Jumper Without A Cause (Jumpchain Creative Mode)

So, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, and now here it is. I’ll be using the "Creative Mode" put forward by cliff999 on SB. I’ll also be using other house rules noted in that post, namely the Body Mod, Warehouse and Shipyard replacements, as well as the rules for Gauntlets and Companions. You can lambast me for going “Easy Mode” if you like, though honestly Jumpchain is so trivial to exploit that you have to either just completely suck at making builds or impose your own limitations to not break the whole thing over your knee with ease just by picking the right Jumps and perks. This is more to let me build my character how I want than as a way of letting me take everything and stomp over every Jump.

And to that end, I’m including my own addition to this (though I’m sure someone out there has come up with something similar; feel free to point it out to me), which I call the Ring of Restraint. Despite the name, it only defaults to a ring; it can be any small accessory or item on your person, and can look like anything you’d like. On each Jump, you can mentally calibrate the Ring of Restraint to block your access to whatever perks and items you’d like while inside the Jump. Each time you recalibrate it, you can restrict perks/items from certain Jumps while keeping others, restrict all out-of-Jump perks/items, etc. Basically, you can pick and choose exactly what you can and can’t use in any given Jump.

However, the Ring of Restraint is purely a self-imposed challenge. The Jumper can remove the ring at any time (and can even remove it mentally in case they’re physically restrained), and once removed it cannot be put back on the Jumper against their will. The ring only works on its own given Jumper, and for anyone else is just a simple accessory. The Ring of Restraint cannot be sold, traded, or otherwise given away for one’s own gain; any prospective buyer will refuse it, no matter how valuable it looks or how good a salesman the prospective seller is, and if somehow taken from the Jumper without their consent it will simply appear on their person the next day.

Now then, for another little house rule: I’ll be using the same system that Whiteeyes on SB has for selecting Jumps in her own Jumpchain, namely using a list randomizer and picking my next Jump from among the 3 at the top of the list; the remaining 2 are no longer options until 3 jumps later.

Oh, and if I choose one that is a sequel to something else or otherwise has a “your history from this other thing carries over here,” I get to take that earlier one instead if I choose. Like, if I land Avatar: The Legend of Korra I can choose to take Avatar: The Last Airbender instead if I haven’t already.

Rolling for the first time, this gets me:

1. History’s Strongest Disciple Ken’ichi
2. Exalted (Dragon-Blooded)
3. Neon Genesis Evangelion

Well, that makes for an incredibly easy choice. Exalted and Eva are both a hard no for a first Jump. Badass martial arts adventure it is!

 

I stop dead in my tracks and blink, as an entire lifetime of memories, feelings and experiences all this me at once. Normally, that’s the kind of thing that would render you comatose, but I just felt a bit of a headache.

My name is Kimura Inosanto Ensei*; as the name suggests, I’m very mixed ethnically, though that only actually comes up in my daily life when relatives visit from abroad or someone else tries to make a big deal of it. Wow, the more things change, huh?

“Something wrong, Ensei?” a wo… No, Mom asked me.

“Uh… no Mom, I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache,” I said, rubbing a temple with two fingers. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good, ‘cause we’re here!” Dad declared with a grin. “Ryōzanpaku, where gather those known far and wide as ‘the strongest’!”



Right, we’re here because Mom and Dad wanted to challenge the Masters of Ryōzanpaku to a fight. “I” was really sure they’d win, but now… yeah, they’re screwed unless it’s a 2-on-1, which they’d never agree to.

Dad dramatically throws open the big doors and strides into the… honestly kind of rundown-looking dojo. I guess they really did have money problems.

“Excuse me, but you should really knock before you just open the door like that,” admonished a blonde girl with a body that… no, not gonna go there, not gonna go there…

Spoiler

“Jesus,” I whispered under my breath.

“Don’t swear, boy,” Mom said sternly under her breath.

“Oh, sorry about that Miss, got carried away,” Dad said sheepishly. “Wanted to really have some flair, you know?”

“Hello, young lady. Are the masters of this dojo home?” Mom asked sweetly.

The girl – Fūrinji Miu – tapped her finger with a chin in thought. “Hmm… Grandpa’s on a trip somewhere, Sakaki is out playing pachinko, and Akisame went to do a guest lecture at the university, but I think the other three haven’t run off anywhere yet. Do you mind having some tea while I find out? Just enter your name, address and dojo in the notepad on the table, okay?”

---X---

‘This tea’s not that good,’ I thought to myself while we waited around the table, bored. Dad was getting antsy from sitting around, but Mom was the picture of composure.

“Ugh, how big can this place possibly be?” Dad complained, causing Mom to roll her eyes.

“Okay, I’m back!” Miu called out. “Sorry about that; it was really hard to find Shigure. Here are the three fighters available!”

Behind here there was:

A two meter tall, bronze-skinned giant of gleaming muscle. Apachai Hopachai, the “Grim Reaper of Muay Thai.”

Spoiler

A diminutive, middle-aged man in Chinese garb who was looking at Mom with a face that made me want to deck him. Ma Kensei, the “Master of All Chinese Kenpō.”

Spoiler

A young woman who… who…

Spoiler

(This is one of the least pornographic images of her you will ever see)

“Sweet salty Christ!” I exclaimed under my breath. “Ow!”

“I told you not to swear!” Mom said as I rubbed the back of my head.

“So, these are the three fighters available!” Miu said, waving a hand as if to present them. “The going rate is ¥10,000 per fight, but for an extra ¥10,000, you can fight each of the masters in succession until one side runs out of fighters.”

“Wait, we have to pay!? I thought dojo challenges were a matter of honor!” Dad exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, but we receive so many challenges that there’s really no other way,” Miu recited, as if she’d rehearsed the line.

“Well, I guess you have to spend money to make money,” Mom said with a sigh. “We could use the publicity, after all. Put us down for one fight each.”

“Great! Now, which opponents would you like to fight?” Miu asked.

“Well, if the ‘100-dan Brawler’ available, then put me down to fight the ‘Grim Reaper of Muay Thai’!” Dad declared, punching his fists together in excitement.

“Oh! You mean me, right!?” Apachai said, pointing to himself with childlike enthusiasm.

Mom tapped her chin thoughtfully before answering. “Okay, so I guess that leaves me with ‘the Master of All’-”

“Weapons! She’ll fight the ‘Master of All Weapons’!” I declared firmly, giving the middle-aged Chinese man a glare.

“Are you sure? Shigure really doesn’t hold back all that well,” Ma Kensei said, rubbing his hands together. “Such a lovely lady really deserves a more gentle opponent-”

“She fights… me,” Shigure said, quietly and slowly, but with an authority in her voice that Kensei knew better than to challenge.

“Yes, definitely fighting Shigure,” Miu said firmly as she scribbled in a notepad. “No takebacks, no refunds, no second thoughts. Now, just come this way and we can-”

“Oh, one question first,” Mom said. “It’s 10,000 for a Master, right? So what’s it cost to fight you?”

Everyone reacted with shock at that question. After the initial surprise, Kensei suddenly put a hand to his hat, his expression growing serious. “And why would a Master-class fighter like you want to know that, exactly?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Because I’ve decided to book an extra fight,” Mom said, with a smile that was so much like Dad’s that I knew it was time to feel afraid. “This girl against my son, Ensei.”

“… Come again?” I asked, as the room was silent for a moment.

All the tension in the room simply evaporated like a morning mist. “Oh, is that all?” Kensei said with a chuckle. “Well, might as well throw that one in for free! It’ll be a valuable learning experience for them both, I’m sure.”

“More for him than… her,” Shigure spoke up. “We should… charge a little.”

“Miu’s going to defend the dojo with us? That sounds fun!” Apachai chimed in loudly.

“Oh! That’s genius, Dear!” Dad yelled dramatically, slamming his fist down on the table just hard enough not to damage it. “Oh, you’re going to need to strip down for this fight, son. Don’t worry, you’ve got permission!”

“… C-come again?” Miu replied, looking both confused and kind of creeped out.

“Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed, quickly pulling off my shirt to reveal the Restraint Suit. You really don’t think about what a pain having enough resistance against your every movement to put your strength, speed and agility at 50% until you actually walk around like that for a while. Even sitting here drinking tea was a workout!

“Never mind. Might be… close enough to… make it free,” Shigure said as I started taking the thing off. “Hard to tell.”

“Wow. That look like real pain,” Apachai noted. “Look like something Akisame would make.”

“Heh, it does at that, doesn’t it?” Kensei noted with a chuckle. “That’s some intense training you’re putting your son through. From one Master to another, I approve!”

“Okay, I’m ready,” I said. I was feeling… Okay, I’m pretty sure I’m the underdog here, but at least I’d be fighting at 100% here. Well, not actually 100%, since we’d probably be doing this barehanded, but still.

“Excellent!” Kensei declared. “Then let the 3-on-3 match between Ryōzanpaku Dojo and the Southern Martial Forest Dojo** begin!”

-x--X--x- (What follows is all out-of-story stuff. Footnotes, basically)

*“Kimura” is just a typical Japanese surname. Many people in the Philippines use the Spanish naming tradition of the mother’s maiden name becoming the middle name of her children, which is where “Inosanto” comes from. No relation to Dan Inosanto, of course.

“Ensei” is actually a little complicated. Japan uses more than one alphabet to write its language; kanji are Chinese characters, and comprise the bulk of Japanese writing. Hiragana is the actual Japanese syllabary and is essentially an alphabet, which fits the Japanese language much better than Chinese, but is used almost entirely for concepts and grammar that don’t parse with Chinese. Katakana is like hiragana, except used exclusively for foreign words; don’t ask me why they felt they needed a whole other alphabet for that.

What this comes out to is that most Japanese writing uses Chinese characters, but when spoken, Japanese and Chinese are completely different, and Chinese contains a lot of sounds that don’t exist in Japanese. So, when reading Chinese (as opposed to kanji; yes, I know it’s weird), Japanese use their own version of the pronunciation, and for whatever reason, for hundreds of years they’ve decided that it sounds really fancy and cool to use these Japanese pronunciations of the “Chinese pronunciation” of the Chinse characters that make up their name. I guess it’s a lot like the way a medieval German guy named Karl would call himself Carolus to sound all educated and Latin and whatnot.

Basically every Chinese character in the manga History’s Strongest Disciple Ken’ichi, BTW, is also referred to using the azana of their Chinese names; Ma Kensei doesn’t have that blatantly Japanese name because the author is ignorant of Chinese, it’s simply how a Japanese person who can’t speak Chinese would read the characters of his name, “Ma Jianxing.” His daughter, Ma Renka, is “Ma Lianhua.” It’s kind of inconsistent, too; the “Ma” there should be “Ba” in azana, but isn’t, I guess for aesthetics or something.

So what is the name “Ensei” an azana of? Well, here’s one more example of azana: the very name of “Ryōzanpaku” is actually the azana of Liangshan Marsh, the meeting place and home base of the 108 Stars of Destiny in the classic Chinese novel Water Margin. Only fitting, then, that I, who chose the Prodigy identity, would take the name of “Yan Qing the Prodigy.”

**The “martial forest” is the literal meaning of the Chinese term “Wulin,” which refers to the fellowship of martial artists within the wider “Jianghu,” the world that exists within and alongside the normal world of farmers, soldiers and kings, but separate from it, with its own hierarchies and powerful figures.

So the “Southern Martial Forest” is essentially a statement of being part of a “wulin” south of China (and by extension Japan and Korea); the unique martial arts of the islands of South Asia tend to get ignored in favor of those of China, Japan and Korea, though in recent years their martial arts like muay thai and arnis have been getting more global attention. Plus, while there are several Northern styles, most of the Chinese martial arts that have helped influence the development of countless Asian martial arts, including both silat and arnis, are primarily Southern styles, many of which claim descent from the mythical Southern Shaolin Temple. “The South reclaiming its place in the Martial Forest,” you could almost say.

Why yes, I am being a massive wuxia fanboy right now. What of it? You're just lucky I've managed to go this long without a lecture about how awesome Dan Inosanto is.

 

“Well, it’s not like this is a huge surprise, but I’m still kind of disappointed,” Mom said glumly, resting one hand on her cheek while the other held up her shredded blouse as Miu found something to replace it with. Shigure had a few small cuts and holes in her own clothes, but otherwise, both were unharmed despite having just dueled with razor-sharp weapons. I guess that’s the kind of self-control that a Master-class follower of Katsujinken who uses lethal weapons has to develop.

Dad didn’t come out of his fight quite so clean. Apachai’s lack of self-control and Dad’s own hard-headedness meant that neither of them got away unscathed, though again our side was the one that came away worse for wear.

“Well, it was still a lot of fun, right?” Dad asked, keeping a positive tone despite the fact that Ma Kensei was in the process of putting his badly-broken leg back into place and wrapping it up, and the fact that his face was too bruised and swollen to give his usual smile. “That’s worth plenty, right?”

“Depends, are you going to use that learning experience to pay the medical bills you just racked up?” Mom replied sharply, before rubbing her forehead in frustration. “Sorry honey, that wasn’t fair. But we came here to drum up business, remember? If we come away from this challenge like this, then as far as everyone else is concerned we’re no different from all the other wannabes that challenge Ryōzanpaku, and that won’t really do anything to get us new students.”

“Probably should have waited until we gathered up some people willing to witness the fight,” I pointed out. At least then, even though we’d lost, people could have spread word that it was an actual fight, not the usual curbstomps this dojo dealt out.

Dad winced, though some of that may have been the pain. “Sorry about that, you guys. I guess I got too excited.” Mom hadn’t wanted to do this challenge first thing, but, well, Dad knew some of these guys by reputation, and this just wasn’t something he could bring himself to put off. “I messed things up again, huh?”

“No, you not mess up yet! Challenge still going!” A;achai said encouragingly, giving a thumbs-up with the swollen, broken thumb of his right hand. “Fights between disciples count just as much as any others!”

“He’s… right. If your student wins, the record is… 2-1. That’s… never happened,” Shigure pointed out.

“Oh, true. Winning one out of three isn’t bad at all,” Kensei piped up as he finished up his patch job on Dad; bone-setting, as he’d explained, was Akisame’s specialty rather than his own, and since he’d be getting back from his lecture fairly soon, he’d offered to handle the worst of it now and let his colleague handle the rest once he got back for no extra charge.

“It looks like your dojo’s honor, and finances, rests on your shoulders, young Ensei,” he continued with a small smile. “Make sure to give it your all!”

“Oh, good. No pressure, right?” I muttered, shaking my head.

“I’m back!” Miu announced, stepping into the room with an oversized t-shirt. “Here you go, Mrs. Kimura. Sorry it took so long.”

“Oh, no, thank you for getting it,” Mom said with a smile. “I’ll just step out for a minute to change, then we can start your match with Ensei, alright?”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to-” Kensei began, before he was silenced by glares from everyone in the room (except Apachai) and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Can’t blame a man for trying, can you?”

“Can and did, old man,” I grumbled as Mom walked out. “And I’m sure your wife and children would agree, if they weren’t busy leading the Phoenix Sect in your place.”

He at least had the decency to look ashamed at that. “Well, just go right for the jugular, why don’t you?” he complained as he readjusted his hat.

As Mom stepped back in, the shirt… mostly protecting her modesty, more stretched than I was remotely comfortable with, I turned to Miu. “Miu, about the rules for this fight. Are you willing to allow weapons, or do you want this to be strictly barehanded?”

“Oh, take after your mother more than your father, do you?” Kensei asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yep! Lil’ Ensei’s got a lot more than my sweetie’s amazing brains, he’s got her touch with weapons, too!” Dad declared proudly, giving a wide grin despite the pain of it making his eyes water.

“Oh, honey, stop that!” Mom said in a tone not unlike a lovestruck schoolgirl, dropping down to the floor to wrap her arms around him. “Ensei has your talent for mano mano*, too! And your dashing good looks.” Dad’s grin turned distinctly goofy through his pained wince as Mom nuzzled him.

