Maki gives a small nod.
"Footwork stopped collapsing halfway through."
High praise — from her.
Inumaki: "Salmon."
(Approval.)
Panda grins.
"She didn't fold."
Yuji whispers to Nobara:
"He didn't even use half his speed, did he?"
Nobara crosses her arms.
"No. Not even close."
Megumi says nothing.
But he notices something important.
Tenchu didn't spike.
It tried.
For a split second when you were about to be outmaneuvered—
The pulse flickered.
But you held it down.
That's new.
Later.
Behind the training grounds.
Megumi approaches Yuta quietly.
"What did you sense?"
Yuta exhales slowly.
"It's reactive. Defensive by nature."
Megumi nods once.
"And?"
"It pushes her when she's cornered."
A small pause.
"But she's learning to resist it."
Megumi's expression darkens slightly.
"That won't last forever."
Yuta looks back toward you — sitting alone, shoulders shaking from exhaustion.
"She doesn't need to overpower it yet."
Megumi's eyes sharpen.
"What does she need?"
Yuta answers quietly.
"Discipline."
Meanwhile— You sit on the steps. Hands trembling. Not from defeat. From realization. You weren't anywhere near his level. And for the first time— That doesn't frustrate you. It clarifies you. The mark is quiet tonight. Not pleased. Not angry. Watching. Waiting.
It starts subtly.
After sessions, Yuta doesn't walk away immediately anymore.
He hands you a water bottle before you even ask.
"Don't lock your shoulders when you're tired," he says casually one afternoon. "You do that when you're frustrated."
You blink.
"You noticed?"
He smiles faintly.
"I notice everything in training."
A pause.
Then softer:
"But outside of it… you don't have to be on guard."
And he means it.
When Panda drags everyone into a convenience store run, Yuta actually laughs.
When Yuji suggests a ridiculous food combination, Yuta tries it without complaint.
He even hands you a random candy once.
"Training tax," he says lightly. "You survived Maki's drills."
You almost don't recognize him.
Because the instructor version?
That one is precise. Severe. Unyielding.
This one feels… normal.
Human.
It confuses you more than the training.
Day One
Next session—
You walk into the training yard.
There's a cloth in Yuta's hand.
Your stomach drops.
"No."
He nods.
"Yes."
He ties it firmly over your eyes.
"Your instincts are polluted by Tenchu anticipating danger."
His voice shifts.
Instructor mode.
"You react to what might happen."
He taps your forehead lightly.
"I want you reacting to what is happening."
You hear him step back.
"Listen."
The air feels heavier without sight.
You hear fabric shift.
Footsteps.
A small scuff of gravel—
Strike.
You block.
Too high.
Wood cracks against your shoulder.
Pain flares.
"Again."
This continues.
You start swinging at ghosts.
Your breathing turns uneven.
The mark flickers faintly under your skin.
Yuta's voice cuts through sharply.
"Do not chase the pulse."
You grit your teeth.
You focus on—
Wind displacement.
Breath rhythm.
Weight shift.
This time when he moves—
You pivot correctly.
Block lower.
Closer.
Still late.
But grounded.
Yuta stops.
"That's better."
No softness.
Just acknowledgment.
From the sidelines—
Maki watches.
Evaluating.
The next day.
You think it'll be more blade work.
It isn't.
Maki tosses you a weighted vest.
"Put it on."
You do.
It's heavier than expected.
"Run."
"How far?"
She doesn't answer.
So you run.
Around the training field.
Up the hill.
Back down.
Legs burn.
Lungs scream.
She adds push-ups mid-run.
Then plank holds.
Then sprints.
"You're relying on technique to compensate for physical gaps," Maki says bluntly.
"You want to survive without Tenchu? Then build a body that doesn't fold."
You collapse onto your knees at one point.
She doesn't yell.
She just says:
"Get up."
And somehow that's worse.
From the steps, Yuta watches quietly.
He doesn't interfere.
But when you nearly trip from exhaustion—
He steps closer.
Not helping.
Just near enough that you know he's there.
That presence stabilizes something inside you.
Maki notices that too.
Later that evening—
You're sitting on the dorm steps, completely wrecked.
Panda drops beside you dramatically.
