Dawn broke cold and clear over District 78.
Ethan woke to find Kenji already waiting for him in the small courtyard behind the house. The old man stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, eyes closed as if meditating. The morning mist curled around his feet like living things.
"You're late," Kenji said without opening his eyes.
Ethan glanced at the sky. The sun had barely cleared the horizon. "Late for what? You didn't tell me when to—"
"A warrior's day begins before dawn." Kenji's eyes snapped open, sharp and unforgiving. "If you want to enter the Shinigami Academy, you'll need to develop discipline. That starts now. Tomorrow, I expect you here an hour before sunrise."
Ethan swallowed his protest and nodded. "Yes, sensei."
A small smile tugged at Kenji's lips. "Sensei. I haven't been called that in thirty years." He gestured to a spot in front of him. "Sit. Cross-legged, back straight. We begin with the most fundamental skill—learning to sense your own reiatsu."
Ethan obeyed, settling onto the cold stone. His breath misted in the morning air.
"Close your eyes," Kenji instructed. "Breathe slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Feel the air entering your lungs, the way your chest rises and falls."
It seemed almost absurdly simple after the chaos of two days ago. Ethan had wielded power that erased a Hollow's limb, and now he was supposed to sit and breathe?
As if reading his thoughts, Kenji's walking stick cracked against the ground beside him. "I can hear you thinking, boy. You believe this is beneath you. That you've already proven your power."
Ethan's eyes flew open. "I didn't—"
"You did." Kenji's expression was stern but not unkind. "Let me tell you something about power, Ethan Hunt. Raw strength without control is worse than useless—it's dangerous. You manifested reiatsu through pure instinct and desperation. That light could have just as easily killed you as it did the Hollow."
He knelt down, bringing himself to eye level with Ethan. "A river has enormous power. It can carve through mountains, destroy cities, sustain millions of lives. But if you try to hold a river in your bare hands, it will simply slip through your fingers. To harness its power, you must first understand its nature. You must learn to channel it, direct it, control it."
Kenji tapped Ethan's chest lightly with one finger. "Your reiatsu is that river. Right now, you're trying to hold water in your hands. I'm going to teach you to build channels."
Understanding dawned. Ethan closed his eyes again and focused on his breathing.
"Good," Kenji murmured. "Now, with each breath, I want you to feel inward. Not with your hands or eyes, but with your spirit. Sense the energy that flows through you. It's always there, even when you're not aware of it. Like your heartbeat or the blood in your veins."
Minutes passed. Ethan breathed and searched and felt nothing but the morning cold seeping into his legs.
"Don't force it," Kenji advised. "You're trying too hard. Let awareness come naturally. Imagine you're trying to hear a distant sound. You don't strain—you simply... listen."
Ethan relaxed his shoulders, let his jaw unclench. He stopped searching and simply... was.
And there—
It was like suddenly noticing a sound that had always been present but ignored. A warmth in his chest, steady and constant. Not physical heat, but something deeper. Something that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat but felt infinitely more vast.
"I feel it," he whispered, afraid to break the fragile connection. "It's warm. And it's... bright?"
"Excellent." Pride colored Kenji's voice. "That's your reiatsu. The spiritual energy that defines your existence as a soul. Most people go their entire afterlives without ever consciously sensing it. You found it in minutes."
Ethan opened his eyes, and the sensation faded slightly but didn't disappear. He could still feel it—that warmth, that presence beneath his consciousness.
"Why does it feel bright?" he asked. "Is that normal?"
Kenji stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Every soul's reiatsu has a unique... flavor, let's call it. Some feel heavy like stone. Others flow like water or burn like fire. Yours..." He studied Ethan with those penetrating eyes. "Yours resonates with light. It's rare, but not unheard of. The former Captain of the 13th Division, Jūshirō Ukitake, has reiatsu that feels pure and cleansing. Yours seems similar."
He stood and began to pace around Ethan in a slow circle. "Now comes the difficult part. I want you to try to move that warmth. Not all of it—just a small portion. Imagine pulling a thread from a tapestry. Slowly, carefully, guide it down your right arm to your hand."
Ethan focused inward again, finding that warm presence. He visualized it as Kenji described—a vast tapestry of golden light. He reached for a single thread—
Pain exploded through his arm.
Ethan gasped and clutched his right forearm. It felt like fire and ice and lightning all at once, nerves screaming in protest.
"Stop!" Kenji commanded. "Release it immediately!"
The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a tingling sensation. Ethan panted, sweat beading on his forehead despite the morning chill.
"What... what happened?"
"You tried to force too much energy through pathways that aren't ready for it." Kenji knelt and examined Ethan's arm, his expression grim. "Your spiritual pathways are like rivers that have been dry for years. You can't suddenly flood them without causing damage. We need to open them gradually, strengthen them."
He released Ethan's arm and sat back. "This will take time. Weeks, perhaps months of daily practice before you can reliably channel reiatsu through your body without hurting yourself."
Disappointment crashed over Ethan. "Months? But the Academy—"
"Will still be there," Kenji interrupted firmly. "Better to spend months building a proper foundation than to rush and cripple yourself permanently. Trust the process, boy. I've trained enough students to know what I'm doing."
