[September 23, 1972, Saitama Prefecture, Niiza City.]
On this sunny autumn day, the residents of a quiet provincial town witnessed a truly extraordinary sight. But, being polite and well-mannered Japanese, they diligently pretended nothing unusual was happening. Fortunately, the era of ubiquitous mobile phones hadn't arrived yet, so our heroes were spared from becoming instant internet celebrities.
What was going on? Imagine a young, thin, long-haired blonde boy, looking about thirteen, dressed in a white shirt and blue training pants, barefoot, dragging a car tire behind him with a rope like a harnessed horse. All of that might have looked almost normal — if not for the huge, muscular man, who looked about forty, sitting on the tire and filling the air with his booming, frightening laughter.
Since both were blond and clearly European, the whole scene looked like a father tormenting his son.
"Faster, Arthur, faster! It's getting hot out here. Give me some breeze!" The giant whipped the boy's back with a thin rod.
But the boy didn't answer. He was drenched in sweat, every muscle in his body screaming in pain — muscles he hadn't even known existed. He knew that if he tried to answer, he'd lose his breath and collapse right there, and that would only mean a few extra laps around Ryozanpaku later.
If he could use yoga, it would be so much easier — he could strengthen himself and ease the pain. But the cold iron bracelets on his wrists made that impossible.
Suddenly, everything in his vision was covered by a red, darkening veil. His world narrowed to a single point, and his limbs refused to move. He slipped into the saving darkness of unconsciousness once again.
***
When I came to, I saw the now painfully familiar ceiling of wooden beams. Fighting through the agony in my body, I somehow managed, like an old man with Parkinson's, to take off the bracelets and finally ease my suffering with yoga.
But that wasn't a real solution — pain exists to warn you about your limits. I only did it so I could drink the battery of potions Phineas had thoughtfully left for me, without spilling most of it. I gulped down the magical decoctions: one to remove lactic acid, another to relieve fatigue, others to supply my body with nutrients, boost regeneration, and promote muscle growth. I even cast minor healing charms on myself with my wand. And then I wondered how I'd ended up in this kind of hell.
My personal torment had started out so innocently. On my second day at Ryozanpaku — the "heroes' shelter," as I later learned the dojo was called — I'd run into Hayato on my way to the bathroom. He'd shown me where it was and invited me to breakfast. I'd left Pixie in my room, where she was snoring away, sprawled out like a starfish.
"Furinji-sensei," I said, remembering the Japanese honorifics from my first life, "where's my teacher?"
"He went for potions. Said you'd definitely need them." I hadn't paid attention to that at the time, but I should have.
After that, I sat at a traditional Japanese table, kneeling on the floor. An interesting nation — always bowing, always sitting on their knees. If not for yoga, I probably wouldn't have lasted two minutes before my legs went numb.
Breakfast was traditional: fish and rice, but there was plenty of it, so I ate my fill.
"Thank you for the meal, Furinji-sensei. Would you mind if I asked a few questions?"
"I'm surprised you managed to hold back and not ask them during breakfast. Well then, let's take a walk and talk."
We got up, tossed the dishes in the sink, and went outside. The sky was scattered with clouds, each one different. Some looked like animals or plants, but most were just shapeless lambs.
We walked through a small park, mostly filled with pear, plum, and cherry trees, all nestled within the truly massive dojo complex. I couldn't help but think about Hayato's incredible wealth — in Japan, land isn't just expensive, it's astronomically expensive.
"You said you're not a mage. How's that?" I broke the silence.
"Do you know the history of martial arts?" I shook my head. "And do you know why? Because Japan is an extremely closed country and doesn't like outsiders. If news sometimes leaks from China, Japanese mages keep everything under strict secrecy. So, everything I'm about to tell you — keep it to yourself, or you'll bring trouble down on your head. Understood?"
"Of course, Furinji-sensei."
"So, martial arts originated about three or four thousand years ago in China, though some sources say even earlier. It happened because the mage clans stopped accepting outsiders. Why, no one really knows, but many believe it's because strangers got tired of being powerless slaves, begging for scraps of knowledge.
As always, people found a way out. That way was yoga, which came from India and Tibet. Many martial arts masters started out then, traveling the world and collecting bits of yoga knowledge, just as it was beginning to decline.
Over time, different martial arts appeared, blending techniques, philosophy, and ki control." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Ki?" I asked, not understanding.
"You mages call it mana. The Chinese call it qi, the Indians call it shipru, and so on. The names are different, but the essence is the same — controlling your internal energy."
"What about prana?" I asked. He frowned.
"Prana is mostly used by demonic martial artists, blood mages, and vampires. And not their own, but others'. After all, life energy is your lifespan. They only use it when there's no other choice."
"What's the relationship between mages and martial arts masters?"
"Good question. For a long time, mages ignored us, busy with their own squabbles. By the time they noticed, we'd become a force to be reckoned with. Murim in Korea, the Phoenix Order in China, Ryozanpaku in Japan — there are international organizations, too.
Naturally, it wasn't simple. At first, there was war. Mages didn't want competition, and masters felt too confined, so they tried to strangle us in the cradle. But it didn't work."
"Are masters really that strong?" I asked, chewing a blade of grass.
