As the boy spoke, his master erupted into laughter, leaving the boy both shocked and puzzled. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, confusion clouding his mind. His master, still chuckling, replied, "I already had my suspicions, but it's complex. Just like you often let your thoughts slip away, I've learned to do the same."
The boy felt a strange mix of emotions; he had shared something personal, yet it was his master—and he knew the man was not one to divulge everything he knew, unlike the old man. After a moment, his master rose, signalling the end of their conversation. "We'll continue training tomorrow," he said before heading to his room. Just before closing the door, he turned back, adding, "Those dance moves you demonstrated that time? They're a unique expression of your essence. I've encountered similar movements before, but never with such authenticity. Your form is still incomplete compared to what I've witnessed, so focus on refining it. Once you do, you may discover you're not a human being." With those enigmatic words, he vanished behind the door, leaving the boy in a whirlwind of thoughts.
That evening, the boy returned to his room, wrestling with his mind but ultimately falling into a deep sleep.
The next day, he immersed himself in training, both alone and alongside his master. He followed a rigorous routine, dedicating hours to mastering his moves. Finally, after relentless practice, he achieved mastery over his technique. Now, training with his master was more than just learning—it was a quest for growth, a journey to gain wisdom in combat.
Months rolled by, and with each passing day, the boy grew stronger and more formidable, preparing himself for the challenges that lay ahead.
Ray pov
Wandering deeper into the forest, I began to notice the beauty of my surroundings growing more vibrant. Perhaps I had finally started to appreciate nature. However, I couldn't help but glance to my right, where the fallen tree from my earlier strike lay in ruins.
Guilt washed over me as I surveyed the destruction around me.
My training period had extended over what felt like five long months, a calculation my master would have approved. As I reflected on how much time I had actually spent in this world, it became clear that it had indeed been five months and two weeks. With the two-week rest before my upcoming fight, I realized it would soon be six months. Regrettably, I had squandered most of those two weeks doing nothing, as I reached the entrance that lay before me after the concrete area.
As I stepped out and marvelled at how much I had changed, I remembered my master's words: "Never unseal your sword, no matter the circumstances." Though I still didn't entirely grasp the underlying meaning, I pressed on until I reached a park adjacent to a graveyard. I noticed a figure that appeared familiar and entered the graveyard, curiosity pulling me closer.
I was stunned to see an old man standing by one of the graves in the middle of the right row. As I crept closer, careful to remain unseen, I observed him kneeling before the gravestone. The name "Lisa" was engraved on it, accompanied by the photo of a young girl.
Once he knelt, he began to weep. I studied his face, which manifested a mix of indifference and surprise. I never imagined the old man would appear this way; he looked frail to me, but I understood it was only natural—humans are capable of a wide spectrum of emotions. The longer I watched him, the more distant I felt from what society deemed humanity. Perhaps I was becoming something else entirely.
The old man eventually stood and met my gaze with his grief-stricken face. For reasons unknown, I felt a wave of disdain wash over me at his expression, even though I understood it stemmed from his mourning. A faint, creepy smile crept onto his face, despite the tears in his eyes. "Oh... pree..tty ..boy… h…o..w …are…yoo?" he croaked.
I answered his inquiry, my voice steady and calm: "I'm fine." After five minutes of silence hung between us, he spoke again in a more familiar tone. "It seems you have gotten stronger." I nodded in acknowledgment, watching as his smile widened. "Shall you allow this old man to move his body?"
Realizing he was asking for a spar, I felt his pressure intensify. Without hesitation, we retreated to the concrete area, where he positioned himself opposite me, preparing to strike. As he began stretching, I rolled my head and waited for him to finish. Before I knew it, he dashed forward to attack, his body enveloped with a brilliant orange aura. He threw a powerful fist toward my chest, which I blocked with my arm.
He continued to unleash a flurry of attacks, and instead of blocking, I braced myself to test how much punishment I could endure. As his strength increased, so did his pressure. I savored the moment, waiting for my opportunity to counter. Then, I saw it: he aimed a kick at my elbow.
Reacting swiftly, I hardened my leg to absorb the blow. Before he could regain his footing, I struck him swiftly in the face. He instinctively blocked it with both hands, a smirk on his lips, which annoyed me. I had to suppress my instincts; he was growing overly confident.
