"⚠️ Content Advisory (PG-13):
This novel contains action violence, intense themes, occasional scary moments, and future mild exposure (shirtless scenes after Ch. 40 and underwear scenes after Ch. 210). Parents are strongly cautioned — some material may not be suitable for readers 12 and under. For zero-exposure stories, you may prefer Ryota or The Judge's Mandate."
Chapter 1 — Part 1: Entering From the Unknown
Shina's tall frame moved steadily forward, each step pressing softly into the thin crust of snow covering the stone walkway. The faint k crunch, k crunch of his sandals echoed lightly through the cold air, mixing with the far-off sigh of the winter wind as it slipped through bare branches. His leather pants creaked faintly with every movement—well-worn, carefully tended, the kind of clothes repaired by hand again and again. His dark leather shirt, with its modest V-neckline just brushing the pale skin at the base of his throat, felt heavier today than usual. A simple vest was layered over it, plain and functional, offering more comfort than style.
The last rays of fading daylight glinted against the sharp outline of his buzzcut scalp, casting thin shadows across the angles of his cheeks. He kept his expression lowered, tucked away, as if hiding half his presence by refusing to meet the world's gaze. But no amount of lowered eyelids or quietly drawn breaths could disguise the tension in his clenched fists. Every few steps, he unconsciously lifted his hands and pressed the tips of his pointer fingers together—a small gesture, soft and habitual, a sign of nerves that refused to settle.
A soft heat shimmered around him with every exhale. Snow melted beneath his feet with a faint hiss, droplets sinking instantly into the stone. He didn't notice; he never noticed. His qi cultivation remained unsteady, wavering, and even the simple act of walking stirred it up from his core like steam rising from a still-cooling kettle.
Ahead, the walls of the Sapporo Sect's outer courtyard rose tall and quiet. Their imposing silhouette absorbed the dying light, turning deep shades of charcoal and iron. Red lanterns hung from wooden beams, their gentle sway making tiny flickers of amber slide across the pagoda's lacquered structure. The air smelled faintly of old cedar, incense ash, and winter.
Shina paused at the threshold, swallowing once. His breath was steady, though no mist left his lips in the cold air. His qi kept him too warm for that—another thing he was still learning how to manage.
"S-soo da be… this be… where I s-step inside…" he murmured under his breath in the Hashima dialect, fingers touching again, slowly pressing and separating.
To the cultivators of this region, the lands of Hashima—far to the west—were distant and quiet, known more for storms rolling off the sea than for producing wandering cultivators. To stand here, at the gate of a Dao-practicing sect, with only unstable qi and a nervous heart, felt almost impossible.
He stepped forward.
The courtyard was larger than he expected. Snow blanketed everything except the perfectly cleaned main walkway—someone must have cleared it recently, the stones shimmering with an almost ceremonial care. A wide training ground opened to his right, marked by rows of wooden dummies and practice targets. To his left rose a tiered tower with sweeping eaves, its lanterns glowing warmly even as the rest of the sect grew dark.
Shina took another step.
A voice called out, accented with the clipped rhythm of Sapporo.
"Oi. You, traveler. What business you got at the Sapporo Sect?"
Shina flinched hard enough that his sandals skidded on the stone.
Two cultivators approached from the training ground. Their long outer robes moved with crisp discipline, and the faint ripple in the air around them suggested steady Dao flow. They weren't hostile—not exactly—but their presence pressed down like winter air before a storm.
Shina quickly pressed his fingertips together, head bowing instinctively.
"Ah—ah… sumimasen… I—I be… lookin' for… f-for entrance…? J-just… wantin' to… learn…" His voice shrank toward the end, disappearing into the cold.
The first cultivator exchanged a look with the second, both raising an eyebrow. The second one—taller, with the faint Russian-tinged edge of a Kuril Islands dialect—spoke next.
"From Hashima, huh? I haven't heard that dialect in years."
Shina nodded quickly, fingers fidgeting.
"Y-yes… I—I be… from the west… uhh… long walkin'…"
The first cultivator angled his head, studying him more carefully.