Ethan wanted to argue, to insist he could handle more. But the memory of that pain—and the trust in Kenji's eyes—kept him silent.
"Again," Kenji said. "But this time, imagine the smallest thread you can conceive of. A gossamer strand, barely there at all."
They practiced for two hours. By the end, Ethan could move the tiniest trickle of reiatsu down his arm without pain. It was progress measured in millimeters, but Kenji seemed satisfied.
"Enough for today," the old man finally said. "Your pathways need time to recover and adapt. We'll continue tomorrow."
"What should I do now?" Ethan asked, reluctant to stop despite his exhaustion.
Kenji smiled. "Now, you run."
"Run?" Ethan repeated stupidly.
"Five times around the perimeter of District 78," Kenji confirmed. "If you want to become a Shinigami, you'll need physical conditioning as well as spiritual training. The Academy will push your body to its limits and beyond. Start building your stamina now."
Ethan looked at the vast expanse of District 78 stretching in all directions. Five laps would be... he couldn't even calculate the distance. Miles and miles.
"I'll never make it," he admitted.
"Probably not today," Kenji agreed cheerfully. "So you'll do as many as you can. Tomorrow, you'll do more. The day after, more still. By the time I'm done with you, you'll run those five laps before breakfast without breaking a sweat."
Ethan wanted to believe the old man was joking. The expression on Kenji's face suggested otherwise.
"There's a reason most Shinigami recruits come from noble families," Kenji continued, his tone more serious. "They've had personal tutors since childhood, training in every discipline. They arrive at the Academy with years of preparation. You have none of that. The only way you'll compete is if you work twice as hard as they do."
He placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "I'm not trying to discourage you. I'm trying to prepare you for reality. The path you've chosen is brutally difficult. But I've seen your potential, and I believe you can walk it. The question is—do you believe it?"
Ethan thought about the light that had poured from his hands, about the promise he'd made to himself. About all the people in the Rukongai who had no voice, no protection, no hope.
"I believe it," he said firmly.
"Then run."
Ethan ran.
He made it halfway through the first lap before his lungs burned and his legs turned to lead. He walked for a while, then forced himself to run again. When his body screamed for him to stop, he thought about the Tanaka children's terrified faces and kept going.
He completed one full lap before collapsing in Kenji's courtyard, every muscle trembling.
The old man looked down at him with an expression that might have been approval. "One lap. Tomorrow, you'll do two."
"Tomorrow," Ethan gasped between painful breaths, "I'm going to die."
"Possibly," Kenji agreed. "But you'll die stronger than you are today. Now rest. We have afternoon lessons."
Ethan groaned but didn't protest. He'd asked for this. He'd chosen this path.
He just hadn't realized how much it was going to hurt.
The afternoon session focused on theory.
Kenji had an extensive library—surprising for someone living in District 78. Ancient scrolls and bound books filled shelves carved into the walls of his small house. He selected several and laid them before Ethan.
"Before you can master the Shinigami arts, you must understand them intellectually," Kenji explained. "The four fundamental combat disciplines are Zanjutsu—the art of the sword, Hakuda—hand-to-hand combat, Hoho—movement techniques, and Kido—demon arts. Spell casting, essentially."
He pointed to each text in turn. "These contain the basic principles of each discipline. I want you to read them, study them, memorize them. Tomorrow, we'll discuss what you've learned."
Ethan looked at the stack of books with something approaching despair. "All of these? By tomorrow?"
"You want to enter the Academy unprepared?" Kenji raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Take your time. Enjoy years of struggling while your classmates excel."
Ethan pulled the first book toward him and began to read.
The texts were dense, technical, and fascinating. The Zanjutsu manual described sword grips, stances, and strike patterns with mathematical precision. The Hakuda scroll detailed pressure points, leverage techniques, and the principles of spiritual energy flowing through the body during combat.
But it was the Kido text that truly captured Ethan's attention.
The demon arts were divided into two categories: Hado—offensive spells, and Bakudo—defensive and binding spells. Each spell had a number indicating its difficulty and power, an incantation to focus the caster's will, and a name.
"Hado #1: Sho," Ethan read aloud. "A thrust of spiritual energy that pushes the target back. Incantation: None required for basic execution."
He looked up at Kenji. "Can I try it?"
"Absolutely not." Kenji didn't even glance up from his own reading. "You can barely move reiatsu through your arm without pain. Attempting to cast a spell would be spectacularly stupid. Read first. Practice later. Much later."
Ethan returned to the text, but his mind was already racing. If simple spells could push things away, what could the higher-numbered ones do? He flipped ahead, scanning for more powerful techniques.
"Hado #31: Shakkaho. Fires a sphere of red spiritual energy at the target. Incantation: 'Ye lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south!'"
"Hado #33: Sokatsui. Fires a wave of blue spiritual energy. Incantation: 'Ye lord! Mask of flesh and bone, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Truth and temperance, upon this sinless wall of dreams unleash but slightly the wrath of your claws!'"
