The late morning sun bathed Notting City Junior Soul Master Academy in golden light, its rays glinting off the stone walls as students bustled toward their classes. Arthev walked across the courtyard with calm, measured steps. His face remained expressionless, but his mind was still processing the morning's sparring match with Tang San—not as a triumph, but as a problem to analyze.
Tang San's Blue Silver Grass had been persistent, and Shukaku's aura had almost slipped through in a moment of carelessness. A risk, Arthev admitted, narrowing his eyes slightly. But if he was going to take risks, he needed better control.
He turned toward the training grounds behind the dorms—an open space of packed dirt, surrounded by gnarled old trees and worn-out practice dummies. Dropping his bag to the side, he scanned the quiet field. Perfect. No distractions.
Rolling his shoulders loose, he slipped into a low stance and began a series of strikes. His fists met the wooden dummy with sharp, deliberate thuds. Every movement was precise; his breathing steady. Reaching level 18 had strengthened his body—his muscles were tighter, his reflexes quicker—but it wasn't enough. Not yet.
He wanted to be ready for Tailed Beast Possession. He needed to be.
"Back at it, Stunned Face?" Shukaku's rough, teasing voice echoed in his mind. "Punchin' sticks all day? You're killin' me with boredom, kid."
Arthev didn't pause, landing a spinning kick that cracked the dummy's frame. "I'm building resilience," he answered coolly, through their mental link. "You said possession would strain my body. I'm preparing, not playing."
"Tch, 'preparing,'" Shukaku scoffed, his tone mocking. The image of the tailed beast lounging lazily on a sand dune flickered in Arthev's mind. "You're like a monk with all this discipline nonsense. Where's the chaos? Gimme a good scrap—something with teeth!"
"Chaos nearly exposed us," Arthev replied, weaving through imaginary attacks, his footwork quick and sharp. "Your aura slipped during the spar. Xiao Wu noticed. You've sealed it off now, haven't you?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm on lockdown," Shukaku muttered. "Not a single grain of power leaking out. Happy now, you uptight brat?"
"Good," Arthev said, his voice carrying a trace of approval. "Keep it that way. Xiao Wu's sharp,although because of yesterday event i doubt she will suspect me, but Tang San's suspicious. Then there's his father—Tang Hao. The man's killing intent spoke volumes. We can't make another mistake."
"That guy creeps me out," Shukaku admitted, scratching at imaginary sand with a claw. "He's lurking around, watching his son like some ghost. A bit pathetic for a big shot, don't ya think?"
"He's a Titled Douluo," Arthev replied, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. "He saw me as a threat when I held the kunai too close. Just a flicker of intent—but it means he's nearby. We stay low."
"Bah, I say we blast him with a sand wave and see what he's really made of," Shukaku said, laughing roughly. "Live a little, Stunned Face!"
"No," Arthev answered flatly. "We will build strength first. Choose the right moment. Rushing in only exposes our secrets."
"Boring as dirt," Shukaku grumbled. But there was a grudging respect in his voice.
"Fine. I'll nap. Wake me when you wanna cause real trouble."
Snapping back into focus, Arthev moved on to agility drills. He darted between rope lines tied to wooden posts, twisting and dodging, his body a blur of smooth motion. Every movement sharpened his instincts. One day, he'd be ready to synchronize with Shukaku's full power.
Suddenly, footsteps approached.
Arthev slowed and turned. Tang San was heading his way—his steps stiff, eyes intense. The tension between them still hung heavy from the morning's spar.
"Arthev," Tang San said, voice low and tight. "Training alone? Doesn't look like you're tired after this morning."
Arthev met his gaze calmly. "I train to improve," he said evenly. "The spar was a test. That's all. You came here for a reason, i assume?"
Tang San's jaw clenched. His fingers twitched. "You held back," he accused, stepping closer. "No soul skills. Just fists and a knife. Were you mocking me?"
"No," Arthev replied, his tone cool and factual. "I wanted to test my foundation. See how my basics held up against your technique. You're skilled—but I saw weaknesses. That's all."
Tang San's eyes flared with frustration. "You think you've figured me out? You're wrong. I'll close those gaps. My teacher's methods won't fail me."
"Then prove it next time," Arthev said, turning back toward the dummy. "Talk is cheap."
Tang San stood frozen for a second, then turned and walked away, his expression hard. Arthev watched him go, already analyzing the encounter. He's determined. Dangerous if he gets too curious.
By noon, Arthev was finishing his training when another presence arrived—Director Su. The man's greying hair caught the light, his face lined with both age and insight.
"Arthev," Su greeted, stopping just outside the training field. "Still pushing yourself, I see. Word travels fast, you know. That spar with Tang San—level 18, no soul skills, and you still outmaneuvered him? People are talking."
Arthev straightened and wiped his hands. "People?"
Su nodded, his tone serious. "Students, teachers—everyone noticed when you disappeared for a month. Then you returned, stronger than before, and defeated one of our top students. Now, that purple ring you're carrying... it's turning heads. And not all of the attention you're getting is friendly."
Arthev's face remained unreadable, but his thoughts spun quickly. "I understand. I'll be cautious."
Su gave him a half-smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You're sharp. Just don't let rivalry with Tang San drag you into anything reckless. Stay focused. Your path looks steep—but promising."
As the director walked off, Arthev watched him quietly. Attention is a liability, he thought. Tang San's curious, and now the staff is whispering. I need to move more carefully.
Across the room, Tang San sat silently, carving a block of wood with precise movements. His brows were furrowed.
"He's hiding something," he murmured.
His eyes stayed locked on the carving—sharp, focused, unrelenting.
Outside, Arthev slung his bag over his shoulder and walked back toward the dorms. The sun beat down on his skin, but he felt a subtle chill—something watching. It wasn't Shukaku. It wasn't Tang Hao. Something else.
He dismissed it for now. Maybe fatigue. Maybe not. Either way, his steps stayed steady, his senses alert.
The day seemed ordinary—but underneath, something was shifting.
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