The first rays of sunlight poured into the small Watanabe household, bathing the kitchen in a warm golden glow. Kenji Watanabe, still half-asleep, shuffled into the kitchen, his white school uniform wrinkled from sleep and movement. The smell of miso soup and freshly steamed rice filled the room, a small comfort that never failed to soothe him in the mornings.
His grandparents were already at the table, Hiroshi sipping tea while Akiko placed steaming bowls of rice and soup in front of them.
"Kenji," his grandmother said softly, "eat well today. You'll need your strength."
Kenji nodded silently, lowering himself onto the small wooden chair and bowing lightly. He picked up his chopsticks and began eating, moving deliberately, each bite grounding him. His mind wandered as he chewed, thinking about the day ahead. School, as always, was a battlefield—not one of War Spirits or mystical powers, but of social dominance and everyday skill. Today, he decided, he would survive it.Morning at School
By the time he left the house, the sun had fully risen, casting shadows along the narrow streets leading to Hoshino Public School. The familiar chirping of birds and the occasional clatter of a bicycle bell filled the air. Kenji walked with quiet purpose, his sandals slapping softly against the concrete path.
The entrance to the school was already crowded with students chatting, some laughing, others carrying books and sports equipment. The teasing began almost immediately.
"Morning, Watanabe!" called Hiroshi Tanaka, a tall, burly student whose confidence seemed as wide as his shoulders. "Late again, or did you just crawl out of bed?"
Kenji ignored him, weaving through the crowd. His classmates' whispers followed him as always, but today, he felt a strange sense of determination. He would survive, endure, and learn. That was all he could do.
Once inside, the classroom was alive with chatter. Some students were already seated, preparing for the first lesson. Kenji slipped to his usual spot at the back, opening his notebook and pretending to review the lesson.Classroom Routine
The first minute in class passed in silence. Mr. Fujimoto, the homeroom teacher, droned on about physical exercises for the day, his voice monotone but precise. Kenji barely listened, instead focusing on keeping himself composed.
Time moved slowly. The minutes ticked by, and before he realized it, the teacher's voice signaled the next transition.
"Lunchtime," Mr. Fujimoto announced, gesturing toward the door. "Fifteen minutes. Don't waste it."
Kenji closed his notebook, rose quietly, and joined the small crowd heading toward the cafeteria. The clatter of trays and chopsticks filled the room. The scent of rice, soup, and fried vegetables was stronger here than at home, and it made his stomach growl slightly.
He found an empty spot at the far corner, placing his tray down gently. Around him, students laughed, talked, and shared stories of their morning. Kenji ate quietly, mindful of the time.
The lunch period was brief, and soon enough, the bell rang signaling the end of the break. Kenji returned to class, again finding himself at the back of the room. The remainder of the afternoon passed uneventfully—notes, lessons, and the occasional whispered teasing—but Kenji endured it all without complaint, as he always did.After School — The Library
Once the final bell rang, Kenji left the classroom and walked toward the library, a small but well-organized building tucked in the corner of the school grounds. The air smelled faintly of old books, ink, and polished wood. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the rows of bookshelves that stretched far into the distance.
Kenji moved with purpose, scanning the spines of books until he found the section on martial arts. His eyes lit up as he spotted two particular books: "Block Palms" and "Invisible". Both were bound in sturdy leather, worn slightly from frequent use.
He carefully pulled them from the shelf, opening each to examine the contents. Both books were organized by levels, ten in total. Each level increased in difficulty and potential, offering new techniques and abilities for a martial artist willing to train diligently.
Block Palms, he discovered, focused on strength, endurance, and the ability to counter attacks with raw power. The higher the level, the stronger and more precise the techniques became. The book described ways to absorb and deflect the force of an incoming strike, even a punch delivered with great strength.
Invisible, on the other hand, focused on stealth, subtlety, and movement. The book's techniques emphasized evasion, speed, and confusing opponents, allowing the practitioner to strike without being noticed.
Kenji checked out both books, slipping them carefully into his school bag. A small thrill ran through him—finally, something tangible, something he could practice. Something that would allow him to build power without waiting for a Spirit Gate that refused to awaken.First Training Session — Block Palms
Returning home, Kenji immediately cleared the small space in the garden behind the house. The air was cool as evening approached, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. He opened Block Palms to the first level, scanning the instructions carefully.
The first technique focused on basic reinforcement: how to align the body, brace the arms, and absorb incoming force. Each strike, each block, was meant to teach the practitioner to convert raw strength into defensive power.
