Ryu – 11 years and 6 months
The old man doesn't say "you've improved."
He just stops correcting the same mistakes.
That's how Ryu notices.
They're in the shop again. Same worn patch of floor. Same shelves. Same bell that judges everyone who walks in.
"Hands up," the old man says.
Ryu brings his guard up. Not stiff. Not loose. Just ready.
"Walk forward," the old man says. "Slow. Imagine you're walking through mud. Every step has to matter."
Ryu steps.
He feels his weight move from center to foot, then back. No stomping. No bouncing. Just steady.
"Now add punches," the old man says. "One at a time. No combinations. Every jab has its own balance."
Ryu jabs as he steps.
Before, the old man would have tapped his shoulder or forehead and said, "Too far," or "Too high," or "You're leaving your hips behind."
Today, he doesn't.
He just watches.
"Better," the old man says. "You're not chasing the target with your face anymore."
"Nice to know my face is safe," Ryu says.
"It isn't," the old man says. "I'm just choosing not to hit it yet."
He steps forward.
"Now I hit you," he says. "Light. You defend. You do not counter unless you see something clear."
"What counts as clear?" Ryu asks.
"You won't have to ask," the old man says.
Then he moves.
Short jabs at the guard. Slapping hooks at the arms. A little straight to the chest that lands harder than it should for "light."
Ryu blocks, parries, shifts. He still gets tagged, but less than before. His feet don't cross. His weight doesn't jump to his toes in panic.
"Good," the old man says. "You're not trying to win. You're trying to see. That's correct for now."
Ryu grits his teeth as another tap lands on his ribs. "Feels like losing."
"Losing slowly is the first step to not losing," the old man says.
Then it happens.
The old man throws what looks like another light jab toward his forehead. Ryu's body flinches out of habit, but his eyes catch something different: a tiny shift in the shoulder, a bit more weight in the front leg.
His hand moves on its own.
He parries inside and lets a short hook out, nothing big, just a compact shot aimed at where the old man's jaw would be if he kept stepping.
He pulls the power midway, on instinct.
His knuckles touch skin.
Not a full hit. More like a tap with intent.
The old man stops.
Ryu freezes.
For a second, the shop is very quiet.
Then the old man smiles. It's small and sharp.
"That," he says, "was clear."
"I got lucky," Ryu says. His heart is beating faster than the work justifies.
"You saw it," the old man says. "Then you trusted what you saw. That's not luck. That's practice finally paying rent."
He steps back and rolls his shoulders once.
"Again," he says. "Let's see if it was real or a fluke."
It's mostly a fluke. Ryu doesn't land another clean touch that session. But he comes close a few times. Close enough that the old man has to adjust instead of just drifting.
When they stop, Ryu's arms are heavy and his shirt is damp with sweat.
The old man doesn't look tired.
"Your teachers in the alley will notice soon," the old man says.
"They already complain I'm annoying," Ryu says.
"They haven't seen this version yet," the old man says. "Try not to break their joints by accident. You still need them."
"So I should hold back?" Ryu asks.
"You should control," the old man says. "Holding back is fear. Control is choice. Learn the difference."
He wipes his hands on a rag and moves back behind the counter.
"Same homework?" Ryu asks.
"Same homework," the old man says. "Plus this: when you spar with Kain, test your new timing. Don't tell him. Just do it."
"He'll get mad," Ryu says.
"I know," the old man says. "It'll be funny."
Kain POV
He's seen the kid improve before.
More push-ups. More laps. Cleaner punches. All normal. All expected when someone actually works.
This is different.
They're in the alley. Usual spot. Crates. Wall. Dust. Evening light coming in at a low angle.
"Light spar," Kain says. "Just hands. No knees, no elbows, no stupid."
Ryu nods. Hands up. Chin tucked. Eyes sharp.
Kain steps in, testing.
Jab at the guard. Ryu blocks without looking surprised. Cross to the body. Ryu shifts just enough that it lands on his arm instead of his ribs.
Fine.
"Again," Kain says.
He starts picking up the pace. Nothing serious. Just faster jabs, more angles, the kind of pressure that used to make Ryu freeze or cover up too much.
This time, the kid doesn't freeze.
