Chapter 24: Trees, Kicks, and Parkour Ninjas
(Now with 78% more sweat and 100% more foam-padded trees)
Let me tell you something about jogging: it's not my thing.
Sure, as Ren Kisaragi I've chased more bad guys than I can count, raced through forests like a caffeinated squirrel, and carried people on my back like some kind of budget superhero. But running for the sake of running? Voluntarily? Yeah, that's a whole different beast. Especially when you're doing a ten-mile jog while stuffed into someone else's body.
But hey, cardio is important when you're planning to challenge a girl who can probably kick your head off your shoulders.
So there I was, jogging through the morning mist in the body of Kaito Hoshino, trying to look all cool and mysterious like I was training for a showdown in The Karate Kid: Multiverse Edition. I had already made my decision—Nemesis was the one. Not in the romantic way (yet), but as my first real challenge.
I was mid-stride, fantasizing about dramatic slow-motion battle sequences and perfectly timed one-liners, when I heard footsteps catching up behind me.
"Kaito!" Haruki waved, huffing slightly but managing a grin. Beside him was his little sister, Hana, who somehow looked like she had energy for ten more miles and a dance-off.
I slowed down a little to let them fall in step. "Yo, Haruki. Hana. Thought you guys were sleeping in."
"Nah," Haruki said between breaths. "You've been running every morning for days now. I figured if I want to catch up, I'd better start chasing."
"Plus," Hana chirped, "Haruki said he wanted to talk to you about a girl!"
I almost tripped.
"Wait, what?! I never said—Hana!"
She giggled like she'd just handed me a live firecracker. Haruki's ears were bright red, but he kept running like a trooper.
"Actually," he admitted, "I did want to talk about Reina Tachibana."
Bingo.
I raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"
"She's in my school," he said. "Third-year. Taekwondo champion. People say she's a bit of a firecracker—prideful, hates being underestimated. But she's not a bad person, you know? Just… tough. Like she has something to prove."
Sounded exactly like my type of opponent.
Which either meant I was about to earn a rival…
or a free trip to the chiropractor.
"Are you really planning to fight her?" Haruki asked, genuine concern in his voice.
I grinned. "Of course. But don't worry, it's not about winning or losing."
Haruki blinked. "It's not?"
"Nah. Look, failure's not the end. As long as we're breathing, we've got chances to stand up again. Losing just means you've still got room to grow. Besides, it's way more fun when you get to fight someone strong."
Haruki went quiet for a second.
Then he smiled.
"You know… that actually makes a lot of sense."
Hana gave her brother a proud look and nudged him in the ribs. "Told you he was cool."
In the past twelve days, Haruki had gone from crying about scraped knees to throwing legit punches and facing his fears. He still blushed when a girl looked at him too long, but hey—progress is progress. He even stood straighter now, like he finally believed he belonged in his own skin.
He looked down the road, then turned to me with a determined spark in his eyes.
"Kaito," he said—well, Ren in Kaito's body, but close enough—"I want to fight with you. Not just cheer from the side. I want in. We're friends, right?"
I blinked.
Then I grinned.
"Best friends."
We did the whole dramatic fist-bump thing, the kind that sends off sparkles in anime and probably caused a minor earthquake in the squirrel community nearby.
Together, we kept running down the path, not just training—
but getting ready.
For Reina.
For whatever came next.
For glory, defeat, and everything in between.
And I wasn't alone.
Because this wasn't just my story anymore.
You know that feeling when you've just finished a ten-mile run and your body's like:
Alright champ, we're done now, right?
Yeah…
I ignore that feeling.
Because in my book, the jog is just the appetizer. The real feast starts when the muscles are warm and the sweat is dripping into your eyes so you can't see the next punch coming.
That's how you grow.
Or die.
But mostly grow—hopefully.
So after the jog, I planted myself in the middle of our little park training ground and took a deep breath. The breeze was nice, the birds were chirping, and the foam-padded tree that looked like it had been attacked by an overzealous pillow company stood proudly in front of us.
Time to dance.
"Alright," I said, shaking out my arms and legs. "Let's warm up with a combo set. Just follow along—unless you want to be kicked in the face."
Haruki gulped. "Following along sounds good."
I grinned and launched into the flow.
My body—well, Kaito's body—moved through the strikes like water.
A jab from boxing.
A roundhouse from Muay Thai.
A low sweep from Karate.
Elbow smash.
Judo grab.
Grappling spin.
Then back to a snap kick with a Taekwondo flair.
My feet barely touched the ground twice in the same spot. I flowed from strike to strike like a leaf in a river—if that leaf had trained with master assassins, fought monsters, and had a weird obsession with spinning midair.
Haruki and Hana tried to keep up.
Emphasis on tried.
"Ugh—ow!" Haruki yelped as his elbow bounced off the foam-padded tree and rebounded into his own stomach. "That looked way easier when you did it."
"It's like a video game," I said, tossing him a water bottle. "You gotta level up your combo meter."