"You carry qi, not Dao. Different flow. Different roots. Our sect doesn't usually take those who cultivate the old Hashima styles. They burn too hot."
Shina's breath caught. His qi flickered—literally—and a thin shimmer of heat rose around him in a distortion.
"N-no! I—I mean, yes! B-but I… I can learn control, I swear… I not be… makin' trouble, umm…"
His voice wavered, and his fingers pressed together again, hard enough to make the knuckles pale.
The Kuril-accented cultivator crossed his arms.
"Calm yourself. You're melting the walkway."
Shina looked down in horror. A small circle of wet stone glistened beneath him.
"S-sorry! I so sorry!"
His panic only made his qi flare hotter. A faint ripple of heat pulsed outward, and the two cultivators stepped back in unison, both sighing in the exact same annoyed Sapporo cadence.
The first one pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Aaahh… Hashima cultivators really are something else."
The Kuril one gave a grunt.
"Well… he came all this way. Might as well let the elders decide."
Shina blinked up at them, hope flickering unevenly across his tense expression.
"I… I can… stay?"
"That depends," the Sapporo-accented one replied. "But you'll get an audience."
He paused, looking Shina over again—his travel-stiff clothes, his nervous posture, the faint glow of unstable qi rising from his skin.
"You said you want to learn control?"
Shina nodded rapidly, fingers tapping together.
"Y-yes, I… I don't wanna be… breakin' things…"
"Then follow. Don't burn the floor," the Kuril cultivator muttered.
Shina nearly tripped as he nodded again, then hurried after them, careful to lift his steps lightly. The warmth from his qi still seeped outward, but he tried his best to keep it close, imagining it sinking down, down, into his core like embers being banked.
The lanterns lining the inner courtyard flickered as he passed beneath them, as if sensing the heat he couldn't hide.
Far above, the great pagoda loomed—an ancient structure rebuilt with clean timber and strong joints, still carrying the weight of generations of Dao.
Shina swallowed again.
This… this be only the beginnin'… I be doin' it… I be walkin' forward…
Even if his hands trembled.
Even if the snow melted beneath him.
Even if every step felt like stepping into a world where he didn't quite belong.
Still—he followed.
And the gates closed quietly behind him.
The two cultivators led Shina through a wide inner corridor lined with hanging scrolls. Each painting showed past masters of the Sapporo Sect, their forms depicted with swirling strokes of Dao energy. Shina kept his gaze pinned to the floor, fingers pressed together so tightly that they trembled.
At the end of the corridor stood a pair of tall doors carved from old cedar. The grain shimmered faintly with embedded Dao formations, glinting like frost patterns. The Sapporo cultivator stepped forward and struck the door twice with a practiced rhythm.
A calm voice responded from inside.
"Enter."
The Kuril cultivator pushed the doors open, and warm lamplight spilled across the threshold.
The room beyond was vast but quiet, with tatami mats arranged in symmetrical squares and a single brazier burning low at the center. Incense drifted upward in thin threads, disappearing into the rafters. And seated at the far end on an elevated wooden platform was a man whose presence instantly filled every corner of the chamber.
Sect Master Itsukasi Shapiro Kunasi.
His hair—long, silver-white and swept back neatly—reflected the glow of the lanterns like moonlit silk. His posture was straight, unmoving, the quiet poise of someone who had long since surpassed the need for outward displays of strength. His eyes, a deep winter-gray, lifted slowly to examine the newcomer.
Even without releasing pressure, his Dao aura pressed like unmoving snow on a mountain peak—silent, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Shina froze completely.
Both of his hands rose, pointer fingertips pressing together, shaking like two nervous twigs in the wind.
The two escorts stepped aside and bowed.
"Master Itsukasi," the Sapporo cultivator said, "we found this traveler at the outer gate. He carries qi—not Dao—and says he seeks entry."
The Sect Master's eyes shifted to Shina.
"Your name."
Shina's throat tightened.
"Hah… h-haa… Sh-Shina… Shina Mercer Raines… from Hashima…" he managed, bowing so deeply that his forehead nearly hit the tatami.
