The dojo was quieter in the days following our first mission. The clash with the scaled beast had left more than bruises it left a weight on every student's mind. For some, it was fear. For others, excitement. For me, it was both.
The rhythm I had grasped in battle still lingered in my chest like a faint ember. Yet the image of Garou, his movements sharp and effortless, haunted me. Even when fighting the same foe, his presence overshadowed mine. His strikes carried not just rhythm, but an instinct sharper than steel.
I had survived. But he had thrived.
Bang called me to the courtyard one morning. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the worn stone tiles. Garou and the other students remained inside, leaving the space eerily quiet.
"You fought well," Bang said, his hands folded behind his back. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind. "But well is not enough. You struggle with control. In the forest, against Garou, even against the monster you rely on bursts of instinct. That is strength, yes. But it is also weakness."
I bowed my head, the truth stinging.
Bang gestured toward the practice dummies lined along the wall. "From now on, you will train separately. While the others refine technique, you will learn to master your body."
"My body?" I asked.
He nodded. "Every strike begins here." He tapped his chest. "Your breath guides your body. Your body guides your strike. You must learn to command both, or you will forever be a slave to chaos."
The training was brutal.
I was not allowed to spar, not even touch the dummies. Instead, Bang forced me into holds and stances that burned every muscle. Low stances that made my legs tremble. Strikes thrown in endless repetition, not for power, but for precision of timing.
"Too fast," Bang would say, catching my fist mid-strike. "You inhale at the wrong moment. Again."
Hours passed. Sweat soaked my clothes, my lungs screamed, but Bang never relented.
At night, when the dojo emptied, I remained in the courtyard, practicing alone under the moon. The rhythm of breath became a mantra. Inhale. Exhale. Strike. Flow.
Slowly, the ember grew.
Garou noticed.
"Special training, huh?" he said one evening, leaning against the doorway as I collapsed onto the floor, drenched in sweat. His grin was sharp, but his eyes held curiosity. "Bang must see something in you."
I wiped my brow. "Or maybe he just thinks I'm weak."
Garou chuckled. "Maybe both." He stepped closer, crouching down until his gaze met mine. "But don't get comfortable. Whatever he's teaching you I'll surpass it. Because unlike you, I don't need special lessons."
His words carried no malice, only conviction. And that conviction cut deeper than any insult.
Whispers began to spread. Students from other dojos visited, exchanging rumors. Some spoke of a rising prodigy in a dojo across the city, a young fighter whose raw strength had already outclassed his peers. Others whispered about underground matches where martial artists tested themselves against monsters for coin and glory.
The martial world was larger than I imagined. And within it, the name Garou was already being spoken.
But one night, as I sat outside the dojo catching my breath, I overheard something that made my chest tighten.
"Have you heard of him?" one visiting student murmured to another. "They say a boy from Bang's dojo fought Garou and lived."
They weren't talking about Garou. They were talking about me.
The words unsettled me. To them, surviving Garou was already a feat worth whispering about. Yet survival felt hollow when compared to true strength.
I clenched my fists. I didn't want to be remembered for enduring. I wanted to be remembered for standing.
Bang must have sensed my unease, for he called me aside again.
"You hear them, don't you?" he asked. His gaze was calm, but piercing. "The whispers."
I nodded slowly.
"They mean nothing," Bang said. "Praise can be as dangerous as fear. Do not mistake survival for victory. Do not mistake whispers for recognition. What matters is not their words but your own path."
His hand rested briefly on my shoulder. "And your path is still being forged."
The next morning, Garou challenged me openly.
The dojo had gathered for practice when he stepped into the center of the hall, eyes locked on mine.
"Kaizen," he said, voice carrying across the room. "Fight me."
A hush fell. Every student turned, eyes wide. Even Bang's gaze sharpened.
Garou's grin widened. "Last time, you stood your ground. I want to see if it was luck… or if you're worth calling a rival."
The word struck me harder than any fist. Rival.
I stepped forward, my heart pounding.
"Enough," Bang's voice cut in, calm but firm. "This dojo is not an arena. If you wish to fight, you will do so under my rules."
Garou bowed mockingly, but his eyes never left mine. "Then set the rules, Master. I'll break them."
Bang allowed it.
We faced each other on the polished floor, the dojo silent save for the sound of our breath. Students circled us, anticipation heavy in the air.
Garou stood loose, relaxed, like a predator waiting for prey to move. His smirk taunted me, daring me to falter.
I sank into stance, Bang's lessons echoing in my mind. Inhale. Exhale. Flow.
Bang raised his hand. "Begin."
Garou exploded forward, faster than before. His fist blurred toward my face.
Inhale. Step. Exhale. Deflect.
His strike grazed past, my palm guiding it aside. My fist snapped forward, striking his ribs but his body twisted, absorbing the blow. His knee shot upward. I barely dodged, the air splitting where my chin had been.
He laughed, exhilarated. "You're sharper. But not enough!"
His strikes came in a flurry, relentless. Each one tested my rhythm, threatening to tear me from flow. I guided, deflected, countered but he was faster, stronger, hungrier.
Still, I held on. Breath by breath.
The dojo erupted with gasps and murmurs as we clashed, our movements blurring in the dim light.
Then, for an instant, I saw it an opening. His guard dipped, his weight overextended.
I struck.
My fist connected with his chest, forcing him back a step. The hall fell silent.
Garou blinked then grinned wider than ever. "Good."
He surged forward again, faster, fiercer. My rhythm faltered. His fist slammed into my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs. Pain exploded, my knees buckling.
I gasped, trying to recover but his hand was already at my throat, holding me just shy of the ground.
The dojo froze.
Garou's eyes burned into mine, wild with exhilaration. But then, slowly, he released me, letting me stumble back.
"You're worth fighting," he said simply. Then he turned, walking away as though nothing had happened.
Bang's voice cut through the silence. "Enough for today."
That night, as I lay on the floor of my room, every bruise throbbing, my mind replayed the clash.
I had struck him. I had made him step back. But in the end, he still crushed me.
And yet…
The word he had spoken echoed in my chest.
Rival.
For the first time, Garou had acknowledged me not as prey, not as a nuisance but as someone worth fighting.
And that, more than the pain, kept me awake long into the night.