Three weeks after the start of intensive training
427's hands stayed up as he lightly bounced up and down. His right arm was closer to his head, with his left lower down.
Nine stood in the center of the ring, arms crossed. His shadow crept towards 427 in the afternoon sun, making him look like a titan.
427 inhaled, then exhaled. He stopped bouncing. It was a bad habit he had developed from his image of fighters on earth.
In a world where superhuman strength could carry you forward at the speed of a blink, having no point of contact with the ground wasn't exactly a good idea. Nine had taught him that personally a week ago, with a kick that blasted him straight out of the ring.
Poor 341 had attempted to scramble out of the way from where he was watching, only to get caught with 427's ass to his face. The swelling probably stung less than the blow to his pride.
Stopping the bounce didn't mean 427 wasn't light on his feet. The past two weeks had made his speed even more explosive. His muscles were like a live wire, ready to spark. At this point, the swordswoman he had faced in Lvneel wouldn't pose much of a challenge.
He didn't bother comparing himself to Hack.
Hey, I need at least a few wins in life!
With a crunch, the gravel under his feet sprayed backwards, as 427 shot towards Nine. His goal was to get up close and personal. After all, staying at a distance would favor the massive clone more.
Another lesson learned through pain.
Nine watched him come, the hint of an amused smirk on his face. At 427's level, his abilities hardly posed much of a threat, regardless of the distance.
427 had long speculated on how strong Nine was. Despite the two weeks that had passed, he didn't find himself any closer to getting a grasp on the enigmatic man.
After all, when you look at a mountain from a distance, it can be hard to grasp how close - or far - it is.
427 opened with a probing kick. His left foot dug into the ground, acting as the anchor point for all his momentum to transfer. The initial anchoring step looked almost like slow motion, but the kick that followed was too fast to track by earth standards.
His right leg swung like a scythe cutting grass, low to the ground.
Gedan-geri!
The wind whistled around his foot, and a trail of dust, stirred up from the ground, followed it.
Nine raised his front leg, almost lazily. Without it supporting his considerable bulk, it easily absorbed the impact from the kick.
Throughout the process, 427 never lowered his hands. A jab to the nose was a very effective teacher.
Taking advantage of Nine's one-legged stance, 427 stepped down with his right foot. He was now right up against the giant.
Metaphorical giant, not literal.
Nine's leg, which had been raised in front of him, shot out in a textbook front kick. With a satisfying snap, his baggy pants rustled from the speed.
427 ducked, back knee almost hitting the ground. The kick sailed over his head.
I'm a midget compared to this guy. Might as well take advantage of it.
Exploding off of his semi-kneeling position, 427 thrust forward with his left gauntlet.
Unlike before, the thrust wasn't a haphazard attack. Every day, Nine gave him a move to exclusively practice. The past three days? A straight thrust.
For a regular person, throwing a punch for three days wouldn't bring about any meaningful improvement. But for a clone, which already has a base foundation in regular techniques, it was the perfect opportunity to polish their attack.
427's clawed hand, completely horizontal, whistled towards Nine's torso. His body executed the move instinctively. Each muscle group tensed and relaxed as needed, working like a machine that was perfectly tuned.
Nine slapped away the hand. With a heavy thud, the leg he had kicked out came down. His other arm curled inward, forming an elbow. The heavy, lightning fast strike streaked towards the top of 427's head.
427 reacted. The weeks of beatings had started filling the innate gaps in his flow. Stepping to the right, he dodged the elbow, then threw an open handed "haymaker" in return.
Nine responded with a massive stride away. Unwilling to let him open space, 427 followed closely.
The game of cat and mouse continued. Nine dodged and retaliated, while 427 kicked and clawed. Occasionally, Nine would go on the attack. 427 would dodge, rarely using nagashi uke, mainly for training purposes.
After all, regardless of his desire to form a martial art, he was a speed based fighter primarily. Dodging would always be his forte.
Still, the only reason he could even dodge in the first place was because Nine was letting him. The punches came more rapidly, whistling as 427 desperately tried to regain control over the rhythm of the fight.
Raising his arm in a textbook middle block, he caught Nine's horizontal swing. Blasted backwards, he rolled out of the ring.
To 341's relief, away from him.
Groaning, 427 forced himself onto his feet. Nine nodded approvingly.
"Again."
---
Later that day, in the evening.
Back when 427 had first entered the gunk dispensary (i.e the dining hall) he had wondered where all the older clones were.
