The low-grade nutrient powder tasted just like wet dirt and chalk mixed together.
Cardo forced down his second brick of the day on the back porch, swallowing the flavorless sludge with a grimace. Disgusting, but the heavy calories were already going to work. After yesterday's intense feedback loop, his shredded muscle tissue practically screamed for fuel.
He washed the paste down with a glass of water, wiped his mouth, and stepped into the tall grass of the backyard. The setting sun cast long, dark shadows. A slow, deep breath. Forcing ambient Aether through his clogged, low-talent pathways was like inhaling sand, but he gritted his teeth and tapped into his tiny core anyway.
"Manifest," he whispered.
The ink on his wrist shifted. Clone One stepped out of the thin air, standing silently before him.
"Alright," Cardo muttered, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Let's run it again. Basics first."
He dropped into the grass in a push-up position. The faceless shadow copied him perfectly.
Down. Up. Down. Up.
By the thirtieth rep, his arms shook violently. The lingering trauma from the alley fight and yesterday's feedback felt like lead weights shackled to his spine. But giving up wasn't an option. He forced his shaking elbows to bend, pushing past the biological limits of his scrawny frame.
The sliding of the back door barely registered over the rush of blood in his ears.
"Your hips are too low, and your elbows stick out too far," a rough voice called out. "Keep doing that, and you'll ruin your shoulder before you ever see a real fight."
Cardo gasped. His arms gave out, sending him face-first into the grass with a heavy thud. Lacking an independent mind, Clone One immediately stopped and dropped into the dirt right beside him.
Cardo rolled over, chest heaving.
Uncle Jun stood on the porch, stripped of his stained work clothes. In a simple white shirt and loose pants with the left leg rolled up to the knee, his heavy metal prosthetic was on full display.
Jun walked down the steps, entirely abandoning his usual indoor limp. He marched right up to Cardo and looked down at the dark construct in the dirt.
"I wondered why you wanted my old military manual," Uncle Jun said calmly. He looked from the clone to Cardo's sweaty face. "You're trying to learn the forms while mentally controlling the shadow at the exact same time. That is a massive cognitive strain, kid."
Cardo froze. His heart skipped a beat. Did he figure it out? But a quick glance at Uncle Jun's expression brought a wave of relief. No. Jun was mistaken. The old veteran had no idea the shadow transferred its physical memories back upon dispersal. Jun just assumed Cardo was using the clone as a visual mirror, doing double the mental work to ensure his form was correct.
The feedback loop had to stay a secret.
"I... I just want to get stronger," Cardo said carefully, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I'm trying to use what I have."
Uncle Jun chuckled softly, reaching down to offer a calloused hand. "Kid, I lived in the Dead Zones for ten years. I know what a desperate fighter looks like. You could barely walk yesterday. You're working yourself to death."
Cardo took the hand and hauled himself up. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just want to be strong enough to protect us here. So Aunt Maria doesn't have to work so hard."
Uncle Jun's exhausted face softened into a look of quiet pride.
"You never have to apologize for wanting to protect your family," Jun said gently. He pointed at the old manual resting on the crate. "But if you're going to train this hard, you'll do it right. That book? It's trash."
Cardo blinked. "But it's your book. I thought it was the standard Vanguard guide."
"It is," Uncle Jun nodded, tapping his metal leg. It made a dull clink. "But it's the cheap version they hand to raw recruits. It teaches you how to punch. It doesn't teach you how to survive."
Uncle Jun looked away, staring over the rotting wooden fence.
"When I was your age, my awakening was a joke," Jun said quietly. "No elemental affinity. It has only an E-rank core capacity and an innate ability called "minor fortification." It lets me harden my skin for exactly three seconds. That was it."
Cardo dismissed his clone, letting the shadow fade into smoke so he could give his uncle his full attention. Jun rarely talked about his Vanguard days.