Itsukasi did not move, but the warm hush in the air seemed to still further.
"Raise your head, child."
Shina obeyed slowly, his fingers still touching.
The Sect Master studied him—first his posture, then the faint distortion of heat radiating from his skin. A small hiss escaped the tatami where droplets of melted snow dripped from Shina's sandals.
"Qi cultivation," Itsukasi murmured. "And uncontrolled. Your core burns too close to the surface."
Shina stiffened.
"S-sorry… I tryin' to— I… I be controllin' it better, jus' need… h-help…"
"Hmm." Itsukasi lifted one hand. "Step closer."
Shina hesitated, then shuffled forward. Each step released a faint shimmer of warmth across the floor.
"Stop."
Shina froze instantly.
The Sect Master extended two fingers and traced a small motion in the air. A subtle strand of Dao flowed out in a curved line, forming a thin, translucent veil that hovered inches from Shina's chest.
The veil bent—warped—pulled inward as if heated from the center.
Itsukasi nodded.
"As I thought. Your qi originates from a western lineage. Old, deep roots. And turbulent."
Shina swallowed hard, eyes flicking down.
"I… I be sorry… I know it messy… I know it be—"
"Quiet."
Shina's mouth snapped shut.
Itsukasi continued to watch the shifting veil.
"You traveled far, Mercer Raines of Hashima. Most in your position would not come to a Dao sect, nor attempt to blend their path with ours."
Shina exhaled shakily.
"I be… lookin' for a place… to learn… so I not be meltin' everything… around me…"
The Sect Master's stern expression didn't soften, but something in his gaze grew more focused—less like judgment, more like assessment.
"Qi cultivators from the Hashima region are rare here."
His voice grew quieter.
"Rarer still are those who walk to my door rather than away from it."
The Kuril cultivator beside the wall murmured, "Master, the heat he releases—"
"I am aware." Itsukasi raised a hand, silencing him.
Then, to Shina: "Do you seek power?"
Shina shook his head quickly.
"N-no… I just wanna… stop bein' scared of… breakin' th-things. Or people."
The Sect Master looked at him for a long moment.
Then—unexpectedly—he rose.
The air shifted.
Dao energy flowed through the chamber like a quiet tide, so controlled that not a lantern flame flickered. Itsukasi stepped down from the platform and walked slowly toward Shina. Each footstep was light, but the pressure in the air grew steadily as he approached.
Shina trembled.
His fingers pressed harder.
Heat flickered uncontrolled.
But Itsukasi stopped just one step in front of him.
Close enough that Shina could see the faint lines of age at the corners of his eyes, the kind that came from decades of discipline rather than weariness.
The Sect Master lifted a hand and held it near Shina's sternum—not touching, merely sensing.
"Your qi is honest," he said at last. "And frightened."
Shina's breath hitched.
"Many from Hashima mistake fear for instability. But your flame…" His gaze sharpened. "Your flame is not wild. Only uncontained."
Shina blinked, unsure he heard correctly.
Itsukasi stepped back.
"You will remain in the sect for observation."
Shina's eyes widened, mouth opening just slightly.
"Y-you mean… I can… s-stay…?"
"As a provisional acolyte," the Sect Master clarified. "You will be assigned quarters. And until further decision, you will undergo monitoring and initial guidance."
Shina's hands lifted again—almost to cover his face—but instead he pressed his fingers together so tightly the tips whitened.
"T-thank you… s-sir… Sect Master… I… I swear, I not be trouble—"
"See that you are not," Itsukasi said calmly.
Then his tone lowered.
"And Shina Mercer Raines… I expect you to learn restraint. Before Chapter Sixty of your life arrives, so to speak."
Shina blinked, confused by the phrasing—but nodded rapidly anyway.
"I—I be learnin'! I promise!"
The Sect Master inclined his head once.
"Welcome to the Sapporo Sect."
And for the first time since crossing the gate,
Shina felt warmth that did not come from his qi—
but from possibility.