"Congratulations. You survived Maki's conditioning arc."
Inumaki: "Salmon roe."
Yuji flops down on the other side.
"You looked like you were going to pass out."
You glare weakly.
"Encouraging."
Yuta walks over holding two canned drinks.
Hands you one.
He sits a little distance away.
Not too close.
Not too far.
"You lasted longer than most first-years would," he says quietly.
You glance at him.
"You didn't go easy."
He shakes his head.
"No."
Then, softer:
"But I adjusted."
You pause.
"You did?"
"Yes."
A small smile.
"You didn't notice. That's good."
It hits you then.
He's measuring you constantly.
Not just strength.
Stability.
Tenchu's reaction.
Your breathing.
Your restraint.
And yet—
Outside training—
He talks about missions overseas.
Asks what kind of blade balance you prefer.
Laughs when Yuji trips over nothing.
He never treats you fragile.
But he also never lets you be reckless.
Later—
Megumi Fushiguro approaches Yuta quietly.
"You changed your method."
Yuta doesn't deny it.
"She responds better to external grounding."
Megumi's eyes narrow.
"And you think blindfold drills will suppress it?"
Yuta looks toward the field where you're practicing slow cuts alone.
"No."
A pause.
"I think they'll teach her who she is without it."
Wind moves softly between them.
Megumi's voice lowers.
"And if Tenchu doesn't like that?"
Yuta's gaze sharpens just slightly.
"Then it can argue with me."
Late Night
The lights are off.
Everyone else is quiet.
You lie flat on your bed.
Staring at the ceiling.
Every muscle aches.
Your thighs tremble even when you're not moving.
Your shoulders feel like they've been carved out and replaced with stone.
When you try to turn—
Pain.
You let out a weak groan into your pillow.
"…why…"
Your voice cracks.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
You didn't complain during training.
You didn't stop running.
You didn't collapse until Maki dismissed you.
But now—
Your body won't stop shaking.
Tears well up without permission.
Not loud.
Just quiet.
Frustrated.
Exhausted.
"I know I'm new…" you whisper to yourself.
At first, it made sense.
You were behind.
You needed to catch up.
You needed discipline.
Technique.
Control.
You accepted that.
But now?
It feels different.
Yuta's blindfold drills.
Maki's endurance punishment.
Gojo watching more closely lately.
Megumi's unreadable stares.
Why is everyone training you like this?
Like you're on a deadline.
Like something is coming.
You press your forearm over your eyes.
You're not trying to run away.
You don't hate hard work.
You just—
You just don't understand.
And not understanding makes it heavier.
The skin over your Tenchu mark tingles faintly under your shirt.
Not a flare.
Not a surge.
Just… warmth.
Like it's awake.
Listening.
You curl slightly on your side.
It hurts to move.
A quiet sob escapes before you can stop it.
"I'm trying…"
You don't even know who you're saying that to.
Your instructors?
Your grandmother?
Yourself?
Or the thing sealed inside you?
You don't know the full truth.
You know it's powerful.
You know it was sealed.
You know people look at you differently when it pulses.
But no one has told you why it matters.
No one has told you what happens if you fail.
And that uncertainty weighs more than the training.
You bite your sleeve to muffle the sound as another tear slips down.
You feel small.
Not weak.
Just small.
In something bigger than you.
Outside—
Wind brushes against the dorm windows.
Somewhere in the building—
Footsteps pass quietly down the hall.
They pause for half a second near your door.
Then continue.
You don't notice.
But someone heard.
It's past midnight.
The dorm is still.
Footsteps stop outside your room.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just… measured.
Yuta Okkotsu stands there for a moment.
He doesn't knock.
He doesn't call your name.
He simply listens.
Through the door—
He can hear it.
Not loud crying.
Not breakdown.
Just the small, uneven hitch of someone trying not to cry.
His fingers tighten slightly around the canned drink he never ended up giving you earlier.
He looks down.
Silent.
He knows this sound.
Too well.
After a few seconds—
He places something quietly by your door.
A small heat pack.
And a folded note.
"Muscle recovery. Don't skip hydration."
No signature.
He steps away without a sound.
He doesn't want you to know he heard.
Because training is training.
But exhaustion is private.