Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind

Six Months Since Boot Camp Initiation

* * *

Physical conditioning, martial arts, knife techniques, firearms handling, knowledge about Demons—I’d learned and absorbed so much during this time.

Over the past six months, my fellow trainees seemed to struggle most with physical conditioning, but I found martial arts and weapon handling far more challenging. 

When it comes to building muscle, I have a continuous foundation from my previous life, so I can approach it naturally. Everything else, though, is foreign territory.

My main issue is firearms handling.

“Ikaku, what are you doing here so early?”

“Good morning, Instructor. I was hoping to get some practice in before this weekend’s test.”

“I see. So you’ve finally figured out the early morning angle.”

“I noticed no one else trains during these hours.”

“Good mindset. But it looks like you’re dry on ammo.”

“I scoured every corner of the training grounds hoping to find some loose rounds. Nada. So, Instructor Kisame, I was wondering if you could issue me some bullets.”

“No can do, Ikaku.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve already fired 9,000 rounds this month. You’ve been coaching the other lads through their strength training in exchange for collecting their bullets, and then sweet-talking me into giving you even more on top of that.”

Firearms training is one of the Boot Camp subjects, with weekly tests.

Two weapon types—rifles and pistols—across four test categories: basic marksmanship, close-range shooting, long-range shooting, and applied shooting. Eight tests total.

Your performance on these tests determines your marksmanship grade.

The tests started out easy, but they’ve been getting progressively harder. More targets to hit within the time limit, smaller target sizes, having to engage targets at wildly different distances.

To pass these tests, each trainee gets 500 rounds per month. These are for voluntary practice outside regular training hours.

When I first heard that number, I thought it was surprisingly low… but apparently, we get more shooting opportunities than even the Self-Defense Forces.

“It’s not enough. I’m still not satisfied.”

“Why are you so obsessed with shooting more rounds? You’re already the best shot among your peers by a mile. You pass every test without breaking a sweat. So why?”

“Because I haven’t shot enough to collapse yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I believe that training requires pushing both mind and body to their absolute limits. Conversely, any session that doesn’t challenge those limits is just junk volume. A workout where I can’t even pass out makes me feel… anxious. Like I could be pushing myself harder.”

“You don’t have a single screw left in your head, do you? Your mental state has transcended the physical realm entirely. You’ll probably make an excellent Exorcist.”

“So you’ll give me bullets?”

“That’s a completely different matter. Get back to the dormitory. You overdo everything. Besides, while pushing physical limits makes some sense, it’s impossible to pass out from shooting practice. Take a break once in a while.”

“I’m getting all the rest I need. Please give me bullets.”

“That’s not how sentence structure works. No bullets.”

The instructor gives me a deadpan stare and points toward the dormitory.

I have no choice but to head back.

That’s when a group of people files into the shooting range.

Two men and one girl.

The men wear different black coats from Instructor Kisame. They have cross necklaces hanging from their necks and silver rings on their fingers. They look tough as nails.

The girl positioned protectively between them is clearly of noble birth, dressed in expensive-looking white clothing. She’s probably around my age.

She has large, round eyes and features that suggest she’ll become a stunning beauty. Her black, lustrous hair is incredibly smooth, swaying with each movement. Even from this distance, I can almost smell a pleasant fragrance.

The girl’s steps are as light and graceful as a dance, as if she’s playing with the cool morning breeze that sweeps through the training grounds.

Suddenly, she looks my way. Blinks in surprise, then smiles softly.

It’s a gentle, kind smile. Warmth floods in like sunshine, and I find myself holding my breath.

This young but beautiful girl has a mysterious aura that makes it clear she’s fundamentally different from ordinary people.

The beautiful girl goes to a random shooting station, where one of the black-coated men hands her a firearm and begins explaining how to use it. She appears to be a complete beginner.

Her voice has a magical quality that makes me want to keep listening. It’s pleasant to the ear and captures my heart instantly.

“Instructor, who is that?”

“What’s this, Ikaku? Got your interest piqued?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking...”

“That would be Lady Ayano Akai.”

“Nobility, I see. No wonder she has such presence.”

“So you are interested after all.”

“No, that’s not it. I’d heard that magical nobility held authority since ancient times. I was just impressed, seeing that kind of charisma up close.”

“You were that objective about it? …Well, you’re not wrong. Lady Ayano clearly has the bearing of a ruler—something that sets her apart from ordinary people. That’s noble blood for you. A lineage honed through generations of Exorcists.”

Bloodline. The lineage of Mages.

A distinguished bloodline that has been carefully maintained and developed over generations to preserve and enhance a family’s power.

In the magical world, noble magical bloodlines are treasures, and in the Exorcist world, they represent both our greatest fangs and our ultimate weapons.

Everything about them differs from us ordinary Exorcists.

They weren’t victims who happened to get Soul Brands and had no choice but to become Exorcists. They were born inheriting the power of Exorcists—the true guardians of the human realm.

“Do you reckon she might give me more bullets if I ask?”

“Don’t get any crazy ideas now, Ikaku… Actually, you need to get out of here, now!”

The instructor, unusually flustered, shoos me away.

* * *

A few days later, I manage to secure some ammunition.

How?

Well there’s a trick to it.

