Shunjiro tightened his grip around the Devil’s Luck dagger, taking a deep, steadying breath. His muscles tensed as he locked his gaze on Malachi’s formidable form, preparing to strike once again. Let’s see if I can do it this time, he thought, determination blazing in his eyes. With a sudden burst of motion, Shunjiro lunged forward, dagger outstretched. As he moved, an intense surge of spiritual energy roared to life within him, more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced. His body felt electrified, every nerve ending humming with raw, untamed strength. Malachi’s eyes widened slightly, just a flicker of surprise, as Shunjiro closed in with breathtaking speed. At the last moment, the towering king instinctively stepped back, his massive frame flinching almost imperceptibly under the sheer pressure radiating from the young warrior. Shunjiro froze mid-strike, staring at his own trembling hands, which still pulsed with energy. The realization hit him like a wave, causing his heart to pound wildly in his chest. Did I just… make Malachi flinch? “I’ve… never felt anything like this before,” Shunjiro murmured, awe and confusion mingling in his voice. His breathing was ragged, adrenaline still coursing through him, fueling his newfound excitement and uncertainty in equal measure. The thought of wielding such incredible power thrilled him, but a sense of dread quickly followed, as he realized he had no idea how to truly control it. “Whoa, careful there!” Malachi’s deep voice cut through Shunjiro’s thoughts, tinged with genuine astonishment. For a brief moment, the imposing king looked at Shunjiro as if seeing him clearly for the first time. Shunjiro straightened up, heart still racing, and saw something new in Malachi’s eyes, a spark of genuine respect. “You just spiked your aura up to an SS-level,” Malachi continued, his tone equally impressed and cautious. “You’ll need to learn to master that quickly. Such sudden leaps in spiritual power are exceedingly rare… and quite special.” Special? The word echoed in Shunjiro’s mind, igniting a comforting warmth deep in his chest. It seemed too good to be true. He glanced down at his hands again, marveling at the residual tingling sensation that lingered in his fingertips. “Special, huh?” Shunjiro replied, breaking into his trademark goofy grin, even though his heart still fluttered nervously. “Does that mean I get a superhero name now?” Malachi’s laughter resonated warmly through the chamber, shaking the very walls with its depth. “First things first, young warrior, you must master that incredible power of yours. Achieving such mastery could take years.” His voice turned serious again. “From what I can tell, your spiritual energy has the unique ability to surge wildly, almost instantaneously, though it seems you do so subconsciously.” Years? Shunjiro’s smile faltered slightly, his brow furrowing with concern. Do I really have that kind of time? But then, determination surged again within him, stronger than ever. “Years, huh?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, hiding his anxiety behind another wide grin. “Guess we’d better keep at it then!” Resuming their sparring, Shunjiro gritted his teeth and tried to zero in on the sensation Malachi had guided him toward, the internal current of spiritual energy that flickered like a flame inside his core. He focused, visualized the flow through his limbs, and tried to summon it at will. But it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. Elusive. Frustrating. Come on, Shunjiro. Concentrate. You can do this. Without warning, Malachi’s greatsword arced forward in a blur of motion, a sweeping strike with deceptively casual grace. Shunjiro had no time to react properly. The flat of the blade grazed his arm, a light blow that should’ve left a mark at the very least. But there was… nothing. Shunjiro froze mid-step, staring at his arm. The fabric of his sleeve had torn slightly, but beneath it, his skin was untouched. No blood. No bruise. No pain. What the-? Malachi lowered his blade, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “What exactly are you, Shunjiro?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Normal people bleed.” Shunjiro blinked. Then, he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m just as confused as you are, buddy. I’m just awesome, I guess.” He paused, scratching his cheek. “But seriously… yeah. I haven’t bled in years. Not from falls, not from blades, not even when I broke my ankle trying to kick a rock during training once.” He frowned. “Is that normal? Am I normal?” The questions buzzed like a swarm of gnats in his mind, unwelcome, persistent, unanswerable. Malachi’s response was a flick. A literal flick to the forehead, but one charged with focused spiritual energy. Shunjiro stumbled back, more out of surprise than pain, and winced as he felt a sting on his lip. He touched it gingerly. His fingers came away red. “Blood…?” he murmured, stunned. Malachi grinned. “Well, there goes your theory about immortality,” he said with a deep laugh. “Seems like you’re still human after all.” Shunjiro wiped his lip, more intrigued than disappointed. “Okay, okay, so explain this. Your giant sword didn’t leave a