Without thinking further, I aimed my other arm at his chest and delivered a one-inch punch that sent him flying. Immediately, I leaped into the air, stretching my left leg out to kick him down to the ground. The impact was enough to shatter the earth beneath him, burying him in the aftermath.
Despite that, he managed to shield himself in the last possible moment, though his smile faltered, his body aching. "Are you trying to bury me alive?" he gasped.
"Maybe," I replied after a moment's pause, a hint of pride creeping into my tone.
After we finished, he headed to the park. Evening light spilt through the trees as we walked in silence. We found a bench beneath a tall old oak, and he sat down slowly, as though the weight of his years had finally caught up with him.
For a moment, he stared ahead, watching the breeze ripple the grass. Then he began to speak, his voice low but clear, telling me that Brons had been his student. He talked about Brons's talent, how my master and he used to compare us. He even said he'd told them my reason.
I wasn't shocked when he said it, but deep down, I wished I could have landed a few more hits on him.
Then a hush settled between us. Neither of us spoke. The silence felt heavy, as if words would be pointless.
I drifted into my own thoughts, but suddenly his voice pulled me back. It carried a rough edge, like gravel beneath the surface:
"You see… that person I visited in the graveyard… was my daughter. She died fifteen years ago."
The quiet around us deepened. The rustle of leaves seemed almost too loud.
After a pause, he went on, his words tumbling out as though he'd held them in for far too long:
"I was a prideful person. Someone who thought I could achieve anything through strength… because I was undefeated.
I married my wife not out of love… but because of a bet I made with my friends.
Then she gave birth to my sweet angel. And when I held her… I was filled with joy. But still… my mind stayed the same. I believed I could control everything, bend life to my will.
Before I even realized it… everything fell apart.
One day, I found my daughter collapsed on the floor… blood coming from her mouth.
We rushed her to the hospital. They told us she had a disease—not incurable, but one that had worsened because we hadn't cared for her properly.
I remember fighting with my wife, screaming at each other, blaming each other. And because I was strong… I forced her into submission easily.
I continued doing this for a while.
Some time later, she took her own life.
I was shocked when I found out. But the truth? I didn't even care back then.
Then I met your master. That's when I finally learned what it meant to be truly strong.
He defeated me without even trying. I was humiliated. I was angry.
I was broken.
Yet my daughter, despite her pain and my Pathetic state… she never left me. She helped me find my will to live again.
I was happy. I thought I could change the myself—for her.
But one day, when I came home from work… I found her.
Dead.
Not from the disease.
She'd been murdered."
He sucked in a sharp breath. His hands clenched on his knees. His voice dropped even lower as he continued:
"I was filled with rage. I hunted down the man who did it. But in the end… I couldn't kill him.
I had promised her.
She made me promise I wouldn't hurt anyone because she did not want her father to become like those people.
Not even the one who took her from me.
I had no one left.
I'd driven everyone away.
I buried my own daughter with my own hands.
I was shattered.
But your master… he helped me. Little by little, I began to heal.
Some time later, when I was moving to a new house… I found my daughter's diary.
I read through it. Page by page, each one makes me regret everything.
And then… I reached a part where she wrote—"
He stopped. His voice trembled, choked by tears that spilt freely down his cheeks. Slowly, he turned to look at me, his eyes red and glistening, his face somehow still carrying a gentle, fragile smile.
"Papa… if I die… stay strong."
And with those words, he broke down, weeping as the last light of the day faded behind the trees.
Seeing him like that, I began to feel a deep sense of difference between us.
I was not him. Nor was he me.
I was someone who pushed people aside—not out of pride, no, but for reasons he was weeping. He was sad because he didn't want me to become like him.
I kept turning those thoughts over in my mind as we started walking back toward my house. Then I stopped at the gate, remembering the last words he'd said to me.
I could still see him, tears welling in his eyes, a slight smile trembling on his lips, his voice so weak as he spoke:
"Maybe sometimes we should be selfless—not only for others' sake, but for our own."
Those words echoed in my chest as I opened the door to my house—the place I live in this world.
But as soon as I stepped inside, I froze.
Someone was there, staring at me in shock. It was Aleyas. She was wearing an apron.
We locked eyes for a few silent moments, until she finally spoke:
"Sit down in the living room."
I did as she said.
Then Bron appeared, wearing a blue tracksuit. They both sat opposite me on the longer sofa.
For a moment, I wished time would stop.
Then I took a breath, my voice trembling, and said:
"I'm sorry."