“Ugh. You know what? Skip the fight, just punch me out right now and end this,” I said to Miu, only to notice that she was looking on at my parents act like gooey-eyed teenagers with something dangerously close to admiration.

“Wow, they’ve been together so long and they’re still so in love!” Miu sighed dreamily. “That’s so inspiring!”

“The novelty wears off very quickly,” I replied blandly. “Look, weapons or no weapons? Because the longer I see this, the more tempting it’ll be to just take it to the head and hope for a concussion.”

“Oh, right. I don’t mind if you use weapons; Grandfather gave me plenty of training in that,” Miu replied distractedly. You know, if I didn’t know enough about her to know that she could probably back it up, that attitude would kind of piss me off.

“Oh, I’m not quite sure we should sign a blank check on that, Miu,” Kensei piped up. “As the referee, I’d really rather not explain any unfortunate accidents to the Elder, and with the level of skill the two of you are at right now, I don’t think young Ensei will be able to seriously fight you the way his mother and Shigure did. Ensei, what weapons exactly are you suggesting you use?”

From within the recesses of my clothes I pulled out a pair of… well, “eskrima sticks” is the term most people are likely to be familiar with. The term “Kimura Ensei” is familiar with is baston**.

“Well, I’m not about to whip out a sword or something to fight a friendly spar,” I said as I gave the two-foot-long sticks a quick twirl. “Not that these are exactly harmless, but…”

“Oh, eskrima’s famous doble baston, eh?” Kensei noted, stroking his chin. “It’s funny, I don’t think I’ve ever fought someone using that.”

“I have!” Apachai called out excitedly. “Special matches sometimes in Thailand underground! Crowd really liked it when I won those!”

“Yeah, I’ll bet they did,” I noted dryly. Seems like every country just eats it up when their local style beats a foreign one, even if they aren’t especially hostile to that country, or even if they don’t usually care much about martial arts. Especially when muay thai is involved; it’s sort of seen as the “style to beat” in some circles, so Thai fighters can be rather protective of its prestige.

It’s an attitude I’ve never really been able to get behind or understand, but hey, what do I know?

“Well, so long as you both practice discretion, I don’t see any reason to refuse your request, Ensei,” Kensei said with a nod. “Miu, do you mind?”

“No, I can handle it,” Miu said with total confidence as she took her stance.

My thoughts started racing as I took my own stance, looking for any detail, however small, that might give me an advantage.

Her stance alone told me that I couldn’t rely on exploiting the gaps that tend to accrue in a singular, orthodox style, though her background already left me expecting that; her own style was just as much a mélange of various styles as mine. Of course the “Invincible Superman” would know better than that when he was training her.

More to the point, looking at the way she positioned herself, it was like a bird ready to leap into flight… or perhaps a tigress about to pounce.

“Let the final match… begin!” Kensei announced.

Instantly, Miu sprang forward, a spin in midair building force and momentum in a rolling axe kick that could probably crack pavement.

If I couldn’t harden my baston with ki, it would have been kindling in my hands when I blocked her kick with it, and even then, I had a brief moment of panic as her momentum was only stopped just short of my shoulder.
That panic didn’t stop me from responding; in the same blink of an eye that I blocked her initial strike, my second baston shot upward, aimed right for her chin, presented at the perfect angle.

Too slow. The jab whiffed just past her face as she fell back as if on a hinge, her other leg following the flow of that movement to rise up and kick me straight in the jaw, with both arms committed.

As -shock- rattled my brain, all thought and even sight fled from me for a moment as her foot connected with my chin. Even pain was a distant thing, lost in an overwhelming ringing in my ears.
I stayed on my feet, kept my grip on my weapons, but it was a near thing as I staggered blindly backward.

With a quick backflip, Miu was on her feet and ready to rush forward and finish the fight if need be. An axe-hand strike in a wide circling movement, aimed at the side of the neck, ready to finish me off before I could even get my senses back-

“Urgk!” she choked out, as a baston drove deep into her torso, driving air from her lungs, while the other deflected her hand long before it could reach me.

I was sturdier than other disciples she fought, and adding two feet to your reach can make all the difference.

Her footwork was amazing; with just the force of my blow and her own position, she transferred the energy from her attempted lunge into a backward jump to get the space to recover, still coughing and sputtering.
‘How do you even develop a skill like that?’ I’d find myself wondering later.

“Oh, very nice, you two!” I dimly heard Kensei call out.

A split second was all the time Miu needed to recover, and she immediately shifted her stance. Higher, looser, less pounce and more flow.

Shit.

I shifted myself. Low, coiled like a snake, arms loose but ready. It could come from anywhere.

She moved, and that confirmed it. Circles. Seemingly small, circular steps that somehow ended with her at my left side and inches away in a blink.

Silat expects an attack from all directions, from all positions.

As her leg swept at me, I lunged, not up, but down, at her exposed leg, dropping to the ground to dodge and knock her down.

A leap; even with one leg, she launched herself back and out of range, back on her feet immediately.

‘It’s like she can fly.’

And here I was, lying on the ground. Not prone, not helpless. Not ideal, either. Easy to fix.

A quick twist, I was almost sitting, legs crossed. Another quick twist, the legs were straightened out, and I was on my feet, weapons ready.

Bagua knows circles and rotations, but it’s far from the only one.

She tried again. Walking the circle, gaining strength while looking soft, fast while looking slow.

Bagua moves in circles; arnis moves in triangles. The legs never cross each other; feet are two points of a triangle, and any step made completes it.

I completed the triangle; like a wedge, cutting her off before she could build power. She wasted the energy built up to turn, spin into a kick to the side.

Another triangle; stepping back at an angle, make the most of the range advantage and moving with the force. The circle’s force is wasted, her kick knocked aside with a strike from the stick that probably bruised the bone.***

Circles aren’t everything; she moves around her own attack, hooking a leg around the stick to draw me off-balance and whip out with a knee to the face.

We both know what most weapon users are like, the really serious ones. They devote themselves to their chosen weapon, rely on it. It’s an extension of their heart as much as their arm. Instincts won from long experience tell her that, inform this tactic. Use their dependence against them. She’s done it before; it always works.

And if this wasn’t just a fancy stick to me, it might work now. Her eyes widen as I do the unthinkable, and let go. Her knee loses some momentum, but to make sure I drop my head so it impacts the top of the forehead; the hardest part of the skull. I’m going to have a hell of a headache later.

At the same time her blow connects, my remaining baston strikes her temple, and I throw my weight forward to knock her onto her back, dazed and insensate, but already struggling to get up.

A falling knee to the stomach fixes that.

---X---

The next day, I rub my head as the vestiges of the headache still bother me. Akisame and Kensei said it would be fine, and the latter gave me some Chinese herbal stuff to blunt the worst of it, but it was still a bad start to my first day of school.

Well, at least my parents had decided to “reward” me by letting me go the day without the harness.

I didn’t pay attention as the teacher introduced me, and gave my name and some bland pleasantries on autopilot. It wasn’t until I caught a name that I paid attention.

“Honoka Shirahama is in the seat next to you. As she’s the class representative, feel free to-”

Spoiler

I stared openly, first for a second, then several. Silence descended, and she started getting a flustered look.

“Ooh, does the new kid have a cr-”

“You’re fourteen!?”**** I exclaimed in disbelief, cutting off… whoever was saying that.

Instantly, the silence turned into chuckles, even a few actual laughs, but also an indignant “Hey!” from the diminutive girl, who threw a pink bunny eraser at me that I dodged on reflex.

“Don’t just yell out things like that about a delicate young lady!” she exclaimed hotly.

“Oh, this bodes well for the rest of the year,” the teacher said wearily.

-x--X--x-

*“Mano Mano” is a recognized term for unarmed combat in most systems of arnis (just about everything in arnis has about a thousand different regional names, including the name “arnis” itself). Centuries of Spanish occupation mean that the Spanish language pervades Filipino language and culture, including in a lot of arnis terms.

**It just means “cane,” BTW, though it’s also somewhat recognized as a specific term for them, given they’re probably what arnis is most famous for. That said, most systems of arnis train for a lot more than just wielding two sticks; baston are used not just as weapons themselves but also as training tools for using swords or daggers, and can be wielded singly or in conjunction with a sword or knife as well as in pairs. Of course, using two weapons is the standard assumption in arnis, and is the first thing a student learns; fighting with a single weapon and with bare hands is usually learned afterward as an extension of fighting with two weapons. This is a bit unusual for Eastern martial arts, especially nowadays.

***That’s not hyperbole; for training, arnis practitioners usually use thin, flexible rattan canes that usually don’t do more than sting a bit unless something goes wrong. Traditionally, though, you use charred hardwood that can break bones.

****I genuinely didn’t know that until I checked the wiki, and did in fact react with a “WTH.” I mean, anime, sure, but still. I always thought she was like 8 years old, not a year or two younger than Ken’ichi himself.

AN: No, I didn’t neglect to give Ensei’s parents names. The dad is Kimura Nisshin, the latter being the on’yomi reading of his actual, Chinese give name: Sunxin, which is a reference to Water Margin just like Ensei’s name is. The mom is Kimura Inosanto Josefina (which, if she were still in the Philippines, would be flipped into Western order, thanks to all the Western influence in that country); in the Philippines, it’s common for a woman’s maiden name to become her middle name, and “Inosanto” is a reference to all-around martial arts great and national treasure, Dan Inosanto, a.k.a. the guy who, among countless other things, taught Bruce Lee how to use nunchaku, while Josefina is… well, just a name that you might find in the Philippines. Nisshin is Japanese/Han Chinese, while Josefina is Filipina/Hokkien Chinese.

 

“… and last night when he came home he looked worse than ever! It looked like he’d been beaten up!” Honoka exclaimed.

Apparently, my being seated next to her for about three weeks meant that I was the perfect person to vent her problems to during the lunch break.

I took my eyes away from my cutting-edge Gameboy Advance* at that, having mostly ignored her rant about how her brother didn’t spend enough time with her (and seriously, what kind of 14-year-old wants to spend more time with their older siblings?), until it morphed into her complaining about him coming back dirty and weary from “some sketchy dojo.” Which could only mean once place, of course.

“Hey, are you spacing out on me, Ensei?” Honoka asked. “Come on, this is serious!”

“If it’s so serious, then why don’t you just go to the address on the map you translated for him and see what’s happening, instead of complaining to me?” I asked.

“You can’t expect a defenseless young woman like me to just waltz up to some place I don’t even know in a place of town I’ve never been to!” Honoka exclaimed. “Haven’t you seen the news? There’s been all kinds of gang activity happening recently!”

“That’s… a good point,” I admitted. I’d never really thought of it while reading the manga, but there were a whole lot of teenage delinquents and flat-out gangsters in this city, weren’t there? Like, a whole lot of them, given the kind of numbers Ragnarok eventually had.

“But then, I don’t think I’ve heard anything super-sketchy about that part of town, so it might not be too unsafe,” Honoka continued, sounding thoughtful. “Hey, you’re really good at martial arts, right? Like, practical self-defense and junk?”

“I did mention that in my class introduction, yes,” I said, already knowing where this was going.

“Perfect! You can be my bodyguard, then! And if someone is trying to get the better of my too-pure-for-his-own good brother, I might need your help in rescuing him!” Honoka exclaimed.

“I notice I apparently don’t get a say in this,” I pointed out. I fully intended on going, of course, but I couldn’t just cave to the demands of a 14-year-old girl without putting up some token resistance.

---X---

And token it was, since once school was done the two of us, being fine and upstanding members of the Go-Home Club**, immediately set out for our destination, which we reached without incident.

“Whoa, what is this place?” Honoka asked as we stood in front of the huge double doors.

“This is Ryōzanpaku, home to some of the strongest martial artists in the world,” I explained. “You know, if you’d told me where the address was, I could have saved us both the walk over here.”

Not that I wasn’t glad to have the excuse.

“Wait, you know about this place?” Honoka asked.

“Yeah, the first thing we did when we moved here and opened up our dojo was to challenge these guys as a way to drum up some business,” I explained.

Which hadn’t really panned out so far, unfortunately. Somehow, even a lot of people interested in the martial arts in this town didn’t know Ryōzanpaku or their reputation, so claiming that we’d won a single match out of three didn’t strike prospective students as super impressive. Add to that, after Mom started worrying about our finances, Dad had decided to put his all into trying to attract new students, and his “enthusiasm” scared away all the potential students who were just casually interested in picking up some martial arts for self-defense or health reasons.

I’d thought of just giving them the ¥1,000,000 I’d been handed through the Jumpchain, but I couldn’t really think of a way to explain how I’d gotten it. Tell them the truth? No. Tell them I’d found it? They’d turn it in to the cops and it’d be months before we’d be allowed to keep it when no one showed up to claim it. Assuming that stuff even applies when it’s that much money.

What I really needed to do was get us some students to secure a steady income.

“Rrrr, come on!” Honoka exclaimed, snapping me out of my thoughts. She was trying to open up the doors.

“You’re gonna pull something if you keep doing that,” I told her. “Those doors are too heavy for most grown men to budge. Besides, you should really knock first.”

Before Honoka could reply, the doors were suddenly thrown open, and a bronze-skinned giant of a man with arms thicker than Honoka’s waist stared down at us in silence.

Then he grinned at me, his face lighting up like a small child. “Hi, Ensei! You’ve done well to come this far, but now you must face me!” he said cheerfully.

I tilted my head at his greeting. “Did you… hear someone in a movie say that when he opened a door?” I asked. I seem to recall him answering the phone with some variant of “Your child’s life is in my hands,” and Japanese is a second language to him. Wait, he’s from Thailand, so…

“You know Japanese better, or Chinese?” I asked in Hokkien. When Apachai frowned, trying to parse what I was saying, I repeated the question in Teochew.***

“Oh! Been a long time since I used it; really rusty,” Apachai explained. “Trying to practice Japanese, anyway. More useful in Japan.”

“That’s fair,” I said with a shrug. “My Chinese is worse than your Japanese, anyway.”

“… Wait, where’s Honoka?” I asked, noticing that she wasn’t in sight anymore.

“The girl who was with you? She ran in while we were talking,” Apachai said. “Is she your friend?”

“She’s a classmate,” I explained. “She came here because her brother’s been coming here and come back beat up and exhausted, so she wants to find out what’s going on.”

“Oh, you mean Ken’ichi!” Apachai exclaimed. “They have the same hair!”

“Oh, you mean the way it starts off straight but kind of flips outwards at the ends?” I asked as we walked into the dojo grounds.

Before Apachai could respond, a girl’s shriek cut the air. Hurrying to the source of the sound, we saw Honoka lying on the ground unconscious, a look of horror on her face. The reason for that…

Well, seeing your older brother like that would freak anyone out. Shirahama Ken’ichi was “training,” if you’re generous enough with that word to involve torture devices.

Ken’ichi had been forced to assume the Horse Stance****, and he wasn’t able to get out of it thanks to his feet being tied to the wooden board he was standing on and ropes tied to his legs so he couldn’t straighten them out. To keep him from collapsing or sitting down, there was a small pot of hot sand with a burning incense stick stuck into it that would burn him if he sat; the pot had “Mind” written on it. Attached to both hands were nigiri game – heavy ceramic jars filled with sand and gripped around the lip – which were meant to strengthen the arms, back, shoulders and fingers. Beneath each jar was a boiling kettle on a small burner to keep Ken’ichi from letting the jars go or relaxing his arms, since they would quickly heat up the jars and burn his fingers. One jar had “Spirit” written on it, the other “Effort.” To further keep him from lowering his arms, leather straps had been attached to his upper arms with small spikes attached that would prick his sides. On top of all that, three small bowls of rice had been placed on him for him to balance – one on each leg, and another on top of his head, with “Endurance” written on it.

Despite all that, his attention was on his passed-out little sister, looking on with a worried expression as Akisame checked her to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself with her faint.

“Uh… far be it for me to question the wisdom of the Masters, but is this really a training regimen for a guy who’s been training for, like, a month tops?” I asked.

“I assure you, I’m keeping a very close eye on the state of his body, and adjusting the time he spends in this position to make sure no harm comes to him that can’t quickly be repaired,” Akisame said reassuringly from where he was checking Honoka’s pulse.

