Ren retreated to his small, spartan room and slid the door shut. He sat on the tatami mat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with the anticipation of what was about to happen.
[Do you wish to merge the rewards immediately?]
Yes, Ren thought, clenching his fists. Merge everything.
The transformation didn't start with a bang, but with a whisper. A gentle, cooling sensation began to spread from his chest, flowing outward like ink in water. But as the energy reached his limbs, the temperature spiked. It wasn't the heat of a fire, but the stinging, prickly heat of static electricity.
First came the Comprehension.
Ren felt a sharp, crystalline snap in his mind. It was as if a thousand discordant voices in his head had suddenly fallen into a perfect, harmonious chord. His past life's memories - he spreadsheets, the office politics, the mundane logic of a world without magic, didn't disappear, but they were pushed to the periphery.
In their place came a profound understanding of the world around him. He could suddenly "see" the way the wind moved around the house, the way the peach trees groaned under the weight of the mountain air. The principles of Thunder Breathing, which had felt like an alien language for a year, were now as clear as his own name. He understood the rhythm of the lungs, the expansion of the chest, and the way oxygen could be converted into raw, kinetic energy.
Next was the Aptitude.
This was the most painful part. Ren's muscles began to twitch and ripple as if they were being reshaped by invisible hands. His bones felt like they were being melted and recast in a stronger, denser mold. He broke into a heavy sweat, his breath hitching as his body was forced into its "High" tier configuration.
He felt the "marrow-cleansing" effect described in old legends. Every impurity, every lingering bit of weakness from his years of malnutrition and corporate neglect, was being burned away. When the sensation finally subsided, he felt lighter than he ever had. His limbs were no longer heavy weights he had to drag around; they were coiled springs, brimming with potential energy.
Then came the Talent: Enhanced Hearing.
The world suddenly became incredibly loud. Ren winced, clutching his head as the sound of a cricket outside sounded like a hammer striking an anvil. The wind roaring through the eaves was a deafening tide. But as the system stabilized the talent, the chaos settled into a structured map of sound.
He could hear Zenitsu's rhythmic snoring from the next room, the steady, heavy heartbeat of Gramps coming from the courtyard, and the rustle of a mouse in the floorboards. Most importantly, he could hear the "tone" of things, the vibrations of emotions and the distinct, discordant hum of something that wasn't quite human lingering far off in the woods. This was the talent that allowed Zenitsu to fight while unconscious, and now, it was Ren's.
Finally, the Skill: Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash.
This wasn't just knowledge; it was muscle memory. It was as if he had spent ten years in a void practicing this single move a million times. He knew the exact angle of the foot, the precise grip on the hilt, and the mental trigger required to ignite the lightning.
Ren opened his eyes. The room was dark, but to his enhanced senses, every detail was sharp. He reached out his hand, and with a mere thought, a spark of golden electricity leaped across his palm.
Crack-zip!
The ozone scent filled his nostrils. He felt a primal connection to the storm. He wasn't just a user of the lightning; he was a part of it. He checked his status one last time.
[Host: Ren]
[Race: Human]
[Rank: Mizunoto]
[Comprehension: High]
[Aptitude: High]
[Talent: Enhanced Hearing]
[Skills: Bandaging (Mastery), Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash (Mastery)]
Ren let out a long, shaky breath. He felt powerful. Not just "not-weak," but truly, dangerously powerful. He spent the rest of the night in a state of meditative trance, allowing his mind to sync with the new rhythms of his body.
The following morning arrived with the usual herald of chaos.
"Get up, you lazy brats! The sun is already burning the mountaintop!" Gramps' voice boomed through the house, punctuated by the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of his wooden cane against the floor.
"Noooo! Five more minutes! Gramps, please, my soul is still in bed!" Zenitsu's voice rose in a high-pitched wail, followed by the sound of a heavy blanket being ripped away and a subsequent "thud" as Zenitsu was likely dumped onto the floor.
Usually, Gramps would come for Ren next, though his tone was always softer, a mix of pity and lingering duty. But today, Ren was already up. He had washed, dressed in his training gear, and was standing in the center of the courtyard, his borrowed practice sword strapped to his waist.
Gramps stepped out onto the porch, his eyes narrowing as he saw Ren. The old man was a formidable figure even in his twilight years, his scarred face and sharp eyes carrying the weight of a hundred battles against the night.
"Ren," Gramps said, his voice gruff. "You're up early. Go find Zenitsu and make sure he doesn't crawl back under the porch. I'm taking him to the back mountain. You... stay here and practice your swings."
The subtext was clear: Don't bother coming. You'll just be in the way.
"Gramps," Ren said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, lacking the usual hesitant edge. "I'm not staying here today. I want to go to the back mountain. And I want to talk to you about the Final Selection."
Gramps stopped, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked at Ren, really looked at him, for the first time in months. He saw the way the boy was standing, feet shoulder-width apart, weight perfectly balanced, shoulders relaxed but ready. It was the stance of a swordsman.
"The selection is tomorrow," Gramps said, his voice lowering. "I've already made the arrangements for Zenitsu. As for you, Ren... I brought you here to save your life, not to throw it away. You have no talent for the breathing. You know this. If you go to that mountain, you will die within the first hour."
"I know what I was yesterday, Gramps," Ren replied. "But things have changed."
"Changed? A night of sleep doesn't change the nature of a man's lungs, boy," Gramps snapped, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
Ren didn't argue. He knew that for a man like Jigoro Kuwajima, words were cheap. Only the blade spoke the truth.
Ren stepped back, clearing a space in the dirt of the courtyard. He closed his eyes and took a deep, rattling breath. This wasn't the shallow breathing of a panicked boy; it was the Total Concentration Breathing of the Thunder style.
Lungs, expand. Heart, accelerate. Blood, boil.
A low, vibrating hum began to emanate from Ren's chest. Zenitsu, who had just stumbled out onto the porch rubbing his eyes, froze. His enhanced hearing picked up the sound immediately.
"Ren? What is that? Why do you sound like a... like a beehive?"
Ren didn't answer. He lowered his center of gravity, his hand hovering over the hilt of his wooden sword.
Thunder Breathing, First Form...
Suddenly, the air around Ren seemed to tighten. A spark of gold flickered at his feet, then another. Then, with a sound like a localized clap of thunder, Ren vanished.
Thunderclap and Flash!
He was a blur of golden light, a literal bolt of lightning streaking across the courtyard. In the blink of an eye, he had crossed the twenty-foot gap to a training dummy at the edge of the woods.
CRACK!
The wooden dummy didn't just fall; it exploded, the impact of the wooden sword shearing through the reinforced post with such force that splinters rained down like autumn leaves. Ren skidded to a halt ten feet behind the dummy, his hand still on the hilt, a faint trail of smoke rising from his sandals.
Silence descended over the courtyard.
Zenitsu's jaw was touching his chest. "R-Ren? Did you... did you just...?"
Gramps stood frozen on the porch. The cane in his hand trembled slightly. As the former Thunder Hashira, he knew exactly what he had just seen. It wasn't just a lucky strike or a desperate lung. It was a perfect, mastered execution of the First Form, the soul of the Thunder style.
"Impossible," Gramps whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You couldn't even hold the breath yesterday. How... how can you use it so perfectly now?"
Ren turned back, his eyes glowing with a calm, electric intensity. "I told you, Gramps. Things have changed. I'm going to the Final Selection. And I'm going to bring Zenitsu back alive."