The sun hadn't risen yet, but the skies had started their slow transformation from indigo to a shy lavender. In the distance, the mist hovered like a guardian spirit, hanging over the hills surrounding the home of the Kaminari Socho. The only sounds were the birds chirping sleepily in the trees and the rhythmic clack of wooden sandals echoing across the temple walkway.
Shinji sat beneath the ancient red maple tree near the koi pond, the same place where he had waited in silence the night before. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, his hands still calloused from training, and his heart... confused. Hope had taken root, but doubt still sat next to it like an unwelcome sibling.
He barely noticed the presence of someone walking toward him until a familiar voice gently pierced the quiet.
"You come out here often, don't you?"
Shinji blinked and looked up to see **Tora**, carrying a steaming mug of tea and wearing his trademark long sleeved robe that revealed faded tattoos of old battle sigils across his arms.
Tora was the kind of man who smelled of bamboo, old steel, and smoke. He'd fought in more battles than anyone could count, yet somehow still found time to tend to bonsai trees with delicate precision.
"I couldn't sleep," Shinji muttered.
Tora grunted and sat beside him, handing him a second cup of tea. Shinji blinked. "You made me tea?"
"No, I found it floating in the koi pond. Of course I made it," he said, smirking slightly. "Chamomile and ginger. Good for anxious souls and sore bones."
Shinji sipped and sighed. "It's good."
Tora nodded, watching the reflection of the fading stars in the pond water. "You're thinking about the weapon again."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Kid, I've seen boulders with fewer emotions than your face right now."
Shinji cracked a laugh despite himself.
Tora took a breath, then leaned back on one hand. "I never told you about your father, did I?"
Shinji blinked. "No. But I do know you two were teammates."
Tora looked up, eyes lost in memories. "Your father, Enji, was one of the strongest fire Jinki wielders I'd ever seen. But not always. You know he didn't get his weapon on the first try either?"
Shinji's eyes widened. "Wait... really?"
"Really. First three attempts, nothing. The rest of us were lighting up the chamber like a firework show. Enji? Nada. You think you're frustrated? He once punched a tree so hard his hand swelled up like a pumpkin. I had to ice it with river moss."
Shinji laughed again, shaking his head. "Why didn't he give up?"
"Because deep down, he knew he wasn't *ready* yet. Not because he wasn't strong, but because he hadn't figured out who he was. See, Jinki weapons don't respond to power alone. They respond to clarity."
"Clarity?"
"Of heart. Of purpose. When Enji finally summoned his weapon, it wasn't during training. It was during a mission—protecting someone who needed him. His heart knew what it needed to do, and the weapon came like lightning."
Shinji looked down at his reflection. "What if I never get mine?"
Tora looked him dead in the eyes. "Then I'll eat my favorite bonsai tree. But until then... give it time. Trust yourself. And keep training. You don't need a soul weapon to get stronger."
The old man stood up and ruffled Shinji's hair with a rough hand. "Besides, I've seen your Inferno Slash. It used to look like a spicy slap. Now it's got some bite."
Shinji stood, too. "Thanks, Tora."
Tora smirked. "Just don't set yourself on fire again."
"No promises."
The academy was closed for the summer solstice, giving students the rare chance to train at their own pace. Shinji and Denki agreed to spend the day together at their favorite training ground—the old sparring ring near the cliff edge, overlooking the valley below.
"You bring the wooden swords?" Denki asked, stretching as he approached.
Shinji nodded, holding up two well-worn practice blades. "Don't worry, I even waxed the handles. No more 'splinters of shame' like last time."
Denki gave him a grin. "You spoil me."
"Don't make it weird."
They started with stretches, then basic forms. The two moved in sync, having trained together since they were ten. Denki's form was swift and precise, while Shinji's carried a burning determination, his blade cuts leaving trails of warm air behind them.
After an hour, Shinji stepped back and unrolled a scroll from his belt.
"New technique?" Denki asked, raising an eyebrow.
Shinji nodded. "Yeah. D-rank fire technique—**Infernal Rage**. Supposed to boost strength and aggression for a short time, but at the cost of some control."
Denki winced. "Sounds like it was made for Inazuma."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
While Shinji sat cross-legged and studied the scroll's instructions, Denki moved a few feet away and summoned a scroll of his own—**Thunder Flash**, a D-rank lightning technique focused on burst speed and disorientation. It required precise breathing and rapid footwork.
"Ready?" Shinji asked, standing.
"Always," Denki replied.