"The inner-city recruits laughed at me." Jun smiled faintly. "But I was stubborn. Since my talent was slow and my core was tiny, I had to make my physical body the weapon. I enlisted, and I fought for years. I didn't just survive, Cardo. I won. I became a Vanguard captain."
Cardo's eyes widened. "Captain? You never told us."
"Because the military rank doesn't matter. What I learned matters." Jun held his gaze. "I forged my fighting style out there in the mud. The Body Tempering Aether Fist. It isn't about having a massive Aether pool. It's about taking the tiny drop of energy you have, syncing it flawlessly with your breathing, and driving it directly into your knuckles at the exact moment of impact."
Uncle Jun suddenly shifted his stance. The tired, disabled uncle vanished; a lethal veteran stood in his place. He threw a single, measured punch into the empty air.
At the exact apex of the strike, the air visibly rippled. A sharp CRACK rang through the yard, like a bullwhip snapping.
Cardo's jaw dropped. No flashy innate ability. No massive surge of Aether. It was pure, perfect physical technique paired with a highly compressed spark of energy.
"That move kept me alive," Jun said, lowering his hand. But his eyes grew distant, dropping to his metal leg. "My biggest regret is that I never perfected the style. This prosthetic ruined the Aether pathways in my lower body. I can still fight a little, but I can't advance."
Jun stepped closer and clamped a heavy hand onto Cardo's shoulder.
"I see your fire, kid," Jun said, his voice thick with emotion. "You have the same drive I had. But you have something better. Your Shadow Construct. It's the perfect training tool. You can watch your clone execute the forms from the outside, correct its mistakes, and learn the perfect physical structure."
Cardo nodded eagerly. Let Uncle Jun think it was just a visual aid. The truth was vastly superior. With Jun teaching him the genuine techniques, the cheat code could download a veteran's lifetime of martial mastery directly into his nervous system.
"Teach me," Cardo said firmly. "I am keen to learn the real art. I want to perfect it for you."
Uncle Jun grinned. "Good. Because that cheap manual goes in the trash today. We're doing this the hard way."
The overgrown backyard quickly transformed into a rigorous training ground. Uncle Jun restructured everything. Having Cardo and the clone perform the exact same workout was entirely inefficient.
"Split the workload," Uncle Jun ordered, pacing across the grass. "Your physical body needs dense bones and strong muscles to withstand the Aether output. The construct doesn't need to do push-ups. Let the shadow practice the complex strikes and footwork. You watch it and learn the geometry while you lift heavy."
Perfect. It was the absolute perfect cover. Cardo could maximize the feedback loop without ever revealing his secret.
The grueling work began immediately.
While Cardo performed agonizing squats holding a heavy duffel bag packed with scrap metal, Clone One stood ten feet away, practicing the foundational strike of the Body Tempering Aether Fist.
"Rotate the shadow's hips more, Cardo!" Jun barked. "You control its movements! Visualize the kinetic power traveling from the heel, through the core, and into the fist! Make the clone execute it flawlessly before you try it yourself!"
Cardo grunted under the crushing weight of the scrap metal. His legs burned like fire. Through the mental tether, he adjusted the shadow's stance exactly as Jun instructed. The black construct threw a smooth, mathematically perfect punch.
"Better!" Jun nodded. "Make the clone drill strike one hundred times. While it does that, give me twenty more heavy squats!"
It was pure torture. Enduring heavy physical resistance while simultaneously maintaining precise mental control over an Aether construct pushed his biology to the absolute limit. Every muscle screamed in protest. Only the dense, thousand-calorie nutrient paste kept him from passing out in the dirt.
But when the session finally ended and he severed the tether, the reward was unparalleled.
Cardo dropped the scrap bag and fell to his knees. Like a tidal wave, the sensory feedback crashed into his brain.
Jun just assumed the squats had exhausted him. The old veteran had no idea. Cardo's brain and nerves were quickly downloading the memory of one hundred perfect strikes. Everything fit together perfectly. It matched the breathing. He would never forget the exact microsecond when he had to twist his shoulder to get the most kinetic transfer.