The incantations were poetry, each word carefully chosen to shape and direct spiritual energy. Ethan found himself mouthing the syllables, feeling how they resonated in his chest.
"Stop that," Kenji said without looking up.
"I wasn't—"
"You were reciting incantations. I can feel the reiatsu fluctuations from here. Do it again and I'll make you run another lap."
Ethan shut his mouth and focused on reading silently.
Hours passed. The sun tracked across the sky. Ethan's eyes grew heavy, but he forced himself to continue. When he finally looked up, darkness had fallen outside. Kenji had lit several candles, their flickering light casting shadows across the walls.
"Enough," the old man said gently. "Your mind needs rest as much as your body. We'll test your retention tomorrow."
Ethan wanted to argue that he could keep going, but a yawn betrayed him. Kenji chuckled.
"Go to your futon. Sleep. Dawn comes early."
As Ethan stood on shaky legs, Kenji spoke again. "You did well today. Better than I expected for a first session. Keep this pace, and you might actually be ready for the Academy entrance exams."
Pride warmed Ethan's chest—different from the warmth of reiatsu but no less powerful. "Thank you, sensei."
"Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow will be harder."
It was a promise and a warning.
The weeks that followed blurred into a rhythm of exhaustion and growth.
Each dawn found Ethan in the courtyard, breathing and feeling and slowly, painstakingly learning to move reiatsu through his body. First his arms, then his legs, finally his core. The pathways strengthened gradually, like muscle building with exercise.
After meditation came the running. One lap became two. Two became three. His body transformed, shedding the undernourished weakness of street life and replacing it with lean muscle and endurance.
Afternoons were for study. Kenji quizzed him relentlessly on theory, accepting nothing less than perfect recall. When Ethan couldn't answer, he ran another lap. The threat of physical punishment proved an excellent motivational tool.
Evenings, when the other residents of District 78 were settling in for the night, Kenji began teaching practical skills.
"Zanjutsu requires a blade," the old man said one evening, producing two wooden practice swords. "These bokken will serve until you can afford proper steel. The fundamental stance is seigan—sword held at chest level, point toward your opponent. Like this."
He demonstrated, his aged body moving with fluid precision. Ethan copied the stance, feeling awkward and exposed.
"Your feet are too close together. Widen your base. No, too wide. There—that's better." Kenji circled him, making minute adjustments. "The sword is an extension of your arm, which is an extension of your spirit. Every movement begins in your center and flows outward. Watch."
Kenji executed a simple downward cut. The bokken whistled through the air with startling speed. It looked effortless.
"Now you."
Ethan tried. His cut was slow, clumsy, and nearly made him lose his balance.
"Again."
He tried again. And again. And again.
By the time Kenji called a halt, Ethan had executed the same cut two hundred times. His arms trembled. His shoulders burned. But the final attempt had been noticeably cleaner than the first.
"Progress," Kenji acknowledged. "Small, but present. We'll continue tomorrow."
The days accumulated into weeks. Weeks into a month. Ethan's world narrowed to training, eating, sleeping, and training again. The Tanaka children barely saw him anymore. When they did, they marveled at how he'd changed—taller, stronger, moving with a confidence that hadn't been there before.
One morning, exactly six weeks after his training began, Ethan completed his meditation session and felt reiatsu flow through his entire body without pain. It moved like water through open channels, responding to his will with only minimal effort.
Kenji's eyes widened. "Show me again."
Ethan demonstrated, guiding spiritual energy from his core down through his arms and legs, then back to his center. Smooth. Controlled. Natural.
"Six weeks," Kenji murmured. "It took me three months to reach this level of control." He looked at Ethan with something approaching awe. "You're ready for the next stage."
"Which is?"
Kenji's smile was equal parts pride and wicked anticipation. "Now we teach you to actually use that reiatsu. Starting with the most basic Kido spell."
He gestured for Ethan to stand and face a wooden post set up in the courtyard. "Hado #1: Sho. It requires no incantation, only will and a small release of spiritual pressure. Focus on that post. Gather reiatsu in your palm. Visualize it as a concentrated point of force. Then push it outward with your intention."
Ethan centered himself, feeling the familiar warmth of his reiatsu. He gathered a portion in his right hand, feeling it pool and compress. He focused on the post, visualized impact, and thrust his palm forward.
"Sho!"
A barely visible distortion in the air shot from his hand and struck the post with a dull thump. The wood creaked but didn't move.
"Pathetic," Kenji declared. "Again."
Ethan tried again. This time, the post rocked slightly.
"Better. Again."
They practiced for an hour. By the end, Ethan could reliably produce enough force to knock the post over. His hand tingled with residual energy, and sweat soaked his clothes despite the cool morning air.
"Adequate," Kenji finally said. "Tomorrow, we'll try Hado #4: Byakurai—the pale lightning. But first, run your laps."
Ethan groaned but obeyed. As he ran, he couldn't suppress a smile. He'd cast his first Kido spell. Weak and clumsy, perhaps, but real.
He was becoming a Shinigami.
The thought carried him through all five laps without stopping once.
END OF CHAPTER 2
Next Chapter: The First Test