After Miwa finished explaining the fundamentals, Ren adjusted his cursed energy flow again.
The difference was immediate.
Less output. Greater effect.
The reinforcement around his fists felt denser now—more compact. More deliberate. It surpassed even the raw strength he'd been relying on earlier.
He hesitated.
The destroyed sandbag still lay scattered across the field.
Utahime noticed.
"It's fine," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "Go ahead."
She glanced at the remaining equipment, already calculating the replacement cost.
"These were due to be swapped out anyway."
Ren nodded once.
He stepped forward and drove his fist into another sandbag.
The impact detonated.
Canvas ruptured instantly. Sand burst outward in a violent spray, scattering across the training ground like shrapnel in a dry storm.
This time, everyone reinforced themselves in advance.
Even so, the sand struck hard enough to sting.
Utahime brushed grit from her sleeve, masking her unease.
Ren flexed his fingers.
Physical reinforcement alone wasn't enough. He needed to understand the limits.
He shifted cursed energy into his legs.
Then he kicked off.
The ground cratered beneath him.
He crossed the field in a single burst—too fast for the eye to comfortably track—and stopped near the far fence line.
The earth where he landed split outward in fractured lines.
He looked back across the field.
"Sensei," he called. "Is the field reinforced?"
Utahime looked down at the crater in front of her. Then at the one near him.
The grass had been torn away entirely in both spots.
She inhaled slowly.
"It's fine," she said, smiling brightly despite the damage. "This school exists to train sorcerers like you."
"Use it."
Ren nodded.
He launched back.
The landing shock rattled the ground again. Pebbles skipped across the dirt. Miwa nearly lost her footing.
For the next several minutes, Ren tested movement and output—short bursts, controlled impacts, sudden directional changes. The training field deteriorated steadily under the strain.
Miwa watched in stunned silence.
The techniques she'd struggled for years to internalize—subtle distribution, compression, efficiency—he applied immediately.
Not mechanically.
Naturally.
He stopped abruptly in front of her.
"Miwa," he said, calm as ever, "are there additional refinements?"
She blinked.
"Additional?"
"If there are ways to optimize output further, I'd like to learn them."
He wasn't boasting. He sounded genuinely curious.
Miwa hesitated.
She had already explained the standard reinforcement framework.
Beyond that…
There were higher-level applications. Techniques belonging to her lineage. Things she herself hadn't fully mastered.
She swallowed.
Ren tilted his head slightly.
"There's still inefficiency," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Compression can be improved."
His eyes shifted to his hand.
Cursed energy gathered along the edge of his palm.
It condensed.
Brightened.
A thin, luminous blade of compressed energy formed, humming faintly in the air.
Miwa's breath caught.
Before anyone could react—
Ren swung.
The crescent of condensed cursed energy tore forward.
It cut through the air with a clean, soundless arc.
The perimeter fence split apart.
Beyond it, trees sheared through their trunks in a straight line, collapsing one after another as the energy traveled outward before dissipating in the distance.
Silence followed.
Dust drifted lazily through the open space where the fence had been.
Miwa stared at the severed trunks.
"That's—" Her voice failed her.
Condensing cursed energy into a cutting form was already advanced.
Projecting it?
That was something else entirely.
"What technique was that?" she managed.
Ren glanced at his hand.
"Just compressed cursed energy," he said.
"If it needs a name… Cleave."
The word sounded improvised.
Miwa felt a bead of sweat slide down her temple.
"That's not 'just' anything," she said faintly.
Ren examined the space where the arc had traveled.
"Direct reinforcement is reliable," he continued thoughtfully. "But ranged options expand tactical flexibility."
He flexed his fingers slightly, recalling the sensation.
"I shaped the cursed energy into a cutting edge. Then redirected output behind it to propel it forward."
He looked back at Miwa.
"Can you advise on stabilizing the blade structure mid-flight?"
Miwa stared at him.
Stabilizing.
Mid-flight.
He was asking her how to refine a technique she couldn't perform.
Utahime watched quietly from the side.
Ren stood amid the torn field and broken fence, expression focused, not triumphant.
He wasn't impressed with himself.
He was iterating.
And that was far more concerning.