He gives ground when he needs to. Not in big jumps. Small slides. Weight always under him.
Kain throws a hook a little wider to test him.
Ryu ducks under and comes up in range.
Kain tightens his guard automatically. Good habit.
The kid doesn't swing big. He doesn't try to be a hero.
He just taps a short straight at Kain's chest and then moves out again.
Not hard. Just… there.
Annoyingly correct.
Where the hell did that come from?
Ryu POV
Kain's expression doesn't change much, but Ryu sees it.
A small crease between the eyebrows. Eyes a little narrower.
He noticed.
"Again," Kain says.
They reset.
This time Kain pushes more.
Pressure up. Footwork sharper. He's not going all out, but he's not babying Ryu either.
Ryu's lungs start working harder. His arms feel heavier. His shoulders complain.
But his head stays clear.
He sees more now.
Little things:
When Kain is about to feint with his right, his left foot twitches first.When he's planning a body shot, his eyes flick down for just a fraction.When he's actually tired, his exhale is slightly louder.
Old man was right.
People tell the truth with their bodies before their mouths.
Kain throws another cross. Ryu slips inside and lands a small shot on the shoulder, then gets out before Kain can grab him.
It's not a big hit. But it's on purpose.
Bruk whistles quietly from the wall. "You seeing this?" he says.
"I'm trying not to," Kain mutters.
They go a few more rounds. No one wins. That's not the point.
When they stop, Ryu is breathing harder, sweat on his forehead. Kain is breathing a little heavier than usual too.
Bruk tosses Ryu a bottle of water.
"You're faster," Bruk says. "Annoying."
"Thank you," Ryu says.
"That wasn't praise," Bruk says automatically.
It was again.
They sit on crates to cool down.
Kain watches Ryu for a moment.
"You've been holding out on us," Kain says.
"I told you I was doing homework," Ryu says.
"Homework isn't supposed to work that well," Kain says.
"What did the old man change?" Bruk asks.
"Nothing big," Ryu says. "Just the boring stuff. Where my weight is. How my feet land. How not to throw my face at people. He calls it foundations."
Kain grunts.
"Figures," he says. "That's his style. Break you down to nothing, then rebuild you."
Ryu rolls his wrists, feeling the joints.
"You two feel different now," he says.
"How?" Bruk asks.
"Before, it felt like I was chasing you," Ryu says. "Now it feels like… I can see more of what you're doing. Still can't stop everything, but it's not all guesswork."
Kain leans back against the wall, eyes on the sky for a second.
"You're starting to outgrow us," he says.
Ryu frowns. "I'm not there yet."
"Not yet," Kain agrees. "But you're on that road."
He looks at Ryu again.
"That's good," he says. "That means we did our job. Phase one, remember?"
"Survive, build a body, don't be useless," Ryu says.
"Exactly," Kain says. "Phase two is him."
He doesn't say the old man's name. He never does.
Bruk scratches his jaw.
"You feel different to hit too," Bruk says. "More solid. Less 'bag of bones,' more 'annoying tree stump.'"
"Poetic," Ryu says.
"I don't do poetry," Bruk says.
Kain waves a hand. "You keep training with him," he says. "We'll keep trying to punch the bad habits out of you from our side. One day you'll come in here and it'll be pointless to spar."
"I'll miss you when I bully you," Ryu says.
"Try it and see," Kain says, but there's no real threat in it.
Just… acceptance.
Later that night, lying on his bed, Ryu stares at the ceiling as usual.
He goes over the day.
Old man: small nod, one clean touch, harder drills.Kain: real pressure, small hits landed on purpose.Bruk: complaints that are actually compliments.
He flexes his hands.
Still small. Still those of a kid. But not the same kid who woke up in this place.
He's stronger. More stable. Slightly harder to knock over. Slightly better at seeing what people are trying to do before they finish doing it.
He's nowhere near Nen users. Nowhere near Hunters at the level that scares him.
But compared to the boy who first tried to jog around the yard and almost died?
It's not even close.
He exhales slowly.
Phase one is still going.
Phase two is in motion.
The big stuff is still far away.
For now, this is enough:
He can feel the difference.They can feel the difference.And the old man hasn't told him to quit and take up pottery.