The snap came without warning.
It resonated through Seiran's entire frame—not painful, but definitive. Like a chain breaking inside him. His eyes snapped open as the notification materialized in his mind's eye:
[Electromagnetic Manipulation Level 3]
[20000 EXP required for next level upgrade]
"Finally," he breathed, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
The moment the upgrade locked in, his body screamed. It was like being dunked in ice water and set aflame simultaneously. Every impurity, every weakness crystallized in his flesh over months of grinding, began to decompose. The fragments didn't vanish—they transformed, restructuring into pure life energy that surged back into his muscles, organs, even down to his cellular level. It was thorough in a way the previous upgrades hadn't been, scrubbing him clean from the inside out.
When Seiran opened his eyes again, the world had changed.
His electromagnetic perception, once capped at three kilometers, now extended to four. The images transmitting back to his senses were sharper, more defined—he could practically taste the metallic resonance in the air.
But something else nagged at him.
"The EXP gain's dropping," he muttered, frowning at the slower tick of experience accumulating in his awareness. Of course it was. He'd learned this lesson with his other abilities—as mastery deepened, the mundane applications stopped paying dividends. If he wanted real progression now, he'd need to develop something new. Something complex.
Seiran raised his hands slowly, feeling the surge of authority pulsing through his electromagnetic spectrum.
Around him, his Shadow Clones froze mid-motion.
The metal ninja tools hovering before them went rigid. Their will to manipulate the weapons became like a mayfly trying to move a mountain—futile, pathetic. Shuriken, kunai, and blades torn from a hundred previous drills suddenly rose skyward, converging directly above Seiran in a glittering spiral.
The clones stared, mouths falling open.
The metal began to glow. Red. Incandescent.
Heat radiated downward with enough force that grass withered beneath its invisible wave. The solid metal hissed into liquid, and within seconds, a pool of molten iron roiled and churned in the air. Seiran channeled the remainder of his chakra into the mass, forcing it to obey his will.
The reddish liquid stretched, elongated, curved with intention. A blade took shape—slender, elegant. Handle. Guard. Details that sharpened into lethal perfection.
From nearly a hundred melted ninja tools emerged a single sword. Thin. Sharp. Radiating cold precision.
Seiran stared at his creation, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Long Tooth," he said. "That's what I'll call you."
The clones around him stood paralyzed, dumbfounded.
Seiran glanced at them and snapped his fingers. "You've all worked hard today. I'm grateful."
The clones erupted into white smoke.
The moment they dispersed, Seiran's knees buckled.
The memories crashed into him like a tidal wave—every drill, every moment of every clone, all flooding back simultaneously. Exhaustion that should have been spread across dozens of bodies slammed into one. His vision swam. Sweat poured down his face in sheets.
"Damn," he gasped, steadying himself against a nearby tree. "Didn't expect the backlash to be that bad. Can't just mass-recycle like that."
After his breathing steadied, Seiran looked down at Long Tooth as it cooled in his grip. "Maybe batch recycling? Recalling them in waves instead of all at once. The exhaustion would spread out more."
He tested the blade with a few practice slashes. Perfect weight. Perfect balance. This wasn't just a sword—it was a hundred tools compressed down, intermolecular gaps sealed by electromagnetic pressure. Top-tier craftsmanship, customized to his exact specifications.
The ability he'd used to forge it, he decided, would be called the Electromagnetic Furnace.
It worked by using magnetic fields to accelerate molecular movement, spiking temperature rapidly. Simple physics—the same principle as induction cookers from his old world. Increase molecular movement, increase heat. Increase heat, increase molecular movement. A cycle that could melt almost anything.
Or anyone.
Seiran's eyes glinted with cold purpose. A shinobi caught in the Electromagnetic Furnace wouldn't walk away. They'd melt into a puddle.
"If I can master this," he murmured, staring at Long Tooth, "matter recombination isn't far off."
That was the real goal. The ability to reorganize atoms at a microscopic level, to rearrange matter itself into entirely new forms. With that power, he could finally address the Caged Bird Seal branded on his forehead—erase it at the molecular source.
That seal had been chains around his neck for too long.
The Electromagnetic Furnace was a stepping stone. It touched the microscopic level. The door to atomic manipulation had finally cracked open.
---
Later that afternoon, Seiran made his way to the Mission Desk.
Shibi Aburame was already waiting, his sunglasses glinting in the sunlight. Behind them, something flickered across his usually impassive face—a flicker of surprise.
"You're late, Goku," Shibi observed.
"Something came up last night," Seiran scratched the back of his head. Testing new abilities had kept him occupied well past midnight.
Shibi's eyes narrowed slightly. "Hm?"
Before Seiran could respond, two figures leaned in close from either side.
"What's with that glow?" Anko Mitarashi's voice dripped with envy. Her eyes raked across his face with naked jealousy. "Your skin—it's ridiculous."
"More than just pale," Rin Uchiha added, her tone dropping into something dangerous. A cold aura radiated from her. "Did you find some secret beauty technique?"
Seiran's stomach sank. The side effects of his electromagnetic tempering—the pale, smooth skin—had become impossible to hide.
"It's just... a natural talent?" he offered weakly.
"You're a ghost," Rin shot back, grabbing his collar. "Hand over the beauty secrets. Now."
Anko rolled up her sleeves, her aggressive posture unmistakable. "Yeah. We know something's up. You blamed it all on your Magnet Release before, but this? This is different. Spill."
Seiran's eyes darted desperately toward Shibi.
But Shibi Aburame simply shrugged, turning his attention back to the mission board with complete indifference.
He was on his own.