Originally, Sensei had planned to keep the trainees holed up with him for a full five hours, pushing their limits in this new form of internal discipline. But because of John, because the boy had already presented such an intriguing puzzle, Sensei decided to let them go early. The real training, the true observation, was only just beginning.
"Leave."
At Sensei's command, John shakily rose. The sudden movement, combined with his internal battle against the gnawing hunger and weariness, sent a wave of dizziness through him, and he stumbled. He quickly regained his footing, his mind singularly focused on one objective: the canteen. Feeding this insatiable new demand was all that mattered.
He was the last to arrive, his steps slow and deliberate as he fought to maintain a façade of normalcy, masking the profound weakness that threatened to buckle his knees. Finally making it through the canteen doors, John had no qualms. He began to eat everything in sight, shoveling food into his mouth with an urgency that bordered on feral. His body seemed to devour the sustenance, breaking it down with alarming speed, only to signal for more.
After five minutes of relentless eating, a sense of replenishment slowly began to spread through John. The gnawing hunger subsided, settling into a manageable ache, and the debilitating weariness receded enough for his mind to finally entertain what had transpired in the last few hours.
The first thing John noticed was a surge of genuine excitement as the thought of having finally felt "Chi" arose. But even more potent was the thrilling realization that he now possessed some kind of superpower, a unique ability far beyond the simple manipulation of internal energy. The memory of the "switch" and the profound, almost terrifying calm it had induced, now filled him with a potent mix of awe and trepidation.
The thrill of it was intoxicating. For years, John had yearned for this—some kind of power, something that would make him feel safe in this brutal new world he'd been thrust into. He'd given up on it at some point, pouring all his energy into the League's rigorous training, knowing it was the closest he could get to being more than just average. And now, he finally had it, a genuine superpower, even if it came with a heavy price like this ravenous hunger.
Standing up from the canteen table, John made a decision he rarely took. He walked over to the serving window and, with a new urgency in his voice, ordered a substantial amount of takeaway food. Not just a snack, but a significant bunch.
The very possibility of ordering takeaway after hours was a strange concession by the League. It had started years ago, when one particularly brave or perhaps just exceptionally hungry kid, during their early training, developed a habit of wanting midnight meals. One evening, he had audaciously asked for some takeaway, promising to return the plates and flasks by morning. To the surprise of everyone, especially the brave kid himself, nothing happened to him. His request was met, and a peculiar precedent was set.
John had partaken in this late-night ritual a few times before, usually just for a small craving. But now, he had a chilling feeling this was going to be a constant, desperate routine. His new power, while exhilarating, demanded a relentless tribute.
John walked into his room, a sense of grim determination settling over him. He was planning to test this new power, to see what it truly was and, more importantly, to hone it. He finally had something, an unpredictable edge, that could be used against the League's relentless training.
His silent companion, the dog he still refused to name, met him at the door. Its nose twitched, catching the scent of the takeaway bag, and it barked, tongue lolling out in anticipation.
"I got you some extra," John said, setting the bag down on a small table. The dog barked again, then nudged the door to its small outdoor run with its snout, hopping around excitedly.
"It's been a while, I know," John acknowledged, understanding the unspoken request. The dog wanted to play, to run free. It was a rare, simple pleasure in their confined lives.
John opened the door to the small outdoor run, and the dog bounded out, a streak of happy fur. He grabbed a worn, knotted rope from a hook by the door and followed, a rare, almost forgotten sense of lightness in his step. The hunger was absent, a dull throb now, but the prospect of movement, of a brief escape from the confines of his room, offered a welcome distraction.
He reached the small, fenced-off patch of rough ground the League ironically called a "playground," a sparse area with some battered agility equipment and a few worn balls. To his surprise, he wasn't alone. Other trainees were already there, their silhouettes visible in the dim, artificial light that spilled from the main complex. Each one had a pet with them – a lean, watchful cat perched on a shoulder, a ferret darting through the grass, a hawk tethered to a gloved wrist, even a sleek, silent snake coiled around an arm.
It was a strange, almost surreal tableau. These hardened young assassins, conditioned for brutality and self-sufficiency, were, in this moment, simply kids with their animals, seeking a sliver of normalcy. It was another one of the League's peculiar concessions, a tiny thread of comfort in a life designed to offer none. For the animals, it was a chance to run and explore. For the trainees, it was perhaps a momentary tether to something soft, something uncomplicated, in a world that constantly demanded ruthlessness.
John's dog immediately spotted a scruffy terrier chasing a ball and, with a joyful bark, darted off to join the chaotic play. John watched it go, a faint smile touching his lips. Even here, in the heart of the League's control, there were unexpected moments of... connection.
Back in his room, the dog was now utterly engrossed in the steak John had brought back. Its usual dog food lay completely overlooked, every ounce of canine devotion given to the juicy meat.
John, meanwhile, no longer sat cross-legged. Since awakening his new power, he found there was no need for deep concentration to access it. It was simply there, like an instinct, residing just beneath the surface of his awareness.
Taking a deep breath, he flipped the switch again. Instantly, the profound, almost overwhelming calm washed over him. This serenity was bordering on scary; it was an absolute state of composure. In this moment, John believed, if anything startling or horrifying were to occur, he wouldn't even blink. He was detached, perfectly still, his emotions held captive by an invisible, unbreakable force.
He felt the familiar sensation of his body producing something to induce his current state. Wanting to test a theory, John willed for the switch to turn off.
As the switch began to disengage, a new sensation flickered into his awareness, subtle and fleeting. It was almost immediately overwhelmed by the sheer force of the "Calmness," which still held him captive.
It wasn't until he was on the verge of manually shutting off his current state that he truly registered this new feeling. With that realization, the switch, instead of disengaging, spontaneously dialed up even more.
Check out the patreon. patreon.com/Emmaony