III.1

Again and again, he likened it to sound. But in reality, it was anything but. It was a sixth sense, a sensation he didn't have a vast enough vocabulary to describe. A pattern of uncomfortable thrumming that rippled in waves, traveling through his body like a virus.

Those sensations, if his skill was to be believed, were linked to the unique nature of his soul. And as such, with his soul only recently synchronizing with his body, he'd only been aware of the ability for a day.

He already hated it with a passion. No ability was worth losing out on one of his most favored activities in life -- Sleep.

Alas, it was already keeping him up at night.

Snapping his crusted eyes open, he glared at the ceiling above. Almost a minute passed before his furious gaze flickered to the window, the sun mocking him with it's overwhelming radiance.

With a growl, he pushed past the screaming of his sore body and wrenched himself from the comfort of his bedsheets. With one weary step in front of the other, he made his way to the bathroom, though it wasn't very far from his bed.

The sound of his soul followed, irking him consistently without remorse. It's volume followed his emotions, spiking in pitch with every twitch of rage.

Turning the tap, he didn't waste a second as he dunked his head and splashed water on his face. Taking a moment to breathe, he frowned at the drips that trickled off his face into the sink.

It didn't work. His frustration at being damn near tortured by the sound didn't abate even a little.

Again and again he dunked his face into the water, hoping that the ice cold water would douse his boiling rage. He didn't stop until he could think sane, coherent thoughts that didn't make him want to rip the world apart.

Gradually, he managed it, his raw wrath middling out until what was left was just a simmering irritation.

Taking a shuddering breath, he finally stopped hunching over the faucet, ignoring the dull pain of his muscles to stand up straight. With the bathroom's mirror in front of him, he couldn't help but scrutinize his appearance.

His hair was disheveled, strewn about in long frayed strands over his wet face. Spots of drool and water splattered his tank top, matching his reddened face. And his eyes looked horrible, bloodshot to hell and back.

I look like shit. He snorted. I feel like shit, too.

The day before had arguably been the best day of his life. Having recovered his lost memories, his life had opened up to a world of supernatural.potential, becoming something far more than just boring academia. Combined with his own soul's unique circumstances made him feel on top of the world by the time he hit up the gym.

When he discovered how to control mana? That was just the icing on the already perfect cake.

It seemed, though, that he'd underestimated how heavy the consequences would be for such a 'simple' day.

On the mundane side of things, he didn't realize it until he woke up, but the owner of the gym had probably pushed him to his limits. He wasn't sure if it was normal to go that hard in the gym, since he'd never been there before, but his body was beyond sore.

And I don't even know that guy's name...

Plus, he forgot until he'd been to bed, but people who worked out needed... well, nutrients. His knowledge of protein, carbs, and all that was surface level, so he didn't have a clue on how a good diet was supposed to look. And even if he did, he doubted his small allowance would be enough to buy the variety of food he'd need.

Even then, it wasn't that bad. That entire problem could likely be solved by a single conversation with the gym owner.

On the supernatural side? Absolute nightmare.

His knowledge of mana could barely even be called basic. He'd only read the first part of the grimoire, and it really didn't explain much. As such, while unlocking his mana wasn't supposed to be dangerous, he hadn't accounted for a very important detail.

Himself.

No normal human was supposed to be able to sense souls on the same level he could. And while he didn't exactly understand his senses, he knew they were overwhelmingly strong.

So it was no wonder when he could sense his own mana being generated.

His sensing abilities hadn't changed, but now it was like they were being amplified by the presense of mana. His range had nearly doubled, making it so he could hear the souls of his neighbors.

It was horrible, unable to drown them out, and he feared it would only get worse with time.

The worst part? His own soul. Before, it was like a low murmur in his ears, whispering under the cogs of reality. Now it was positively screeching, and it wouldn't stop.

"Haah," He sighed, letting go of those unnecessary thoughts.

Ignoring the sun, a reminder that he was going to be late to school, he turned and made his way out his bedroom. Through the dimly lit hallway he walked, making his way back to the basement.

However, this time, he left the mana book upstairs.

Stepping into the middle of the room, he sat upon the meditation mat with an upright posture, ignoring all the mystical items around him. If the meditation mat was magic in some way, he didn't see how.

A slow, purposeful inhale through the nose.

A spike of sound from his soul, threatening to interrupt him with it's distracting pitch.

Shinjiro shut his eyes, accepting the sound for what it was. He pushed down the need to react- to lash out at the world- and instead moved on with attempts to gain a semblance of control.

His ability to sense souls was an intrinsic part of him. Without it, he literally wouldn't be himself, as it was an expression of his abnormal soul.

Therefore, he'd have to live with it. And if every time he became stronger he had what amounted to a meltdown from his own senses, then his goal of strength would be impossible.

His goal wasnt strength for strengths sake, either. It was so he could live a happy life, unburdened by a lack of ability.

He couldn't exactly live happily when every waking moment was agony.

Finding a solution to his double-edged sword of an ability wasn't impossible, he was sure. But finding one now? When he didn't have an inkling of knowledge on souls, and barely any on the subject of mana?

He'd have better odds fighting a monster with a random twig.

So the solution to his problem, once again, was to step back from the supernatural. A method almost as old as humanity itself. To accept things as they are through conscious meditation.

A shuddering, cathartic exhale out the mouth.

It is what it is.

He chuckled to himself, the sound of his soul not changing one bit, but his tolerance of said sound increasing.

It was funny how easily that mantra could get him through things in life.

Shinjiro opened his eyes.

▽

[New Skill Gained!]

[Conditioning]

"The skill which represents the user's ability to train themselves to tolerate external pressure."

-Techniques will become available through overcoming obstacles-

△

--

▽

[New Skill Gained!]

[Conditioning: Mental]

"The skill which represents the user's ability to withstand the strain of mental stress."

-Effectiveness of skill is dependant on the user's [Toughness] stat-

△

Shinjiro's eyes widened, staring at the skills he'd stumbled his way into.

These... aren't that powerful, actually. But they're damn useful, that's for sure.

It would be like having a skill for pain tolerance. While he still felt all the pain and even took the damage from said pain, he now had a way to push through it despite those circumstances. With a high enough Toughness, he might be able to completely ignore the sound problem altogether.

Another reason to focus on the fundamentals before doing anything else.

He smiled to himself, taking solace in the validation of his current path. More skills like that and just a single stat increase would do insane things in the future.

Then his happy mood paused, what he could only describe as a record scratch emanating from his soul.

Groaning, he huffed as he fell back onto the cold basement floor.

He... remembered he still had to go to school.