"You're doing great."Akira smirked, brushing the dust off his clothes. "I already knew I'd be a prodigy. Tao's a lot easier than it looks."
He turned back toward the training tree, its bark faintly glowing. "This thing barely has any Tao in it. It must react to the amount I put in… so if I just limit it—"
His palm flared, and the tree shot upward, roots cracking through the soil.
Arms crossed, Ito watched in quiet astonishment. Not surprising, really. Tao favored talent over effort—seventy percent instinct, the rest grind. Still, watching Akira figure out in minutes what had taken him a week... it was hard not to be impressed.
"Akira," Ito said, stepping closer, brushing at the boy's two-toned hair, "is that your natural color?"
"Huh? Yeah." Akira pulled back, brow furrowed.
Ito sighed. I knew it. "A child born with black and white hair is said to carry a prophecy—destined to become a great Taoist. I've only ever met two others like that. The former Number One Hunter… and the current Number Four."
Akira blinked, unsure whether to feel proud or concerned. Ito straightened, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Good work. You're practically done."
Akira grinned. "Man, I thought this was going to be harder."
"Don't celebrate yet." Ito's tone hardened. "You've still got that Yokai Contract leeching your Tao. Time to learn how to deal with it."
He gestured for Akira to sit. "There's a realm only Taoists can access—your true state. It exists entirely in your mind. It's how you communicate with your contracted Yokai. Close your eyes and focus inward."
Akira lay down on the hardwood floor, shutting his eyes. "I don't think it's—"
The world blinked.
He opened his eyes to a vast, black void. In front of him stretched a canvas of color—vivid and alive—with a throne standing at its heart. When he tried to step toward it, his muscles locked, frozen mid-motion.
A towering lion-like humanoid appeared beside him, golden mane streaked with silver flame.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Akira demanded.
"I am Arthur," the Yokai replied, voice calm and resonant. "We are within your mind. That," he gestured toward the throne world, "is your true state."
Akira tried again to move, but his body refused. "Why can't I reach it?"
"Most Taoists never do," Arthur said. "They only draw fragments of their power from it. Your true state shapes your Tao—it is the birthplace of your abilities."
Akira crossed his arms. "Fine. Then can you at least stop stealing my Tao? It's annoying."
Arthur shook his head. "If I stop, we both die. We are linked—since birth. You were born in a forest of Yokai. Had I not intervened, you would have been devoured. To protect you, I took root within you. That connection requires twenty percent of your Tao to sustain us both."
Images flickered—Akira as a child, a Yokai's hand touching his forehead, an old woman carrying him away through the rain.
Akira exhaled slowly. "Alright. Then… can I use your abilities?"
"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "Your body is too weak to handle them—yet."
Akira frowned but smirked anyway. "Fine. I'll be back for them."
Arthur's expression softened. "I'll be waiting."
The world dissolved.
When Akira opened his eyes, Ito was staring down at him with a frown. "So? Nothing changed. Couldn't convince it, huh?"
Akira sat up, rubbing his head. "No. We came to an agreement."
Ito muttered something under his breath but waved it off. "Alright, one last thing."
He stepped back, spreading his stance.
"Sword." His muscles hardened, strength surging."Shield." His skin gleamed, his presence heavy."Bow." A beam of condensed Tao burst from his mouth, scarring the floorboards."Spear." A training blade in the corner glowed as energy flooded it."Armor." His aura flared outward—dense, oppressive, the air itself shivering.
"These," Ito said, his voice echoing in the charged air, "are the five basic Tao techniques. What matters isn't how strong they are—it's how well you control them under pressure."
He dropped into a fighting stance, eyes sharp.
"Show me if you can."
Then he rushed forward.