Two years had forged Ritsuki into something else. At the age of ten, the traces of childhood had nearly vanished from his face, replaced by the composure of a veteran. He stood inside an Adventurers' Guild on the edge of town, the smell of sweat, steel, and cheap alcohol greeting him like an old friend. In his hand, he clutched four dried goblin ears—the proof of his hunt that morning.
As he queued at the exchange counter, whispers rose from the adventurers' tables. "Look at that kid, second in line." "Still a brat, maybe ten? What's he doing here?" "He's carrying proof of a hunt. You think he's alone?" "I saw him come in by himself. His potential must be incredible." "Strange… I can't sense any flow of Mana from him at all."
They were right. Ritsuki was an anomaly. He had no Potential, not even a drop of Mana in his body. All he had was ironclad persistence, a keen intellect, and hundreds of martial techniques he had absorbed from teachers across the archipelago over the past two years.
"Next!" called the clerk.
Ritsuki placed the four goblin ears on the desk. "Please exchange these." The clerk—a friendly woman—looked at him. "Ara~? Where's your older brother, kid?" "I'm alone," Ritsuki replied curtly. "All right. Four small goblins—one hundred thousand in total." She counted the money, then slipped in a few extra bills. "Here, I added a little. Keep it up, okay?"
Ritsuki only gave a slight nod, took the money, and headed straight out of the guild. He counted it: 125 thousand rupiah—enough to eat for a week. He opened his battered notebook and checked the map he had drawn himself. His destination was close: Sumur Pecung Village. Rumor had it that there lived the only teacher who still mastered a legendary school of silat—the White Tiger Style. This would be his last lesson in Indonesia before he set out on a longer journey.
Meeting Beneath the Tree
After hours of walking according to his hand-drawn map, fatigue finally gnawed at Ritsuki's body. His stomach rumbled, demanding lunch. He found a wide grassy field with a shady tree at its center—perfect for a rest. Leaning back, he took out the leftover grilled fish from breakfast and ate it with relish.
The gentle breeze and a full stomach were a lethal combination. His eyelids grew heavy. "I haven't done my 200 daily push-ups…" he thought, before darkness swallowed him. He fell sound asleep, his bag as a pillow, the peaceful look on his face masking the harsh life he had endured.
At the same time, a girl with bright red hair tied in a ponytail walked along humming a Sundanese tune. She had just returned from the shop, wearing a black silat training uniform. As she passed the field, the sound of steady breathing caught her attention.
Curiosity led her under the tree, where she found Ritsuki fast asleep.
"New kid?" she whispered to herself.
She was about to turn and leave, but a faint murmur halted her steps. "M… om…"
Ritsuki's voice was fragile, heavy with longing. The girl felt a pang of pity. She edged closer, cautiously. "H-hello?" she greeted softly.
Ritsuki jerked awake, eyes wide, breath ragged. Shadows of the nightmare—the scent of blood, a pizza box, and his mother's empty eyes—still clung to his mind. Slowly, he realized he was no longer trapped in it. Before him stood a stranger, a girl watching him with concern.
"Uh, hi," Ritsuki said, trying to steady his heartbeat. "Hi. I'm Marika—just call me
Rika," she said warmly. "I'm looking for someone named Mr. Akbar. Do you know him?"
Ritsuki asked. Rika's eyes widened. "That's… my father. What do you need with him?"
What a coincidence. "Could you take me to him?"
The White Tiger Master
Rika's home turned out to be a spacious, serene training compound. Without preamble,
Rika walked in and yelled at the top of her lungs, "DAAAAAAAD!!"
Moments later, a sturdy man in an undershirt and army trousers scrambled down from the roof in a panic. "What is it? Why are you shouting!?" "Well, someone wants to see you," Rika said with a sweet smile.
Ritsuki stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Good afternoon, Mr. Akbar. My name is Ritsuki Koutarou. I've come to learn the White Tiger Silat and the karambit techniques from you."
Mr. Akbar looked him over from head to toe, face stern. "A kid like you? Where are your parents? A karambit is not a child's toy."
"I have no parents," Ritsuki answered, voice flat and emotionless. "My father left before I was born, and my mother was murdered two years ago. Since then I've roamed and trained to survive on my own."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Rika stared at Ritsuki in shock, while Mr. Akbar's expression softened, suspicion giving way to pity. "I've studied the basics of many silat schools. This will be my final lesson in this country—if you're willing to accept me."
Mr. Akbar let out a long sigh. "All right. But I won't give you special treatment. My training is harsh and disciplined." "That's fine by me. Thank you, sir," Ritsuki said, bowing again.
After the talk, the kindhearted Mr. Akbar offered him an empty room next to Rika's, flatly refusing Ritsuki's plan to camp outside. After a bath and—for the first time in two years—dinner with a warm family, Ritsuki and Mr. Akbar met in the training hall.
"Before we begin," Mr. Akbar said, sitting crosslegged, "I want to know—what is your Potential?" "I have none, sir. I also have no Mana," Ritsuki answered honestly.
Mr. Akbar fell silent, brows knitting. "That… will be a serious problem. Inner Power is the core of this silat. Normally the flow of Mana is used as the trigger to awaken it. Without that, it will be very difficult, perhaps impossible." "How long did it take you to master it with the help of Mana?" Ritsuki asked. "Two years," Mr. Akbar replied. "I'm sorry, sir. But I only have one week here before I continue my journey overseas."
Mr. Akbar stared at him in disbelief. This boy was truly insane—trying to learn a technique that took years in only a week, with no foundation at all. Yet in those eyes he saw no arrogance, only a flame of determination burning bright.
"Very well," Mr. Akbar said at last, a faint smile curving his lips. "We'll try this crazy way. Draw your karambit. We'll start with the basic movements."
Amid the chime of steel as karambits clashed, Rika's mother entered carrying hot tea, set it on the table, and left with a smile at the scene before her. Ritsuki's first training under the White Tiger Master had begun.
[TO BE CONTINUED]