“No damage?” Ma Kensei asked, tapping his foot against Honoka’s shoe as soon as Akisame nodded at him. Somehow, this jolted Honoka awake, as she bolted upright with a shocked look.

“Ken’ichi! Hold on bro, I’ll get you out of here!” she said, jumping to her feet and running over to her brother to try to untie him from the makeshift contraption.

“Honoka, I told you not to follow me here,” Ken’ichi said, with a sigh that he quickly regretted, as he relaxed his arms and caused the spikes on his arms to jab at his sides. “Ah!”

“It seems we’ll need to cut this portion of his training short today to have this conversation,” Kensei noted.

---X---

We all sat around the table with some tea and snacks as Ken’ichi and Akisame explained the hows and whys of his deciding to take the lessons at Ryōzanpaku of his own will. I think Honoka only heard every third word, what with how much time she spent glaring at Miu as she bustled around playing host. For her part, Miu was too busy gushing over how “cute” Honoka was to notice.

“Oh, so you got your ass kicked by this ‘Tsukuba’ guy, not in training,” I noted. I’d actually forgotten about the guy, so I had the impression his issues with Ragnarok started immediately after he kicked that Daimonji guy’s ass.

“Yeah, I completely fell apart,” Ken’ichi admitted with a sigh. “And if it weren’t for the training I’ve already had, he probably would have broken something.”

“Well, on the plus side, Sakaki is willing to give you some valuable advice on fighting karateka,” Akisame noted. “… Assuming he hasn’t forgotten completely and is just wasting his time playing pachinko again.”

“My turn!” Apachai exclaimed, running into the room with the enthusiasm of a little kid on his way to Disneyland. “My turn to train Ken’ichi!”

“Oh, so it is,” Akisame said with a frown and a glance at the clock. “Hmm, I’ll have to readjust the schedule a little bit to make up for lost time…”

“O-oh, great, muay thai training, yay…” Ken’ichi said with a weak smile, shaking in dread.

‘I see Ken’ichi’s already witnessed Apachai’s inability to manage his strength,’ I thought to myself, thinking back to his fight with Dad. In this life and my previous, that was by far the most brutal-looking fight I’d ever witnessed. Even the other Masters had been exasperated about it, which had given me an idea.

“Apachai, your muay thai training is really heavy on sparring, isn’t it?” I asked.

“That’s right! Only right way to teach muay thai, is what my master said!” Apachai affirmed, giving a thumbs up. His smile faded a little as he continued. “Hard to hold back, though. But I can do it this time!”

“Maybe it’ll help if Ken’ichi has a sparring partner who isn’t, uh, quite so far above his level?” I suggested.

“We tried, but Ken’ichi not want to hit Miu, and Miu’s fighting style too different to give him experience with muay thai,” Apachai recounted, now frowning.

“Well, yaw-yan isn’t quite like muay thai, but it’s probably close enough that I could help him with that if I just stuck to that,” I pointed out.

“Oh! That is a good idea, Ensei,” Akisame said with a nod. “A sparring partner who isn’t quite so… far above Ken’ichi will probably make his training sessions with Apachai much more productive.

‘And less likely to kill him’ was the unspoken addendum.

---X---

“So, Ensei, right?” Ken’ichi asked as we stood across from each other, with Apachai adjusting Ken’ichi’s stance and explaining the reasoning behind it.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you,” I said, taking a stance fairly close to the traditional muay thai stance: head-on with Ken’ichi, rather than slanted to one side, arms held high with the elbows flared slightly out, standing mostly straight with hips squared, using small movements to constantly shift my weight between each foot.****

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said as Apachai stepped away. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“What, right now?”

“How do you know Honoka?” he asked, his expression serious.

I stared at him for a second as he stared me down. I tried to keep it in, but I couldn’t help it and smirked a little. “Are… are you trying to play the intimidating big brother with me?” I asked, trying hard to keep from chuckling.

“No. I’m just asking what you are to my sister,” he said calmly, but his eyes were hard.

“Kick butt, big bro!” Honoka called out. Ken’ichi had given some speech or something I hadn’t paid attention to, and now she was willing to accept him training here. Something about courage, or something.

“Uh… we’re starting, now,” Apachai said, sounding a little confused as we stared each other down.

“Okay, please stop trying to be intimidating, it’s gonna make me crack up right here,” I said with a cocky smirk. I knew I was being an asshole here, but even before I got dropped into this setting I’m pretty sure I could have kicked his ass, even at the age I was now. The manga had not done justice to how scrawny he looked.

“You have to actually start hitting each other for this to be training,” Apachai said.

“Ken’ichi, Ensei, come on!” Honoka exclaimed.

“Look, I’m not anything to your sister, okay?” I finally said. “We’re just classmates, and she dragged me here because she needed someone to keep an eye on her. Streets are kinda dangerous lately.”

“Oh, well tha-” Ken’ichi started, before being cut off as I charged up and threw a roundhouse kick, stopping just an inch away from his face before he’d even noticed. After a delay of about a second as he processed what had just happened, he suddenly jumped away in shock.

“H-hey! That’s not fair!” Ken’ichi called out.

“Right, ‘cause the ironclad rule of street fights is that the fight doesn’t resume until the banter’s over,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Try that one on this Tsukuba guy and see how it works out for you.”

Ken’ichi glared at me, then tried to throw a jab at my face. I used one hand to swat his fist to the side, sending his punch off to the side, then stepped forward, put both hands on the crown of his head from the back to pull it down, and started tapping his ribs lightly with my knees to simulate what would be some very painful body blows.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he yelled out, struggling futilely to break free.

“Muay thai’s famous for the use of elbows and knees, which makes it deadly in a clinch,” I explained calmly, now letting go of his head with one hand to start elbowing the side of his head. “If you don’t know how to clinch, you’re dead the second you get grabbed like this, see?”

I let go and pushed him back to make some space between us, which nearly knocked him on his ass.

“Yaw-yan doesn’t focus as much on the clinch, but it’s always important to know if you’re ever going to get into a street fight or MMA or something,” I explained, taking my stance again.

“Ken’ichi, did you see what Ensei did there to take control of the clinch and keep you from escaping?” Apachai asked, actually sounding like a serious teacher.

“Uh… he grabbed my head?” Ken’ichi asked, not sure how to answer.

“Right! Everyone always tries grabbing neck, doesn’t give you leverage!” Apachai said, sounding proud. “Need to grab crown of head, lets you control head better. That’s how you do one of muay thai’s best moves: Kao Loi!”

To demonstrate, he suddenly grabbed me and did a live demonstration, not even giving me the time to cry out in fear as his knee rushed up to meet my forehead.

Luckily, since I was the same age as Honoka, Apachai mentally categorized me as somewhere along with the various kids and animals he played with all the time without losing control of his strength, so I got away with a mild concussion instead of my head exploding into gory confetti.

---X---

About 10 days later, Ken’ichi came home to proudly announced he’d had a rematch with Tsukuba (apparently he’d been beating up on some random judoka and then threatened Miu, so Ken’ichi stepped in). He was feeling pretty good about himself… until the Masters pointed out that both tough guys interested in a guy who’d beaten up Tsukuba, who had something of a reputation, would start coming out of the woodwork to challenge him, and if the guy really was part of a gang like the rumors about him said, they’d probably want revenge.

I didn’t really intend to get involved in Ken’ichi’s fights until the Ragnarok’s “Eight Fists” started getting into the mix, so I didn’t really think much of it at the time.

But that was yesterday, and this was today. And today, I’d noticed a commotion in an alley on my way back home after school and came face-to-face with about half a dozen thugs beating the crap out of a guy, led by a spiky-haired kid.

Spoiler

“If you wanna blame anyone for this, blame yourself for being such a pansy!” the spiky-haired guy said with a laugh, kicking the guy in the ribs while he was down.

“Hey, you guys, lift him up. And one of you hold his arm out,” he said, turning to the other goons before looking the downed guy in the eye with a sadistic smirk. “You karate guys are all about breaking boards, right? We don’t really have any lying around, so I think I’ll try practicing on bone instead.”

“‘Boards don’t hit back’,” I quoted, stepping calmly into the alley. “If you really want a workout, you should try sparring instead of ganging up on some guy six to one like a bunch of pansies.”

“What the-!? Who the fuck are you!” one of the thugs yelled. “Get out of here, kid!”

“Yeah, this is Ragnarok business, half-pint! Go home to mommy!” threatened another one.

“Ragnarok? That gang of punks who took a naming scheme they were too dumb to even stick to properly?” I asked with a smirk. “Yeah, I guess I’ll buy that. You guys don’t exactly look like the sharpest tools in the shed.”

“Why you-!” one of them yelled, trying to grab me by the shoulder and winding up for a punch.

Much like I had with Ken’ichi, I swatted his arm to the side, stepped forward, grabbed him by the crown of the head from behind, and laid a real knee hard into his ribs. He landed on the ground, gasping for air with tears welling up in his eyes. I didn’t feel them break, though, so at worst they were bruised or fractured.

“So, what’s this ‘Ragnarok business’ that’s so important, exactly?” I asked, stepping over the fallen thug.

“I’ll kill-!” One of them tried to charge me. This time I just grabbed the back of his head and turned him to the side, so he knocked himself headfirst into a brick wall.

“Ooh, we’ve got a tough guy,” the lead thug said mockingly, a cocky grin on his face. “Well, if you must know before I kick your ass, this loser here is Tsukuba. He used to walk around thinking he was hot stuff, then he got his ass kicked by some lame-o freshman. And Ragnarok doesn’t tolerate guys making us look bad.

“Which is why you’re joining him on the floor!” he said, pointing at me in a manner I’m sure he thought was really threatening.

“Oh, so this is the guy Ken’ichi beat the crap out of,” I said, looking down at Tsukuba. Yeah, he was definitely the “sportsman bully” type; pretty tall, good natural build, muscles obviously born out of competitive sports. From what Ken’ichi had described of him, he’d almost certainly started with boxing before learning karate, and despite joining Ragnarok he was more used to fights in the ring than the streets. The classic “was stronger than the other kids, took some classes, won some fights and got a swelled head” story.

Spoiler

“You… you know Shirahama?” he asked. Apparently, he was still conscious, though he was forcing the words out as he clutched his side.

“I’ve been helping him train. So, I guess you could say I’m indirectly responsible for you being where you are right now,” I admitted.

“… No, it is my fault,” Tsukuba said, eyes downcast. “Beat up a few punks, thought I was some badass. Didn’t even take him seriously until I’d already lost.”

“Yeah yeah, no one wants to hear some beaten dog howling,” the punk said, landing another kick at his ribs, eliciting another grunt of pain from Tsukuba. I made a mental note to pay him back for that.

“So, you know Shirahama?” he asked, turning back to me. “That’s just perfect, we’ve got orders to take him to our boss. Maybe you can… introduce us to him?”

Despite the fact that two of their buddies were still lying on the ground, the other punks started trying to look intimidating, giving dark chuckles, cracking their knuckles, the whole deal. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“Sure, whatever,” I said dismissively. “Hey, Tsukuba, you still awake? Got something to ask you.”

“W… what?” Tsukuba asked weakly.

“Do you want to get strong? For real, this time? Strong the way Ken’ichi is becoming?” I asked, stepping forward to stand over Tsukuba.

“Hey, what gives-!” the lead punk started to say. I held out a finger to silence him.

“Shut it, I’ll get to you in a minute,” I said. “So, how about it? Are you ready to learn under some real Masters, and learn what the martial arts are really about?”

Tsukuba looked up at me in disbelief, before giving a small smile. “You know what? You beat this guy, and I’ll agree to whatever the hell you want out of me.”

“Sweet! Be proud, Tsukuba, you’re about to become the first (paying) student of the Southern Martial Forest dojo!” I said, giving him a thumbs-up.

The thug’s disbelief finally wore off. “Alright, that’s enough out of you! Once I’m done kicking your ass, I’m burning your Southern Whatever dojo to the ground!” he said.

I turned away from Tsukuba, looked the leader square in the eye, and then backhanded the nearest still-standing thug full in the face, sending him spinning to the ground, my eyes still on him as his eyes widened. “You’d die trying.”

Gritting his teeth in anger, he took a small hop back to make some space, then launched a roundhouse kick as I took the stance I always used when training Ken’ichi in muay thai.

Thinking my ribs were an easy target, the thug’s eyes widened in shock as I checked his kick by raising up my knee and then pushing it away, sending him stumbling back against the wall of the alley.

“Really? You’re using taekwondo in a narrow alley?” I asked, shaking my head with a smile. “Man, thugs these days. No awareness of their environment, I swear.”

“Shut up, you little shit! No one talks like that to Koga the Kicker!” he yelled, kicking off from the wall to add force and speed to a tornado kick, spinning his body to build up momentum in midair.

To the average punk on the street, his kicks would be blindingly fast and terrifyingly strong. But he was practically in slow motion to me as I used the back of my hand to knock his kick aside, then gave him a swift kick in the ass while he was off-balance after landing, sending him face-first into the pavement.

“Ah!” he yelled in pain, hands on his surely-stinging face. “You son of a bitch!”

“Word of advice, ‘Koga the Kicker’,” I said derisively. “Being famous for a particular move is fine, but relying on it isn’t. Specialization is for insects and sportsmen. If you wanna walk around the streets like a tough guy, learn to throw some punches instead of just kicking your legs around like a ballerina.”

He would’ve replied, likely with indignant shouts or empty threats, but I was getting a bit bored, so I just rushed into his face where he couldn’t get room to kick and put him in a clinch. I used my knees to foil any attempts to knee or kick me, and I didn’t even bother dealing with his sad attempts to use his fists.

“See this? This is what happens when you think all you need to know is how to throw kicks,” I said calmly, easily containing the struggling thug. “Real taekwondo has plenty of hand techniques, too, so you don’t even have the excuses a boxer would have there.

“Shut up!” he yelled.

“Fine, if you don’t wanna learn, I won’t bother trying to teach,” I said. With that, I brought my knee up into his gut and let go. I shook my head in disappointment as he started puking.

“For someone who loves to dish it out, you sure can’t take it for shit, huh?” I asked the vomiting street punk. “You’re just as soft as your goons. I think even Tsukuba here would have taken more punishment to be out of the fight.

“Speaking of which, come on big guy, we’ve gotta get you signed up for your first classes!” I said cheerily as I hoisted the huge teenager over my shoulder. “Man, Mom’s gonna be so happy about this!”

‘Got us our first student and I got to beat the crap out of some punks,’ I thought to myself with a smile. ‘Man, this day’s definitely going my way!’

---X---

“I can’t believe you!” the prospective 8th Fist yelled, kicking her defeated subordinate so hard he went flying, only to be caught by the other two members of the “Three-Man Army.”

“You didn’t find Shirahama, and you couldn’t even punish that loser Tsukuba without getting the crap beaten out of you by some kid!? ‘Koga the Kicker’ my ass!” she exclaimed.

“He… he wasn’t just some kid, Kisara!” Koga cried out plaintively. “He… he was so fast… so strong… like I was nothing… he’s a monster!”

“A monster, you say? Well now, doesn’t that sound interesting?” came a young man’s voice. There was an amused, cocky tone that matched his smirk as he stepped out into the open.

“Loki? What are you doing here?” Kisara asked, visibly on guard.

“Well, I was going to speak to you about your upcoming nomination as the Eighth Fist, but now I’m wondering if we should be evaluating this new mystery fighter instead,” the Fourth Fist said with a chuckle. “After all, anyone who can take out ‘Koga the Kicker’ without breaking a sweat is someone of interest to Ragnarok.”

“You-! Don’t bother with this punk, because when I get my hands on him, he’s dead!” Kisara yelled, indignant.

“Oh, I think not, Kisara,” Loki said, pulling out a wire puzzle and casually starting to play with it. “Odin has been insistent on getting a full complement of nine fighters for some reason, and that means we don’t make enemies out of our prospects unless they do so first.”

