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On the sidelines, Zenitsu's usual wailing was still background noise.
"No, I'm going to die! Grandpa is a demon! A demon!" he cried, rolling on the ground, clutching his swollen and aching arm.
Kaigaku frowned in disgust, muttering, "So noisy! A good-for-nothing should just rot quietly!"
Cheng Mo usually just continued his own practice with an expressionless face, as if the noise didn't exist.
Occasionally, after Zenitsu failed dozens of times in a row, his movements becoming terribly distorted, even Teacher Kuwajima was too annoyed to scold him anymore.
Cheng Mo would, as he passed him, keep his gaze fixed on the training equipment ahead and drop a sentence or two in an uninflected tone.
"That last strike, your breathing broke in the third segment."
Or: "When pushing off the ground, your right foot's angle was off."
His tone was as flat as if he were saying "The weather is nice today," without any encouragement or criticism, purely an objective statement.
Zenitsu was initially startled, thinking that this senior disciple, who was always cold-faced and trained like a monster, was going to cause him trouble.
Although he had entered the discipline earlier, Cheng Mo was older and more talented, so he subconsciously treated Cheng Mo as his senior disciple.
But when he subconsciously adjusted according to the point Cheng Mo had indicated, he found that a certain obstacle that had troubled him for a long time had actually loosened a bit.
Once, twice... Zenitsu began to secretly observe Cheng Mo's training out of the corner of his eye.
He watched how he adjusted his breathing, the subtle changes in his muscles when he exerted force, and his always calm, seemingly tireless figure.
Cheng Mo naturally noticed the furtive gaze, but he didn't care.
In his eyes, Zenitsu's act of observation itself was a weak display of "progress," better than just crying and wailing.
But he didn't intend to actively teach anything; he had no such obligation, nor the leisure.
He was more interested in Zenitsu's "sleeping state."
He had witnessed several times the nascent form of Thunder Breathing: First Form: Thunderclap and Flash that Zenitsu unconsciously used after fainting from extreme fear or exhaustion.
The speed was indeed astonishingly fast; that instantaneous burst of power even made him feel threatened.
The [Eyes of Truth] could vaguely perceive that at that moment, the enormous potential slumbering within Zenitsu's body surged out like a breached flood.
But its mode of operation was chaotic, a completely instinctive release, with no control whatsoever.
Amazing talent, yet locked in a fragile cage.
Cheng Mo calmly assessed that power without self-control, no matter how strong, was worthless.
It couldn't be relied upon in critical moments and might even harm himself.
In contrast, he trusted the power he gained step by step through precise control and arduous training more.
It was just that the fleeting glimpse of ultimate speed still left a trace in his heart.
The ultimate form of Thunder Breathing... perhaps that was it?
He would occasionally wonder, but then immediately pulled his attention back to his own cultivation.
My path is control, power completely under my own control.
So his interest in Zenitsu's secret was limited, more as a form of information gathering.
In contrast, he paid more attention to Teacher Kuwajima's every explanation and demonstration, as well as his own day-to-day tempering.
He adjusted his breathing, feeling the power flow and gather orderly within his muscles.
Step by step, he perfectly brought every bit of power under his control.
Sweat dripped down his jawline, making a small wet mark on the dirt.
Cheng Mo took a deep breath, the method of Thunder Breathing circulating within his body, dispelling fatigue.
He raised his wooden sword, his eyes focused, and slashed forward again.
The blade cut through the air, the accompanying whoosh seemingly more condensed and sharper than the last time.
He swung the wooden sword in his hand, beginning to subtly embody a gradually forming, restrained thunderous might... In the air of Peach Mountain, besides the smell of sweat and earth, a subtle tension gradually appeared.
This tension mainly came from Kaigaku.
Cheng Mo's inhuman progress speed was like a poisonous thorn, deeply embedded in his heart, gnawing at him day and night.
He trained more frantically, more fiercely than before.
Sweat soaked his clothes, his muscles trembled from overexertion, he gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on the front, as if competing with an invisible opponent.
But the effect was far inferior to that seemingly calm Cheng Mo.
That feeling of powerlessness, of giving his all yet only being able to watch others effortlessly surpass him, fermented Kaigaku's jealousy into venom.
Cheng Mo's rapid progress was like an increasingly deep thorn, piercing Kaigaku's heart.
He trained even harder, to the point of self-abuse, sweat soaking the dirt, teeth grinding loudly, trying to bridge the gap with that "monster" through sheer hard work.
But the gap visibly widened.
While Kaigaku was still struggling to maintain a stable basic breathing rhythm, his arms aching unbearably from high-intensity practice swings.
Cheng Mo was already able to maintain a perfect breathing rhythm while precisely controlling the force of each muscle, turning tedious chopping into an efficient energy circulation exercise.
That effortless posture, that calm, almost indifferent gaze, made Kaigaku feel an indescribable anxiety and humiliation.
Why?
He stared at Cheng Mo's back, his eyes sinister.
A guy who joined halfway, why is he training better and faster than me?
The venomous fire of jealousy gnawed at his heart, making it almost impossible for him to maintain even a superficial pretense of respect.
He began to trip him up in subtle ways.
During mountain shuttle runs, he would "coincidentally" adjust his direction slightly just as Cheng Mo accelerated to overtake him, trying to block his path with his body.
But Cheng Mo's [Eyes of Truth] and extraordinary reflexes could always capture that subtle intention a split second in advance; with a nimble misstep or a sudden secondary acceleration, he would glide past like a swimming fish, leaving only a wisp of wind.
At the same time, he would return a cold, warning look.
There was no anger in that look, only an indifferent insight into everything, which sent a chill down Kaigaku's spine.
Once, Kaigaku secretly made the grip of the training wooden sword Cheng Mo often used somewhat slippery with wet mud.
The moment Cheng Mo picked up the sword, his fingertips subtly pinched it, his movements completely uninterrupted, as if he hadn't noticed anything.
But in the subsequent full-force chopping practice, the wooden sword was as steady as a rock in his hand, the force applied smoothly and perfectly, with no sign of slipping.
After the practice, Cheng Mo casually put the wooden sword back in its place, his gaze seemingly sweeping over Kaigaku's visibly nervous face.
"Petty tricks," Cheng Mo's voice was low, just enough for Kaigaku to hear, his tone flat and unwavering, "A waste of time."
Kaigaku's face instantly flushed red, then turned ashen, his fists clenched, but he dared not act out.
Cheng Mo no longer looked at him, his vigilance increasing by another notch.
Narrow-minded, foolish, and dangerous.
He affixed new labels to Kaigaku.
He needed to keep his distance; if necessary... He suppressed the chill rising in his heart, outwardly maintaining the most basic, distant courtesy towards a fellow disciple, a nodding acquaintance, never saying more than necessary.