"Of course, but there aren't many true masters. The real issue was that if a mage didn't have time to prepare, even a student could take him down. Why do you think that is?" I thought for a moment, then answered:
"Speed?"
"Exactly, speed. If a mage isn't ready, he won't have time to react — unless he has artifacts or is one of the strongest. So martial artists fought guerrilla-style, striking fast and vanishing.
But mages struck back, apparating in and killing masters with sudden raids. It was a war of attrition, and nobody won. In the end, after too many pointless deaths, a peace treaty was made: mages don't interfere in the martial arts world, and we don't interfere in theirs." Hayato finished.
"So that's why there's no mention of the martial arts world in magical society? Mages are afraid someone will study both?"
"Not exactly, but you're close. There are other reasons, but yes — that's why I'm interested to see what comes of you, young mage. Phineas told me a lot about you, and I was intrigued that you'd studied some form of yoga. I'd like to see it — attack!"
I didn't hesitate. Getting up, I strengthened myself and started striking. But it felt like I was hitting a steel beam, not a person. Even pushing my body to its limit — five times normal strength — didn't help. After a few dozen blows, Hayato stopped my fist with a single finger.
"Good and bad at the same time. I don't know what you studied, but you're trying to run before you can walk. Your ki strengthening is impressive, especially since you're already doing it consciously — that's something only masters can do.
But your body is pathetically weak. You can't show your full potential. You don't know stances or techniques, and you fight like a street brawler. So, from today, we start your real training."
"Excuse me, but I already subconsciously strengthen myself all the time. Physical training won't help."
"That's fixable. Let's go." We walked from the park to an old warehouse filled with junk. Furinji rummaged around and pulled out a dusty wooden box, inside which were two metal bracelets, covered in cracks and dents.
He smiled as he explained. "I found these in an old tomb with walking dead. It was quite an adventure. Put them on."
As soon as I put them on, my legs buckled. The sensation of mana in my body vanished. I couldn't even mentally form a single spell. I'd read about this metal in Lerach's book.
"This… this is cold iron?" I croaked.
"To be honest, I don't know. I just know the bracelets block ki control. Now, let's begin." Suddenly, his eyes lit up with energy, and I felt a wave of terror.
***
"Good morning, everyone." The old mage in a gray cloak, staff in hand and a baggy leather satchel, appeared out of nowhere with a pop. "Already training?"
"Hohohoh, hello to you too," the giant replied. "Of course, why wait?"
What was I doing? Push-ups — if you could call it that, considering two heavy sandbags were stacked on my back and hot coals burned beneath me. Without mana, I couldn't withstand the heat for long, so I had to keep moving.
If I just held myself up, Furinji would put his huge hand on my back and I'd collapse into the coals. I'd learned that lesson already.
"You're doing push-ups rather sluggishly. Look at your pet — she's more energetic." This… this sadist was mocking me.
Pixie, as always, was copying me. She was doing push-ups beside me, her face serious. She'd slept all day yesterday in my pocket and only came out this morning. Hayato wasn't surprised by her and treated the little fairy kindly, pouring her warm milk in a thimble.
But now he was using her as an example and mocking me. She didn't have sandbags on her back! But I'd already learned — the more you complain, the more they'll pile on. That's how I got the second bag.
"How long has he been like this?" Black asked.
"Almost since morning. You have a good student — tough and silent. Maybe I should take him as my own?" The giant stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Don't go after someone else's bread," Phineas smiled. "But it's a good idea, if you're willing to share."
"Why not share? By days of the week, or half a day?"
"Let's do half a day, or you'll wear him out completely. This way, he'll run to my lessons with joy." I was so outraged that they didn't even ask my opinion that I got distracted — and that was the last straw for my exhausted arms. I collapsed into the coals.
Luckily, I managed to roll over and didn't get burned.
"You're cruel, I'll leave you." I glared at the laughing friends. Phineas rummaged in his bag and tossed me a vial.
"Drink it — fatigue potion. It'll help." I did as he said, and it really did help.
"Hohohoh, so with these potions, we can train without a break," Hayato chuckled ominously.
"You lie, you won't take me!" I yelled and apparated. But it didn't help — traitor Black found me by my apparition trail, bound me with charms, and brought me back.
"Where were you going, Arthur? We've only just begun." And with those words, my personal hell became reality.
***
"Don't you think this is too much?" When his unconscious student had to be revived with potions and carried to his room yet again, Black asked.
"I'd be glad to do it differently, but I simply don't know another way. You have to push him to his limit, step over it, and then the body will grow stronger and hold more ki. Then it'll snowball, especially since he has no problems with energy control," Hayato answered. "Don't worry, I taught my son this way, my father taught me, and my grandfather taught him."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Phineas shuddered.
"Aren't you curious what will come of the boy? A martial arts master and a mage — what will that make?"
"There have been such people before, and it never ended well. We had to kill those monsters together, the whole world united."
"But you still brought your student to me. Why?"
"You know the answer. He's not like that. He's not chasing power, but knowledge. He said himself — if it's worth being strong, it's only to protect himself and those dear to him. Reminds you of someone, doesn't it, my friend?" Hayato didn't answer, lost in his own thoughts.
***
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Thank you for the help with the power stones!!!