The chill of early dawn still clung to the concrete as Akio jogged along the cracked edge of the riverway. The water shimmered with faint light, barely disturbed by the morning breeze. This was the quiet part of the city—the edge of the forgotten zone, where ruins of past magical incidents still lingered like scars on the land.
His breath came in controlled bursts now. Steady. Rhythmic. A few months ago, this run would have left him in a heap. But now, the aches had turned into familiarity, and the numbness had turned into motion.
And then he heard it—a grunt, a scuffle.
Akio slowed, turning toward the source.
Across the street, just past an overgrown lot filled with broken vending machines and collapsed signage, two figures moved. One tall, wiry. The other hunched over, clutching their stomach.
The tall one had something in his hand—some kind of pulsating blue mist that flickered across his knuckles. A trickle of energy that didn't look like ordinary light.
Mana.
Real mana.
Akio's heart stumbled in his chest. He froze, halfway in step, caught between instinct and shock. He had never seen raw mana before. Only read about it, overheard stories at school between kids who had it in their bloodlines. But this… this was the real thing.
The man with mana shoved the smaller figure—an older vendor from the nearby noodle stall—back into a wall. Coins and wrappers spilled across the pavement.
"Next time, have the right amount," the thug snarled, raising a foot to stomp.
Akio stepped forward. Then stopped.
You don't have mana. You don't even have a plan. This isn't your business.
His iron hand twitched at his side.
But the man was winding up again, the vendor's face twisted in pain.
Akio ran.
The thug barely noticed him until it was too late. Akio barreled into his side, knocking him off balance. They both went crashing into a rusted vending machine, its shell letting out a metallic screech.
kio didn't think. His body moved on instinct.
He sprinted forward with heavy footfalls, gravel crunching beneath his shoes. The iron weight of his prosthetic hand swung with purpose. The thug didn't even have time to react—Akio slammed into him with a solid shoulder, driving him off the vendor and into the cracked brick wall.
The thug stumbled but didn't fall. His eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed with venom.
"You shouldn't've done that. You don't know anything. He owed me the money."
Akio took a stance. His feet spread wide, balanced. His right iron hand clenched like a hammer forged in tension. The adrenaline was back—but it wasn't panic. It was focus.
"I saw enough," Akio said quietly.
The thug tilted his head, amused. The blue mist licked across his skin again. Mana—pure, undiluted.
"You got guts, kid," the thug muttered. "Guts, but no power."
With a pulse of light, the thug dashed forward—far faster than Akio had anticipated. But Akio's body remembered the weeks of training. The countless simulated drills. The breakdowns of motion inside the subrealm.
He moved.
Akio ducked under the punch, the air above his head humming with force. He twisted, pivoting with his left foot, and brought his iron hand around in a low swing. The thug blocked it with his forearm, grunting at the force.
Akio didn't let up.
He jabbed, ducked, and slammed a shoulder into the man's midsection. The thug reeled, surprised—but retaliated instantly with a spin-kick.
Akio raised his arm just in time. Metal met bone with a sharp crack. Akio staggered but stayed standing.
His breathing grew louder in his ears. His muscles burned. But the particles… he could see them again. Around the thug, flaring when he attacked. Gathering when he shifted his weight. They warned him.
This wasn't like school. This was real.
And he was holding his own.
"Not bad," the thug said, rolling his shoulder. "But you're raw."
"Maybe," Akio replied, tightening his stance. "But you're sloppy."
That provoked a response.
The thug charged with a roar, launching a flurry of strikes. Akio ducked and weaved, blocking what he could with his prosthetic, absorbing the shock with his body when he couldn't. He retaliated with quick, sharp counters—elbows, knees, jabs.
Then he spotted the vendor, still curled up hurt.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then—
Crack.
A boot slammed into Akio's chest.The impact thundered through his ribs like a hammer. Air shot from his lungs. His body lifted slightly from the ground and then slammed back onto it, skidding against the gravel with sparks scraping off his arm.
White-hot pain.
His vision blurred, ears ringing. He rolled once, coughing.
The thug stood over him, grinning.
"Another wannabe hero?"
Blue mist sparked from the man's knuckles, curling like lazy flames.
"Let's see how brave you are with your shiny arm."
Akio tried to move, but his limbs screamed. His breath came shallow, wheezing. He stared up at the swirling mana, dizzy, dazed—
And then it happened.
He saw it.
Particles.
They shimmered around the thug like invisible ash, moving in spirals, syncing with his motion. Trails of force followed each twitch of his hand. The world slowed, not like the subrealm, but like a lucid dream collapsing into waking clarity.
Akio blinked.
"I can see it.", he exclamed.
He shifted to the side, just barely missing another strike. Dust exploded where the boot hit.
Adrenaline surged, but it wasn't fear. It was clarity. His iron fist clenched, humming softly in resonance.
Akio rose. Staggered. Wiped blood from his lip.
The thug looked annoyed now.
"That all you got?"
Akio didn't answer. He stepped forward, measured. He kept his eyes on the mana, not the man.
It flows with his breath… when he exhales, it flares. When he's off-balance, it flickers.
The thug lunged again. Akio ducked and gave an uppercut to his abdomen.
It landed.
The thug staggered, blinking in shock.
"You little—!"
Akio twisted, pivoted with his hips, and slammed his iron hand into the thug's side. A flash of sparks. The thug gasped and stumbled back.
"You hit like a—!" he started.
But Akio didn't let him finish.
He stepped in again, focused.
The particles danced, erratic now. The thug's form wasn't fluid anymore—his anger disrupted the mana's flow.
Akio ducked low, then uppercut with the iron fist. It collided with the thug's chin with a clang, sending him sprawling onto the gravel.
Silence.
The vendor, still clutching his gut, stared wide-eyed from the wall.
Akio stood, panting. The pain in his ribs flared, but he didn't fall.
The thug groaned once. Didn't get up.
Akio stepped back, checking the vendor. He was hurt but not broken.
"Thank you," the man said quietly, voice shaky.
Akio just nodded and turned back.
The particles were still dancing, faint now, dissipating. But he still saw them.
Not just around the thug.
Around the ground. The trees. The air.
Everything was moving.
Everything was alive.
Mana wasn't just some weapon you activated. It was the language of the world.
And somehow… he had started hearing it.
Akio turned, limping slightly as he walked back toward the path. A thousand thoughts ran through him, but only one stayed.
I'm not normal anymore.
And maybe that was okay.
Because he finally had something worth building on.
And something new to train for.