scratch, but your flick did?” Malachi nodded. “Because when I swung my sword earlier, I used zero percent of my spiritual energy. I pulled the blow entirely, it was the weakest possible swing, deliberately so. I didn’t want to risk hurting you if your defense was unstable.” Shunjiro’s eyes widened. “Wait… so?” “So,” Malachi continued, now pacing slowly, “when I flicked you, I used actual spiritual energy. Which means…” He stopped, facing Shunjiro head-on, eyes gleaming with amusement and revelation. “…your body has a passive spiritual ability, likely linked to your aura, that makes you immune or highly resistant to attacks weaker than your own spiritual output. In other words…” He tapped his chest with a massive finger. “If the energy used to hurt you is lower than yours, it won’t hurt you.” Shunjiro blinked. “So I’m… only vulnerable to people stronger than me?” “Exactly. It’s not that you’re invincible, it’s that you’re selectively vulnerable. A defense mechanism at a spiritual level. Very rare. Very dangerous.” A slow grin spread across Shunjiro’s face. “Okay, that’s kinda awesome.” Malachi smirked. “It is. But it also means the stronger you grow, the fewer things will be able to scratch you… but the things that can will hit you hard. You’re not a tank, you’re a shield with a trigger.” Shunjiro raised an eyebrow. “A what now?” Malachi chuckled. “You’ll see in time.” Shunjiro looked at his arm again. No cut. No bruise. No pain. And for the first time, he began to wonder if the weirdness inside him wasn’t a curse at all…but something waiting to be understood. “So, any idea what my actual power might be?” Shunjiro asked, his voice balancing curiosity with a flicker of hope. Malachi’s smile faded into a more serious expression. He folded his arms, studying the boy before him. “Let’s find out,” he said, his tone firm. “Try to push out whatever energy’s inside you. Focus on your core. Imagine it traveling to your hand, no shortcuts. Just feel it.” Shunjiro nodded, eyes closing slowly. He took a deep breath and centered himself. Okay, deep inside. Focus… picture it like a lake of energy… move it… channel it… to my hand… A faint buzz sparked through his chest. Something shifted. Something real. His eyes snapped open, and he raised his hand with anticipation pulsing in his veins. Now! From his outstretched palm… a faint stream of grainy, sand-like substance trickled out. It dribbled to the floor with the enthusiasm of a broken salt shaker. He stared at it, dumbfounded. “Seriously? Sand?” Malachi stared for a second longer than expected, then exploded into laughter. A deep, thunderous, chest-rattling laugh that echoed through the training chamber. “That has got to be the least intimidating power reveal I’ve ever seen!” he managed between wheezes. Shunjiro blinked at his hand… then at the pathetic little pile on the floor. “…So what, am I the Sandman now?” Malachi wiped a tear from his eye. “Apparently so!” Despite himself, Shunjiro chuckled. The absurdity was too good not to laugh at. But then Malachi’s tone shifted, his mirth giving way to thoughtfulness. “Don’t be too quick to judge. Sand might look harmless, but it’s one of the most destructive forces in nature.” Shunjiro raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?” “Very.” Malachi pointed a thick finger at him. “Sand can grind down mountains, erode empires, and blind armies in storms. It can bury cities or sculpt entire landscapes. It is unrelenting. Subtle. Ubiquitous.” Shunjiro looked back down at the little pile, a flicker of wonder lighting in his chest. Maybe this isn’t so lame after all. Malachi clapped his hands together. “Alright then! Let’s push this further. Your power might be something new entirely, maybe it’s a fusion of energy manipulation and elemental control. We need to understand it.” The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of experimentation. Malachi guided him step by step: breathing exercises, energy focus drills, guided visualization. All while Shunjiro learned how to control the sand, not just summon it, but direct it. Focus, Shunjiro. Imagine the sand as your body. As your limbs. As your breath. Make it dance. Make it roar. Frustration met progress. Clumsiness gave way to finesse. And then, finally, a breakthrough. A stream of sand burst from his hands, arcing in the air and circling him like a miniature cyclone. It whipped around his body in a controlled spiral, never touching his skin. It felt alive. Shunjiro laughed, thrilled and wide-eyed. “Malachi! Look! I’m a sandstorm!” Malachi grinned, the rare kind that reached his eyes. “You’re getting there. This…this is only the beginning.” They eventually collapsed to the floor, their backs against the cool stone, breath catching between lingering chuckles. The tension of training gave way to something warmer: kinship. Two warriors from opposite corners of the world. A lonely king and a wandering fool. But here, now, they were just two souls discovering something extraordinary. As Malachi closed his eyes for a brief rest, Shunjiro stared at the swirling dust above them. I’m going to figure this out, he thought, a hardened fire lighting in his chest. Whatever this is, wherever it leads, I’m going to make this mine.