Time passed. Day after day, month after month, and even year after year. Being completely consumed by the desire to grow stronger, I paid no attention to the calendar.
Only on the days that were officially considered my birthday did I briefly snap out of that peculiar trance and make a mental note of exactly how much time I had spent in this world.
Today was one of those days. I had turned sixteen. The orphanage and school had naturally arranged no special celebrations for the occasion, and although a couple of classmates — boys and girls alike — had offered to help organize something, I politely brushed them off. Honestly, I simply had no time for it. My feet carried me on their own down the familiar road, toward the dojo perched at the summit of the mountain. Today was an important day, for many reasons, so I had no intention of getting distracted by any sort of nonsense.
Reaching the foot of the mountain and then climbing the hundreds of steps, I went inside, turned into the changing room where I swapped my school uniform for a perfectly white gi, and headed straight to the training hall.
Standing in the doorway was today's greeter — an unremarkable young fellow by the name of Charanko, who had come to the dojo quite recently. He possessed absolutely no talent for martial arts, was diligent only to the bare minimum necessary, and as a result his progress in mastering Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist was below average. Frankly speaking, he was weak — but as a person, not the worst, and at least he acknowledged his own weakness. We weren't friends, but since I had stopped the senior students from picking on him a couple of times, Charanko was incredibly friendly toward me.
"Garou!" — noticing my approach, the guy raised his right hand. "You're just in time!"
"Hey." — walking up and stopping beside him, I gave a friendly nod. "What happened? Did they try to lock you in the bathroom again?"
"Yeah, but I fought them off!" — Charanko nodded proudly, and only from my expression did he realize I was joking. "Anyway! Some people who want to train under Master Bang have arrived at the dojo today. The teacher is giving them a tour and will probably ask those of us who've been here a long time to show what we can do. For the adver—"
"For the dojo's advertisement. I know." — giving an understanding grunt, I patted Charanko on the shoulder and stepped through the doorway. "Okay, I'll show them what we're made of."
Passing through the main hall, where those in their first year of training with the old man were working out, I entered the second hall — which today was unusually crowded. Swarms of newcomers had gathered around a small open circle in the center, where Bang himself stood, and on the floor sat a stack of ceramic tiles, or at least something very close to them. The old man clearly wanted to demonstrate the power of his strike — but Mister Cleft Chin beat him to it, stepping forward with an extremely smug smile and rolling up the sleeve of his gi.
"Now I'll show you how it's done, rookies!"
"Ah—" — Bang clearly wanted to say something, but Sour Face — that was the nickname I had given the guy whose face was the first thing I saw when I ended up in this world — had already raised his palm for the strike.
And... naturally, he blew it. With a loud cry and a reddened palm, he jumped back, while the small stack of tiles was completely unharmed.
"These tiles are made of a special material — the Hero Association provided them to me. That's what I wanted to say." — Bang noted with melancholy, quietly sighing at the same time. "An important lesson you must learn in this dojo — do not rush."
"Can I give it a try?" — having pushed through the crowd of onlookers, I stepped up beside the groaning Sour Face and the old man. "Hm, Teacher?"
"Garou." — turning to me, Bang smiled calmly and nodded. "Go ahead, give it a try. I was told the material of these tiles can withstand a rifle shot..."
"WHAT?!" — Cleft Chin shouted even louder. "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO FROM THE START? WHO ON EARTH COULD BREAK SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!"
Beneath these cries and the teacher's quiet replies, I calmly approached the stack of tiles and began methodically increasing the height of what had originally been a small tower. When there were about fifty tiles in the stack, I took a small step back and, turning my palm to its edge, raised my hand for the strike.
So these things can absorb the impact of a bullet fired from a firearm? Excellent — let's see how they handle my palm. The key is to apply force at the right angle and...
In the next instant, the entire tower of impossibly durable tiles split in two and scattered in all directions in a shower of fragments and dust.
Amid the stunned cries of Sour Face and all the other onlookers, I stepped back a couple more paces and began brushing the dust from my gi.
As expected, passing this "test" was simplicity itself. Over the years, the physical strength of my body had made an incredible leap forward. But that was merely the echo of the real power that had been developing inside me all this time.
The energy that existed within every gifted being in this world. It worked differently, produced different effects, and was called by different names.
Esper telekinetics, martial arts masters, ninja with their techniques, immortal humans, or unimaginable geniuses. All of these people cultivated this energy, used it in daily life or in combat, and found the most diverse ways to apply it. The key was that the principle was always the same. Take the power from within yourself and direct it outward.
