The dojo floor creaked under my bare feet as I stepped into place. The sun had barely risen, pale light seeping through the paper windows, but sweat already dampened the gi clinging to my shoulders.
This was no longer the trial week. Today, Bang had said, the real training would begin.
Garou was stretching lazily at the far end of the room, his usual smirk plastered on his face. "Don't collapse this time, old man," he said.
"I'm not that much older than you think," I muttered, ignoring the sting in my muscles.
Bang's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Enough. Line up."
We did.
Bang paced slowly, his arms folded behind his back. His gaze swept across us not with judgment, but with the weight of someone who had already seen countless students come and go.
"Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist," he began, "is not a technique. It is not a set of moves. It is principle. You do not fight the opponent. You fight their force. You borrow it, reshape it, and return it until the stone breaks."
He stopped in front of me. His eyes were sharp, but not unkind. "Kaizen. Show me."
I swallowed hard and took my stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, arms raised in the flowing guard Bang had drilled into me a hundred times. My body trembled from anticipation more than fear.
Bang moved. His fist shot forward, smooth and precise. Instinct screamed at me to block, but I forced myself to breathe, step, and redirect. My arm swept his aside, my body turning with the flow.
"Better," he said. His other hand snapped up too fast. My shoulder jerked as he struck through my guard.
I stumbled back.
"Not enough. You're still meeting force with hesitation. The stream must never stop."
For hours, we drilled the same motions. Redirect, turn, flow. Bang would attack, I would defend. Again and again, until sweat poured down my face and my arms felt like rubber.
When I collapsed to one knee, gasping for air, Garou snorted. "Pathetic. You'll never keep up at this rate."
I forced myself back up. "Then I'll just have to keep going."
Garou's smirk twitched. Not amusement this time something sharper, almost approval.
By midday, Bang called for sparring.
"Kaizen, Garou. Step forward."
My stomach tightened. Facing Garou was never pleasant; he fought like a wolf that had smelled blood, always pressing, always testing.
We bowed half-hearted on his part and took our stances.
"Begin."
Garou shot forward instantly. His strikes were sharp, faster than mine, each one aiming for weakness. I tried to flow, redirect, keep calm. The first punch I managed to guide aside, the second nearly cracked my ribs, the third clipped my ear.
"Too stiff," Garou said between strikes. His grin widened as he pressed harder.
My body screamed to fight back, to swing wildly, but I forced myself to breathe. I stepped, circled, tried to feel the rhythm.
Then it happened just for a moment.
His punch came straight at my chest. My hand caught it, turned it aside, and my body flowed with the motion, guiding his momentum past me. My other hand snapped forward, tapping his shoulder before I even realized it.
Garou froze, eyes widening.
Bang's voice cut in. "That. That is Water Stream."
The moment shattered as Garou snarled and launched a spinning kick. I barely dodged, the force whistling past my head. He didn't stop until Bang raised his voice.
"Enough."
Garou pulled back, his grin returning. "Not bad… old man."
The days blurred into weeks.
Every morning began with stance training until my legs shook. Afternoons were filled with partner drills, circular redirection, and sparring that left my arms bruised and my ribs sore. Evenings I spent collapsed in my room, replaying every movement in my head until I fell asleep.
But little by little, the change came.
I moved more smoothly. My balance no longer wavered when redirected force pulled me sideways. My strikes began to flow instead of snap. Even Garou, relentless as he was, started to give me a nod now and then when a technique landed.
It wasn't mastery not even close. But it was progress.
One evening, after the others had left, I lingered to practice alone. The dojo was quiet, the fading light casting long shadows across the floor. My arms moved in circles, tracing invisible flows, my feet stepping lightly.
Bang's voice came from behind me. "Why do you train so desperately, Kaizen?"
I froze. Then, slowly, I lowered my hands. "Because I don't have anything else. I wasn't born with power. I wasn't blessed with talent. All I have is the will to learn and the dream of reaching further than I ever could before."
Bang studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Good. That is the foundation of martial arts. Not power. Not pride. Persistence."
His words settled in me like stone sinking to the bottom of a stream.
Weeks turned into months.
The training never got easier. But my body began to adapt. Movements that once felt awkward now flowed naturally. The bruises still came, but they healed faster. Even Garou's relentless attacks became less overwhelming.
One sparring match, I managed to redirect his full-on charge and send him stumbling to the mat. He bounced up instantly, grinning wider than ever.
"You're not useless after all," he said.
It wasn't exactly praise. But from Garou, it was close enough.
One night, as I collapsed into bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of my rented room, a thought struck me.
This world was vast, filled with monsters, heroes, and powers beyond imagination. I was still a small fish in an ocean of giants. But for the first time, I didn't feel powerless.
For the first time, I felt alive.
And this was only the beginning.