Hana, who was smaller but surprisingly fast, did a pretty decent spinning back kick that landed with a thump on the tree trunk.
"I got three hits in a row!" she chirped, beaming like she'd just won a gold medal in sass-fu.
"Nice work!" I called back, twirling into a blade-drawing motion with my wooden practice dagger. "That's triple your record from yesterday."
She stuck out her tongue.
"I'm gonna beat you one day, Mister Ninja!"
I chuckled. "If that day ever comes, I'll retire and open a noodle shop."
After the martial-arts practice came the next part of my totally unofficial, mostly-made-up-but-totally-effective training regime:
Parkour.
I vaulted over a bench, spun off a low branch, and used the back of a slide as a launchpad to flip into a roll.
Parkour's not just for stylish social-media clips.
When you're a Ninja, staying still in a fight is a great way to collect bruises.
Or broken bones.
Or a big old Game Over sign.
Haruki followed behind, a little clumsy but determined, while Hana zoomed past him like a caffeine-powered squirrel.
"C'mon, Haruki!" Hana called back, sticking her tongue out mid-vault. "You're getting left behind!"
"I'm—trying—not—to—die!" Haruki puffed, tripping slightly over a swing set before regaining his balance and diving over a picnic table.
We regrouped under the big tree after twenty more minutes of intense movement.
Haruki flopped onto the grass like a boneless fish.
Hana did cartwheels in the background.
And I wiped sweat off my face with the edge of my shirt.
"That," Haruki wheezed, "was brutal."
"That," I corrected, "was breakfast."
He looked up at me with wide, betrayed eyes.
"We're still training?"
"Of course. Real fights don't wait for snack breaks. And besides—"
At that moment, my stomach growled so loudly that the squirrels looked up from their nuts like I was about to steal them.
"…Okay, maybe we deserve a snack break."
Haruki slumped in relief.
We sprawled out on the grass with water bottles and energy bars, watching the clouds go by.
After our parkour Ninja madness and high-kick tree therapy session, we called it a wrap for the morning.
Haruki limped away mumbling something about an ice pack the size of a watermelon.
Hana declared she was "totally not tired" right before tripping over a root and faceplanting into a bush.
I gave her a thumbs-up as she waved from inside the foliage.
As for me, I headed home with one goal in mind:
Shower.
Breakfast.
Dojo.
Step one: Shower.
There's something about hot water after training that hits differently. It's like your muscles are screaming, YES! Finally, mercy! while your brain goes, Hey, good job not dying today.
Step two: Breakfast.
Cereal, eggs, toast, and a protein shake that tasted like chocolate-flavored regret.
But hey.
Ninja fuel.
Step three: Dojo time.
By noon, I walked into Shinomiya Dojo, where I had fought Shōgo Kitsukawa—the guy who practically tried to fold me into origami during our spar.
He stood in front of a heavy punching bag, hands wrapped, drenched in sweat like he'd been punching bricks for fun.
Probably had.
"Yo," I said, tossing him a water bottle. "We survived each other. That's a win, right?"
Shōgo caught the bottle one-handed and cracked a small smile.
Which, for him, probably meant he was feeling downright cheerful.
"Barely," he said.
We sat near the wall mats, the air still thick with dojo sweat and the smell of resolve.
And maybe old socks.
"So," I began, "I've been thinking about our fight. You were holding back, weren't you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he took a sip from the bottle, staring at the wall like it had offended him in a past life.
"I was serious," he finally said, "partially."
"Partially," I repeated. "As in I could've ended you but decided not to?"
He glanced at me, expression unreadable.
"I would've won if I'd gone all out. But that's because physically, you were at a disadvantage."
I nodded, not offended.
It was true.
I still wasn't fully used to this body.
It was improving fast, but there was a difference between trained teenager and Shōgo apparently being constructed out of reinforced concrete.
"But," Shōgo continued, "your skills… they were better. That's what really matters. And you're improving fast."
I grinned.
"Means a lot coming from Mr. Punches-Through-Walls."
He smirked slightly.
"Don't let it go to your head."
I leaned back against the wall.
"So… does that mean you're not joining my gang?"
He tilted his head.
"I already said yes. I'm in."
Relief hit me like a roundhouse to the chest—
just, you know, the good kind.
"But," he added, raising a finger like a teacher about to deliver bad news, "I'll leave if it stops being fun."
"Fun?"
I blinked.
"This isn't dodgeball club. This is gang turf stuff."
He leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with that low-key battle-maniac energy.
"I like fights that push me to the edge. If your gang gives me battles that let me use everything I've got…"
He smiled.
"…then I'm game."
I paused.
Then broke into a wide grin.
"Oh, you will not be bored. Trust me. I'm all about the challenge."
He nodded slowly, satisfied.
"Then we're good."
We sat there for a moment.
Two teenagers who could technically be expelled for assault and battery by lunchtime, bonding over our mutual love of honorable beatdowns.
Sometimes friendship is forged in noodle shops.
Sometimes it's in awkward confessions.
And sometimes…
it's in trying to suplex each other into tatami mats.