After a month of steadily accumulating energy, I decided it was time to take the next step.
I had enough stored now that small experiments wouldn't leave me empty-handed. Enough that I could push myself, test the limits of my body, and see how this power really worked.
I picked the far corner of the playground—the one hidden by trees and the side wall—so no one could watch. It was quiet, isolated, and perfect for practice. I had learned the importance of secrecy the hard way.
I started small, focusing on my body first. I had noticed before that when I directed the energy into myself, even subtly, I felt stronger, faster, steadier. So I tried to push that further, deliberately channeling more of the energy into my muscles, into my bones, into my reflexes.
The effect was immediate. My limbs moved with more precision, my balance was sharper, my stamina increased. It wasn't permanent—after I stopped concentrating, my body returned to normal—but it confirmed something crucial: the energy could temporarily enhance my physical form.
I spent hours practicing, running in circles, doing push-ups, stretching, bending and testing every joint, every movement. Each time I pushed a little further, I felt how the energy amplified my strength. It was subtle at first, but over time, my control improved, and the effect became noticeable even without extreme effort.
Then I remembered something.
Jujutsu Kaisen.
I had seen how sorcerers projected cursed energy outward, shaping it, extending it, and using it as an offensive tool. If I could do that… maybe I wouldn't just rely on enhancing myself. Maybe I could extend the energy, keep it intact, and make it useful at a distance.
I focused. I imagined the energy leaving my body, solid but intangible, a black pulse stretching outward.
At first, it barely moved. I could feel it trying to resist leaving me, like water held in a bottle too tightly. But with repetition, I managed a small outward projection. It wasn't precise. It wasn't powerful. But it moved. It existed outside me. And, importantly, it kept its form.
That was the breakthrough.
I realized projecting energy outward—without converting it into anything else—was far more efficient than trying to make it take another form.
I had been curious about converting the energy into fire, inspired by some flashy techniques in stories I had read. It seemed simple in theory: convert the energy into flames, use it as an attack. But the practice was… ridiculous. I had to use a medium, a physical thing to ignite it. I tested with a matchbox I had "borrowed" from the kitchen while chatting with the chef. I ignited the flame, tried to guide the energy into it, and watched it sputter uncontrollably.
It wasted energy almost immediately. I couldn't control it. It burned faster than it propagated. And I realized something important: energy converted this way wasn't just hard to manage—it was inefficient. Direct projection was better. Clean. Predictable. Safe.
I experimented further, trying to understand the shape and reach of my stored energy. How far could it extend before it dissipated? How tightly could I control it? I imagined a radius around myself, pushing the energy outward in a sphere, then in a line, then in a thin blade-like shape. The farther it went, the weaker it became. The more complex the shape, the harder it was to maintain.
I measured. I noted. I tried it at different concentrations, different amounts stored, and at different speeds. Sometimes it snapped back toward me if I lost focus. Sometimes it lagged behind my movement.
The conclusion was clear: the energy was versatile, but only if used in its raw form. Converting it into something else wasted both energy and control. Direct projection allowed me to retain all of it, maintain sharp precision, and avoid accidental dissipation.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted but satisfied. I had enhanced my body, tested projecting energy, and begun to map out its limits. I knew the radius of effective energy around me. I knew how long I could sustain it. I knew how far I could extend it before the output became unstable.
And most importantly, I understood this: this wasn't just a quirk to be stored. It was a tool. A weapon. And a shield.
It would take time to master, yes. But the possibilities were already clear.
I sat against the wall, letting the energy settle back into my body. I had a lot more practice to do. Years, even. But this was the first step—the first time I had truly used it, beyond passive collection.
I smiled faintly to myself.