The days bled into weeks, and weeks into months, each one a slow, methodical march of pain and repetition. The mountain air grew colder as the seasons changed, but the sweat on Haruki's brow remained a constant. The Orin Temple, once a place of intimidating routine, had become his private battlefield. His fight was not against a villain or an enemy, but against his own fragile body and the crushing weight of a destiny he refused to accept.
He was now four and a half years old, and the changes were almost imperceptible to the naked eye. To the monks, he was still the same small, quiet boy who struggled with the most basic drills. But to Haruki, the difference was monumental.
He could now perform fifteen push-ups before his arms gave out, his body no longer collapsing in a heap, but lowering to the ground with a controlled, exhausted fall. The searing pain in his muscles was still there, but now, he could endure it for a few seconds longer. When he practiced his katas, he could maintain a low horse stance for a full thirty seconds, his legs shaking violently, but not giving way entirely. His focus was absolute. While the other boys chatted and giggled between drills, Haruki would simply close his eyes, breathe deeply, and prepare for the next round of torment. He knew there were no shortcuts, no secret powers he could tap into. He had to build himself from the ground up, one push-up, one stance, one single breath at a time.
His friendship with Krillin deepened. The young monk, with his six-dot forehead and bright, innocent eyes, was the only other person at the temple close to his size. Krillin's endless optimism was a constant source of wonder for Haruki. He saw the world through the lens of adventure, of challenges to be overcome on the path to becoming a legendary martial artist. Krillin's mind was not burdened by the terrifying knowledge of Frieza, Cell, or Majin Buu. He simply saw Master Roshi, the Kame House, and the dream of being a hero.
One afternoon, the two boys were tasked with their most dreaded chore: carrying buckets of water from the mountain spring back to the temple kitchens. The trek was long, and the buckets were deceptively heavy, designed to build core and leg strength. For Krillin, it was a tiresome but manageable task. For Haruki, it was a nightmare.
His small hands were raw and red from the friction of the rope handle. He could only manage a few steps at a time before having to stop, gasping for air, his arms screaming with protest. He watched as Krillin, a few feet ahead of him, walked with a steady, if slightly wobbly, gait.
"We have to do this a hundred times to get the kitchen full," Haruki mumbled, his voice hoarse from the effort.
Krillin looked back, a genuine look of sympathy on his face. "It's okay, Haruki. We can take breaks. Just keep going."
But Haruki felt a flicker of something new within him. It wasn't just determination; it was a desperate, burning frustration. He had been training for months. He could do fifteen push-ups. He could hold a stance. Yet, this simple, menial task still defeated him. His progress felt meaningless.
He put down the bucket, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can't do it. It's too heavy."
Krillin stopped, setting his own bucket down. "You can," he said simply. He walked over to Haruki, his expression serious. "You're trying to lift it just with your arms. My master said you have to use your whole body." He knelt and placed his hands on the bucket, showing Haruki a proper stance. "Like this. You pull with your legs and your back. You make your whole body one strong thing."
Haruki listened, a faint echo of that same advice from their first meeting. He had heard the words, but he hadn't truly understood them. He placed his hands on the bucket, then adjusted his stance, spreading his legs and bending his knees slightly, just as Krillin had shown him. He took a deep breath, focusing all his energy not on his arms, but on his center, his core, and his legs. He pulled, using every muscle, every ounce of his four-and-a-half-year-old body.
The bucket lifted.
It was not a clean lift. It swayed and wobbled, and the water sloshed dangerously close to the rim. But it was off the ground. He held it for three full seconds before his muscles screamed and he had to put it down. The weight was still immense, but he had done it. He had moved the bucket.
A quiet, genuine smile spread across Haruki's face. It was the first time in this life he had felt true, unadulterated triumph. It wasn't a super move or a flying kick. It was a single, wobbly bucket of water. But in that moment, it was everything. He had been training to get stronger for months, but this was his first victory.
He looked at Krillin, whose face was beaming with pride. "You did it!" Krillin cheered.
Haruki nodded, the weariness gone, replaced by a surge of pure, powerful resolve. He had done it once, and he could do it again. The mountain path still stretched out before him, but now, for the first time, it didn't seem so impossible. He picked up the bucket once more, and this time, he took his first wobbly, victorious step.