“But… but he attacked me!” Koga yelled.

“And if you weren’t more than one of the top thugs for a simple executive, that might be a deal-breaker,” Loki said dismissively, quickly solving his wire puzzle. “Damn, too easy again.

“But you aren’t, and it isn’t. Don’t bother with this… Oh, what’s his name again?” Loki asked, turning to Koga.

“He… uh, I don’t, um, know,” Koga admitted, voice small. At Loki’s frown, he quickly backpedaled. “But I know he goes to a dojo! It’s called the Southern Martial Forest, he recruited Tsukuba for it!”

“Oh good, that’s even better than a name,” Loki said, his smile returning. “I see you’re not totally useless. Good, Siegfried and I will be approaching him ourselves, so go about your business as usual, Kisara. Go see about that… what was his name, Shirahama?”

“Tch. Fine, whatever,” Kisara said, sinking back into her chair and glaring down at the Three-Man Army. “Until you three idiots bring Shirahama here to me, I don’t want to see your faces around here. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, boss!” affirmed “Takeda the Puncher,” the unofficial leader of the three. “We’ll be back at his school bright and early tomorrow!”

-x--X--x-

*The manga debuted in 2002 and is thus assumed to be the time that the story takes place. The Gameboy Advance was released in Japan at the tail-end of 2001.

**The norm in Japanese schools is for students to join some kind of after-school club, and they’re heavily encouraged and sometimes even required to do so. “Member of the Go-Home Club” is a joking term for students who don’t join a club and just go home when school’s over. You probably know this if you read manga, but I try not to assume.

***Thailand has the largest overseas Chinese population in the world at over 9,000,000 (about 15% of the country’s population), as well as one of the oldest and most established. About half of them descend from people from eastern Guangdong Province, and thus the Minnan (“Southern Min”) branch of the Chinese language is very well-represented among them. Hokkien, also called “Minnan Proper,” is the historical lingua franca of overseas Chinese communities all throughout Southeast Asia, including the Indochinese Peninsula, and it has (limited) mutual intelligibility with Teochew, the dialect of Southern Min most prominent in Thailand, so the odds aren’t terrible that Apachai is at least passingly familiar with one or the other.

***People who criticize the horse stance as useless in combat, or who categorically deny that that’s true, are both missing the point. The horse stance, where the legs are spread wide and solidly rooted to the ground in a manner similar to what it looks like when you ride a horse, is quite useful for endurance training, to strengthen the back and leg muscles and tendons, and for helping a student to understand what “being grounded” feels like. And those fighting systems that do/did argue for its use in practical combat did so because of unique circumstances that made it a good idea at that time and in that place; namely, a lot of southern Chinese styles like Hung Ga were made to be used while fighting on unsteady barges and boats. In very unsteady or shaky ground, a stable stance that lets you keep your footing can be more valuable than one that lets you strike and move quickly but isn’t strongly rooted to the ground.

****Here’s a short explanation of the reasoning behind the typical muay thai stance, and even some exercises for it.

Spoiler

 

‘Crap, I knew it was too good to be true when Miu asked to go shopping with her!’ Ken’ichi thought to himself. First Ensei decided to butt in on their trip and force Ken’ichi to carry the huge amounts of junk food he was buying, and now this!

“This” being the dozen Ragnarok goons that had apparently found him totally on accident, which meant now he couldn’t even go shopping with Miu again once word got out!

“Oof!” Lost in his own thoughts, Ken’ichi wasn’t able to dodge the fist of the group’s leader, who seemed to have some kind of boxing experience, given how similar his stance was to Tsukuba’s.

“Man, you sure can take a hit, Shirahama,” the guy said, shaking his hand. “Think I messed my hand up more than your face, though it’s hard to tell with a face like that.”

Spoiler

“Oh, ha-ha,” Ken’ichi said sarcastically, correcting his stance and focusing on his opponent now that his head was back in the game.

“You know, Shirahama, we’re a lot alike,” the guy suddenly said without prompting. “I can tell you’ve put the work in, you’ve got the skills to be a big deal, but you don’t really have any rep yet through no fault of your own.

“I’m the same way. But once I take you in to Kisara, I’ll be replacing that punk Koga as part of the Three-Man Army, and then everyone’s gonna know the name ‘Furukawa Takashi’!”

“Are you done yet?” Ken’ichi asked, a little annoyed by the monologue. “I really don’t care about your career aspirations.”

“Actually, one last thing,” Furukawa said. “A question, actually.”

“… Yeah?”

“Who the hell are those freaks of nature!?” he screamed, pointing to where Miu and Ensei were crushing Furukawa’s comrades with contemptuous ease. Miu, in fact, sprang into a handstand to knock the wind out of a downed thug and then launch herself feet-first at another even as he said it, while Ensei was giving one thug pointers while the guy completely failed to touch him. In all, eight of the eleven other gang members were already on the ground.

“Jeez, it hasn’t even been a minute!” Ken’ichi exclaimed. ‘Aw man, it’s one thing to be shown up by Miu, but if this keeps up there’s no way Ensei won’t rub it in that I didn’t even beat one guy!’ he thought to himself.

Seeing Ken’ichi looked to be distracted again, Furukawa threw a right cross at Ken’ichi’s head, only for Ken’ichi to do the same thing without noticing his opponent’s attack.

Ken’ichi took a step back from the blow, touching a hand to his stinging cheek. Furukawa, on the other hand, took several woozy steps to regain his footing, one hand clenched to a bleeding nose.

“Blood…?” he muttered to himself, looking down at his fingers, stained with red. Suddenly, he started screaming as though he was dying.

Ken’ichi blinked in surprise. “Umm… are you oka-”

“I’m bleeding! You bastard, I’m bleeding! I’ll kill you!” Furukawa screamed. A manic gleam entered his eye as he pulled out-

“Is that a knife!?” Ken’ichi screamed, staring with utter terror at the short length of sharpened steel in Furukawa’s hand. ‘No, it’s okay, I can just block it and then-’

Ken’ichi’s mind, and his body, froze in utter shock as Furukawa lunged forward with the knife. He almost wondered if he’d see his life flash before-

“What kind of half-assed grip is that?” Ensei said as he kicked the underside of Furukawa’s hand, sending the knife flying up into the air. Without looking at it, he caught it by the handle.

“Uh… what?” Furukawa asked, his brain seeming to have shut off completely from what had just happened.

“Really cheap quality, too,” Ensei continued, looking at the knife critically. “You don’t have a clue how to take care of it, either.”

“G-give that back!” Furukawa demanded, starting to realize what was happening.

“Why? You clearly don’t know how to use the damn thing. Do you have any idea how stupid it is to pull a knife you don’t know how to use in a street fight?” Ensei demanded. “You’re a danger to yourself and others with this thing, swinging it around like you’re trying to swat a fly.”

“Listen here, you-”

There was a loud crunch as Ensei folded up the knife and smashed it hard into Furukawa’s face, breaking his nose and sending ribbons of blood through the air.

As Furukawa clutched at his broken nose and cried out in pain, Ensei hooked a leg so that he fell to the ground when he staggered backwards.

Wordlessly, Ensei took the knife out again, pressed the flat of the blade up against the side of a nearby traffic light, and started applying pressure. Within seconds, the blade snapped loudly.

“See what I mean about the quality?” he asked, holding up the now-broken knife. “If this happened in a fight, you’d take someone’s eye out, probably your own.”

“Ken’ichi, are you okay!?” Miu called out, running over after finishing off the last of the Ragnarok thugs and seeing the still visibly frightened Ken’ichi.

“Y… yeah, Miu, I’m fine,” Ken’ichi said shakily. “I just… I just almostdiedholycrap-!!!!”

---X---

“… and that’s why Ken’ichi’s moping in the corner,” I concluded, biting into a “pizzaman,” which was apparently nikuman (meat buns) with the meat replaced by cheese and tomato sauce; it tasted pretty good, though I decided that I preferred real pizza. Thankfully, I was able to get it without mayonnaise.*

“Ah. Facing a weapon for the first time is a terrifying prospect, especially so early in one’s training,” Koetsuji said with a nod. “And there is only one solution!”

“More training?” I guessed with a sly grin.

“Exactly,” Koetsuji said with an enigmatic smile. “Of course, we need to make sure that Ken’ichi is ready to face a weapon-using opponent as quickly as possible; you and Miu won’t always be there to protect him, after all.”

“So, you’re saying he’s going to need some special lessons in weapons, right away?” I asked.

“Exactly. I hope we can count on you to act as his sparring partner for this, as you do when he trains in muay thai with Apachai?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Definitely. But who’s going to train him?” I asked, not even bothering to keep the sarcasm out of my voice anymore.

“Well, it would be best if it was someone who specialized in weapons,” Koetsuji answered, his smile growing by the moment. “Unfortunately, while there are jujutsu techniques regarding the use of knives and short swords, I have always emphasized the empty hand in my own approach. Shigure, do you perhaps know someone who might be willing to teach Ken’ichi?”

The two of us finally turned to Shigure, who had apparently spontaneously started going into a complicated kenjutsu routine in front of Ken’ichi. She froze for a moment, then suddenly sheathed the sword and failed miserably at looking casual.

“Nothing better… to do…” she said softly, studiously avoiding our eyes.

“W-wait, I just want to learn how to not get killed by a weapon, I’m not going to use one!” Ken’ichi protested.

“Well, the best way to learn how to fight weapons is to learn how to fight with weapons,” Koetsuji replied as he herded Ken’ichi over to the practice area. “You must understand the unique properties of weapon combat to effectively use an empty hand against them.”

“Besides, weapon and unarmed combat have a lot of overlap,” I added. “Most of the unarmed attacks in arnis are based on the weapon techniques, after all. Where do you think the ‘bolo punch’ comes from?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Ken’ichi said.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, the best way to get over your fear of weapons is to master weapons. It’s fine if you don’t ever intend to use them, but deliberately keeping yourself ignorant of them is just limiting yourself as a martial artist,” I replied.

“We’re here…” Shigure said. Suddenly, she pulled out two short swords from… somewhere. “Here. We’ll start with… swords…”

“Oh dear, I was afraid of this,” the Elder muttered to himself, having suddenly appeared out of nowhere while we weren’t looking.

“The hell we will!” I exclaimed. “Who starts a guy off with live swords!?”

“Isn’t that… normal?” Shigure asked, her brow furrowing just the tiniest bit, the only hint of expression on her face.

“In what world could that possibly be normal!?” Ken’ichi yelled.

“Look, let’s do this the arnis way and use these, alright?” I asked, withdrawing two rattan sticks hidden in my clothes.

“Wha- You too? Where were you keeping those?” Ken’ichi asked.

“That’s… fine,” Shigure agreed. “Ken’ichi, take one and… take your stance.”

“Uh, like this?” Ken’ichi asked. Not really knowing what stance to take, he seemed to have just defaulted to something like a mix of different things; his legs were spread apart and he was keeping low to the ground, with his arms in front of him. His free hand was loose, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it, and he was facing me head-on.

I jabbed the fleshy “web” of his free hand with the stick, causing him to jump back, shaking his hand. “Ow!” he exclaimed.

“Why did you… keep your hand out?” Shigure asked. “Did you want him… to take it? If… you’re not going to use it… then keep it out of the way.”

“But he’s got his hand out in front of him, too!” Ken’ichi protested. I’d have pointed out that I was still using the stick to cover my free hand, even if it wasn’t immediately obvious, but I figured it’d be easier for him to learn the hard way.

“Then… hit it,” Shigure said simply.

With a yell, Ken’ichi tried to charge forward with the stick, swinging it downward at my free hand. Before he could complete the motion, I just grabbed his wrist and quickly twisted his arm around, causing him to yelp in pain and drop the stick. I rapped him once in the side for good measure before pushing him back.

“Kali** calls that… ‘live hand’,” Shigure explained in her usual slow, halting pace, but with an air of authority to it suddenly. “The body… is a weapon. The weapon is… part of the body. So… they use both.”

“Yep. The good thing about an amateur pulling a weapon is that they’ll usually ignore the rest of their own body and only attack with that. Just like you did just now,” I noted. “Of course, that’s not a license to just drop your guard and only pay attention to the weapon in their hands.”

“You need to stop… thinking of weapons as something different,” Shigure continued. “If you look at them with dread… they have power over you. What quality… does a swordsman need?”

“Uh… technique?” Ken’ichi guessed.

Shigure shook her head. “Conviction. If you hesitate in a battle of weapons… it’s over for you. You have to… be brave, even if you’re scared.”

Ken’ichi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was a fire in his eyes. “Alright!”

---X---

Tsukuba Saizō sighed as he swept the empty dojo himself. Normally, Ensei would be helping, but his training with Shirahama was apparently running overtime. ‘Damn it, why does this dojo only have the one other student?’ he thought to himself. It was a bit too big for just the two of them to be able to clean it easily.

Well, he wasn’t going to complain too much. He’d only been going here a little while, but he could already feel that he was growing as a fighter here at the Southern Martial Forest. Even if the training was a small slice of Hell…

“I’m home,” Ensei announced as he walked in. “Sorry I’m late; some dude attacked Ken’ichi with a knife, so now we’re adding dealing with weapons to his training regimen.”

“A knife? What crazy bastard pulls a knife on someone he’s trying to recruit?” Tsukuba asked, dumbfounded.

---X---

“Lady Kisara, we’ve just gotten word that…” Shiratori stopped to check the report that had just been handed over, “uh, ‘Furukawa Takashi’ and his group were defeated trying to bring Shirahama to you.”

Kisara looked up at her right-hand fighter and functionary, deep in thought, before finally drawing a blank look. “Who?”

---X---

“I didn’t catch his name, I just know his taste in knives was garbage,” Ensei said with a shrug. “I swear he must have picked that balisong up out of the trash.”

“I’m starting to get a little glad I got out of Ragnarok, if that’s the kind of guys they’re letting in these days,” Tsukuba said, shaking his head.

“Oh, now that hurts,” came a sarcastic voice, causing both of the dojo’s students to turn their heads as someone walked in unannounced. Tsukuba’s eyes widened in horror.

Spoiler

“L-Loki!” Tsukuba whispered, stricken with fear.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” the intruder said smugly, struggling with a wire puzzle all the while. “So, you’re Tsukuba, and that makes you the young man who defeated Koga the Kicker.”

“If you’re here for lessons, we’re closed for the day,” Ensei said calmly. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Oh, I think you know very well I’m not here for lessons, my young friend,” Loki said, still working on his wire puzzle. “Though if this dojo is the reason you got so strong, perhaps I should, eh?

“But really, I’m here to make you the offer of a lifetime,” he continued.

“And is this one of those offers you’re going to tell me I can’t refuse?” Ensei asked flippantly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say you can’t, per se. It’s just not advisable.”

“Really? And I suppose you’re going to make me pay the price if I do?” Ensei replied with a smirk.

“Ensei, don’t goad him!” Tsukuba exclaimed, shaking in fear. “He’s the Fourth Fist, Ragnarok’s Fighting Tactician!”

“You should really listen to that dog you picked up off the street, Ensei,” Loki said, now starting to look frustrated, clearly struggling to solve his wire puzzle. “After all, he’s the one who’ll pay the price if you aren’t willing to hear me out. After all, it’s not like you can watch his back all the time, now can you?”

Ensei’s confident look turned into one of surprise, then cold anger. “You’ve got a minute before I feed you that puzzle. Talk.”

“I’ll keep it brief then,” Loki said, still struggling with his puzzle but now grinning widely. “We want you to join Ragnarok as its Ninth Fist. There, is that quick enough?”

“Wh-what!?” Tsukuba exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s true, we usually screen applicants more,” Loki admitted casually, “but our leader, Odin, has let it be known that he wants the Seven Fists to become Nine, as soon as we can without compromising on quality. And you gave an impressive enough showing that I thought it best to see about fast-tracking you, as it were.”

Ensei tilted his head in thought for a moment before replying. “So, what? I say ‘Yes,’ and that’s it? I’m the Ninth Fist?”

