. I didn't know about Ryuki then, but… my body felt the same."
Daigo was silent for a long moment.
"…I see," he said finally.
He straightened. "Do not rely on that instinct alone. Understanding must follow talent."
Haruto nodded. "Yes, sensei."
Daigo turned away, but stopped after a step.
"And Haruto," he added, without looking back,
"do not assume what comes easily will always do so."
Haruto watched him go, the words settling deep.
He hadn't meant to stand out.
But somehow—
his body already knew the path.