"Kid, what do you think you're doing?"
Gen Ijichi had just returned to the dojo only to find Hasegumo sprawled out in a chair like an old man at a retirement home.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm enjoying the finer things in life." Hasegumo reached for a teacup on the small side table, took a shallow sip of the murky black liquid, and let out a blissful sigh. "Ah... that's the stuff."
"Don't you have a mission today?" Gen's eye twitched. Noticing a teapot next to the cup, he poured one for himself. "Since when do you brew tea this dark? Is this some kind of high-end fermented leaf?"
Pffft!
Gen immediately spat the liquid right back out, catching Hasegumo square in the face. "You brat! Not only are you slacking off, but you're using my good tea set to drink Cola? You're going to be the death of me!"
Hasegumo grabbed Hachi, who was lounging nearby, and used the dog's fur to wipe his face. "Yep, Hachi's coat is still as soft as ever."
"Wuff!" Hachi let out a wronged whimper. The moment Hasegumo set him down, the Shiba Inu exploded with a burst of speed entirely unbefitting of a senior dog, bolted for the courtyard pond, and dove in headfirst.
"Look, Uncle, tea sets were made to hold drinks, right?" Hasegumo said, unfazed. "No need to get all worked up. A cold Coke under the shade of a tree on a scorching afternoon? That's what I call a masterpiece."
"It's a disaster is what it is," Gen warned. "From now on, you are absolutely, under no circumstances, allowed to put carbonated drinks in my ceramics again."
"Fine, fine. You're the boss." Hasegumo took another sip, swirling the cup with the practiced elegance of a sommelier tasting a vintage Bordeaux.
Gen pulled a chair from the house and sat down beside him. "With the recent spike in Cursed Spirit sightings, how do you have the time to lie around the dojo? Did you corrupt Kiyotaka? Is that why he's started slacking off too?"
"Don't go slandering the man's professional reputation. Assistant Director Ijichi is the most hardworking, reliable guy I know," Hasegumo replied, setting his cup down and leaning back. "It's just that the Curses lately have been pathetic. The one this morning was no different—one punch and it was over. It's hard to stay motivated."
He stared up at the canopy of the trees. "I realized that this month, I've spent more time commuting than actually exorcising. I figured I'd be better off spending that time at the dojo improving myself. So, I asked Kiyotaka to prioritize other sorcerers for anything below Grade 2."
"And you call lounging in a chair drinking soda out of my fifty-thousand-yen tea set 'improving yourself'?" Gen's tone was dangerously flat.
"Of course! Enjoying life is a form of self-improvement. Fine, fine—let me show you something."
Hasegumo sat up straight and held out his hand, palm flat. Gen looked over and watched as the teacup on Hasegumo's palm began to rotate slowly. Then, it lifted into the air, hovering about fifteen centimeters above his hand, spinning faster and faster.
"What is this? You can control your Cursed Energy even after it leaves your body?"
"Ever since the fight with the Daitengu, I've felt like I can do... more," Hasegumo explained. "I can manipulate my energy even when it's at a distance from my body, though it gets harder the further away it goes. This is the result of my recent research: using detached Cursed Energy to influence the physical world."
Hasegumo stood up. "Like this. Watch."
He stepped his left foot onto the trunk of a nearby tree, followed immediately by his right. He didn't climb; he simply walked up until he was standing completely horizontal, perpendicular to the trunk.
"Standing sideways on a tree? What are you, a ninja from the Hidden Leaf?" Gen, ever the straight man, couldn't help but retort. "What's next? Water-walking?"
"I can actually do that already," Hasegumo chirped. "So you see? I'm not slacking. I'm refining my Cursed Energy control while simultaneously enjoying a lovely afternoon tea."
Hasegumo hopped off the tree, falling into his chair with a relaxed thud, yet the chair didn't so much as creak, as if a single leaf had landed on it.
"I'm just constantly cycling Cursed Energy between my feet and the tree. The energy tries to move both surfaces, but because the force is subtle, it creates a sort of 'inertial suction' between the two."
"I see..." Gen murmured. "It seems you've become a truly formidable sorcerer. I've never seen anyone manipulate detached Cursed Energy without the use of an Innate Technique."
"Oh, stop. I've still got a long way to go."
"Regardless," Gen said, his voice turning serious, "registrations for the Martial Arts Tournament open next week. You feeling confident?"
"My martial arts haven't progressed much lately," Hasegumo admitted. "I've mastered everything you taught me, Uncle, but that 'Heart' you keep talking about... even after fighting a Special Grade like the Daitengu, I'm still drawing a blank."
He grinned. "But don't worry. I'll bring home the championship trophy for you."
"Confidence is one thing, but don't get cocky. Give it everything you've got!"
"Sir, yes sir! One championship, coming right up!" Hasegumo jumped up and gave a mock salute.
"Good. You've got spirit. Stop playing with your energy for a bit and spar with me. Keeping your muscle memory sharp is just as important."
"Uh, actually... I think I'll go hit the wooden dummy. Or maybe find Iori and the others to spar with. You should rest your old bones, Uncle!"
Hasegumo turned and beat a hasty retreat. Since the death of little Kiyotaka Kansuuryuu, Gen Ijichi had grown somber. He wasn't the powerhouse he had been when they first met. Hasegumo didn't know how to "feel" for others' grief properly, so he did things his own way to keep Gen's spirits up.
He knew he had already far surpassed the old man. Sparring now would only risk crushing Gen's confidence, and that was something Hasegumo refused to do.
June 15, 2005. Tokyo First Martial Arts Arena.
"I don't think I've ever seen this many people in one place," Hasegumo muttered, staring at the sea of bodies. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline. "Uncle, maybe we should just go grab a snack? Even if Master Rikka rose from the grave, he couldn't squeeze through this crowd."