Chapter 1 — Part 2: The Sparrow Under the Pagoda
The courtyard's quiet deepened as Itsukasi stepped aside, motioning for Shina to follow him deeper into the Sapporo Sect compound. Snow-laden branches dipped toward them as if bowing; Shina bowed back instinctively, unsure if that was a normal greeting or simply his nerves making him overly polite.
He kept his fingertips pressed together—pointer finger to pointer finger—tapping lightly in a nervous rhythm.
"Come," Itsukasi said calmly. "The reception hall's warmer than this. You'll freeze stiff if I let you stand out here any longer."
Shina swallowed. "A-aye… I mean, hai. Sorry."
Itsukasi gave a soft hum that might've been laughter. "Yer manners're plenty fine. Relax yer shoulders."
Shina tried, but they crept right back up under his ears.
⸻
They crossed beneath a tall wooden archway, passing into the inner compound. The stone walkway was swept clean, though thin frost still clung to the edges. Light from hanging lanterns cast orange halos over the snow, making the world look warmer than it felt.
Shina's sandals scraped faintly. He tried to walk softer, aware of how clumsy he must seem beside a master.
Inside the reception hall, warm air rushed at him—perfumed faintly with pine resin and charred incense. The floorboards were polished enough to reflect the lanternlight in long streaks. Cushions and low tables lined the walls, and scrolls hung from beams with bold black characters he couldn't read fast enough.
Shina hesitated at the entrance, uncertain.
"Shoes off," Itsukasi reminded gently.
"Ah—aye, sorry!" Shina nearly tripped as he tugged them loose, placing them neatly by the threshold.
Itsukasi smiled faintly. "Better. Now sit."
Shina obeyed, settling across from the sect master at a low table. The cushion sank under him, and he stiffened again, knees awkwardly folded.
A pot of steaming tea had already been prepared. Itsukasi poured with steady hands, offering Shina the first cup.
Shina accepted it with both hands—nearly dropping it when the warm ceramic startled his cold fingers.
"Careful," Itsukasi murmured.
"S-sorry…"
"Stop apologizin'. Drink."
Shina nodded and lifted the cup. The tea tasted sharp at first, then mellow, like chewing on pine needles that had fallen into a hot spring. His breath fogged the surface of the cup despite the warm room.
Itsukasi watched him—not intimidatingly, but with the analytical calm of someone who noticed everything.
"So," the sect master began, "tell me yer name again. Speak it clear."
Shina straightened. "Shina Mercer Raines. From Hashima… the Oshima Peninsula."
Itsukasi nodded slowly. "Hashima. That's an awfully long walk… or sail… or whatever path ya took to end up here."
Shina looked at his hands. "A-ah… aye. Took me a while t' get up here."
"Mmh. I suspect longer than you're lettin' on."
Shina's fingers touched again—pointer to pointer—pressing softly.
He didn't answer.
⸻
Itsukasi leaned back, arms folding into his sleeves. His accent softened as he shifted to the formal tone used for new initiates.
"Yer qi… it's unusually hot for someone at the entry level. Ye melt snow without meaning to. That's no small thing."
Shina's shoulders hunched. "S-sorry…"
"Not a bad thing," Itsukasi corrected gently. "Just rare. Most folk who walk into this sect carry Dao, not qi. And qi users from Hashima're even rarer."
Shina blinked up. "Th… there others like me?"
"Not recently," the master replied. "But the old records mention a few. Yer kind burns bright. Sometimes too bright."
Shina's head dipped nervously.
"I… dunno why my qi does that. I try t' hold it in. But it kinda… leaks."
"Leakin' ain't the word I'd use," Itsukasi said, eyeing him with a half-smile. "More like yer presence refuses to stay quiet. We'll teach ya control."
Shina looked up, startled. "W-we?"
"Aye. The sect ain't sendin' you out into the cold again."
The warmth of those words hit Shina harder than the tea. His throat tightened, and he stared into his cup, unable to speak without revealing the tremor in his voice.
Itsukasi pretended not to notice. Masters were good at giving space.
⸻
The hall doors slid open.