"I feel it," Cardo gasped, looking up with bright eyes, carefully masking the true source of his revelation. "Uncle Jun, I actually understand the mechanics."
"That's just the foundation, kid." Jun smiled, tossing him a clean towel. "Rest up. Because tomorrow, you fight me."
Three days vanished into a blur of sweat and bruises. They sparred every single evening, and every single evening, Uncle Jun effortlessly beat Cardo into the dirt.
Cardo stood in the center of the yard, chest heaving, his fists high in a defensive guard. Across from him, Uncle Jun stood completely relaxed, a playful, challenging smirk hidden in his thick beard.
"Remember," Jun called out, shifting lightly on his biological foot while using the heavy metal prosthetic as a stable anchor. "Don't just swing blindly. Watch my shoulders. Read my telegraphs."
"Fighters ready!" a sharp, squeaky voice yelled from the sidelines.
Clarissa sat perched on top of the wooden fence in her oversized yellow pajamas and cheap plastic sunglasses. A bright pink whistle dangled from her lips, and a plastic bucket full of driveway gravel rested in her lap.
She had appointed herself the official referee of the dojo, and neither of them had the energy to tell her otherwise.
"Begin!" Clarissa blew the whistle with piercing volume.
Cardo surged forward. Keeping his center of gravity low, he stepped into his strike exactly as the clone had drilled. A quick, mechanically perfect punch aimed dead at Uncle Jun's chest.
Jun didn't even blink. He smoothly parried the fist outward, pivoted to the side, and lightly tapped Cardo on the back of the head.
"Too stiff," Jun critiqued. "You transmitted your intent a full second before you moved. Again."
Cardo spun around, gritting his teeth. A rapid two-punch combination. He actively tried to force a tiny spark of his slow-moving Aether into his knuckles, just as taught.
Jun brushed aside the first strike, caught the second in his open palm, and seamlessly swept Cardo's front leg out from under him.
Cardo hit the grass hard. Oomph.
Fweeeeeet! The sharp whistle cut through the humid air.
"Foul!" Clarissa yelled from her perch.
Before Uncle Jun could look up, a piece of gravel sailed through the air and beaned him right on the side of the head. Thwack.
"Hey!" Uncle Jun barked, rubbing his temple and glaring up at the fence line. "What was that for?!"
"Unnecessary roughness!" Clarissa declared, pointing a bossy finger at him. "My big brother is built like a twig. You have to give him a warning before you drop him like a sack of potatoes. Penalty!"
She chucked another pebble. Clink. It bounced harmlessly off Jun's metal leg.
Cardo lay flat on his back in the grass and burst out laughing. His ribs ached, and he was getting dismantled in every spar, but seeing a six-year-old throw rocks at a former Vanguard captain was simply too much.
"Clarissa, you can't rig the match for me!" Cardo wheezed, sitting up and brushing dirt off his face.
"I am the referee. My word is absolute law," Clarissa stated proudly, adjusting her toy sunglasses. "If the old man uses his metal leg to cheat, I use the rocks. It's perfectly balanced. Now get up, Elite in Disguise. You're losing."
Uncle Jun shook his head, a broad grin breaking through his beard. "Alright, ref. Message received. I'll take it easy on your big brother." He looked down and offered a hand.
Cardo took it and hoisted himself up.
Floored in ten seconds. But the ache in his ribs didn't matter. A burning, undeniable hope hummed beneath the bruises.
He had the necessary fuel. He had a veteran master who believed in him. He had a secret innate ability that squeezed months of physical conditioning into mere days. He had a fierce little sister who threw rocks from the fence line to watch his back.
Cardo raised his fists again. Refined Aether hummed quietly in his veins.
"Alright, Uncle Jun," Cardo smiled, locking his analytical gaze onto his target. "Let's go again."