The city was restless.
Posters plastered across the streets screamed of chaos HERO HUNTER STRIKES AGAIN! accompanied by crude sketches of a wild-haired young man with sharp eyes and a feral grin. Witnesses claimed he fought with monstrous skill, dismantling heroes one after another, leaving them broken but alive.
Garou.
The name spread like wildfire, whispered with fear by citizens and spoken with anger by heroes. To the world, he was a menace. To martial artists, he was a rogue prodigy. To me, he was… still Garou. My brother-in-arms, the one whose fire once pushed me forward.
And now, he was a shadow slipping further from reach.
At Bang's dojo, the air was heavy. Disciples trained with discipline, but their eyes darted nervously whenever "Hero Hunter" was mentioned. Some left altogether, unwilling to be associated with Garou's legacy.
Bang himself grew sterner. His corrections were sharper, his silences longer. He carried the weight of a teacher who had lost a student, though he never said it aloud.
One night, after a day of grueling drills, he summoned me to the courtyard.
"Kaizen," he said, his voice quiet but firm, "you've felt the shadow that Garou has become. And you've seen the path he walks."
I nodded. My chest tightened.
Bang studied me, his gaze sharp. "If you wish to stand against him or to reach him you must become stronger. Not merely in body, but in spirit. For the path ahead is not paved with fists alone."
"What must I do, master?"
His eyes narrowed, then softened. "You will leave the dojo. You will leave the city. For thirty days, you will survive alone in the mountains. No training halls, no comforts, no guidance. Only nature, hunger, and silence. If you return, you will be tempered. If you fail… then you were never ready."
The words struck like a blade. Exile, solitude, survival. A trial not against others, but against myself.
And yet, something inside me stirred not fear, but resolve.
I bowed deeply. "I accept."
The next morning, I set out.
The city faded behind me, replaced by winding paths, forests thick with green, rivers roaring with life. My supplies were meager: a small pack, a knife, a flask of water. No luxuries. This was the trial.
By the second day, hunger gnawed at me. I learned quickly that the mountains gave nothing freely. I fumbled to set traps, to catch fish, to find edible roots. My hands blistered, my stomach twisted.
By the fifth day, I realized: survival was itself a battle.
Each night, I sat by a small fire, listening to the sounds of the wild the howl of wolves, the rustle of unseen creatures, the groan of the wind through the trees. Alone, my thoughts grew loud. Memories of Garou's smirk, his voice mocking heroes, his fists driving into me.
I clenched my fists until my knuckles whitened.
"Garou… why?"
By the tenth day, my body had begun to change. The weakness of comfort peeled away, leaving something sharper. My strikes against tree trunks grew heavier, my breath deeper, my movements more efficient.
But more than my body, my mind shifted.
Without the noise of disciples or the weight of Bang's eyes, I heard myself. Each mistake was mine alone, each survival a triumph born not of guidance but of will.
I recalled Tanktop Master's lesson: endure. Atomic Samurai's cold words: strike with finality. Bang's teaching: flow with life's current.
Here, in the solitude, the fragments wove together.
I was not merely flowing. I was enduring. I was striking. I was surviving.
On the fifteenth night, rain lashed down, drenching my small shelter. Lightning split the sky, thunder roaring like an angry god. I huddled by the fire, teeth clenched, heart pounding.
Then I heard it a growl.
From the shadows emerged a beast. A wild boar, massive, its tusks gleaming, eyes burning with primal fury. Hunger, fear, and instinct radiated from it.
It charged.
I barely rolled aside as its tusks gouged the earth where I had sat. My body moved without thought, honed by days of survival. My stance shifted, my breath steadied.
The beast came again. I flowed, redirected, struck. My palm slammed into its snout, my knee into its side. It roared, thrashing, but I endured. I struck with finality, aiming where it was weakest.
When at last it collapsed, still and silent, I stood trembling not from fear, but from realization.
This was the trial. Not the beast, not the hunger, but the merging of every lesson. Flow, endure, strike. Survive.
I had found a piece of myself.
The days stretched into weeks. My body hardened, my senses sharpened. I no longer feared the growl of beasts or the whisper of the wind. I became part of the mountain, and the mountain became part of me.
But always, Garou lingered in my thoughts.
On the twenty-third day, as I watched the sunset bleed across the sky, I asked myself: what path was I truly walking? Was I preparing to stop Garou, or to understand him? Was strength meant to defeat him, or to save him?
The answer did not come easily.
Perhaps it never would.
Finally, the thirtieth dawn arrived.
I descended the mountain, thinner but stronger, weary yet alive. Each step carried the weight of solitude, each breath the memory of trials faced alone.
When I returned to the dojo, Bang stood waiting. His eyes scanned me my worn clothes, my hardened posture, the quiet fire in my gaze.
He nodded once, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"You have returned. Then perhaps… you are ready."
But even as pride warmed me, I knew the trial was far from over.
For the city still whispered the name of the Hero Hunter. And my path, whether as rival or savior, still led inexorably to Garou.