A senior cultivator in layered dark-blue robes stepped inside, snow dusting his shoulders. His Sapporo dialect was crisp and direct.
"Master Itsukasi. The council requests—ah." His eyes found Shina. "New blood?"
Itsukasi nodded. "Aye. One from Hashima."
The senior's brows rose slightly—subtle, but surprised. "Hashima? That far west?"
Shina lowered his gaze.
The senior stepped closer, bowing his head slightly. "I'm Ryosei. Second Instructor of the Northern Hall. Welcome to the Sapporo Sect."
Shina tried bowing back, too fast, almost knocking his head on the table.
"Ah—s-sorry—thank you—sir—"
"Relax," Ryosei said, amused. "You look like you're bein' threatened by a teacup."
Shina's ears burned.
Itsukasi waved Ryosei off with a small flick of his wrist.
"The council can wait five minutes. I'm assessin' the boy."
Ryosei nodded once. "Understood. I'll return shortly."
He left with the same sharp efficiency he entered.
When the door shut again, Shina exhaled shakily.
Itsukasi poured him a bit more tea.
"Yer fear comes from somewhere real," the master said softly. "But yer presence here? That's also real. And I'm not lettin' that vanish."
Shina pressed his fingers together again.
"I… dunno what I'm supposed t' become here," he admitted quietly.
"Good," Itsukasi said. "That means yer future's still wide open."
Shina blinked.
"From today onward," Itsukasi continued, "you'll train as a qi cultivator under this sect. You'll study our techniques, learn to steady yer flame, and build a foundation. Yer path'll be yer own, but you won't walk it alone."
Shina swallowed hard.
"A-aye… I'll do my best."
"I expect nothin' less—and nothin' more," Itsukasi said with a faint grin.
⸻
A distant gong echoed from outside.
Itsukasi rose. "Council time. Yer first lesson—don't wander. This hall's safe. Wait here 'til I return."
Shina nodded quickly.
"And breathe, will ya? Yer qi's flickerin' like a startled candle."
Shina straightened, inhaling shakily.
Itsukasi chuckled, sliding the door open.
"Good lad. I'll be back soon."
As the sect master disappeared into the snowy courtyard, Shina sat alone in the warm hall, hands curled together, tea steaming softly beside him.
For the first time since leaving Hashima…
he didn't feel like turning back.
This truly was the beginning.
Shina's breath curved inward, silent and tight, as he followed behind Sect Master Itsukasi. Snow crunched softly under their sandals, the courtyard still hushed from winter's grip. The red lanterns overhead swayed again, casting long shadows that flickered across the stone.
Shina kept his hands close to his chest, fingertips lightly pressed together—a nervous habit he couldn't shake. The gesture made him feel smaller, safer, even as he towered above most cultivators by height alone.
Itsukasi's voice, firm yet drifting like incense smoke, continued ahead of him.
"Ya heart's steady, Shina Mercer Raines. That's good. A sect can teach technique, structure, discipline… but not heart."
Shina swallowed. "I… I'll do my best. Honest… I will."
His Oshima Peninsula—Hashima—dialect softened the words, giving them a quiet roundness.
They approached the training grounds. Snow had been cleared in wide paths by diligent cultivators earlier that morning, and the smell of incense still clung to the air. Wooden dummies rose from the earth, half encased in frost. Paper talismans fluttered at their bases, whispering faintly with stored Dao energy.
Shina paused—not by choice.
Someone stood blocking the entrance.
A young man, probably only a few years older than Shina, leaned against the gatepost. His robes were immaculate—crisp whites layered with deep blue trim, the style reserved for inner-sect elites. A silver badge on his chest gleamed even in the dim light.
First disciple.
The highest-ranking student under the Sect Master.
He didn't bow.
He didn't even straighten.
Instead, he smirked.
"Well, well. So this is the outsider." His Sapporo dialect carried a clipped, superior tone. "The Hashima stray they mentioned."
Shina stiffened.
Stray?
Itsukasi sighed under his breath—only barely audible. "Jukaro… Don't start."
