The rooftops of Kyoto had become Ren's silent kingdom. From above, he could see the hum of the city without ever being in the center of its chaos. Shops, streets, alleys, and crowded markets all sent out faint, almost imperceptible waves of negative energy. Petty arguments, minor frustrations, panic at an overturned cart—all ripples that passed unnoticed by the world below but were quietly absorbed by him if he positioned himself correctly.
He had started keeping notes. A small notebook, filled with rough diagrams of rooftops, streets, and alleys. Each location had tiny annotations: "high foot traffic, moderate negative energy," "low visibility, spikes from vendors' quarrels," "near playground—high frustration energy around 3–5 PM." Over months, he mapped the city like a schemer planning a silent invasion, only instead of soldiers, he had energy, and instead of territory, he had optimal absorption zones.
He had discovered patterns. Areas around schools during dismissal generated high concentrations of energy in short bursts. Markets during lunch hours were chaotic but diffuse; energy here came slower but sustained longer. Alleys next to residential complexes had small, concentrated spikes during domestic disputes or quarrels between children. Even traffic jams contributed subtly. Drivers cursing, pedestrians snapping at each other—all of it was a resource, and he learned how to position himself at a distance, carefully, without being noticed.
Rooftop practice became a ritual. He would wake early, slip out before anyone in the orphanage noticed, and climb to the nearest vantage point. Blades floated around his fingertips like silent extensions of his mind. Some he spun in arcs, some he threw short distances into empty air, some he let hover while he focused on the city below.
At first, it was simple. One blade, one arc, testing timing and trajectory. But as months passed, he pushed further: two blades in synchronized arcs, three in overlapping spirals, four in counter-rotating loops. He experimented with spins, height differences, distance projections, and subtle mid-air redirections. Each experiment tested both his control and the amount of energy he could safely use without draining the reservoir too quickly.
The more energy he accumulated, the more he realized he could push it outward without directly converting it to another form. Flames, elements, or other physical constructs were inefficient—they cost more than they returned. Blades and subtle projections were the most practical, allowing him to maintain the energy's raw potential.
Over time, the city itself became an invisible lab. He noted how far his passive absorption reached. A child quarreling a block away gave him a tiny pulse; a minor accident three blocks over sent a wave he could feel if he focused. He even started testing how much he could absorb simultaneously from different points. He didn't interfere, didn't provoke, didn't bully—it wasn't necessary. Chaos itself, even minor and accidental, produced enough energy for him to grow steadily.
Alongside this, he continued experimenting with energy circulation in his brain. He could now, with careful focus, direct a small fraction of stored energy to enhance memory recall. The method was crude at first. He would sit cross-legged, blades suspended around him, hum a steady rhythm, and mentally replay stories from his previous world. Lord of Mysteries, Naruto, other novels he had loved—he started with major arcs. Then, bit by bit, the minor events and interactions that had slipped from memory began to surface.
It was subtle. Sometimes he imagined the energy flowing like water through his neurons, smoothing rough edges of memory, filling gaps with intuition. Often it failed, and he would get fragments of events or jumbled sequences. But over weeks, his recall became reliable enough that he could reconstruct plots almost fully, adding plausible dialogue or events in the gaps.
I can sell this, he thought one evening, watching the sun dip behind the city skyline. Not manga—God, never manga—but novels. Stories about heroes, villains, chaos, conflict. There's a market for this. People love the drama, the tension, the character arcs.
And so he began a quiet experiment in monetization. Orphanage funds were minimal, enough for food and basic needs, but he could slowly build an independent reserve. Using a small, inconspicuous email and publisher account, he started submitting short serialized stories online. Each story was a lightly modified recreation of novels from his previous life, adapted to the world he now lived in.
The results were encouraging. Modest payments trickled in at first, but with consistency, the trickle became a steady stream. Each successful story added to his mental confidence and gave him a practical reminder that planning could coexist with freedom and exploration.
