I released a flurry of punches, each strike fast enough to make the wind shriek through the air, though none of them landed with any real impact.
"HUP!"
I jumped high, narrowly dodging a sweeping kick from below.
Twisting in midair, I tried to turn the momentum into a counterattack, but my foot was caught before I could even land.
The next thing I knew, I was slammed into the half-melted snow.
It didn't hurt much, but the impact knocked the air out of my lungs.
I gasped, staring up at the sky.
"Had enough for today, Merun?" Sister Ringo asked.
"Sister Ringo... again. How did you know I was going to do that?" I groaned.
"Hm. I'm just that good."
She offered me a hand and pulled me back to my feet.
Then she paused.
"I'm kidding. You do the same move every single time you dodge in midair."
"What do you mean, every single time?" I huffed.
"Hm..." Ringo tilted her head thoughtfully. "What was it I heard you tell Mikan during your spar?"
I stared at her.
"Ah. Right."
She smiled.
"...Skill issue?"
Mikan burst out laughing from the sidelines.
Ugh.
Am I really that predictable?
I should probably stop using modern phrases, too. They're picking them up way too quickly, and it's becoming increasingly annoying.
Just a few months ago, both of them had been crying over me when I woke up. Now they were laughing after beating me into the snow.
What kind of character development was this?
Still, it wasn't exactly surprising. Even though I was only around six years old, my body was absurdly strong. I already looked closer to nine or ten.
I'd discovered just how ridiculous my strength was a while ago.
One day, I'd thrown a full-power punch at a tree as a joke, and it fucking exploded.
It ended up with me and sister's jaws dropped, unable to process how that happened.
They immediately dragged Father outside to see it. At first, he thought it was some joke, so I did it again.
His jaw dropped too.
Then he smiled.
A really, really big one.
Ever since that day, after chopping enough firewood for the day, Father would spend hours sitting by the fire, meditating or doing whatever it was he did when he thought deeply.
Was my strength really that inspiring?
Whatever the case, raw power was pretty much all I had.
I didn't stand a chance against Sister Ringo.
Even though her specialty was redirection, she barely needed to use it during our spars. Most of the time, she simply predicted what I was going to do and beat me to it. And whenever prediction wasn't enough, she just outright pummeled me.
It just goes to show the difference between a non-martial and a Martial Apprentice, even with my increased cognitive skills and reflexes, I couldn't catch up!
It didn't hurt much physically.
The mental damage, however, felt very real.
...That was the gap between a talented martial artist and a brute monkey boy.
It wasn't like I hadn't asked Ringo for help. I'd asked her for techniques, advice, anything that could help me improve.
The problem was that she only knew defensive techniques.
And she was a terrible teacher.
Just the other day, I swear a vein on her forehead was about to pop because I couldn't figure out how to take a punch the "right" way.
Whatever the hell that meant.
Just dodge, am I right?
Fearing she might actually give herself a brain aneurysm trying to teach me, we eventually settled on short spars instead. Early in the morning, before the day's hunt. A simple warm-up before everyone went about their work.
Ringo turned toward Mikan.
"Your turn."
"Yes, Sensei," Mikan replied jokingly as she stepped forward.
Several dull wooden daggers rested in her hands.
The moment she moved, she vanished in a burst of speed.
She began circling Ringo, throwing the wooden knives at strange and irregular intervals.
Ringo didn't move from her spot.
She simply adjusted her stance, calmly deflecting each incoming dagger.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
The wooden blades clattered harmlessly onto the ground.
Then Mikan suddenly changed direction.
She rushed straight toward Ringo, accelerating as she pulled her arm back as though she were about to throw another dagger.
A feint.
Instead, she dropped low.
Her leg snapped upward like a viper, shooting directly toward Ringo's chin.
THUD.
At first glance, it looked like the kick had connected.
But a closer look revealed the truth.
Ringo's open palm had intercepted it at the very last moment. Rather than stopping the kick outright, she'd simply redirected it, allowing Mikan's momentum to skim harmlessly past her while the kick cut through nothing but air and a few strands of hair.
Mikan's foot was caught.
Game over.
"Hehe... Sister, you win again..." Mikan said, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "Can you let go just this once?"
"As an evasion specialist," Ringo replied evenly, "you should already know what happens when you let your opponent grab you."
Then she tickled Mikan's foot.
"STOP—NO—HAHAHAHA!"
Mikan thrashed helplessly as Ringo held her upside down, laughing uncontrollably.
She really had improved.
Her speed, power, and technique were all growing at an absurd rate. At this pace, she was right on the cusp of becoming a Martial Apprentice.
And the reason was simple.
A few weeks ago, we'd received a letter.
Eldest Sister Ichigo had been accepted into a clan.
Not only that, she'd actually defeated another swordsman.
We'd been ecstatic.
Especially Father.
The worry he'd carried for years had finally begun to ease. His eldest child had proven that her martial path wasn't some foolish dream.
And with that came change.
Elder Sister began sending money, knowledge, and stories about life inside the clan's Apprentice Academy.
But most importantly...
She sent us martial techniques.
Actual techniques.
As a clan member, Ichigo earned contribution points that could be exchanged for various items, currency, and, most importantly, martial techniques. There were restrictions, of course. She could only obtain techniques that were readily available on the market, and even then, they could only be given to immediate family members.
Still, each technique cost almost two months of our family's income.
Ichigo used her contribution points to obtain basic evasive and scouting arts, along with dagger techniques for Mikan.
Mikan bawled when she received them.
She sent foundational redirection manuals for Ringo.
And for me...
A book on children's martial foundations.
There was only one problem.
No one in our family could read.
So Mother began studying whenever she could, while the rest of us tried to decipher the illustrations with varying degrees of success.
Mine was the easiest, at least.
It was a children's book.
Still, if I ever got the chance, I seriously needed to learn the Sekigarahan writing system.
Anyway, with my Saiyan body, I'd decided that specializing in a single martial discipline probably wasn't the best choice.
My raw physical ability made me naturally suited to an all-rounder style.
A balanced fighter.
Someone capable of doing everything.
But even then...
That goal felt impossibly far away.
"HAHAHAHA—MERUN—HELP ME! I WON'T LAST MUCH LONGER!"
Ringo suddenly turned toward me.
"Feeling left out, baby brother?"
I took one very careful step backward.
"Ahhh... no, hehe. I'll go check on Father. See you."
I turned around.
And bolted.
"NOOO—MERUN! HOW COULD YOU?!"
"I'll save you when I'm older, Big Sister!"
I barely made it two steps.
GRAB.
A hand wrapped around my tail.
My strength vanished instantly.
My entire body went limp.
I slowly turned my head.
Ringo was holding it.
...
Goddamn tail grew too soon.
"NOOOOOOO!"