Jukaro ignored him and stepped forward, eyes scanning Shina from head to toe. "Tall. Nervous. Qi control unstable." He sniffed. "And he's melting the snow. Tch. How sloppy."
Shina's heart jolted.
Snow was melting again at his feet.
A thin veil of steam rose around him—subtle but unmistakable. He felt the heat crawling beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his breath.
Not again…
"I-I didn't mean to," Shina murmured, fingertips pressing together tighter. "It just… happens."
Jukaro clicked his tongue. "Then maybe you shouldn't be here."
Itsukasi raised a brow. "Jukaro."
The first disciple turned slightly, lowering his head out of formality but not honesty. "Master. I'm simply speaking the truth."
"You're speakin' attitude." Itsukasi's tone sharpened briefly—still light, but with steel beneath it. "Remember: potential flows before polish."
Jukaro said nothing, though the tension in his jaw revealed enough.
Shina tried to step past him quietly.
But the moment he did—
His qi surged.
Just a ripple.
Barely a twitch.
Yet to Shina, it felt like an unseen hand grabbed the center of his chest and squeezed.
Heat flared fast. Too fast.
The snow at his feet hissed violently, instantly turning to slush. Even the frost on the nearby training dummy cracked faintly.
Shina stumbled, eyes wide, breath caught.
No… no, no—stop, stop!
He clenched his arms to his sides, fists trembling. But the qi wouldn't listen—not fully. It pulsed again, hot and bright, like a living thing trying to burst out.
Uncontrolled.
Always uncontrolled.
He hated it.
He hated that he couldn't make it stop.
Jukaro's eyes narrowed. "See? Untrained. Dangerous."
Shina's chest tightened further, shame pricking him like cold needles.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't wanna… I didn't wanna make trouble. I just—"
Itsukasi placed a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Calm. Anchoring.
"Ya did fine," the Sect Master said gently. "First time steppin' into new ground, anyone's qi would stir."
Not mine, Shina wanted to say.
Mine's always like this.
Always too loud.
Always too hot.
Always escaping.
Instead he lowered his head.
Jukaro, however, took a slow breath through his nose, annoyed.
"Master," he said, voice clipped, "if he can't even suppress a heartbeat's worth of qi, he will disrupt training sessions. At best. At worst, he'll get someone hurt."
"Then someone'll teach him." Itsukasi's tone brightened faintly. "That's what a sect's for."
Jukaro's eyes sharpened.
"You want me to teach him?"
Itsukasi shrugged. "Seems a teacher should meet a disciple at least once."
Jukaro bristled—not outwardly, but Shina caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. The first disciple wasn't used to being assigned anything he didn't choose himself.
Especially teaching an outsider.
A Hashima outsider.
He lowered his voice, speaking only to Itsukasi. Though Shina's hearing caught the words anyway.
"Master… this one is wrong for the sect."
Itsukasi's expression softened, but with an edge. "Jukaro. All paths shift once a new foot steps on 'em."
Jukaro said nothing.
But his glare at Shina said everything.
Unwelcome.
Unfit.
Unwanted.
Shina's shoulders curled in slightly. He pressed his fingertips together again, seeking the small comfort the gesture brought.
His qi settled—but only a little.
It still hummed beneath his ribs, restless and unpredictable.
Itsukasi gave Shina a gentle nudge. "Come, lad. Let's get ya settled in before ya freeze out here."
Jukaro's lip twitched. "He's melting the snow, Master."
"Aye. Then before he unmelts it."
Jukaro blinked. "That's not—"
"Nothin' I say is literal. Dao's got metaphors. I like 'em."
And with that, the Sect Master casually walked past, guiding Shina with him.
Shina followed, but not before glancing back.
Jukaro stood perfectly still, snow drifting around him, expression unreadable.
But the look in his eyes—
It was the kind that memorized weaknesses.
Shina felt a cold pit fill his stomach.
Not fear.
But a heavy certainty.
Someday—
Someday soon—
That man would stand against him.
And Shina wasn't sure he'd ever be strong enough to stop it.
He lowered his gaze to the snow beneath his feet.