Most likely, the method by which a particular person could manifest their power was innate — or at least heavily dependent on that. For example, even the strongest martial arts masters or sword technique practitioners possessed not even the beginnings of telekinesis. But the reverse was equally true. Espers were completely unsuited for, say, the art of ninjutsu. And no genius who was clearly "fueling" their mind with that same inner power was capable of truly strengthening their rather fragile body.
In short, the source of power was the same for everyone, while the method of applying it was more or less individual.
In this regard I was fortunate, because knowing the canon from the start, I could develop specifically in the direction where I had the greatest potential. Martial arts.
Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist specifically was a very convenient instrument, and I had achieved considerable mastery in it.
The more I practiced, the stronger my body became — and that in an entirely passive mode. At the same time, the techniques I absorbed from Bang allowed me to manifest even more power. Infusing and coating my body with this — well, let's call it "ki," or "aura" — during combat. And especially those parts of it that were engaged in a strike, a block, or a deflection of the enemy's blow. In those moments, the energy became visible even to the naked eye. Or at least to those who could sense it. That was the origin of those very "lines" that manga and anime artists loved to draw whenever characters used their techniques.
Looking at the remains of the impossibly durable tiles beneath my feet, I thought once again that at the current moment, my development had reached something like a first ceiling. Which inevitably led to the thought that it was time to develop not only upward, but also outward.
In the last few months this had been especially noticeable. The progress was still there, and I was gradually growing stronger and more technically refined. Only Bang himself surpassed my mastery — though that was the result of his immense experience and deep understanding of what martial arts truly were at their core. Apparently, he was one of the rare few who not only blindly increased their power, but genuinely delved into its essence. It was precisely thanks to this that at some point in his life, the old man had been able not only to switch to a diametrically opposite fighting style, but to independently develop a new one and become the greatest martial arts master in the entire world.
Well — I would do everything in my power to surpass him sooner or later...
Raising my eyes to the crowd standing before me — composed mostly of stunned individuals with no talent — I met Bang's gaze.
"Well? Did I do alright, Teacher?"
"Ho." — the dojo master gave a satisfied nod. "Good work, Garou. But now who's going to clean all this up..."
"The dojo duty officer, I presume." — shrugging, I stepped forward and stood directly in front of the old man, who was stroking his mustache. "Teacher, the advertisement for our dojo seems insufficiently impressive to me... how about showing them the true power of Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist?"
"Hm?" — clasping his hands behind his back, Bang turned halfway toward me and halfway toward the crowd. "You want to have a demonstration sparring match? Good idea, young man — who should I pair you with..."
"Teacher..." — stretching backward with a wide smile to loosen my back, I abruptly shot my leg forward. "You already know the answer."
"You little brat..."
That was the last thing I heard before I got thoroughly beaten. The most frustrating part was that not a single one of my strikes — not the first, and certainly not any that followed — so much as grazed the old man.
Every attempt I made to attack inevitably ended with him deflecting my strike and then landing one of his own. On defense I still had some chance — the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist style was strongest precisely in defense and redirection. I managed to deflect some of Bang's attacks, but the rest... well, by the time I had recovered enough strength to get up off the floor after the match was over, evening had already fallen outside.
Groaning like an old man myself and carefully probing the spots where the teacher's blows had landed, I limped into the main hall. Where I found Bang himself and several students diligently mopping the dojo floor.
"You can stand already?" — turning around, the old man scratched his mustache with a gentle smile. "Hm, perhaps my fist has gone dull..."
"Go get a massage, work out your shoulders, Teacher." — managing a strained smile in return, I walked across the wet floor and stood beside him. "I assume cleaning the training hall today falls to me?"
"No, the newcomers will handle that tomorrow." — the old man shook his head, then grinned with satisfaction. "There are a lot of them today. They were all impressed by our advertisement."
"Don't mention it." — giving a grunt, I rubbed my side again where one of the last blows I could still remember had landed. "Listen, Teacher — I turned sixteen today..."
"Oh! Congratulations." — turning fully toward me, Bang patted me on the shoulder. "No wonder — you've not only grown taller, but broader in the shoulders too... hm, since you're only sixteen, drinking with you until morning is definitely out of the question... in that case, perhaps there's some advice you'd like to ask for?"
"In a certain sense, that's precisely why I came." — smirking, I gave a quick nod. "As you may be aware, Teacher, sixteen is the minimum age at which — barring exceptional exceptions — it becomes possible to enlist in the ranks of the Hero Association..."