Meanwhile, the physical side of his training was far from stagnant. Over the months, his reservoir of negative energy had grown substantially. What once drained in a few minutes now sustained him for hours. His blade projections had improved in distance, speed, and accuracy. He could spin multiple blades in spirals while circulating energy into his brain, combining physical practice and mental rehearsal simultaneously.
He experimented with trajectory complexity. Not just straight lines or simple arcs, but spirals, zig-zags, counter-rotating paths. Some blades were designed to hover, others to spin horizontally, others to curve sharply before dissipating. Each experiment allowed him to push his control further, testing the limits of his body, his energy, and his mind.
And yet, there were limits. Even with improved storage, his absorption radius hadn't increased much beyond certain natural bounds. But passive accumulation citywide, combined with strategic positioning from rooftops, allowed him to bypass the need for direct increases in range—at least for now.
Rooftop sessions were also a time of reflection. It was during one evening, watching a minor traffic accident from a distant rooftop, that a subtle realization struck him. Passive absorption was enough to sustain growth—but not indefinitely. For higher-level training, larger spikes of energy would be necessary. And for that, he would need careful proximity to events where panic or fear were concentrated. But for now, the city provided enough. Enough to experiment. Enough to train. Enough to refine control.
The final years of middle school were approaching, and he could already see the path forward. Practice routines were now habitual:
Morning: school
Midday: Observe the city quietly from hidden vantage points, absorbing negative energy passively while mentally rehearsing story reconstructions.
Afternoon: Refine multi-blade control and experiment with trajectory complexity,Circulate energy through body and brain while running private blade drills on rooftops or isolated playground corners.
Evening: Record stories, reconstruct plots, write chapters, and deposit modest earnings into his growing bank account.
The combination of energy absorption, blade mastery, and mental rehearsal allowed him to progress rapidly. By the start of his final year in middle school, Ren had:
Developed stronger control of multiple blades in complex trajectories.
Increased his energy reservoir significantly, capable of sustaining hours of concentrated practice.
Mastered mental energy circulation, enhancing memory recall to reconstruct minor novel chapters reliably.
Established a small but consistent income stream through writing and story replication, laying the foundation for financial independence.
Yet, despite all this, his practice retained its free-spirited nature. On rooftops, he would sometimes let blades spin in whimsical arcs, letting energy flow naturally rather than forcing it into rigid forms. Observation of the city became part meditation, part playful experimentation.
The combination of discipline and freedom defined his progress. Each day, he could feel subtle improvements not just in control and power, but in intuition—an instinctive sense of trajectory, energy flow, and memory integration.
One evening, as the sun set behind distant mountains, he allowed himself a rare, quiet smile.
Everything is lining up…
Rooftops, city chaos, passive absorption, private experiments, energy circulation, and story reconstruction—all of it working together. By the time middle school ended, Ren's reservoir was at a level that would allow serious, uninterrupted training. His blade control was near surgical precision for short-range projections and improving steadily for longer arcs. And the quiet flow of money from his writing meant he didn't need to compromise practice for mundane errands. While he was pained to lose so much energy training he knew that he was earning more negative energy now and he could use some of his energy reserve for better training for efficiency
He leaned back on a rooftop ledge, letting the evening wind brush past him. The hum of energy in his chest was steady and familiar. In the distance, the city buzzed with life, arguments, minor chaos—unseen but fully felt.
Soon, he thought. Soon, I'll have the control and preparation to do more. Not recklessly, not openly, but efficiently. Carefully. Deliberately. And when the time comes… I'll be ready for anything.
Rooftops, private practice, city energy, blades spinning—Ren's world was expanding. Schemer and free spirit, observer and experimenter. And slowly, carefully, deliberately, he was building a foundation for a life that could survive chaos, manipulate opportunity, and perhaps—just perhaps—control the future itself.
He flexed his fingers experimentally. Blades hovered, waiting for tomorrow.
The hum in his chest pulsed.
And Ren smiled.