The days after the clash with Kuzen's dojo were restless. Our courtyard still bore the scars of battle splintered wood, cracked tiles, faint stains of blood that no sweeping could erase. Each disciple moved with heavier steps, haunted by the humiliation of defeat or the thrill of survival.
For me, it was both.
Though I had stood against Renshiro, though I had risen when my body screamed to collapse, I could not forget the truth: his blows had nearly broken me. My ribs still ached, my arms throbbed. If not for Garou's sharp words cutting into me, I might have stayed down.
And that thought unsettled me more than the pain.
Was my strength truly my own or merely borrowed courage sparked by Garou's dangerous flame?
Bang carried himself as though nothing had changed. Each morning he barked commands, each evening he corrected forms. Yet there was something in his gaze an extra weight when it lingered on me, and even heavier when it fell on Garou.
"Your path is narrowing, Kaizen," he told me one evening, after the others had gone to rest. We stood alone in the courtyard, the night air thick with silence. "You flow well, but flow alone cannot withstand the tide forever. You must see the world beyond these walls."
"The world beyond?" I asked.
Bang nodded. "Other masters, other philosophies. This path is not about mimicking me, but discovering yourself. Strength is not a single river it is an ocean."
I bowed, though confusion lingered in my chest. But perhaps he was right.
The next morning, I left the dojo.
The streets of the city bustled with life vendors shouting, children running, workers hurrying. Yet beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of tension. Murmurs of monsters appearing more frequently, of heroes clashing in the distance, of destruction that could arrive at any moment.
And with it, martial artists flourished.
Dojo banners waved proudly above storefronts, promising techniques that would make men into weapons. Posters of heroes hung on walls, children pointing at them with wide eyes. The world of fists and the world of heroes overlapped here, chaotic and uncertain.
I wandered, searching, until the clanging of metal drew me.
It was a small training hall, far humbler than Bang's dojo. Inside, men and women strained under heavy weights, their muscles bulging as they lifted and grunted. At the center stood a towering figure, his chest wide, arms like steel beams. His shirt read boldly across the chest: Tanktop Master.
He noticed me at the doorway and grinned. "Looking for strength, kid?"
I bowed slightly. "I'm searching for understanding."
He laughed, his voice booming. "Then you're in the wrong place. Understanding is for monks. Here, we make the body unbreakable. When the body cannot fall, the mind can follow."
I stayed, watching as his students trained. Their focus was not on precision or flow, but on resilience. Push through pain, endure, grow stronger through sheer will. It was raw, primal and yet, there was wisdom in it.
Perhaps Bang was right. To grow, I needed more than one path.
Later, my wandering brought me to another hall. This one was quiet, refined, its students moving in crisp, deliberate strikes. At the center stood a man with sharp eyes, his katana gleaming even as it rested in its sheath.
Atomic Samurai.
Unlike Tanktop Master, he did not notice me immediately. His focus was absolute, his presence cutting sharper than any blade. I watched as his disciples moved precise, efficient, deadly. Every motion meant to end a fight before it began.
Finally, his gaze flicked to me. "Another disciple of Bang, I see."
I bowed respectfully. "Yes, master."
He studied me for a moment before dismissing me with a shake of his head. "Your stance is still weak. Until you can kill a man with one motion, your martial arts remain incomplete."
His words were cold, yet they struck something in me. Not anger, but realization.
Bang's style taught me to flow. Tanktop Master taught endurance. Atomic Samurai spoke of finality.
Each was a fragment of the ocean Bang spoke of.
But even as I searched for meaning, the shadow of Garou loomed.
He had not been seen in the dojo for days. Rumors trickled in from the city whispers of a lone fighter roaming the streets, challenging heroes, humiliating dojos, tearing through disciples with brutal precision.
One evening, I returned to the dojo to find Bang seated alone, his eyes closed, his breath slow.
"Garou?" I asked quietly.
His eyes opened, heavy with disappointment. "He has chosen his path. The path of the predator. He sees strength as domination. And such a path…" His gaze turned to the night sky, voice low. "…leads only to ruin."
I wanted to argue, to deny it, but the truth was already unfolding before us.
A week later, I saw it myself.
The city's outskirts burned with chaos. A hero ranked somewhere in the middle tiers lay broken in the street, his armor shattered, his body bloodied. Standing above him was Garou.
His hair wild, his eyes sharp, his smile feral.
"Pathetic," he spat, kicking the hero's shield aside. "You call yourself a protector? You're nothing but prey."
I froze, my body trembling.
"Garou!" I shouted before I could stop myself.
His head snapped toward me, eyes gleaming with recognition. His smile widened.
"Well, well," he said, stepping toward me. "Kaizen. Still hiding behind the old man's teachings?"
My fists clenched. "This isn't the way."
He laughed. "The way? There's only one way crush them before they crush you. That's what strength is."
His presence was overwhelming, his aura like a predator circling its prey. And yet… deep inside, I saw something else. A loneliness. A fury not only at the world, but at himself.
I exhaled, steadying my stance.
"Then prove it."
The fight erupted in an instant.
Garou moved faster than I remembered each strike sharp, unrelenting, aimed to dismantle me. I flowed, redirected, struggled to keep pace. His strength had grown, his precision honed by endless battles.
Each clash sent shock through my bones. Each dodge pushed me to the edge.
"Is this all you've got?" he snarled, his fist grazing my cheek. "You'll never survive like this!"
But I refused to fall. I breathed, I flowed, I endured. Tanktop Master's lessons rang in my body, Atomic Samurai's sharpness echoed in my mind.
I struck back not to destroy, but to remind him.
A palm to his chest, redirecting his rush. A strike to his arm, numbing his fist. A sweep to his leg, forcing him off balance.
For a brief moment, his smirk faltered.
Then he laughed, stepping back.
"Good. Better. But still not enough." His eyes gleamed dangerously. "Next time, Kaizen, I won't hold back."
And with that, he vanished into the night, leaving me trembling in the silence.
When I returned, Bang was waiting. He looked at me, his expression unreadable.
"You met him," he said simply.
I nodded, my voice hoarse. "He's different now. Stronger."
Bang closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "And so must you be."
The path ahead stretched into shadow, filled with choices that would shape me or break me.
But I knew one thing: this was no longer just about survival.
It was about finding the truth of strength before Garou drowned in his own.