Despite being the youngest member of the group, young Hiroto was determined to pull his own weight. With the assault on the Diablero compound scheduled for the day after tomorrow, the current Don had dispatched Francesco Rossi—the Luciano family's veteran Lightning Guardian—to personally oversee the boy's final preparations.
Francesco was a broad-shouldered warrior with scarred forearms and sharp, electric eyes that seemed to track every movement in the vicinity. He met Hiroto at an isolated sports field behind the school, where the open space would allow them to unleash their power without drawing unwanted attention.
After exchanging respectful bows, Francesco wasted no time on idle talk.
"The Lightning Guardian is the vanguard's iron spike," Francesco said, his deep voice carrying over the quiet field. "It's not just about raw destructive power, Hiroto. Lightning is speed, impact, and absolute precision. You don't just strike—you break through enemy lines before they even realize the attack has begun. That means your reflexes have to be sharper than anyone else's."
Hiroto nodded eagerly, his small hands clenching into fists. "I'm ready!"
Without a second's warning, Francesco lunged forward, throwing a blindingly fast jab directly toward Hiroto's guard. The air crackled with speed as Hiroto barely ducked beneath the strike, feeling the pressure wave brush past his cheek.
"Good, but too slow," Francesco warned, instantly following up with a rapid succession of sweeping kicks and open-palm strikes.
Hiroto scrambled across the turf, dodging, ducking, and attempting to slip counter-punches whenever an opening appeared. Within minutes, his chest was heaving, his little lungs burning as he pushed his young body past its natural limits. But despite the fatigue setting in, he refused to take a step back.
Seeing the kid's unwavering resolve, Francesco's stern expression softened into an approving smirk. "Not bad, kid. Now let's see how you handle real static."
Francesco dropped his stance, and in a split second, brilliant yellow arcs of electrical energy surged across his arms and legs, humming with intense heat. He charged forward, unleashing a high-speed offensive that left trails of crackling energy in the air.
The sheer pressure forced Hiroto onto the absolute defensive. Even when he managed to block Francesco's strikes, the static discharge zapped his forearms, numbing his muscles. He was thrown off balance, taking a few light glancing blows that sent him skidding across the grass, but every single time he hit the turf, he scrambled right back up to his feet, eyes blazing with determination.
Seeing that the boy had pushed himself to the absolute brink without breaking, Francesco called a halt to the session, dispersing his electrical aura into the air.
He walked over to where Hiroto stood panting, and placed a heavy, encouraging hand on the boy's shoulder.
"You've got real heart, Hiroto," Francesco said softly. "The Lightning element doesn't just choose anyone—it chooses those who refuse to stay down. With that kind of drive, you're going to be a force to be reckoned with."
Hiroto wiped his brow, a broad, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Thank you, Master Francesco! I won't let the family down."
With only forty-eight hours remaining before they marched on the Diablero fortress, Hiroto walked home with his heavy Blaster slung over his shoulder, his body aching, but his spirit humming with the relentless energy of the storm to come.