“Oh, not quite. We’re not fast-tracking you that much. But we’ve got two other applicants that we’ll be testing, and you’ll be standing alongside them,” Loki answered. “Usually, you’d have to be a member for quite some time before even being considered for becoming an Executive Officer. You’ve really made an impression on us.”

Ensei was quiet for a moment before giving his reply. “You know what? Sure, why not. But if I do this, you leave Tsukuba and this dojo alone.”

“Excellent!” Loki said, finally giving up and just pulling the wire puzzle apart with simple muscle. “Your first test begins now!”

Reaching into his long coat, he pulled out a collapsible baton and extended it to its full length. Tsukuba took a step forward. He had no chance against a Fist, but if he could at least grab onto him-

Like lightning, Ensei’s leg lashed out and kicked the baton out of Loki’s hand, the smell of ozone and a crackling sound as it sailed through the air giving away that it was electrified.

Before the Fourth Fist could respond, Ensei spun around completely and caught him in the side of the side of the face with his other foot. Hardly a second after the fight had started, it ended as the Fighting Tactician fell unconscious to the floor.

Tsukuba almost didn’t notice Ensei walking over to the door and opening it. “Hey! One of you assholes get out here and take your friend home. Then you can lead me to the real Loki.”

Tsukuba almost didn’t have it in him to be shocked anymore after what he just witnessed, but he found some room as four more Lokis filed in. Two of them picked up the unconscious one from the ground.

“Sorry about the deception-” one of them began, only to stop as Ensei cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t fooled for a second,” he said, his cocky grin back in full force. “Now come on; I’m sure the real Loki has some special sales pitch for my ears only or something.”

As he and the imposter Lokis stepped outside, Tsukuba wasn’t even sure what to think anymore.

Well, maybe he had one or two thoughts. ‘Wait… if Ensei becomes one of the Fists… could he make me a member of Ragnarok again?’

-x--X--x-

*No, seriously, the Japanese are disgusting with the stuff they’ll put mayo on. Not that you should be surprised, with the way that topping their omelets with ketchup is normal and accepted behavior there rather than culinary heresy.

**Another common name for arnis/eskrima.

AN: Looking over my notes, I realized that this chapter would either be really long or just be nothing but setup, so I decided to just crank it out as fast as I could so we could get to the actual substance sooner.

 

“… and Miu said that muay thai and karate are my best options for learning how to fight a boxer in time,” Ken’nichi concluded, throwing a series of jabs and elbows.

“That sounds about right,” I said with a nod, making sure to keep moving the mitt around so he wasn’t just hitting a stable target. “Boxing revolves around competitions, and the training and ethos center around the rules of the ring. It’s a very specialized way of fighting that’s great at what it does, but if you can make a boxer fight you somewhere outside of his comfort zone, he’s gonna be a lot easier to deal with. And both karate and muay thai have things that the typical boxer has no answer for.”

“That’s right, Ensei! If you need to kill a boxer, then you use muay thai!” Apachai said with a happy, encouraging grin as he oversaw Kenichi’s exercises in hitting the mitt, correcting his form and technique as need be. He would’ve been holding the mitt himself, but uh… Well, Kensei and Koetsuji said that Ken’nichi wasn’t concussed, so there’s that.

I suddenly swiped Ken’nichi with the mitt, smacking him in the face with it. “Ken’nichi, you need to pay attention to Ensei’s shoulders to see how his arm will move!” Apachai chided. “How are you going to kill your opponent if he kills you first?”

“But I’m not trying to kill this guy, I just want to learn how to beat him so he won’t punch my face in! I don’t even want to hurt him, really,” Ken’nichi protested.

“Think about stuff like that when your opponent’s dead!” Apachai exclaimed in a weird voice, using his fingers to push the edges of his eyebrows up and giving a comically deep frown. “When you fight, all your brain should think about is how to kill!

“That was my impression of my master. What do you think?” Apachai asked excitedly, reverting back to his usual expression and voice.

“Uh… I’ve never met your master, Apachai,” Ken’nichi pointed out.

“Yeah… anyway, Ken’nichi, my advice as far as muay thai against boxing goes is that you should take advantage of muay thai’s greater versatility,” I said, changing the subject. “Boxers are only allowed to strike with their fists, and if this guy trained for the pros that’s definitely what he’s got the most training in. Muay thai doesn’t just allow kicks, but it also allows elbows and knees, which makes it much more dangerous in the clinch than boxing.”

“Right! Boxers punch hard, and good ones are hard to catch, but get them in the clinch and it really easy to win,” Apachai added. “Lot of martial arts for sports don’t allow elbows and knees.”

“Why’s that?” Ken’nichi asked.

“Because if you get hit wrong, you die,” Apachai answered simply.

“Or crippled,” I added. “Muay thai has roots in martial arts made for the battlefield, and even though it’s taken on a lot of the trappings of Western competition martial arts like kickboxing to adapt it for the modern world, it still allows for elbow and knee strikes, and even emphasizes their use.”

“How come?” Ken’nichi asked.

“Because if you hit right, you kill,” Apachai answered simply.

Ken’nichi stopped hitting the mitt and looked down at his hands, wrapped in tape. “… Should I really be learning this, then?”

“Oh, don’t’ mind Apachai’s talk about killing too much,” the Elder said, once again having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “It’s just a holdover of his past; he has no intention of killing anyone. That said…”

He started stroking his beard. “All martial arts training ultimately centers around efficiently destroying your opponent’s ability to keep fighting. Whether in a strictly regulated, official karate match or a ring made of sand in the muay thai underground, that doesn’t change. Everything beyond simply defeating your opponent is beyond your training. It is up to you, the man behind the technique, to decide what it’s all for.

“Certainly, if you were to use what Apachai is teaching you for selfish gain, or a cruel desire to harm another, it would become mere violence. But if you fight for something greater than simply destroying the fighter in front of you, then any technique, fatal or not, transcends violence and becomes martial arts.” He lifted his eyebrows, seeming to search Ken’nichi’s face. “Let me ask you, Ken’nichi; do you intend to ever use what you are being taught here to make another person miserable?”

“Of course not!” Ken’nichi exclaimed.

“Then all is well,” the Elder said with a nod. “Techniques alone have never harmed anyone. The will behind your fist is what decides that. If your will is untainted by selfishness or cruelty, and you cultivate the proper discipline and restraint in your techniques, you will never commit an act of mere violence.”

Ken’nichi gave a sincere smile at that, his passion to keep studying muay thai renewed.

“By the way Apachai, your training time ran out while the Elder was giving his lecture,” Koetsuji said. “It’s Sakaki’s turn now.”

All was silent, until I couldn’t hold it anymore and started laughing.

---X---

While Sakaki forced Ken’nichi to spar with Miu to get over his stupid “won’t hit girls” thing (good luck with that), I took a break until they needed me for his training with Shigure, lying on the floor and resting my eyes.

“You know, Ensei, you seem a bit tired today,” Koetsuji said, suddenly playing a game of go with Ma Kensei next to me. “I hope there’s nothing wrong; it could cause problems with both Ken’nichi’s training and your own if you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

‘Seriously, why does every Master turn into a damn ninja?’ I wondered.

“It’s nothing serious, I just got carried away hanging out with friends last night and didn’t get much sleep,” I lied.

“Ah, I see. Well, please be more aware of your sleep cycles in the future, alright?” Koetsuji asked.

“You should really listen,” Kensei added. “As a doctor, I couldn’t tell you how many of my patients would be better off if they’d stop trying to fool their own bodies and just sleep a full eight hours…”

As he started talking shop, I leaned back and closed my eyes again, my mind going back to the previous day…

---X---

I took in the room, my arms crossed and no expression showing on my face.

It wasn’t especially fancy, though it was pretty big, and there was a lot of comfortable furniture. To my left side, standing so the three of us were in a line, were a slender, tomboyish-looking girl with a very… well-developed lower body. In the martial arts sense. And nothing else. *cough*

Spoiler

The other was a beefy guy with an unruly mop of hair, wearing an old-school uniform like a stereotypical delinquent. He kind of looked like he’d be the protagonist of some shonen manga about street-fighting delinquents with hearts of gold.

Spoiler

Arrayed in front of us were a collection of seven young men and women (okay, six men and one woman). Some were sitting casually, others were standing on full alert. The “Seven Fists,” the leaders of Ragnarok. I let my eyes roam over them, not bothering to hide that I was sizing them up; they’d expect it of a prospective new member.

I was, admittedly, just a little bit nervous. Even with my training harness on (which it was, I hadn’t had the time to take it off discretely and I’d rather not having Loki know about it), I could probably take on numbers Four through Seven with just a bit of trouble, though Five and Six would take a lot to put down and keep down. Two or Three would be harder, but I was pretty sure it’d be doable. Numero Uno… I wasn’t entirely sure I could beat him without taking it off first.

But even if I took the harness off, taking on all seven in one night, even if they took turns? That might get a little dicey. So, it looked like I’d need to make sure not to piss them off too badly.

Good thing I don’t make that a habit or anything.

It was obvious who the leader here was, even if you didn’t know him on sight. Even if the others weren’t loosely centered around him, it was clear through presence alone that everyone here was afraid of him, deferred to him. Even the Sixth Fist clearly didn’t want to mess with him, no matter how standoffish and detached he tried to be while standing by at the edges.

Spoiler

“Greetings, you three,” he said softly, adjusting his glasses with gloved hands. “As you’ve been made aware before coming here, my Master, the great martial artist known as Kensei*, is the true founder and leader of Ragnarok. We, the Seven Fists, are the only ones who have the privilege to know this, and to receive instruction from him at his leisure.

“Recently, Master Kensei has asked that we induct two more worthy fighters at our earliest convenience, so that the Seven Fists can become Nine,” he continued. “Thus, we have looked within – and without,” he said, giving me a glance that was hard to read before continuing, “for fighters who might prove worthy of taking up the seats of the Eighth and Ninth Fists, and the three of you are the only candidates we have found who might be worthy of this honor.

“Your ascension is not assured,” he stressed. “You must prove to us that you are worthy, and if at any time you do not, you will not be given a second chance. And as you can see from your numbers, one of you will lose out regardless.”

The only woman present spoke up as soon as the leader fell silent. “Each of you has been monitored, approached, and endorsed by one of the Seven Fists as a worthy candidate. But there will be no favoritism from your sponsor… or else.

Spoiler

“Tsuji Shin’nosuke, you have been endorsed by the Seventh Fist, Thor, as a potential leader of Ragnarok. Do you accept this honor, and this burden?” she asked, looking at the mophead to my and Kisara’s right.

The mophead gave a big grin and punched his palm loudly. “Yes, ma’am!” he shouted. “I’m ready! This has been my dream since I joined Ragnarok!”

Without acknowledging him further, she moved on. “Nanjō Kisara, you have been endorsed by the Fifth Fist, Siegfried, as a potential leader of Ragnarok. Do you accept this honor, and this burden?” She gave no hint of emotion, despite addressing the subordinate who’d turned her back on her.

“Yes, Lady Freya,” Kisara said, not quite quietly, but just loudly enough to carry to the others, and gave a slight bow. Freya didn’t spare her a second look.

“Kimura Ensei. You are not a member of Ragnarok, and in fact have attacked members of Ragnarok on two occasions,” she said, breaking the pattern as she looked at me. “You would normally not be considered for this position, regardless of your obvious strength, but as you have been endorsed by the Fourth Fist, Loki, as well as the Sixth Fist, Hermit, we have seen fit to make an exception. Do you accept this honor, and this burden?”

“Only if we lay down a few grounds rules, first,” I said, arms crossed as I stared them all down.

A chilly silence engulfed the room. Kisara and Tsuji stared at me, dumbfounded at my “presumption,” while the Seven Fists had several different reactions. The prevailing emotions, though, seemed to be either amusement or apathy. Loki looked a bit pissed, though.

“Oh?” Odin tilted his head, his tone putting him in the “faintly amused” category… for now. “You have demands of Ragnarok, in the position you’re in? You truly are confident in your skills, aren’t you?”

“I’m not one for false humility,” I replied. “I’m more than good enough a martial artist to join your little club, and you’ll see that when you do whatever tests you feel like doing. But I don’t particularly care about any of the perks of joining your little group, so you’re going to need to sweeten the pot.”

“With what, exactly?” he asked. His tone wasn’t any different, but there was a clear chill in them all the same as his eyes bored into me.

“Just something I want to make very clear, so none of us go into this with any misconceptions. My family’s dojo has nothing to do with any of you,” I announced. “Just because I join up with you guys doesn’t mean it’s Ragnarok property. It’s not going to be your recruiting ground, your training ground, your front, your anything unless I okay it. Its students are not members of Ragnarok unless they specifically join, and if anyone in Ragnarok attacks them for any reason other than being attacked first or provoked, they’re the ones who get punished for it. Deal?”

Odin leaned back in his chair, adopting a small smile. “I had no intentions of bothering with that dojo, so I see no reason to say no,” he said.

‘Which means you suspect that my masters are Masters and know better than to try anything funny,’ I thought to myself. More than could be said for some people…

“Then yeah, I’ll become a member. Do we get to pick our own nicknames when we become Fists?” I asked.

“Of course.”

‘Good, because half of you idiots aren’t even really on-theme,’** I thought to myself.

“If that’s all, then it’s time for your first test,” Odin continued. “Well, second for one of you. I’m sure you’re expecting some physical challenge or fight, but we need more than brainless brutes leading Ragnarok, and Master Kensei has no interest in training them.

“One of the important qualities of a martial artist, and a leader of an organization, is being able to recognize the strengths and weaknesses of others with very little information and sizing up the competition at a glance. And that’s what you will do here. Each of you must state which of the three of you is the weakest, and which is the strongest. Take all the time you need… within reason.”

“I don’t need any time!” Tsuji declared, stepping up past Kisara and I. “I already know that I’m the strongest of the three of us! And the weakest one… is you!”

I looked down at his outstretched finger, pointing right at me. I tried very hard not to laugh honest.

“Oh? Why don’t you explain your reasoning?” Odin “asked.”

“Simple! A man’s quality is clear in how many men he can get to follow him! I’ve got more followers than Kisara, and this punk doesn’t even have a single one! His school even only has one student, and it’s just some flunky he picked up out of Ragnarok’s trash heap!” he exclaimed.

“I see. Ensei, since he’s declared you the weakest, why don’t you give your opinion next?” Odin said.

“I’m the strongest one here,” ‘And no, there’s no unspoken qualifier there,’ I thought. “As for the weakest, Shaggy here just proved who it is by mouthing off like a moron.”

“Why you-”

“Quiet,” Odin said calmly, but firmly, and the tone made even the mopheaded dope shiver. “Kisara?”

Kisara gave Tsuji a single glance before giving a dismissive scoff that had him fuming, but she looked me carefully up and down.

“See something you like?” I asked jokingly. Her only response was to roll her eyes and turn back to the Seven Fists.

“He’s right, ‘Shaggy’ here doesn’t have a clue,” Kisara answered, but her amused grin faded as she struggled with the next part. “And… I think he’s a bit stronger than me. A bit.”

‘That’s… really impressive,’ I thought to myself. I was cheating, after all; fighters of our level usually need to see someone in action for opinions and comparisons to be even slightly accurate. But then, Kisara was the only one of the main disciples in the series who never trained with a Master at any point. An absurdly keen eye for martial arts is only the beginning of what she’d need to keep up with that.

He managed to keep it out of his voice, but I could tell from Odin’s eyes that he was just as impressed as I was. “I see. That concludes the first test, then. Now for the second one.

“We have no need of Ten Fists, and weaklings need not apply. The tests to come will weed out the weak regardless, but there is no reason not to remove the weak link from this chain immediately,” Odin lectured, adjusting his glasses again.

“Tsuji Shin’nosuke. Both Kisara and Ensei have decreed that you are the weak link.”

“But that’s-!” Tsuji started to protest, but took a step back at the intensity of Odin’s glare at his interruption.

