"W-with who?!" Manta squeaked, clutching his books to his chest. "There is nobody else here!"
In a world full of shamans willing to kill, destroy, and manipulate to become a god, Yoh was the only one who realized that to truly change the world, you first had to be willing to sit down, share a smile, and listen to the souls around you. The Heart of Shaman King: Yoh Asakura
It was the —the physical manifestation of a shaman's willpower and furyoku. Shaman King
Manta froze. Slowly, he turned his eyes toward the top of the hill. Outlined against the massive, blood-red sun sat a young boy. He wore an unbuttoned school uniform, a pair of large orange headphones around his neck, and a peaceful expression that didn't belong in a graveyard.
"A spirit isn't a weapon, Ren," Yoh said softly, taking a relaxed combat stance. "He's my friend. And as long as we trust each other, our power has no limits." "W-with who
The orange glow of the Tokyo sunset bled through the clouds as Manta Oyamada scurried past the cemetery. He was late, his heavy briefcase slamming against his leg with every frantic step. He hated taking the shortcut through the graves, but tonight he was desperate.
Manta watched from the sidelines, finally understanding the true power of his laid-back friend. Yoh Asakura's real strength wasn't his massive furyoku or his legendary samurai spirit. It was his heart. Manta froze
"The weak have no right to exist in the upcoming tournament, Yoh Asakura," Ren spat, raising his Guan dao polearm. "Power is everything. Friendship is a delusion for the fragile!"