From Mikoto's read on Keyaru, he definitely wasn't from one of the powerful Familias.
In Orario, a child getting chummy with other gods already causes trouble—much less asking another god to train you. His own Familia had to be weak. In that case, there was no way they had a dedicated healer. What, was he supposed to be chugging panaceas every day?
She really couldn't figure it out. She studied him closely: steady breathing, bright-eyed, light on his feet—nothing like someone who'd just done live sparring last night.
"Can your body really handle this?"
"Of course."
Keyaru grinned, making no mention of "Heal" just because of Hestia's connection to Takemikazuchi. It'd be easy to shortcut with Imitation—tag along with Mikoto into the Dungeon, heal after getting hurt, and copy her fighting technique. But a shortcut like that would give itself away in the details.
Either way, doubling his own gains through spar after spar would raise his stats before the Dungeon.
"Pain matters less than getting better at real combat. The sooner I do, the sooner I can head into the Dungeon."
"No problem."
She didn't see it as a waste of time; sparring helped her too. Cinching her loose kimono with an obi so nothing would get in the way—incidentally tracing out a perfect silhouette—she finished her prep.
"Let's begin."
She didn't open like last night. Blade up with both hands in a guard, onyx eyes utterly calm. Pure defense only gets you so far in adventurer-on-adventurer matches; hearing his goal was the Dungeon, she changed her mind.
"Don't hold back. Come at me with everything you've got."
"Then pardon my clumsy form."
The roles flipped. Keyaru tightened his grip on the wooden sword, settled his breath, cleared the noise from his gaze, and read her stance. He drove off his front leg and surged in, testing with a side cut aimed at her weaker left arm.
A brief whistle of air—then a crisp crack.
"Your speed's too slow."
She flicked her wooden blade up, blocked effortlessly, and moved to counter—but Keyaru shifted fast, bringing his sword up to guard and bleeding the force out of her full-power chop.
Her attack stopped cold.
A flicker of surprise crossed Mikoto's eyes. Compared to last night, his technique had clearly jumped.
"This guy… improving that fast?"
Dropping the idea of pulling punches, she grew serious, unleashing her usual style—fast, precise, ruthless—again and again.
That's when Keyaru's solid fundamentals paid off. To a bystander it still looked like Mikoto rolling him with no room to breathe—but as the one in the fight, Mikoto felt the difference. Half her blows had landed clean the night before. Now, even with an edge in speed and form, he was blocking most of them.
That was technique, improving.
And one more thing—watching his increasingly sure movements, a cold thought crept in:
"He's… getting used to this level of pressure?!"
A true master always keeps a student's heart. And Keyaru was still a beginner. After last night's Imitation-and-review, he was already finding answers to the same moves today. He still couldn't mount a meaningful counter, but the upgrade was obvious: the odds of getting hit kept dropping.
High-intensity sparring burns stamina fast—add the blazing sun overhead, and his clothes were soaked in sweat. He lost track of time. Each time he was spent, he'd rest a little, then throw himself back in.
The side effects of heavy sword drills: arms screaming from muscle strain and a body peppered with countless minor bruises. He flopped to the ground, gulping air, and looked at the girl opposite—she was drained too, sweat darkening the hair at her temples. He wanted another round, but hunger clawed at him.
"How about…"
Grinning, determined to shear every last tuft of wool, he suggested, "We eat, rest a bit, then continue?"
"…Do you hear yourself?"
Mikoto's mouth twitched, though she didn't feel irritated. Straightforward by nature, she said bluntly, "I already regret agreeing last night. Seriously, the fights we have in the Dungeon with my Familia aren't as intense as sparring with you!"
"Is that… a compliment?"
He could hear the exasperation, but looking at it another way—getting that from a Level 2 when he was a rookie? That was staying power. He dipped his head sincerely. "Thanks, Miss Mikoto. As thanks… how about lunch at a restaurant?"
"…If I don't make you treat, I'd be doing you a disservice!"
She nodded hard. Catching his smiling eyes, her forced sternness nearly cracked. At least he knew to buy lunch. Still, the sticky layer of sweat made her frown. "It's still early. Why don't we meet at the restaurant a bit later?"
"Works for me."
Ladies' choice, especially when he needed to deal with his injuries first—food wouldn't taste like anything in his current state.
Back at the abandoned church, he cast Heal with practiced ease, reset his body, and absorbed the fight through Imitation. Hard to describe the feeling, but one thing was certain: compared to the morning, his live-combat technique had climbed.
He washed up quickly so as not to keep Mikoto waiting, then headed for their meeting point.
"At this pace… tomorrow I should be ready to enter the Dungeon."