“You are not among our number yet. Speak to us when spoken to,” he commanded, his voice like icy daggers. He closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing, calm again. “Because you have declared that Ensei is the weak link, the two of you will duel, here and now, to prove who is correct. The winner gains a clear advantage in standing among us. The loser is no longer a candidate to become one of the Nine Fists of Ragnarok.”

Tsuji grinned at those words. Turning back to me, he started cracking his knuckles and popping his neck. “Ha! Now that’s a test I can get behind. You ready for this, short stuff?”

“One second, Mophead,” I said, holding up a finger and turning my head back to the assembled Seven Fists as Kisara walked off to the side. “Hey, is this a strictly unarmed fight?”

At my request, Loki nodded approvingly, and Freya tilted her head slightly, as if in thought. Thor frowned, but the rest didn’t seem to care.

“Either of you may use whatever weapons you have with you… within reason,” Odin answered.

“Tch, weapons? Come on, a real man lets his fists do the talking!” Tsuji declared.

“My fists don’t really have anything to say to your face,” I said glibly, pulling out one of my many hidden weapons. Specifically, two hardwood sticks connected by a metal chain.

“Wh-Nunchucks? What do you think this is, a Bruce Lee flick?” Tsuji asked, incredulous.

“To start with, these are not nunchaku,” I explained, warming up with some tricks by rapidly swinging them around my arms and torso, switching the weapon between my hands seamlessly. “These are tabak-toyok, sometimes called ‘chako’ for short, and they’re from Filipino martial arts, not Okinawan. They are closely related, of course, but the chain is longer and the handles are shorter. That’s because nunchaku are primarily meant for defense; you’re supposed to use them to catch and disarm weapons, and striking is a secondary goal. It’s the reverse in the Philippines.

“Secondly, catch,” I said, reaching into my pocket and tossing something at Tsuji. He caught them – barely – and looked at me like I’d just grown a second head.

“Why the hell are you giving me brass knuckles!?” he asked, loudly (I was starting to think he didn’t know what an “inside voice” was).

“Use them or don’t, but when you lose, I don’t want to hear any complaining that it was because I used a weapon and you didn’t,” I said.

“Oh, you’re dead!” he growled, but tossed the brass knuckles off to the side. “I’m going to feel your face break on my bare hands and enjoy it!”

“You’d die trying,” I said with a mocking smirk. “And finally, this one is an open question to everyone in the room: who here knows what the Southern Martial Forest dojo actually teaches?”

“From what I’d heard, it seems you practice Arnis there,” Odin answered.

“Koga’s description sounded like muay thai,” Kisara chimed in.

“Eh, you’re partly right,” I said, not bothering to correct Kisara. “We practice so much more, though. And that’s because the Southern Martial Forest…”

I then proceeded to completely ham it up, doing a complex routine with the weapons with lots of kicks and pointless hand motions, all while doing the Bruce Lee noises. I struck a pose, now well and truly having made everyone think I was a complete and total tool but feeling like a total kung fu badass.

“… teaches the hybridization and optimization of martial arts on the physical and philosophical level,” I finished. “In other words: Jeet Kune Do!”

“… Just fight already,” Odin sighed, head in his hands.

Tsuji tore his shirt off for… some reason, and charged at me, giving a loud yell.

He threw a punch that I easily sidestepped, catching his arm on the chains of the chako as I went and pulling his arm back as I stepped around to his back, drawing a yelp of pain as his muscles and tendons started to strain from the unnatural position. He put surprising strength into trying to pull his arm back, but I held it firm, and his attempts to shift position were similarly beaten as I simply followed him to keep to his back.

“Give up now and you get to keep your arm,” I said calmly.

“A real man doesn’t give up a fight just to spare himself some pain!” Tsuji declared. Gripping his captured arm with his free hand, he used the added strength to pull hard.

Not really wanting to seriously injure the guy, I let go of one handle, sending the chako flying straight into his face as he freed his arm. Despite the fact that there was already a lump forming on his forehead, the pain didn’t even slow him down as he turned around to start furiously throwing punches.

It was trivial to dodge the punches, but even as I laid into him with the chako, he seemed to not even feel it, despite peppering his body with deep bruises.

‘He’s definitely used to street fights,’ I noted as he started to cool his head and began fighting dirty. He tried to turn punches into grabs, clapped his hands in front of my eyes to try to disorient me, tried to step on my feet to make me trip or stop moving.

Of course, I was well prepared for it all, my parents having taught plenty about the rules (and lack thereof) in a street fight.

Eventually, he was beaten, weary, panting hard and covered in bruises. Meanwhile, I had barely worked up a sweat, rapidly circling him with light, shifting footwork that let me cover a lot of ground with little actual movement.

It probably looked like I was toying with the guy, but honestly, I was really having trouble putting him down without seriously hurting him, or giving away too much about my fighting style in front of Odin, who was in contact with Ogata, i.e. #2 on my “Don’t Catch This Master’s Eye” list, right between Jenazad and Fortuna.

Tsuji was a lot sturdier than I’d thought, and he had too much tenacity for pain alone to keep him down. I was hoping Ken’nichi would get to fight him soon to help polish his skills, but at this rate…

“Quit dancing around with those stupid sticks and fight me like a man, damn it!” Tsuji bellowed, calling up as much of his strength as he still could and rushing at me again. The guy had no fighting style to speak of, but sheer tenacity, strength and experience in brawls had gotten him far. I had to respect that, even if he was an idiot who didn’t know how to stay down.

“Fine,” I said. I stopped spinning the tabak-toyok, and instead gripped both handles like a pair of baston, the chain hanging loosely between them.

When Tsuji got into range again, I jabbed one handle into his neck, being careful to not hit it straight-on to avoid crushing his windpipe, and hooked the other around his arm again, but this time instead of circling around his back I used my leverage to lift myself up and do a flip that drove my heel into his face.

Righting myself behind him, I swept his legs out from under him while he clutched his broken nose. As he fell, I dropped my knees down onto his torso, knocking the wind from him. But I needed to make sure he’d stay down so I wouldn’t have to break a limb or something.

‘Punch with the forearm, relax the elbow and keep it bent, use your body’s motion to impart power,’ was the mantra in my head as I laid out a chain of rapid punches and chops to Tsuji’s chest, neck and head, not giving him the chance to even think of blocking or countering.

When I stood up, careful not to put my weight back on my knees before getting off of him, Tsuji was barely conscious. Blood flowed freely from his broken nose, his torso was covered in bruises that were already starting to grow purple, and his breathing was ragged and pained; I hadn’t intended to, but some of my blows must have cracked a few ribs. He covered his face – and his eyes – with his hands, but I could see a droplet of clear liquid run down his eye. I didn’t think it was sweat.

I forced myself to look away as Tsuji tried desperately not to cry, whether from pain or loss or both. My eyes rested on Kisara, who was looking between the both of us with something that might have been horror or disgust.

I looked away again. Thor and Siegfried had the same looks as Kisara. Freya, Hermit, and Odin looked indifferent, even now.

Berserker had an approving smile on his face, and Loki was all but clapping.

“It’s decided, then,” Odin said softly. “Ensei, you remain a favored candidate as the Eighth Fist. And if Tsuji can still hear me, he is allowed to remain an Executive Officer, but is no longer in competition to join our ranks.”

I barely heard him. I felt numb, except that I also wanted to throw up or cry. This… this wasn’t martial arts.

I was lying to myself. I walked out, not caring if anyone called out or followed, not caring if they were done with their stupid kid’s games or not. I was furious. I did toy with Tsuji, at least at first. He was beaten, maybe even broken in ways that weren’t physical, and for what!? So I could show off and play with my new toys?

---X---

“… it is not a kindness to refuse to face a fellow martial artist seriously, “Ken’nichi,” the Elder warned as I forced myself to stop thinking about it and came back to the present. “You insult Miu by refusing to treat her as someone worthy of your attention now, and if you take an opponent lightly in a true fight they will see it only as a humiliation.”

I opened my eyes. “Elder?” I asked, turning my head toward the grandmaster of Ryōzanpaku, who stopped from his lecture of Ken’nichi to meet my eyes with his own. The look in them made me flinch.

“Yes, Ensei?” he asked, his voice kind.

“What you said earlier, about the different between martial arts and violence, and now, about facing your opponent seriously…” my tongue felt thick, I almost didn’t want to know the answer. “If someone breaks those rules, is there anything they can do about it?”

The “Invincible Superman” gave the same tired, weary sigh of an old man with a lot of regrets. “We can never take back what we’ve done, Ensei. When you throw a punch, there is no taking it back. Whether you can make it right… that very much depends on you, and on them. All martial artists are ultimately responsible for what they do with their techniques.”

I flopped back onto the floor. “Right.”

He didn’t need to be the world’s biggest badass to hear the bitterness in that. “I’m sorry, but there are no quick and easy answers I can give for this sort of thing. Especially when I don’t know the particulars,” the Elder said. “You must find a solution that you can accept, and hope it will be enough to the person your violence has harmed. Given how young you are, I believe that should still be possible.”

I turned back toward Ma Kensei and Koetsuji, who were still playing a game of go. “How much do you two charge?” I asked. “The patient has a lot of bruises, a broken nose, and possibly some cracked ribs.”

I didn’t think it was enough, but it would be a start.

-x--X--x-

*No, not that Kensei, if you’ve never read the manga. Japanese is confusing. Ma Kensei is just the Japanese reading of the Chinese characters in his name (剣星). The “Kensei” that serves as Ogata Isshinsai’s callsign as a member of Yami is spelled differently ((拳聖) and has a totally different meaning. “Kensei” is a title that is often translated in English as “Sword Saint,” and historically referred to great swordsmen who were living legends of transcendent skill; the most famous in the West is Miyamoto Musashi. Ogata uses a different character that is pronounced the same (as “ken”), which means “fist” instead of “sword;” the obvious implication being that he is the unarmed equivalent to a Sword Saint.

**Warning: Nitpicking rant imminent. I mean, the clear theme with the Eight Fists is supposed to be that they’re named after the Norse pantheon, right? The leader is Odin, after all. And you’ve got Freya, Loki and Thor, who are all perfectly within that theme.

But then you’ve got the rest of them, and it becomes obvious that Japanese people (like pretty much everyone else, of course) don’t know or give a damn about actually keeping a foreign-sounding theme so long as it still sounds sufficiently foreign.

Siegfried is a German name for a Germanic/Norse hero; if you must deviate from the godly theme and start putting in mythical heroes, you could at least go with the actual Norse and call him Sigurd! But that’s the least objectionable of the four I have a problem with.

Because then there’s Valkyrie, which would be perfectly fine… except that there’s already a group named the Valkyries who work for Freya as members of Ragnarok, whom Kisara even used to be one of. At least pick a specific Valkyrie to name yourself after! Like the most well-known one, Brynhild (though that would, admittedly, make the fact that Siegfried/Sigurd is the one endorsing her to become a Fist a little bit funny).

Berserker is even worse, since the term is no longer something that has a purely Norse vibe to it like Valkyries. Beowulf would be a perfect fit for the motif that he’s going for, too!

And man, f*ck “Hermit.” What the hell screams “Norse” about a guy calling himself Hermit? Nothing, that’s what. If I were picking his nickname, I’d make him Tyr or Heimdall.

 

AN: Sorry for the silence on this front. At some point I let it get like all my other stories, even though the whole point of it was that I could just skip over stuff and not get bogged down like I do in a lot of my other writing endeavors. I’m not going to just immediately go for the “one post per jump” thing I see some do their Jumpchains, but I’m definitely going to make this more compressed going forward.

---X---

“Ugh, you can’t be serious!” Kisara groaned, leaning back into the comfortable couch that made up her “throne” in the renovated warehouse she’d made her base.

“I’m sorry, Lady Kisara, but it’s true,” Shiratori confirmed. “Both Ukita the Thrower and Takeda the Puncher were defeated by Shirahama on the same day.”

“Geez. Why haven’t we ever heard of the guy if he’s this good!?” the prospective Fist groaned.

“Ha! I told you that boxer was all talk.”

“Oh, go back to your own gang, Tsuji,” Kisara snapped at her fellow executive officer. “If you’re healed up enough to talk trash about my troops, then get out of my sight already.”

“Alright, my bad, sorry,” Tsuji said with a crooked smile, holding his hands out in surrender. She wasn’t wrong though. His nose was still bandaged – mostly because he kind of liked the look – and underneath his uniform his body was still a tapestry of bruises, but they were all yellowed and fading fast. Other than that, though, Tsuji Shinnosuke was pretty much healed.

“Screw it, then,” Kisara grumbled as she stood up from the couch. “I’ll handle this punk myself, one way or the other.”

“Hold up, Kisara,” Tsuji said, holding out a hand.

“Are you still here?” Kisara asked pointedly, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought I told you-”

“I’ll bring this Shirahama guy to you,” Tsuji interrupted, pointing at himself with a smile. “I don’t want people thinkin’ I’m not a man who pays his debts, so let me handle this and we’ll call it even.”

Word of Tsuji Shinnosuke’s defeat and injury had spread through Ragnarok like wildfire. He was ambitious and had risen high and quickly in Ragnarok, which meant there were no shortage of rivals and would-be upstarts who smelled blood in the water when they heard the news.

Ragnarok didn’t allow outright insubordination or civil war, but it also recognized no greater authority than strength; anyone who could be defeated by someone lower than him on the gang’s totem pole clearly didn’t deserve their position, and anyone who wasn’t already one of the Seven Fists could be challenged to single combat whenever Ragnarok wasn’t actively engaged in conflict with some rival gang. In other words, taking a higher rank atop your predecessor’s unconscious body was a perfectly valid means of climbing the ladder in Ragnarok, so anyone who had achieved a rank as high as Tsuji’s had to constantly be on guard to protect it, especially while injured. But challenges explicitly had to be one-on-one and with witnesses, so if no one could find and challenge Tsuji while he was recovering…

Well, suffice to say that he owed Kisara a solid for having let him crash at her hideout while his nose and ribs healed. Especially since they’d never exactly been what you might call friends. He hadn’t been expecting the offer, and he wasn’t about to be an ingrate over it.

Kisara sighed and sank back into her couch. “Fine, whatever. Guess I might as well get something outta dealing with your fat mouth the past few days. Knock yourself out.”

---X---

“Get back here, you ponytailed bastard!” I heard some punks yelling as Takeda Ikki, a beat-up Ken’ichi slung over his shoulder, ran toward the bridge I was standing next to. His eyes widened as he saw me, skidding to a halt and trying to take a fighting stance despite the dead weight on his back. I could see a hint of fear in his eyes as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

I shook my head with a rueful smile and jabbed a thumb at the bridge behind me. “Don’t worry about me, just get Ken’ichi to Ryōzanpaku,” I said with a smile as I walked past him.

The tanned boxer looked at me in bewilderment for a moment before breaking into a sprint as Tsuji and his goon squad’s footsteps started getting louder.

Tsuji and his boys came to a stop as they saw me standing in front of the bridge. “Ensei? Hell are you doing here?” Tsuji asked, then gasped. “Wait, that boxer and Shirahama!”

“I don’t think you’ll be catching up to them,” I noted as I looked back to Takeda’s retreating form. “For a boxer, he’s got really fast legs, even if he doesn’t really know how to defend them in a fight yet.”

“Why didn’t you stop them!?” the Ragnarok executive demanded.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t see anyone else in Ragnarok bothering to help Kisara with her problems. Heck, you’re just doing it because you owe her, aren’t you?

“More importantly, how was the fight?” I asked. “Your injuries bother you at all?”

Tsuji scoffed. “What, you still on about that stupid crap? You’re gonna be one weird-ass Fist, you know that?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Forget it, then. So, you’ve fought Kisara’s personal embarrassment. How was it?”

“Hmph. He wasn’t bad, but he still doesn’t know what a real fight is. Soon as I track him down, he’s toast,” Tsuji bragged.

“Really? From what I could tell, he’s stronger than you, and only experience in dirty fighting let you turn the tables,” I noted. “As soon as he gets a bit more experience and you can’t just cheap-shot him in a pinch, a rematch isn’t likely to end well for you if you stay as you are.