It wasn't melting anymore.
Not completely.
Only a small circle.
He wished he could control it.
He wished the heat inside him would obey, even a little.
He wished his qi didn't feel like a wild animal that woke up angry every morning.
But he also knew the truth:
He might never truly control it.
Chapter 1 — Bonus Part: Footsteps Toward the Unknown
The courtyard's stillness deepened as Shina followed Sect Master Itsukasi deeper into the heart of the Sapporo Sect, the snow underfoot thinning into patches of ice as the sheltered inner walkways took over. The master walked without a sound, his steps so quiet that the wind seemed noisier by comparison. Shina tried to match that calm grace, but every tiny crunch of melting frost beneath his sandals felt deafening.
He rubbed the tips of his index fingers together again, nervousness prickling across his skin despite the cold.
Calm down… breathe…
He swallowed.
"…Can't stop shiverin', me…" he whispered in his Oshima drawl.
Itsukasi didn't turn, but his voice rolled back to Shina like a gentle wave.
"You shiver because your qi is changing shape. Not because you are cold."
Shina nearly tripped.
"Eh? My… qi?" He clutched his vest. "I'm not meanin' to. I ain't that good…"
"You are not controlling it," Itsukasi corrected, "but it is responding to something. A stir in your spirit."
Shina didn't understand what that meant, but the words sank into him with a weight he couldn't shake.
They reached a long wooden hall lined with hanging lanterns. The paper coverings glowed faintly warm, turning the vapor in the air into a soft gold haze. Disciples moved quietly through the hall—brooms, scrolls, buckets, and winter cloths in hand.
And every single one of them stared at Shina.
Not openly.
No one dared be rude in front of their sect master.
But their glances flicked to his buzzcut, to the pale pulse of warmth at his feet, to the unfamiliar cut of his vest.
Several murmured behind their sleeves.
"He meltin' the snow?"
"A Hashima lad using qi? Not Dao?"
"No wonder he look nervous. They say qi folk burn out early."
Shina tried to pretend he didn't hear.
He pressed his fingertips harder together until his knuckles whitened.
Itsukasi, as if sensing Shina's growing discomfort, slowed his pace.
"We have all manner of disciples here," he said, his tone light, almost casual. "You are neither the first nor the last from distant lands to arrive at our gates."
Shina wanted to believe that.
He wished he could.
But as they reached the wide inner chamber, the uneasy murmurs suddenly sharpened—and parted like a tide.
A young man stepped forward.
Tall, straight-backed, and wrapped in a long dark coat patterned with silver-threaded sigils, he moved with the unhurried precision of someone accustomed to respect. His hair was tied high behind his head, not a strand out of place. His expression remained smooth and polite, but the set of his jaw carried unmistakable disdain.
Shina felt it immediately.
Even the snow dared not fall too close to him.
Disciples bowed as he passed.
"First Disciple," they murmured.
"Nishikado-sama."
Shina's breath caught.
This is the first disciple? The strongest under Itsukasi? The one I… gotta meet?
His stomach flipped.
Nishikado stopped right in front of him.
His eyes were a cold, cutting grey.
"So," Nishikado said in a crisp Sapporo accent, "this is the new entry Itsukasi-sama mentioned."
He didn't hide how unimpressed he was.
Shina bowed automatically. "I—I'm Shina Mercer Raines. I come from—"
"The Hashima region," Nishikado finished for him, voice low, patronizing. "Yes. I heard. Quite far west. Remote. Untamed. Rather backward in cultivation methods, are they not?"
Shina's mouth opened, but only a small startled sound came out.
He pressed his fingertips together again, harder this time —
and his qi flared.
Not much.
Just a flicker — a heat rising from beneath his clothes, pooling at his core in a way he couldn't stop.
But it was enough.
Snow around his sandals hissed into steam.
The air trembled faintly.
Several disciples stepped back.
Nishikado's polite smile sharpened, as if he'd expected this.
"Hm. Uncontrolled qi. Dangerous."
"I—I ain't doin' it on purpose!" Shina blurted, panicked. "I don't— I can't— I dunno how t'stop it!"