Shinji's first attempt at Infernal Rage ended in disaster. His aura flickered, surged—and then he fell flat on his back as his legs buckled.
Denki, meanwhile, zipped forward two steps and smacked into a tree.
"Maybe we *both* should've stretched more," Denki wheezed from the ground.
Shinji coughed. "I think my spine touched my ankles."
But they didn't quit.
They trained into the afternoon. Shinji began to feel the fire in his belly swirl in a more controlled rhythm. Infernal Rage, when activated correctly, surrounded him with a flaming aura that made his strikes heavier, faster, more passionate—but it also frayed the edges of his discipline. He nearly broke a training dummy in half with one slash and then tripped over the remains.
Denki's Thunder Flash finally triggered in a bolt of blue light that zigzagged his body two meters forward in a blink. He reappeared, hair singed and eyes wide.
"I *blinked* through time!" he yelled.
"You blinked into my sandwich," Shinji replied, holding up his flattened lunch.
They laughed. Hard.
---
By late afternoon, both boys had mastered their new techniques to usable levels. Sweat drenched their tunics. Their hair clung to their foreheads. But their eyes gleamed with pride.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Denki asked.
Shinji raised a brow. "That we should nap for four hours and then eat our weight in noodles?"
"Well, yes. But also—let's spar."
They stood across from each other, wooden swords at the ready. No aura weapons, no scrolls—just raw technique.
"Rules?" Shinji asked.
"First one to drop or surrender loses. Try not to break anything."
They clashed.
The ring echoed with the crack of wood against wood, kicks, blocks, and sharp exhales. Shinji's fire-infused style was aggressive, sweeping, powerful. Denki's was agile, electric, darting in and out like lightning bugs in a storm.
"Inferno Slash!" Shinji cried, his wooden blade flaming for a split second as he launched a sweeping strike.
Denki countered with Thunder Flash, reappearing behind Shinji mid-strike and tapping his back.
"Gotcha!"
"Too slow," Shinji replied, pivoting and catching Denki's foot with his own.
They fell, rolled, clashed again. The ring became a blur of fire and sparks, of laughter and grunts, of skill honed by friendship.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of back-and-forth, they both stood across from each other, breathing hard.
One last strike each.
Shinji's Inferno Slash collided with Denki's lightning-thrust.
*BOOM!*
Smoke billowed. Dust rose. When it cleared, both boys were on the ground, laughing breathlessly.
"Draw?" Denki asked, holding up a hand.
"Draw," Shinji agreed, high-fiving it.
---
Unbeknownst to them, **Tora** had been watching from a tree above the cliffside. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Not bad at all."
After the boys rested and chugged down bottles of water, Tora dropped from the tree with a mighty *thud*.
"Alright, lovebirds," he said. "How about a 2-on-1?"
The boys turned, eyes wide. "Wait, seriously?"
Tora cracked his knuckles. "Ten minutes rest. Then we spar. Wooden weapons only. Let's see what you've learned."
It wasn't a sparring match. It was a lesson in humility.
Tora moved like a panther and hit like a boulder. His wooden staff spun like a hurricane, intercepting every strike they launched.
Shinji tried his Inferno Slash—Tora blocked it with one arm and flicked him away.
Denki zipped in with Thunder Flash—Tora ducked under and tapped him on the back of the head with his stick.
"You're both good," Tora said as they regrouped. "But you think power alone makes a warrior?"
He charged. They barely kept up.
For fifteen grueling minutes, the boys fought side by side, slowly adapting, learning each other's movements in harmony. They coordinated—Shinji burning forward while Denki flashed to blind spots.
They finally managed a double-strike that made Tora backstep for the first time.
"Now *that's* more like it," he said, smiling.
The spar ended with two boys lying in the grass, panting while Tora sat down beside them.
"Good fight," Tora said, eyes to the sky. "You're getting stronger."
---
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the clouds with fire, Shinji stood alone in the ring once more.
He took a deep breath.
"I'm ready now," he whispered. "Please... just give me a sign."
He closed his eyes.
His aura flared faintly.
He raised his wooden sword and whispered: "**Katsuenjin**...?"
Nothing.
He smiled. "Okay. Not today."
But it didn't hurt as much. He knew it would come.
Eventually.
He turned and saw Denki and Tora waiting for him.
"Coming?" Denki called.
"Yeah."
And as he walked toward them, something flickered behind him. A brief, red glow.
Not enough for a summon.
But enough for a spark