Ren had learned a simple truth: energy waited for those who noticed it.
Middle school life offered more than classrooms and hallways. The city, sprawled beyond the school grounds, pulsed with emotion constantly. Negativity wasn't always dramatic. Sometimes it was subtle—the frustrated honks of cars, the hurried sighs of parents juggling groceries, the tension of someone tripping and muttering under their breath. Other times, it flared sharply: arguments, bullying, fights. Either way, it fed him.
He had been roaming farther recently. Quiet streets, small parks, even corners of marketplaces where tension simmered in the crowd. He didn't interact. He didn't push. He stayed unnoticed, letting the energy pool into his quiet reservoir, testing the limits of his range as he moved.
And today, he had a different goal.
He wanted to try projecting his energy. Just a little. Just a test.
He leaned against the railing of an empty alleyway, fingers curled slightly, breathing calmly. He concentrated on the faint hum of the energy he'd collected over the past week. A small pulse in his chest, an almost imperceptible tug at his fingers. He extended his hand toward a discarded soda can nearby, just enough to see if he could push the energy outward.
The can quivered.
Ren froze for a moment. He hadn't expected immediate success. The can wobbled, shifted a few centimeters, then fell over.
"Okay," he muttered quietly. "Small steps."
He tried again. This time, imagining a thin, invisible blade flowing from his fingertips. He flicked it slightly, like a painter flicking paint across a canvas.
A sharp cutting slice appeared, clean and shallow, across the surface of a nearby wooden crate.
He grinned. Not perfect. Not controlled. But it worked.
"Still not like Sukuna," he muttered. "But it's something."
He practiced for an hour, testing small objects, throwing tiny blades, letting them dissipate before they went too far. The drain on his body was noticeable, but tolerable. He was learning, slowly but surely.
Eventually, he decided to take a break. The alley was quiet. The city hum drifted in around him, mixed with distant traffic, faint shouts, and occasional laughter. He looked up at the sky and thought of the rooftops. Maybe Nejire would be there.
He wasn't disappointed.
"Ren!" Her voice carried across the open air, light and breezy.
He looked up. Nejire was leaning over the edge of the school rooftop, hair falling over one shoulder. She had that half-smile she always wore when curious about something.
"You've been practicing," she said bluntly, like stating an obvious fact.
"I was just… experimenting," Ren said casually.
"Can I see?" she asked, hopping lightly over the railing to land beside him with surprising grace. "I mean, not that I know anything about this kind of stuff. But it looks fun!"
Ren hesitated only for a second, then extended his hand. A thin blade shot outward toward a loose brick on the edge of the rooftop. It cut it cleanly, enough to break it without shattering it entirely.
Nejire's eyes widened. "Whoa! That's—amazing! Wait, wait, wait—how does it work? Are you… moving it with your hands? Or… what?"
"Just focus," Ren said, keeping it vague. "Energy moves where I direct it."
She leaned closer, head tilted, examining his hand like a scientist inspecting an artifact. "It's… kind of like… wow. Okay, so you can do it without touching things, but also with contact?"
Ren shrugged. "Exactly. It's easier if I touch it first."
Nejire's expression softened slightly. "You're… really patient. Most people would have gone overboard by now, trying to make everything fly around. You… you actually think about it."
"Doesn't always work," Ren said with a faint grin. "Just… small experiments for now."
They sat there a while, talking quietly. Nejire chattered, asking questions—sometimes blunt, sometimes surprisingly detailed. How he trained his body, how he noticed emotions, even why he stayed so calm in the chaos. Ren answered carefully, letting her curiosity lead the conversation.
It felt… natural. Easy.
Later, Ren left the rooftop to continue his city rounds. The sun had dropped lower, and the streets were thick with people hurrying home. He moved through alleys and side streets, observing without interacting.
And then, he noticed it: a flare of intense negativity that made his chest tighten.
Not the usual frustration of a crowded street. Not the minor fights or awkward arguments. This was sharp, urgent, and dangerous.
He ducked behind a corner and saw a group of civilians running, shrieking, scattering in all directions. A villain—masked, tense, exuding malice—was confronting a hero.
Ren froze, instinctively calculating. He didn't want to get involved. He wasn't trained for direct combat yet, and his goal was simple: absorb energy safely. But proximity was key, and standing here, nearby, would give him enough raw negative energy for weeks of practice.
He edged closer, careful to remain hidden, letting the intense emotion sweep over him. Fear. Panic. Anger. Confusion. Energy surged into him like a tide. His heart raced. His body hummed with the familiar pulse he'd been nurturing for years.
He crouched behind a dumpster, breathing steadily, letting the fight unfold before him. The villain swung, the hero dodged, sparks and chaos radiating outward. The crowd screamed. Energy poured into Ren naturally, without effort.
And then a stray debris—a piece of metal thrown by accident—ricocheted dangerously close. Instinctively, Ren flicked a blade from his fingers. It didn't have much control yet, but it nudged the debris away, enough to prevent injury.
He froze, realizing what had just happened. He hadn't meant to intervene. Just… reflex. Small, careful, barely noticeable.
The hero turned, delivering a quick, precise strike. The villain fled, sirens blaring in the distance. Ren exhaled slowly, adrenaline still thrumming, and stepped back into the shadows.
Energy still buzzed in him, intense and raw, but it wasn't overwhelming. Enough to make him smile faintly.
Not bad for a quiet walk, he thought.
He wandered home afterward, silent and thoughtful. His body felt lighter, his senses sharper, his reservoir thicker. The city had given him a lesson without him even asking for it.
And somewhere in his mind, Nejire's curiosity lingered. Their rooftop talks had become something he looked forward to—a connection, a conversation, a little normalcy amid the chaos.
Ren entered the orphanage quietly, feeling the familiar pulse of stored energy inside him. Enough for small experiments, enough to grow stronger. Enough to survive.
Middle school wasn't just a new start. It was a testing ground, a classroom of life itself.
And he was ready.