Kaito was seven when he realized the ocean inside him had rules — and he was the only one who could learn them.
He didn't have books. No teacher. No clan elders. Just a futon, the dark dorm, and six snoring boys who thought he was weird for sitting up at 2 a.m.
He started simple.
Every night after lights out: legs crossed, eyes closed, breathe slow.
In… out… in… out.
First goal: feel the flow without pushing it out.
CE looped down his left arm, across his chest, up the right shoulder.
Perfect circle. No leak. No waste.
He punched the pillow.
It tore.
He stared at the feathers floating in the moonlight.
Then at his hand.
No pain. No bruise.
That was night one.
By eight he could reinforce his whole body for hours.
Ran laps around the orphanage yard until the sun rose — never out of breath.
The other kids called him hyper.
The matron called him healthy.
He called it baseline.
One night he tried something new.
He pushed a tiny amount of CE out of his palm — just a drop.
Mentally commanded: "Form a sphere."
A glowing blue-white marble appeared, hovering an inch above his skin.
He stared at it.
Last command was "form a sphere."
So it stayed a sphere.
He released the connection.
The sphere floated there — perfectly still, perfectly round, like a tiny moon made of cursed energy.
He poked it.
Nothing happened.
It didn't move. Didn't change. Didn't obey.
He tried to command it again — nothing.
It was locked. Frozen in the last shape he'd given it before letting go.
He exhaled.
"So that's how it works."
From then on external CE became one-shot.
He could sculpt it inside his body perfectly.
Release it with a final command.
Then it froze forever — or until it ran out of fuel and faded.
He tested limits.
Sphere → "hover in place."
It floated like a lamp. Useful for reading at night without waking anyone.
Small projectile → "fly straight forward."
It shot like a bullet — no curve, no stop, until it hit something or dissipated.
Tried a shield → "form a flat wall and hold rigid."
A glowing rectangular plate appeared in front of him — solid, unmoving, like glass.
Blocked a thrown rock perfectly.
But he couldn't make it follow him.
Couldn't reshape it.
It just sat there until the CE drained.
He learned fast: the last mental command was everything.
No mid-air edits.
No second chances.
Funny accidents happened.
Age nine: tried to make a CE rope to grab a ball stuck in a tree.
Commanded "extend forward and wrap."
Forgot to say "stop at 2 meters."
The rope kept growing — across the yard, over the fence, through the neighbor's laundry.
Wrapped their entire clothesline like a glowing python.
Neighbor yelled.
Kaito had to run out, cut the CE connection (it dissipated instantly), apologize with his best deadpan face.
"Sorry. Science experiment."
The neighbor glared.
Kaito walked back inside.
Aiko (then 4) toddled after him.
"Nii-chan made string! Make more!"
Kaito sighed.
"No more string today."
He never forgot the "stop" command again.
Physical training came next.
He watched fights — older kids scrapping, street brawlers near the convenience store, karate clips on the community TV.
He copied the body first — not the energy.
Hip rotation. Shoulder snap. Foot pivot. Elbow lock.
3 a.m. shadow-boxing under the streetlamp.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut.
Added reinforcement.
Air cracked.
Timeskip now age 10
Summer. Sticky heat. Dorm windows open. Crickets loud outside.
Kaito sat on the roof — his roof — knees up, back against the chimney.
He'd been thinking about punches.
Every time he reinforced and hit something, the CE spread through his whole arm — shoulder to fingertips.
Most of it ended up in his elbow or bicep, not where the impact happened.
Waste.
He hated waste.
So he tried something different.
He raised his right fist.
First: full reinforcement loop through the entire arm.
Punched the air.
Felt the shockwave.
Good. But not great.
Second try: he pulled the loop back.
Held CE in his shoulder → let it drain down to elbow → stopped there.
Punched.
Less shockwave. Felt weaker.
Wrong direction.
Third try: started at the fist.
Focused CE only into knuckles and wrist.
Built it up — dense, hot, heavy — like pouring liquid steel into his hand.
The rest of the arm stayed normal — no glow, no extra strength.
He punched the chimney brick.
Crack.
A hairline fracture ran up the brick.
He stared.
The CE hadn't spread.
It stayed locked in his fist — concentrated, explosive.
He flexed his fingers.
No pain.
No waste.
He grinned — small, private.
From that night on, he trained infusion.
Fist infusion first.
Every punch: CE funneled straight to knuckles.
No spread.
No leak.
By the end of the month his punches cracked bricks clean in half.
Leg infusion next.
He stood in the yard at midnight.
Focused CE down his right thigh → knee → shin → foot.
Kicked a tree trunk.
The bark exploded outward in a shower of splinters.
He fell on his ass laughing — quiet, breathless.
"Legs are stronger than arms," he whispered to himself.
"Noted."
Core infusion was harder.
He sat cross-legged.
Pushed CE into his torso — ribs, stomach, spine.
Breathed deeper.
Felt lungs expand like bellows.
Ran laps — faster than ever.
Didn't tire.
Took a punch from an older kid during a yard scrap.
The kid's fist sank into his stomach — Kaito didn't even flinch.
The older boy pulled back, shaking his hand.
Kaito deadpan: "You okay?"
The kid walked away muttering.
Kaito just rubbed his stomach.
"Core infusion. Useful."
By eleven he could infuse any major limb or core section on command.
Punches shattered concrete.
Kicks sent shockwaves.
Body could tank hits that would drop grown men.
He never bragged.
He just kept training.
At twelve he landed consistent black flash — easier now because CE was already concentrated at impact point.
Punching an old pine behind the building.
Fist infused to the knuckles.
Timing perfect.
Spark.
Explosion.
Half the trunk shattered.
He stared at his fist.
Blood on knuckles.
Small grin.
100 punches a night. 200.
Counted the hits: 1 in 50 → 1 in 30 → 1 in 15.
By thirteen he could call black flash almost every tenth punch if he timed the breath right.
He built modes in his head:
Normal: Light internal loop. Infinite stamina. Daily life.
Burst: 85–95% suppression + targeted infusion. Physical god. Short fights.
Overdrive: Full output + full infusion. Slow self-healing. Emergency only.
He never told anyone.
The matron thought he was "growing fast."
The kids thought he was "lucky."
Aiko thought he was magic.
And somewhere in the same city, a boy with pink hair was probably laughing at cartoons.
Kaito didn't know him yet.
But middle school started next week.
New faces.
New noise.
He hoped it would be boring.
He hoped wrong.