Kirinji Tenjirō set a bucket on the table. Inside, a single fish flopped furiously.
Haruto raised a brow. "Lunch? Should we steam it or stew it?"
"This fish," Kirinji said flatly, "is your practice dummy."
Haruto's shoulders slumped.
"The foundation of the Healing Arts—Kaido—isn't about directly mending the body," Kirinji explained. "It stimulates the target's spiritual pressure. Once that's restored, the body heals itself. Got it?"
Haruto nodded. In a realm where everything—buildings, people, even animals—was made of reishi, the method made sense.
Without another word, Kirinji lifted the fish, made a quick cut, and began his demonstration.
"I'll only show you once. If you can't get it, get out. I don't waste time on mediocrity."
Golden light flared over his hands. The fish, twitching on the verge of death, began to mend. Within two minutes, the wound closed, and it flapped about as if nothing had happened.
"See it clearly?" Kirinji asked, smirking. He'd made it intentionally hard to follow—just enough to say I taught you while knowing no normal man could copy it in one go.
"Yeah," Haruto said calmly.
Kirinji clicked his tongue. Shameless.
He cut the same fish again, earning a desperate gurgle from the poor creature.
"If you can heal that, I'll teach you an advanced Kaido."
Haruto crouched, hands glowing faintly, and pressed them to the wound. Under Kirinji's watchful glare, the flesh knit back together.
"…You've done this before," Kirinji accused, grabbing Haruto by the collar.
"Nope. First time today," Haruto said, raising his hand in mock salute.
Kirinji studied him. Haruto wasn't lying. A genius? Or some kind of monster?
"Fine. Let's go deeper."
He lit a torch and held the fish over the flames. "Advanced Kaido repairs even necrotic nerves and vessels. Watch closely."
Half the fish's body blackened and cooked. The smell filled the air.
Fish: Ah… this must be a divine trial. Endure, and I will ascend.
Ten minutes of careful work later, the fish was whole again.
"Your turn. One day to learn it," Kirinji said.
Haruto plopped the fish back over the flames, ignoring its frantic protests. When it was half-cooked, he began his own healing—precise reiatsu control knitting together every nerve and vessel.
In five minutes, the fish was swimming in the bucket again.
Fish: I am chosen. I will never die. I will rule the seas!
Kirinji's face soured. "Unbelievable. Fine—one last test."
He drew his zanpakutō. In a blur, the fish was sliced to ribbons, stabbed through the brain, barely clinging to life.
"This is top-tier Kaido," Kirinji said grimly. "It restores failing organs, shattered bones, even dying brain cells. Fast, efficient, massive spiritual pressure cost—but no side effects. Learn it in seven days, and I'll be your apprentice."
He performed the technique. In a minute, the fish was wriggling once more.
Haruto silently picked it up, tossed it into the air, and shredded it into sashimi before catching it in his hands.
"Top-tier Kaido."
Light poured from his palms. Scales, flesh, bones, even the fish's glassy eyes restored themselves.
The fish splashed into the bucket and swam in triumphant circles.
Fish: I am God.
Kirinji stared at Haruto like he was something unnatural. Because he was.