“But you know what would help with that? Joining my family’s dojo,” I offered. Hey, had to try.

“Please. I’ve never needed anyone to teach me how to throw a punch, and I’m sure as hell not gonna start now!” Tsuji declared, holding up his fist. “I guess I’m what you might call a self-made man!”

‘You’re closer to what I might call a stubborn jackass,’ I thought to myself, rolling my eyes as his flock of fair-weather groupies started voicing their support for his stupidity with a chorus of stuff like “Yeah, Boss Tsuji doesn’t need some lame dojo to teach him how to kick ass!” or whatever.

“But hey, thanks anyway,” Tsuji said magnanimously. “Maybe I’ll see if some of the guys in Ragnarok are interested. You’ve only got the one student, right?”

“How did you…?” I began to ask, then clicked my teeth. “Loki better not be spreading info on me or something. But if you must know, no, we don’t just have one student anymore. I’ve been recruiting at Kōryō High School.”

“Kōryō? Why there?” Tsuji asked.

“Oh, I just had the good luck to meet someone who was nice enough to point me to some people who might be interested,” I lied with a shrug. “I got a few ‘Maybes,’ but two of them ended up signing up right away.”

---X---

“And why exactly should I give you this kind of information?” Nijima Haruo asked the weird middle schooler claiming he was Ken’ichi’s friend. He’d have to verify that kind of information later, but for now it wasn’t changing his stance on sharing information, i.e. Pay up, sucker! Knowledge is power!

“Because I can tell you where Ken’ichi’s been going and what he’s been doing to get so strong so quickly,” the kid replied bluntly. “In fact, I can take you there right now and prove it to you.”

“… I’m listening.”

---

Mizunuma Manabu, formerly the 2nd-most bullied student at Kōryō High School and now the 1st, was dabbing at his latest bruise with his handkerchief. Looking at himself in the mirror, he sighed.

“I wonder how he did it…?” he wondered aloud. Shirahama Ken’ichi had once been the only student at school who was picked on even more than himself, but now suddenly he was unstoppable; he’d even saved Mizunuma himself from bullies twice. “How did he get so strong?”

Mizunuma practically jumped out of his skin as one of the stall doors that hadn’t seem occupied suddenly blew open and a young boy in a middle school outfit burst out. “Well it’s about time you asked that question!” he exclaimed. “Do you know how annoying it was waiting for you to give me an opening like that?”

“W… what?” Mizunuma asked, blinking rapidly as he tried to understand what was going on.

“Forget about it,” the boy said with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, I know exactly how you can get stronger really quickly.”

“Y-you do?” Normally Mizunuma wouldn’t believe it, but it had all happened so suddenly that his mind couldn’t really catch up enough to be properly skeptical.

“Sure. You need proof?” the boy asked, tilting his head a bit and holding up a hand in front of him.

---

Takashima Chihiro, once the ace of the Gymnastics Club and now playing second fiddle to a first year, was sneaking into the gym to find some way to sabotage the recently transferred student who had usurped her cherished position.

“Let’s see, what can I use to put her in her place…?” she thought to herself as she examined the room.

“You know, it says a lot about you that you spend so much time thinking of ways to tear someone down instead of trying to build yourself up,” a boy’s voice came, seemingly from nowhere. “I mean, I don’t necessarily condemn sabotage, but this is just kinda low.”

“What!? Who’s out there!?” Chihiro yelled, looking around frantically. How could someone have realized what she was planning!?

With catlike grace, a boy who looked about 13 or 14 dropped down from the ceiling in a roll and landed perfectly on his feet, not looking the least bit disoriented.

“Do you really think you’re ever going to get your position as ace back with petty sabotage and cheap tricks?” the boy asked, pointing at her and giving a smug little smirk. “You’ll need a lot more than that, and I can give it to you. I can tell you where Miu’s skill comes from… and how you can get the same kind of skill. Interested?”

---X---

Truly, it had been a happy day. Cleaning a dojo with only one other person sucks.

…And, you know, helping out my parents and better securing our finances and all that. That was great, too.

“Well, it’s a slow start for getting underlings, but don’t worry, we can’t all be as charismatic as me,” Tsuji said proudly as he jabbed a thumb at himself. “Besides, going from 1 to 3 is like a 150% increase, right? So that’s pretty good.”

“… You should consider cutting class a bit less,” I said, shaking my head. “Anyway, glad to hear you’re all healed up. Maybe I’ll even let you serve under me when I become a Fist.”

“Pft. Cocky brat,” Tsuji grunted, though he had a bit of a grin as he said it. “Talk big once you actually outrank me!”

---X---

I caught back up with Takeda just as he was leaving the dojo, having left the unconscious Ken’ichi in Koetsuji and Kensei’s capable hands. The moment he saw me, he took up a boxing stance instantly despite his shock.

Hmm. Man, Ragnarok really lost out for losing him. His left arm might not be anywhere near fully healed yet, but even like this he’d still be a match for Tsuji. Now that I knew what that really meant in martial arts terms, the tragedy of his injury just seemed even worse… Glad it had a happy ending.

“You followed us!” he exclaimed. “You wanted me to lead you back to-!”

“I already know this place, actually,” I interrupted. “I’m not here for Ragnarok’s sake.

“So… you know who I am?” I asked, even though he’d pretty much just confirmed it.

“… Yeah. Everyone in Ragnarok’s talking about you,” Takeda replied, still wary and not dropping his guard. “You’re Ensei, Loki’s secret weapon.”

“Loki’s what?” I asked, incredulous.

“I guess you can’t believe everything you hear, then?” Takeda smirked. “Look at it this way: Out of the blue, Loki sponsors some no-name kid we’ve never heard of, who makes a total chump out of one of Ragnarok’s strongest executive officers. Everyone’s talking about how happy Loki looked watching you beat Tsuji into the ground; there’s all kinds of rumors that you’re his brother or his student or whatever.”

“Pft. Like there’s anything he’d be able to teach me about fighting,” I scoffed. Just looking at them assembled together was enough to see that Loki was the weakest of the Seven Fists.

“Whatever. Look, I’m not Loki’s ‘secret weapon,’ and I don’t really care about any of Ragnarok’s bullcrap,” I said. “I’ve got my own reasons for joining up with them, but I’m not your enemy, or Ken’ichi’s.”

“And how can I be sure about that?” Takeda asked.

“Just ask the masters; I’ve been helping the guy train for a while now. If I were planning to hurt Ken’ichi, they wouldn’t have let me within a mile of this place.”

Well, they might, at least if Ken’ichi weren’t injured. Masters don’t interfere in fights between disciples, after all. But Takeda didn’t really need to know that.

Takeda still looked wary, but he eased up on his stance a bit. “I’ll make sure to do just that, but I think I’ll take you at your word for now. Glad to hear I’m not gonna have to punch out a kid,” he said with a cocky smile.

“Oh whatever, ‘kid,’ I’m only like three years younger than you!” I snapped.

“Listen, just… Do you mind not telling Ken’ichi? About me joining Ragnarok?” I asked. “You can talk about it with the masters or whoever, but I don’t want Ken’ichi to know just yet. Or Miu, since she’d just end up blabbing anyway.”

Takeda blinked in surprise at that request. He gave a long, steady look, before his smile came back, warm instead of cocky. “Alright, I promise. You don’t want him to get dragged into whatever’s forced you into Ragnarok, huh? I can respect that. Consider your secret safe with me.”

‘Actually, I just kinda want to see the look on his face when he finds out that I’m one of the Nine Fists, but sure, let’s go with that,’ I thought.

Takeda Ikki. A proud boxer who never abandoned his sense of fair play and chivalry, even when the world tore away his dreams and his faith in friendship. Also kind of a credulous airhead. As he walked into the setting sun without looking back like some Clint Eastwood character, a promise between men having been made, I wasn’t sure whether to think he was cool as hell or kind of a dope.

 

Ryōzanpaku was unusually quiet as I knocked on the door, and unusually, instead of Apachai or the Elder it was Kennichi who opened it.

“Hey Kennichi. Aren’t you usually tied up to some weird contraption this time of day?” I said as a greeting.

“Oh, ha ha.”

“No seriously, where is everyone? No one told me this was your day off,” I said as Kennichi closed the door behind us. I hate walking to places and then finding out there was no point.

Kennichi looked around, as if just now noticing the unusual quiet and lack of the masters’ presence. “Huh. Where’d they all go? I guess I got too caught up thinking about that spar…”

“Look out!” I yelled, jumping away as the door flew open, sending Kennichi rolling away from the impact.

“Come out, Masters of Ryōzanpaku!” a large, beefy man in a karate gi and kabuki facepaint exclaimed, striking a pose as a bunch of other guys in the same gi ran in and made a line on either side of him.

Spoiler

“Come out, for Kumatori Gonzui is here!” the man continued.

“W-Who the heck are you!?” Kennichi exclaimed as I helped him to his feet.

That was a good question. Who was this kabuki reject? I didn’t remember him at all. Some one-off villain of the weak to help Kennichi learn a lesson? I think there were a lot of those early on.

The man tilted his head dramatically. “What’s that? Did I just hear that you don’t know who I am? Then let me say it again! I am Kumatori Gonzui, founder and master of the Kokyukai Dojo, and I come with a challenge!”

‘Jeez, this guy loves to hear himself shout,’ I thought with a mental eye-roll. Yapping drama queens like this never amounted to much in stories like this, so no wonder I didn’t remember him at all.

“Now, where are the masters of this dojo!?” he demanded.

“J-Just a second!” Kennichi yelled as he took off like a shot. Not wanting to be left alone for this guy to pose at me, I followed him at a leisurely pace.

“What do you mean no one’s here!?” I heard Kennichi yell in a panicked voice as I approached.

“Let’s see, Sakaki went to buy beer, Koetsuji and Kensei are working at their clinics…” Miu counted off. “Grandpa left on one of his trips, and Apachai and Shigure are out playing mahjong with Honoka.”

“Oh geez, of all the days for them to leave us alone…!” Kennichi moaned, head in his hands.

“Well, I’d better go meet them. It would be really rude to just leave them to wait outside!” Miu said nonchalantly, completely oblivious to Kennichi’s breakdown.

---

Mr. Kabuki’s eye started twitching as Miu set down a steaming cup of tea in front of him. “I’m sorry if the quality isn’t very good, but please have as much as you’d like,” she smiled.

“Master, don’t drink it! These cowards are trying to poison you!” one of the generic disciples crowding behind the guy yelled.

I clicked my teeth in annoyance. These assholes clearly had no respect if they were willing to throw around baseless accusations at another dojo like that.

My opinion of them didn’t improve as Mr. Kabuki flipped his teacup over on top of the table and then stabbed his finger into the bottom, causing a fountain of hot tea to come spurting out as he drew his hand back and shower the table.

“Hey!” Miu exclaimed. “That’s rude!”

“We’re not here to play nice!” he replied. “We’re here for a challenge.”

“Fine,” Miu huffed as she pulled out a ledger. “Please write down your name, address and the name of your school, then. The Elder’s articles on challenges are right here on the first page.”

“What!? Ten thousand yen per challenger!” he roared as he read it.

“If you pay an addition ten thousand, you can fight the entire dojo in succession instead,” Miu pointed out graciously. “I’m sorry, but we’ve had so many challenges in the past that we needed to include measures like these.”

‘More like you’re so broke you needed to include them,’ I thought wryly.

“How dare you show such disrespect-!” the same flunky started shouting, before being cut off by his boss throwing out an arm.

“Fine,” he said, tossing the bills on the table. “There will only be one challenge. I will fight Sakaki Shio and prove the strength of my karate.”

Miu gave him a long, hard look before replying. “I’m sorry to say, but Sakaki is out at the moment, so we’ll have to wait until he comes back for your challenge,” she finally said.

I blinked in surprise. Wait, she wasn’t going to fight him herself?

Mr. Kabuki’s fist slammed down on the table, breaking it into splinters. He stood up and roared, “You little brat, are you toying with me!?”

As he raised his fist again, Miu and I both took our stances, but a voice rang out from the doorway.

“Hey Crab-Head! Get away from Miu!” Kennichi called out.

“Kennichi!” Miu cried out, sounding worried. Personally, I was just wondering how I didn’t think of that name first.

“I’m Ryōzanpaku’s #1 Disciple!” Kennichi said. “If you want a fight right now so badly, then leave her alone and fight me!”

“First I get played for a fool, now I’m insulted by some scrawny kid,” Crab-Head muttered to himself.

“Kennichi, stop!” Miu yelled.

Without a word, Crab-Head took a horse stance, and as if on cue some of his flunkies started breaking wooden bats on his muscles.

“You like that, you Ryōzanpaku cowards!?” one of the flunkies started bragging. “This is the pride of our karate! We can make our bodies as strong as steel and take any hit without flinching! Scared yet?”

“I’m scared to think how many idiots would think something like that qualifies as a martial art in itself, yeah,” I retorted. There was only so much of this idiocy I could stand. “Are you seriously bragging that your best move is a knockoff of the Iron Shirt technique? What do you call your karate, ‘My Face to Your Fist’ style?”

“Ensei, what are you doing!?” Miu whispered as Crab-Head started glaring at me through gritted teeth, causing me to blink.

“Wait, are you… Are you actually intimidated by this clown?” I whispered back.

“Ensei, can’t you tell!? He’s an Expert!”

…

“Oh shit,” I whispered.

Much like in building trades or crafts such as carpentry, you don’t immediately jump from Disciple (or apprentice) to Master. “Expert,” at least in this world, is the common term for the martial arts equivalent of a journeyman; they’ve graduated from their apprenticeship, but are not yet true Masters of their art. For a dedicated martial artist, it is a dangerous and difficult time in one’s life, as they must face the challenges of the martial arts world without either the protection or the skills of a Master. Many were broken before they could reach true mastery; others simply stagnated, as they reached a dead end in their progress for whatever reason and lost their chance as their bodies began to atrophy with age. Underneath the face paint, this guy looked about middle-aged; he might not even realize it, but he was probably even in the latter category.

But even a failure of an Expert was more than any of us could take on, and he was looking mighty pissed off at me.

“Uh… How about a three on one?” I suggested.

“How about a hard lesson in running your mouth?” the karateka said as I started choking and sputtering, flailing to try to get him to release his grip on my throat.

“Ah!” he yelled out in surprise, dropping me as Kennichi, whom he’d apparently forgotten about, punched him right in the funny bone, his first two knuckles raised up a bit to focus the impact better.

“You hardened your body by steeling your muscles, but there are parts of the body where that just won’t work,” Kennichi pointed out as Kumadori tried to wring out the painful numbness in his arm.

“I’ve had it with you brats!” he yelled, raising a leg in front of himself and slamming it down on the down hard enough to shake the floor. Dropping into a deep stance, he wheeled his arms around, and I could faintly sense the gathering of ki, my eyes widening as he struck out with twin palms at Kennichi…

“Hey hey hey, what do you think you’re doing pulling out moves like that on Disciples?” Sakaki said, grabbing the man’s arms and pulling them just short of Kennichi from behind, to the shock of everyone else in the room.

“M-Master Sakaki!” Kennichi exclaimed as Sakaki let go of Kumadori’s arms and walked around him.

“Glad to see you got over your little problem, Kennichi,” Sakaki said brightly before turning to me. “But you’ve got a bit of a mouth problem on ya, huh? Don’t go getting a swelled head just ‘cause you can beat up street punks, alright? It’s not gonna end well if you keep mouthin’ off before you even take someone’s measure.”

“… Right. You’re right,” I admitted, dropping my head. Damn it, I hate people who mouth off and talk big all the time.

“Don’t get too worked up about it,” he said, rubbing my hair (over my protests). “This is the time in your life for you to learn from mistakes like that.

“As for you,” he said, turning back to Kumadori, who had the presence of mind to gulp in fright as the “100-Dan Brawler” stared him down and started cracking his knuckles. “I guess I oughta thank you for being so patient with these disciples, huh?”

The next few seconds only need two words to describe them: Total Annihilation.