"Registration is in the testing hall next door. This area is just for fans and spectators," Gen said, adjusting his bag and checking his watch. "There are some famous professional fighters here. We have until noon to sign you up, so get going. The hotel is right across the street; here's your key card. I'm going to go find some old friends and catch up."
"Cold-blooded as always, old man. Fine, fine. Go play with your 'Muscle Uncle' squad. I'll go shopping after I sign up."
Hasegumo headed toward the testing hall. The crowd here was thinner but significantly more intimidating. Most were hulking giants. At 178cm (5'10"), Hasegumo looked like a fragile bean sprout in comparison.
"Excuse me, the spectator stands are in the other building," the receptionist said automatically as Hasegumo approached the counter.
"Actually, I'm here to register," Hasegumo replied.
The clerk blinked, giving the young man a second look. Hasegumo had his hair pulled back into a high ponytail. While his build wasn't massive, his sleeveless martial arts gi revealed arms with muscles as precisely carved as marble. He didn't look like a tank, but he clearly knew his way around a dojo.
"Please go to the power-testing machines over there," the clerk said. "Three attempts. You need a peak punch force of over 300 lbs to qualify for registration."
I guess they want to weed out the amateurs, Hasegumo thought, walking over to a row of machines and punching in his ID code.
He didn't strike immediately, opting to observe the competition first.
THUD.
To his right, a man even shorter than him punched a hole straight through the machine's padding. Oh, so Cursed Energy is allowed? Hasegumo noted the way the man had reinforced his fist. Wait, didn't Uncle Gen say Cursed Energy was forbidden in these tournaments?
Further down, a greasy, middle-aged man let out a guttural "Hah!" as he struck. "588.777 lbs," the machine's electronic voice announced.
Then, he looked to his left.
Standing there was a massive man with short black hair. He was at least 190cm (6'3") and built like a double-door refrigerator. Even his loose-fitting shirt couldn't hide the oppressive bulk of his muscles. The mere aura he radiated was suffocating.
BOOM!
The man's fist didn't just hit the padding; it detonated it. The machine's floor bolts snapped, and the entire apparatus skidded backward, carving deep gouges into the concrete.
The monitor staff stood frozen, eyes wide. "Zen'in... Toji. Qualified."
So that's Toji Zen'in, Hasegumo thought. He's a monster. But wait... isn't he a mercenary? Why is a hitman entering a martial arts tournament? Is this a sporting event or an Underground No-Holds-Barred arena?
Toji's punch had effectively silenced the room. Other participants were too intimidated to even look at him. Toji, however, simply shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored.
"Hm?"
Sensing a gaze, Toji turned his head. His expression was indifferent, the scar at the corner of his mouth curving slightly upward as his eyes locked onto Hasegumo.
A primal chill ran down Hasegumo's spine—the feeling of being spotted by a Grade-A predator. What a dangerous man, he thought. But he didn't look away.
After a brief, silent confrontation, Toji turned and walked away, seemingly dismissing the boy as uninteresting.
The staff member who had been watching Toji noticed the exchange and moved behind Hasegumo, curious to see what this unassuming kid could do.
Crack, pop. Hasegumo stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, loosening his joints. He didn't even take a proper martial arts stance. He simply balled his fist and, with a speed that left the spectators seeing double, flicked a short-range strike into the pad.
"300.000 lbs," the machine announced.
Hasegumo didn't want to be a "conspicuous fly" in a place like this. He didn't need a crowd of meatheads following him around.
Seems my power control is as precise as ever, he thought contentedly.
The surrounding fighters looked away, unimpressed. "Just a fast kid with no power," one muttered.
What they failed to realize was that the machine, which measured to three decimal places, hadn't detected a single ounce of "wasted" force. That level of absolute, terrifying power control was the result of years of grueling cultivation.
"Please fill out the form. Preliminaries are tomorrow in the main arena. Three wins out of five matches to qualify for the main bracket."
Hasegumo picked up the pen.
Name: Hasegumo. Age: 19.Height: 178cm. Weight: 72kg. Style: Shingen-ryu (Heart-Source Style).
"Erm..." Hasegumo rubbed his chin. "Occupation? Exorcist? Martial Artist? None of these feel like real jobs."
"You can leave it blank if you want," the clerk said. "It's mostly for the announcer to use during introductions."
"Thanks. Let's go with 'Exorcist' then. Can I leave 'Competition History' blank too?"
"You can leave it blank, but you're not allowed to make anything up. As a martial artist, don't you have a record of fighting others?"
"It's more of a side gig," Hasegumo joked. "I've only ever fought the old man who taught me. I don't think that counts."
"Certainly not. It has to be an official sanctioned record. It's pretty rare to see a fighter your age with a completely blank slate."
"Really? Is everyone else here some kind of battle-hardened veteran?"
"Not all of them, but most are professional martial artists or kickboxers with years of experience."
The clerk was chatty, and they finished the paperwork amidst light banter.
"Well, see ya, man."
"Good luck tomorrow. Hope you go far!"
"If you have too many complaints about this world...""If you're too afraid to keep going after a fall..."
Hasegumo hummed a classic Jay Chou tune while strolling through the streets of Tokyo with Hachi on a leash.
"Oh, this looks good. Boss, one small order of takoyaki. Extra bonito flakes, please!"
"I'll take an order of fried tofu, too!"
"Coming right up! Enjoy!"
"Wuff! Wuff!"
"No can do, Hachi. Dogs can't have chocolate," Hasegumo said, happily devouring a chocolate soft-serve cone in one go.
"Awoo..."
"Here, you can have this chicken leg."
"Wuff!"
The youth wandered through the bustling streets of Tokyo, playing and eating, soaking in the vibrant beauty of the city without a care in the world.