Kenji adopted the stance described in the book. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, fists at chest level, elbows tight. He imagined an opponent in front of him, throwing a punch with significant force. With each movement, he forced himself to resist the imagined impact using nothing but his strength and proper alignment.
At first, his arms shook. His shoulders burned. His core trembled under the strain. He fell several times, failing to maintain balance. But he rose again, adjusting his posture, tightening his grip, focusing on the alignment of his body.
By the end of the first hour, he could hold the stance steadily, though sweat drenched his uniform. His breathing was heavy, his muscles screaming, but he felt a small sense of accomplishment.Practicing Raw Strength
Kenji moved on to the second technique from Block Palms, which involved using brute strength to redirect attacks. He imagined punches coming from multiple angles, each one aimed at testing his endurance and ability to absorb force.
He began slowly, moving with exaggerated care, ensuring each block landed correctly. After a dozen repetitions, he increased the speed. Each strike he absorbed caused his body to shake, the impact reverberating through his muscles. Pain coursed through him, but he welcomed it. Every ache, every tremor, was a signal that his body was learning.
Hours passed. The sky darkened, stars beginning to appear as Kenji pushed himself further. He incorporated spins, low stances, and alternating high and low blocks. Each movement forced him to use his full body, not just his arms. Legs, core, and shoulders all worked together in a symphony of motion.
By nightfall, his arms were numb, and his legs threatened to give out under exhaustion. Yet when he stood at the edge of the garden, breathing heavily, he felt something he had never felt before: power that came from himself, not borrowed from a spirit or external source.Imagining Combat
As a final exercise for the evening, Kenji practiced combinations described in the first three levels of Block Palms. Jab, block, parry, pivot, strike. He imagined an opponent of immense size and strength, each attack testing him to his limits.
He forced himself to anticipate each strike, moving with fluidity, absorbing the imaginary impact with controlled tension. The repetition began to feel natural. His body, muscles, and reflexes worked together as one unit.
He realized he could now block strikes with his raw strength alone, even those imagined as powerful as the ones his classmates might deliver with their War Spirits. It was not perfect, and he knew he had much more to learn, but the foundation was forming.Invisible — Observation and Evasion
Kenji opened Invisible, the second book, with cautious excitement. Level one focused on body awareness and subtle movement: shifting weight, minimal motion, and blending with surroundings. The techniques were slower and more deliberate than Block Palms, emphasizing control and perception over raw power.
He practiced moving through the small garden without making sound, stepping lightly on the grass, shifting weight to reduce impact. His balance improved. His awareness of space, distance, and rhythm increased.
He ran through the sequences over and over, imagining how to evade attacks from multiple directions. The book suggested a series of drills where he combined movement and feints, forcing his body to react instinctively rather than relying solely on brute strength.
Though subtle, the practice left him exhausted in a different way. Muscles he hadn't realized he had were burning. Coordination improved. Reflexes sharpened.Evening Reflection
By the time dinner was served, Kenji was sweating, muscles sore, but satisfied. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, feeling the nourishment enter his body. His grandparents observed quietly, offering smiles but no commentary. They knew the value of silent perseverance.
After dinner, Kenji sat cross-legged in his room, reviewing the books. He traced the techniques in his mind, imagining every movement, every block, every step. Even as his body rested, his mind practiced, reinforcing the lessons learned.
He realized, for the first time in months, that power could be built without a Spirit Gate. Strength could come from discipline, effort, and persistence. And if he could master the fundamentals of combat… when the Spirit Gate finally awakened, he would be ready.Final Thoughts
Before sleep, Kenji carefully shelved the books by his bedside. Block Palms for strength, Invisible for subtlety. Both offered paths to power, even without mystical abilities. His body ached, his arms trembled, and his legs throbbed with exhaustion, yet he felt alive, capable, and purposeful.
As he lay under the thin blanket, staring at the ceiling, he thought quietly to himself:
"I may not have a War Spirit… not yet. But I have my body, my hands, my feet, and my will. I will get stronger. I will endure. And one day, nothing in this world will be able to stop me."
The moonlight bathed the room, soft and serene. Kenji's mind was focused, disciplined, and determined. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him, knowing tomorrow would be another day of training, of endurance, and of progress.
For the first time in a long while, he felt confident—not because of some mystical awakening, but because of the power he could create with his own hands.
And that power… would only grow stronger.