Ren went home with his mother after staying in the field. The path through the valley was quiet, the evening wind brushing gently against the tall grass. Neither of them spoke much. His mother occasionally glanced at him, as if trying to read something hidden behind his calm expression.

  Ren walked beside her silently.The world felt strangely peaceful.Too peaceful.

  Later that night, Ren sat beside the small window of his room. The wooden frame creaked softly whenever the wind shifted. Outside, the village lanterns flickered like distant stars.

  His eyes were open the entire night.

  He replayed everything.

  The battlefield.

  The warlords.

  The moment he tore open time itself.

  His fingers slowly clenched.

  “This time… I move earlier,” he murmured quietly.

  Plans formed one after another inside his mind. Resources. Training. Hidden locations. Opportunities that would only appear years later.

  Sleep barely touched him.

  When morning came, pale sunlight slipped through the window.

  Ren heard movement in the house.

  He stepped outside his room and saw his father adjusting his outer robe, preparing to leave for work. His mother was already arranging bowls on the small wooden table.

  The smell of warm rice filled the room.

  “Ren, you have to go to pre-academy today,” his mother said while placing food on the table. “Hurry and eat your breakfast.”

  Ren simply nodded.

  He washed his face with cold water from the basin, the chill clearing the last traces of fatigue. After eating quickly, he tied his belt and stepped outside.

  The road toward the academy was already crowded with children.

  Some were excited.Some nervous.Some pretending not to care.Ren walked among them quietly.

  The sun had fully risen, spilling light across the academy grounds.

  Kurose Ren followed the other students to the training area. The elders had arranged a special test today: the Thread Test, an early examination of talent and compatibility with threads.

  A wide stone platform stood at the center of the field. Strange markings covered its surface — thin lines carved into the rock like an intricate web.

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  The air above it shimmered faintly.An elder stepped forward.His voice was calm, but firm enough to silence the crowd.

  “Listen carefully,” he said. “Every living being possesses spiritual pressure. Most people live their entire lives without touching it.”

  He pointed toward the carved platform.

  “But those who walk the path of cultivation learn to condense that pressure into threads.”

  The elder raised his hand slowly.

  For a brief moment, the air above his palm rippled. A faint silver line appeared, thin as silk, vibrating gently like a strand of light.

  Several children gasped.

  “That,” the elder said, “is a thread.”

  He let the strand fade.

  “Threads are the foundation of every path. Flame. Ice. Strength. Shadow. Wind. Every element responds to spiritual pressure, but only through threads can it be controlled.”

  Another elder continued the explanation.

  “Today’s test will determine whether your bodies can stabilize threads. If your spiritual pressure collapses, the thread will break.”

  “And if it breaks?”

  A nervous boy raised his hand.The elder glanced at him briefly.

  “You fail.”

  The platform began to glow faintly.

  “Step forward one by one.”

  Children began their attempts.

  The first boy walked onto the platform confidently. He closed his eyes, concentrating as instructed. For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then the air around him trembled.A thin thread appeared.

  But the moment he tried to hold it steady, the strand snapped violently. The boy staggered backward, clutching his arm.

  The elders wrote something down.

  “Next.”

  Another child tried.

  This time the thread formed more smoothly, but his breathing quickly lost rhythm. Sweat formed on his forehead as the invisible pressure pushed against his body.

  The thread shattered moments later.

  Several students whispered nervously.

  “This is harder than I thought…”

  “Quiet,” an elder warned.

  More attempts followed.

  Some managed to hold their threads for a few seconds. Others failed instantly. A few children even collapsed from exhaustion.

  Every failure carried a mark — a minor injury, a reprimand, sometimes public embarrassment.

  Ren watched everything.

  Carefully.Silently.Each child revealed something.Control. Instability. Fear.

  Finally, his name was called.

  “Kurose Ren.”

  He stepped forward calmly.

  The moment he placed his foot on the stone platform, he felt the familiar pressure of the formation activating beneath him. Invisible threads in the air brushed against his skin, searching for resonance.

  Most children panicked at that moment.Ren didn’t.He closed his eyes slowly.

  Inside his body, the faint remnants of his previous life stirred. His spiritual pressure was weak now — far weaker than before — but the knowledge remained.

  Timing.

  Breathing.

  Synchronization.

  He exhaled slowly.A thin thread appeared above his palm.Unlike the others, it did not tremble violently.

  Ren adjusted his breathing.The strand stabilized.A few elders quietly exchanged glances.

  “Hmm.”

  The thread extended slightly.Ren didn’t push it further. That would draw too much attention.

  Instead, he maintained balance.

  Control over power.That was the true foundation of cultivation.After several seconds, he gently released the thread.

  The strand dissolved into the air.

  The test ended.Several students stared at him.Some surprised.Some jealous.Others pretending not to notice.

  The elders wrote something down on their tablets.

  Ren stepped off the platform as if nothing unusual had happened.

  But inside his mind, calculations had already begun.

  Talent levels.

  Potential threats.

  Future obstacles.

  By the end, Ren had performed flawlessly. The other children had struggled visibly; many now avoided eye contact. The elders glanced at him, their expressions neutral but their interest piqued.

  Some whispered among themselves — a boy so young, yet so composed.

  Ren noted everything.

  The strongest children.

  The cleverest.

  The most dangerous.

  Small details, almost invisible: how a gifted peer’s hands trembled under pressure, how another’s focus faltered when observing him.

  Nothing escaped him.

  Even now, subtle inconsistencies lingered in the academy. A thread of probability tugged at his attention. Something was about to break the calm.

  He could not see it yet.

  He only knew it was coming.