Kaito Hayate wanted to outrun death, but his own body kept trying to kill him first. He crouched on the rooftop at dawn, counting his breaths. The forbidden speed technique lived inside him now. He could cross the courtyard in a blink. He just couldn't do it twice. The first burst left his legs shaking. The second tore something deep in his thigh. He tried anyway. He picked a target: the far rail of the wooden platform. He vanished and struck it in half a heartbeat. Then he pushed again, demanding a second burst from muscles still screaming. Pain ripped up his leg like a hot wire. He hit the planks hard and did not get up. His knee would not bend. Blood soaked through his wrappings. The technique was useless if one run broke him. He needed to know his limit before he crossed it, not after. "Stupid boy. You're measuring nothing. You're just bleeding." The voice came from the hatch. An old man climbed through, leaning on a crooked walking stick. His robe hung loose over a bent frame. Kaito had heard the stories. This hermit had learned the same technique a lifetime ago. He had survived it. It had also crippled him. He never came down from the mountain, yet here he stood. "You know what I'm trying to do," Kaito said through his teeth. "I know what it costs." The old man tapped his bad leg with the stick. "I guessed my limits too. Guessed wrong. Now I walk like this." He reached into his robe and drew out a talisman on a cord. Dark metal framed a blue stone. Strange symbols covered its face, worn smooth by years of handling. "This reads pain," the old man said. "Not after. Before. It feels the strain building in you and warns you when your body is about to tear. Wear it, and you run to the edge without crossing it." Kaito reached for it. The hermit pulled it back. "Understand me. It won't make you faster. It only tells you when to stop. If you ignore it, it cannot save you." "Then why give it to me?" "Because I had no one to stop me." He dropped the cord into Kaito's bloody palm. "Put it on." Kaito slipped it over his head. The stone went cold against his chest. He dragged himself up, favoring his torn leg, and set his eyes on the rail again. He breathed once and surged forward. The stone flared with sharp cold at the center of his chest. The warning hit before the muscle did. He stopped himself a breath early. He stood at the rail, legs trembling but whole. Nothing tore. He turned to thank the old man. The hatch was already closing. Kaito looked down at the talisman. He had his limit now. He could train without breaking. But the stone only measured the body he had. To outrun death, he would have to make that body into something more.