After a week of seeing Nine smirk every time they came back from lunch, he had finally become frustrated enough to ask.
Along the edges of the castle, separating the military area from the residential, there were markets. The older clones would loot money and valuables out on deployments, and use them to barter for food and other resources.
After hearing that, 427 regretted not swallowing his pride and asking Nine earlier.
I abandoned the dao of shamelessness. How foolish. This one shall never make such a mistake again!
He paused in the middle of his stupid internal monologue.
Then again, if I had asked earlier, he might've just not told me because it's funny.
427 shrugged. The dilemma of dealing with an ass.
The market was bustling with clones and regular civilians. It wasn't a bazaar or crowded alleyway, but rather an open field with stalls, reminiscent of a farmers market. 341 walked alongside him, head whipping around in an unexpected display of curiosity.
I suppose it is his first time being around friendly civilians. Even if he doesn't realize it.
The stalls were packed with various goods, mostly seafood. There was some livestock meat, but none of it was fresh, just preserved.
Other trinkets and miscellaneous items were sold as well. As you got closer to the civilian side, household items could also be found.
Because of the amount he ate, 427's berries hadn't lasted him very long. He only had enough for a few more days worth of food.
He and 341 had pooled together the money for food, and a cookbook. The cookbook wasn't really necessary, but 427 needed some way to explain how he knew how to boil something other than water.
After securing pounds of meat, some various spices, and vegetables, they headed back to the training grounds. In the "forest" surrounding it, there was a portable gas stove, some chairs, and an outdoor table.
Why does Germa even have this stuff? Who the hell is going on picnics here?
341 came back from the training ground with a large metal pot full of water. Honestly, 427 was no Gordon Ramsey. His meals consisted mostly of stews and fried meat.
He turned on the stove, and set the pot on top. Some spices, crushed and diced, went in as it started to simmer.
The meat had some holes poked in it, and was put in a garlic and unflavored yogurt mix to marinate.
427 sat back on a chair, waiting for the broth to be ready. 341 sat in amiable silence nearby. It was peaceful. The broth smelled good, and the gentle bubbling noise filled the air.
427 dropped in the meat, along with some cut vegetables and potatoes. The bubbling slowed down a little.
341 spoke up from behind:
"Do we have enough money to do this sustainably?"
427 continued scraping the leftovers off the cutting board before he responded:
"No, we don't. But, I do have an idea to get more."
427 had once seen Nine's lunch, while walking back from the dining hall. It was fried meat. Fine on its own, right?
But then he had seen it again. And again. And again again. With dawning horror, he had realized:
That's the only thing he eats.
So, out of pure pity and also a need to get more resources, 427 had proposed something to him. Give them money for ingredients and 427 would cook. Nine had agreed, contingent on whether the food was actually good.
Speak of the devil.
Crunching noises sounded out as Nine's heavy footsteps approached
"Well, it smells good at least." Nine's gruff voice echoed out as he walked into the small clearing." He pulled out a chair and sat down. 427 glanced over. Nine's size made the chair look more like a stool underneath him. 427 had to hold back a snicker at the sight.
Judging from the glower on Nine's face, it didn't work. Still, Nine broke into a good natured smile after a while. The past few weeks of dedication had impressed him. He had started taking it easier on 427 and 341.
Truth be told, if they had asked him a week ago about where the markets were, he probably would have told them.
At this point, he was saving that little factoid to piss them off later for his amusement.
427 took a little sip of the stew.
Not bad.
341 and Nine were talking about something behind him, but he couldn't hear it over the sound of the stove. It was a relaxing evening. The sound of the waves could be heard off to the distance. 427 lay back on the grass, enjoying the balmy evening.
Ladling it out into bowls, he carried two over to the table, and grabbed one for himself. Nine sniffed the bowl experimentally. Meanwhile, 341 had already started eating with mechanical movements. Regardless, the speed at which his spoon moved gave away his enthusiasm.
427 dug in as well. The stew was savory, and the contents were cooked well. The vegetables weren't soggy, and the meat wasn't chewy. All in all?
Pretty damn good.
He looked up to see Nine shoveling the bowl into his face. Nine looked up and made eye contact, then lowered the bowl, still chewing vigorously. He opened his mouth to speak:
"Nmumph bmuph!"
427 couldn't make out a single word because of the food in his mouth. Seeing that, Nine gave him a thumbs up. 427 looked at 341, making eye contact, and smiled.
Guess we solved our food problem. And, who knows? Maybe he'll beat our ass a little less.
Who was he kidding?