We Boot Camp trainees are required to maintain regular lifestyles. It was the same at the orphanage, but dormitory life is even more strictly regulated. Plus, there isn’t much in the way of entertainment.

You can apply for necessary items and sometimes get them, but not everything is available.

My peers have applied for smartphones, gaming consoles, PCs, candy, and the like, but they were all rejected. These are deemed detrimental to training.

Incidentally, my applications for protein powder, chicken breast, eggs, various vitamins, EAAs, and creatine are never rejected.

So does that mean dormitory life is completely devoid of luxury items? Not exactly. 

The three meals provided at the dormitory come with snacks. Chocolate, caramel, cheese, pudding, jelly, corn dogs, and such.

These function as valuable commodities in our little economy.

I’ve been stockpiling these “assets” and trading them to the dormitory guys for bullets. The past few days featured particularly fancy snacks, so I made a pretty good profit.

While I call it a trick, this is legitimate trading within the dormitory.

The 500 training rounds given to us each month serve the monetary economy well. 

The officially recognized currencies are 9mm, 5.56mm, and 7.62mm rounds. To survive the harsh dormitory life, everyone here is trying to get their hands on whatever they need most.

As a side note, according to the upperclassmen, the most impressive guy somehow managed to build himself a gaming PC. How he pulled that off remains a mystery.

“These 200 rounds are precious. I need to shoot them with purpose.”

I arrive at the training grounds early in the morning.

Someone is already here. Lady Ayano, engaging in shooting practice.

Turns out she traded her expensive white clothing for black camouflage fatigues.

Intimidating black-coated men stand nearby, keeping close watch.

The guards have been fixing blade-sharp gazes on me since before I even stepped foot in the shooting range. They aren’t letting their guard down, even around a kid like me.

Guess that’s what professionals look like.

I feel a bit nervous but pull myself together and load bullets into my firearm.

Training needs to be done with purpose. Same as lifting. You gotta focus on which muscles you’re targeting.

Don’t get caught up in reps and sets or focus solely on handling heavy weights. What matters is making it effective. Keeping your eye on what comes next.

Shooting practice follows the same principles.

Focus on hitting the target first, rather than shooting quickly. Don’t get distracted by the number of rounds fired. Even if you fire 9,000 rounds in a month, shooting blindly is meaningless.

“Five to 20-meter range, random placement, moving targets—Applied Shooting Level 3 setting.”

A spell, Target Code, is carved into the shooting range.

Thanks to magic activated by a simple switch, we can conduct high-quality shooting practice.

One set spawns 20 targets.

I run through 10 sets.

Out of the 20 targets that appear, I’m averaging about 12-14 hits, but I’m showing some improvement over last month.

Last month I averaged 12.2 hits on the same setting.

Progress is slow, but I’m still making gains. I realized early on I have no natural talent for shooting, so I have to make up for it with volume.

I’ve been approaching it with that mindset for six months.

Thanks to that, despite my lack of natural ability, my grades are good.

“You’re amazing!”

A voice calls from behind me, and I spin around in surprise.

Lady Ayano is there. Her large eyes are sparkling.

“Even with such a difficult setting!”

“...I just practiced a lot.”

“I bet you have some secret technique. Teach me too!”

Lady Ayano tilts her head and blinks repeatedly.

How can I refuse such an innocent request?

“Of course, Lady Ayano. If anything I’ve personally picked up would be helpful, I’d be happy to teach you whatever you’d like to know.”

“Yay! Nishiki! I caught myself a shooting professional! Getting lessons from him has to be the best way to improve! Hehe, now we’ll find out just how bad you are at teaching shooting!”

Hearing Lady Ayano’s challenging laughter, one of the black coats looks troubled.

Please stop stirring up conflict, Lady Ayano. I’m gonna get killed.

Anyway.

I begin my lecture to Lady Ayano, even as I tremble inside.

Then something amazing happens while I’m teaching her.

When I demonstrate shooting techniques, bullets come out of Lady Ayano’s ammunition case. And no matter how many rounds I fire, there isn’t the slightest hint of anyone objecting.

I finish the lesson in a state of semi-excitement.

Who would’ve thought I’d get paid in bullets for giving lessons?

“What’s your name?”

“I’m called Ikaku. Ikaku Tanpakushitsu.”

“Ahaha, what a weird name!”

“Lady Ayano.”

With one word from the black-coated man, Lady Ayano gasps.

“Oh... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called it weird...”

“Please don’t worry about it. I actually think it’s a strange name too. Don’t give it another thought, Lady Ayano.”

I glance at the black coat, who relaxes his mouth slightly with an expression that seems to say “that’s the right answer.”

Looks like I won’t be killed.

“Nishiki, give me that thing! Here, this is for you, Ikaku! It’s a thank-you gift!”

Lady Ayano hands me a square, flat object she received from the black-coated man.

“What is this?”

“Chocolate! Father gave me permission to eat it starting last month!”

Contraband?

“See you later, Ikaku!”

Waving her hands and skipping away, the highborn girl departs.

I bow deeply to her retreating figure.

One of the black-coated men lingers behind briefly.

“You’re from Instructor Kisame’s Boot Camp program?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I’ve never seen a child your age in the training program before… Your speech, behavior, and attitude are all commendable. Ikaku, was it? You show promise.”

“Thank you very much!”

The black-coated man pats my head and goes after Lady Ayano.