His qi surged again, reacting to his fear.
It simmered around him like a trembling heat haze.
The world felt too bright, too tight, as though the air itself pressed against his skin.
He squeezed his hands together, breathing fast.
"Stop… stop stop stop…"
Itsukasi finally moved.
A faint motion of his sleeve.
A whisper of Dao.
And Shina's qi folded back inward, like a wave that had suddenly remembered the tide's command.
Warmth drained from the air.
The disciples whispered, startled.
Nishikado raised a brow. "Impressive. He reacts strongly to emotional disturbance, it seems."
Shina bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the frozen ground.
"I'm sorry—! I ain't mean t—my qi just—"
Itsukasi rested a calm hand on Shina's shoulder.
"It is not a crime to have a spirit that has not learned its boundaries," he said softly. "What matters is that you learn where those boundaries must be."
Shina trembled under the weight of the master's words.
Nishikado crossed his arms. "If he cannot control his own qi, then he is a danger to himself and to our halls. If he is to remain, he should be watched carefully."
Itsukasi didn't so much as blink.
"That is precisely why he will train."
Nishikado's eyes flicked between them, irritation tightening his throat.
"As you say, Itsukasi-sama."
He gave Shina one final cool, cutting stare before turning sharply, coat shimmering as he strode away.
The hall's tension thinned, but the burn of embarrassment remained lodged in Shina's stomach.
Itsukasi waited until the remaining disciples faded out of earshot before he spoke again.
"You need not fear him," he said.
Shina looked up, hesitant. "He… he's strong, ain't he?"
"Very." Itsukasi's expression gentled. "And ambition makes him sharper still. But strength is not the same as certainty."
Shina didn't know what that meant, but he nodded anyway.
Itsukasi guided him forward through a side hall, leading him toward a set of sliding doors carved with mountain motifs.
"Inside is the dormitory where you will stay," Itsukasi said. "Rest. Tomorrow, we begin with the basics."
Shina swallowed.
"Basics… t'controlling this?"
"Controlling yourself," Itsukasi corrected. "Qi is merely the echo."
Shina hesitated on the threshold.
Me…? Echoing something? What do I even got inside me that's strong enough to echo like that…?
He felt suddenly small.
Small, uncertain, and very alone.
Itsukasi reached out and tugged a loose thread from Shina's vest, flicking it away with near fatherly precision.
"…You may feel lost today," the master murmured. "But the unknown is not your enemy. It is only a door."
Shina's fingers pressed together again.
He nodded.
"Tomorrow," Itsukasi said, "you will open it."
The doors slid shut behind Shina with a soft wooden thump.
He turned slowly toward the quiet dorm hall—
futon laid out, lanterns dimmed, the low scent of cedar warming the air.
He exhaled shakily.
"Heh… 'door'," he muttered, trying to smile to himself.
"Ain't sure I even know how t'turn the—"
A tremor rolled through the floor.
Shina froze.
Another tremor followed—heavier, like something pounding from underneath the wooden planks.
The lanterns flickered.
A distant crack echoed through the sect grounds.
Outside, disciples shouted in alarm.
Shina's heart lunged.
"Eh—!? What's—"
The floor beneath him shuddered again, harder.
Then—
BOOM.
The far wall of the dormitory buckled, wood splintering outward as a massive surge of icy blue energy exploded upward like a geyser. Fragments of snow and shattered tile blasted across the room.
Shina stumbled back with a cry, covering his face.
Through the hole in the wall, a swirling vortex of Dao-light erupted skyward, illuminating the courtyard in a blinding pillar of blue. Disciples ran, shadows flashing in all directions.
And somewhere beyond the vortex—
A silhouette rose.
Tall.
Armored.
Cracked by glowing fissures of impossible energy.
Shina stared, breath gone.
"…What… is happening…?"
The silhouette turned toward him—
—and its eyes snapped open.
The light inside them was not human.
END OF CHAPTER 1 — BONUS PART
(Continues in Chapter 2: "The Unstable Opening")