---X---

AN: Surprise! I don’t really like leaving everything just as canon except for butterflies the SI himself creates. The in-universe justification is that Jump-chan doesn’t either, so there’ll be some minor curveballs here and there to keep Ensei on his toes. First one being, Kumatori Gonzui isn’t a total chump.

Also, I hope Ensei talking smack and making unfounded assumptions doesn’t feel like it comes out of the blue. I hope I was able to foreshadow in previous chapters that Ensei tries to be humble about his skills and ends up failing because all his statements of others’ skills are basically backhanded ways of saying, “But I could totally kick their ass, so it doesn’t matter” when he isn’t talking about out-and-out Masters. I figure that even a normally humble person would get kind of arrogant when just handed badass kung fu skills on a silver platter, and I don’t consider myself a person who’s humble by nature; I just try to be because I hate unfounded arrogance in others.

That said, this is honestly kind of just a short interlude I wanted to bang out as a quick “Thank You” and apology for taking so long to bring this back, as well as a way to get across that not everything in these Jumps are going to be exactly as they should before introducing any major deviation.

 

These days, very few people were willing to go anywhere near the city’s park once night fell. First, it had become a popular hangout for the growing epidemic of delinquent gangs that had been forming recently; the causes and effects of this explosive growth in delinquency and violence were all over the news.

With the rise of the gang called “Ragnarok,” however, it had gotten even worse. What had been a mere gang hangout became a regular scene of moonlit violence, as various gangs challenged each other to try to bolster their strength in the face of the growing threat that Ragnarok represented. The park had become a sort of status symbol among these gangs, and the longer one was able to hold it, the more support they would receive from other gangs who hoped to try to oppose Ragnarok.

That ended tonight. Cries rang out amidst the sounds of bones cracking and boots hitting flesh. In a single night, the executive officer Nanjō Kisara defeated the gang that was currently dominating the city park.

“Boss!” several thugs cried, as a large, beefy young man collapsed to the ground with a broken jaw.

“Looks like you guys weren’t all you were cracked up to be, huh?” the taekwondo student taunted as she adjusted her cap. “Boys, clean up the leftovers.”

“Yes, ma’am!” came the resounding cry, followed by a merciless beating as her thugs fell upon their demoralized enemies.

As Kisara turned away, her right hand, Shiratori, wordlessly handed her a towel, which she accepted gratefully.

“Damn it, this isn’t good, this isn’t good,” a very strange-looking young man muttered as he wrote furiously in a notebook, hidden a safe distance away in the bushes. “This throws off all my plans, how has she been able to complete all those tests so quickly?”

“Well, they weren’t all that hard,” I piped up behind him, looking a little amused as he jumped in shock and let out a panicked scream before quickly hiding himself again. There was a tense (for him) moment as Kisara and Shiratori looked our way for a few seconds before dismissing the sound.

“Y-you!” Nijima Haruo exclaimed in a whisper, pointing accusatorily at me. “You’re the kid who- And you’re the-!”

“Yep,” I confirmed simply. “Just wanted to make a few things clear to you. I know what you’re planning to do with this ‘Shinpaku Alliance’ you’ve got cooking, and I want to lay out a few ground rules and give you some advice…”

---X---

Two nights later, I managed to catch a faint impression out of the corner of my eye.

‘He’s really good at this,’ I thought to myself. ‘If I didn’t already know he was going to try to spy on us, I don’t think I’d ever have caught him.’

I didn’t break my stride as I walked past the hidden Nijima Haruo alongside Kisara, coming into view of the assembled thugs that were pretty much all that was left of Ragnarok’s “competition,” such as it was. Suffice to say, I wasn’t impressed.

The man who had managed to become the head of this ragtag alliance, a big, beefy-looking guy, clicked his teeth in annoyance. “Are you kiddin’ me? Only two of you even bothered showing up?”

“Nine, actually, for all the difference it makes,” Odin said as the Seven Fists walked out from behind us. I could swear he’d choreographed the entrance, as the seven of them were all backlit dramatically by streetlights and looking suitably mysterious and imposing.

‘He tries to play it cool, but he’s totally a drama queen,’ I thought to myself as I put on the pair of black gloves I’d been given. The Roman numeral “IX” had been stitched onto the back in gold, otherwise identical to the ones given to Kisara, which had the numeral “VIII” instead.”

“You arrogant bastard!” the leader shouted. “Hell do you think you’re gonna do with just 9 people!? I’ve got 50 fighters behind me ready to tear you to pieces!” An affirmative cry rang out from the assembled thugs, who variously cracked their knuckles, rattled bike chains, or hefted baseball bats or wooden swords as appropriate.

“Don’t misunderstand me. All nine of us would be complete overkill against the likes of you,” Odin said calmly as he adjusted his glasses. “The only reason we’re here is to see our two newest members complete their ‘final exam,’ so to speak.”

“Looking down on us, you bastards!?” he leader yelled out. “Fine, better for us that way! Kill’em!”

I pulled out a pair of chako* as the thugs began to charge at Kisara and I, who were standing side-by-side.

“Pft. You really need that against these losers?” she chided.

“It’s not about ‘need,’ Number Eight,” I retorted. “It’s just going to be quicker this way.”

---

‘Holy crap, what am I watching!?’ Nijima Haruo thought to himself as he watched 50 armed thugs get taken out by just two fighters.

‘Are all the Sev-er, Nine Fists like this!?’ he wondered frantically, staring at the other seven Fists, who were just watching impassively as their newest members annihilated the last of their gang’s opposition without any comment or expression that he could see.

Frankly, if it weren’t for the fact that he now had a man on the inside – not that he trusted that kid as far as he could throw him, but he was sure he could use him up before the runty punk tried to pull whatever it was he was planning – he’d be reconsidering a lot of his recent life choices. Honestly, he was still more than a little worried as to whether Ken'ichi would get strong enough to crush these guys for him in time…

“I’ll need to redouble my efforts to make sure this is as unfair a fight as possible,” he asserted to himself slyly. “I’ll start by spreading even more rumors about that Tsuji guy…”

---

“And that makes 28 for me and only a measly 24 for you, Number Eight,” I said loftily as Kisara took down the enemy leader with a single kick.

“Screw you, leaders are worth 5 at least!” Kisara retorted.

“Not when they’re that weak they aren’t. He’s worth 2 at best,” I replied.

“Regardless of the exact count, you’ve both done well,” Odin cut in. “Congratulations on your entry into the Seven, now Nine, Fists of Ragnarok.

“Nanjō Kisara, you are now the Eighth Fist. Have you decided on your title?”

“… ‘Valkyrie,’” Kisara said, after a moment’s hesitation.

‘Ugh,’ I groaned mentally.

“Good. Kimura Ensei, you are now the Ninth Fist. Do you have a preference for your title?”

“Think I’ll go with ‘Heimdall,’” I answered.

“Good. Again, welcome to the Nine Fists,” Odin said as he and the others began to scatter.

“W-Wait! Can I ask, when are we going to meet Master Kensei?” Kisara asked.

“That is for Master Kensei to decide,” Odin said without turning back. “You will be informed when he makes that decision. Until then, strive to come to his attention.”

‘Yeah right. I’d rather fight that fucking psychopath than train under him,’ I thought to myself. ‘At least then he’d only kill or cripple me.’

“You gotta be kidding me,” Kisara griped as the two of us were left alone. Well, alone as any two people amidst 50 unconscious delinquents can be.

“… If it helps, I’ll let you count the leader as 3,” I offered.

“Oh, shut up.”

---X---

Tsuji Shinnosuke. Just a short while prior, he’d been one of the top executive officers of Ragnarok, highly respected for his skills in a fight which had allowed him to gather one of the largest groups under himself, dubbed the “Tsuji Army.” He had even been considered for the position of one of the Fists of Ragnarok.

But all his work in making a name for himself and building up his army had come to nothing. He had lost, badly, to Kimura Ensei in the very first test to become one of the Fists. His crushing defeat there had been a humiliation in its own, but something he could have recovered from. However, a whisper campaign had spread all kinds of rumors about him; one by one, his subordinates all drifted away from the Tsuji Army, until he had only two supporters left.

Led to believe the whisper campaign had been carried out by Nanjō Kisara, he had confronted her, only to be taken out in a surprise attack by Shirahama Ken'ichi. Word had quickly spread in an exaggerated retelling that Tsuji had tried to ambush Shirahama like a coward and been utterly crushed, further making Tsuji a laughingstock within Ragnarok.

Finally, he had tried to confront Shirahama and defeat him once again, to prove that the stories had been nothing but a lie. Instead, an opponent that Tsuji had once been able to best due to his greater experience instead completely overpowered him, and he lost in a single blow.

‘It’s… a complete loss,’ Tsuji thought to himself, barely able to sit up after a single punch from Shirahama. His last two followers had to help him up.

“You guys… should find a new gang,” Tsuji said quietly. “There’s no point in sticking with me now.”

“We can’t do that!” one of them exclaimed.

“We’re your personal guard! We can’t just leave!”

“It’s the end of the Tsuji Army,” Tsuji admitted. “I’ve always said that a man’s worth is in how many people are willing to follow him. Look at me! There’s nothing left…”

“What kind of stupid talk is that, Mop-Head?” Shirahama retorted.

“W-What?” Tsuji asked, turning around to see that his enemy had stuck around after his victory.

“You’ve got two good friends who are willing to stick by you, no matter what happens,” the boy pointed out. “That’s worth a lot more than even a hundred ‘troops’ who abandon you as soon as you aren’t on top.”

Tsuji shakily got to his feet. “Friends, huh?”

“Yeah, friends!” one of his personal guard exclaimed. “You’ve still got us, Captain!”

“Right! We stuck by you from the very beginning, and we promised we’d be with you ‘til you made it to the very top!” the other affirmed.

Tsuji turned away as his eyes began to sting. “You stubborn bastards. Alright, fine, we’ll withdraw for now, but the Tsuji Army ain’t done yet!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Oh, wait up. Shirahama!” Tsuji exclaimed, turning back.

“Huh? Yes?”

“Your friend… Takeda Ikki. Ragnarok doesn’t let anyone just leave. He’s going to be beaten into a bloody mess; that’s the ‘Quitter’s Lynching.’ Kisara’s group is going to be the one to do it, since she was his superior. And the Sixth Fist, Hermit, is going to oversee it, ‘cause she’s a new member. You and he had better lay low for a while. In fact, skip town if you can!”

Tsuji and his personal guard walked away as Shirahama Ken'ichi absorbed this new information. They hadn’t gotten far, though, before a familiar face stood in their path.

“Hey Tsuji. Saw you get your ass kicked; so much for not needing any lessons, huh?” the Ninth Fist said tauntingly. “Couldn’t even take a single punch from him. That’s the difference actual training under a Master makes, you know. Relying on experience from brawls on the street’ll only take you so far as a fighter.”

“Are you going somewhere with this, ‘Heimdall?’” Tsuji asked testily.

“Yeah. My offer from before still stands,” Ensei said. “You and your friends here should sign up at my family’s dojo; we’ll whip you all into tip-top shape in no time.

“Heck, if you really want it so bad, I’ll even let you stay on as an executive officer, under me,” he continued. “What do you say?”

Tsuji chuckled. “Really? You’re gonna accept a guy the rest of Ragnarok has laughed off as a washout? That’s big of you, what’s your angle?”

“My ‘angle’ is that I’m not stupid enough to write someone off just because he’s down on his luck,” Ensei answered. “You’ve fallen behind, Tsuji, but you’ve got what it takes to go far if you’re willing to swallow your pride and learn from your mistakes.”

Tsuji nodded thoughtfully. “… What kinda tuition fees we talking about, here?” he asked. “The Tsuji Army ain’t exactly flush with cash right now.”

“Don’t worry about it, we don’t charge that much.”

---

“And so, we've gone from one to seven,” I said with satisfaction as I watched my subjects uh, kouhai, do the scut work of cleaning the dojo while I cleaned and polished the equipment. “Now this is how a dojo is supposed to work.”

‘And as soon as Nijima’s ‘Shinpaku Alliance’ plan gains enough steam to compete with Ragnarok, we’re going to be drowning in new students,’ I thought to myself. ‘Speaking of which…’

“Hey, Mizunuma, has Nijima laid out his plan for stopping Takeda’s ‘Quitter’s Lynching?’” I asked.

The Shinpaku Alliance member stopped polishing the floor to look at me in surprise. “How did you…? Uh, well, he hasn’t told me, but he seems pretty confident, so I guess he must have something in mind…”

“Well, far be it for me to question his acumen as a strategist, but I think he still doesn’t really get what Ragnarok’s actually capable of,” I replied. “If it was just Kisara, I’m sure Ken'ichi could deal with it, but Hermit’s keeping an eye on her while she undergoes her ‘probationary period’ to see how good she is as a leader, and the two of them at once is a death sentence for him right now.”

Actually, I was kind of lying. Even if Ken'ichi didn’t have his dumb aversion to fighting girls, he still wouldn’t stand much chance against Kisara right now, but Miu would handle that part just fine. But there was always the chance that Hermit decided to be a bit more “active” this time around in dealing with the threat Ken'ichi and the Shinpaku Alliance represented.

“Tell Nijima that I won’t step in to help against Kisara, but if Hermit tries anything, I’ll make sure to draw him away,” I told Mizunuma.

‘Let’s hope I’m not wrong about how willing Hermit is to overlook his loyalties to Ragnarok for the sake of a challenge,’ I thought to myself. I still wasn’t remotely worried about Loki’s (unbeknownst to him) empty threat against the dojo, but if he tried targeting some of the students first… Other than Tsuji and Tsukuba, none of them were yet at the point where I could trust them to hold their own against Loki’s posse without me. If Hermit reported me…

‘Well, I guess if it really comes down to it, I'll just have to live up to my new title and be the one to take out Loki preemptively,’ I mused.

---X---

AN
*If you’ve forgotten, it’s the eskrima/arnis version of the Okinawan nunchaku; the only real difference is a longer chain and shorter handles, which makes it more suited for longer ranges than you would use nunchaku for.

 

Takeda Ikki, formerly “Takeda the Puncher” of Kisara’s elite “Three-Man Army.” He had once been an aspiring professional boxer with a bright future ahead of him. At that time, he and another talented rookie named Akeshita had been close friends.

So, when Akeshita made a panicked call one night to Takeda when he was cornered by a gang of armed delinquents outside of a convenience store, Takeda had only hesitated for a moment before rushing to his aid; it hadn’t even been the thought of being hurt or beaten that had given him pause, but the fact that getting involved in street fights could get him banned from boxing and, on top of that, he had an important match the very next day.

Takeda and Akeshita managed to fight off the thugs together, but Takeda was in no shape to fight the next day. In fact, he was in no condition to box again: a blow from a thug’s wooden sword took away his ability to raise his left arm. Akeshita, on the other hand, went on to have a successful boxing career, but distanced himself from the friend who’d given up everything to help him. Despondent, Takeda lost his way, became cynical about friendship and the good nature of people, and became a delinquent himself for lack of any other path in life that he could see.

So, when he was tasked with finding Shirahama Ken'ichi and bringing him to Kisara – either for recruitment, or to get the shit beaten out of him after he’d beaten Tsukuba Saizō – Takeda managed to pin down Ken'ichi, who was trying to avoid a confrontation, by taking two of Ken'ichi’s former bullies hostage after hearing them loudly affirm that they were his friends (in an attempt to get close to Miu through him), banking on the fact that Ken'ichi would act as Takeda himself had and come to the aid of others.

The resulting fight had ended with the two becoming friends, and with Takeda feeling eternally grateful to Ken'ichi and to Ryōzanpaku. Ken'ichi restored his faith in people, and through Koetsuji Akisame’s medical prowess, Ryōzanpaku gave him the chance to box again by fixing his crippled arm. Takeda thus chose to sever his ties to Ragnarok, but gangs don’t tend to just let you quit, and Ragnarok is no exception.

Ken'ichi, of course, had no intention of letting Takeda face a “Quitter’s Lynching” on his own, and had taken to staying by his side whenever he could and forcing a promise from the older boy to call him if anything happened while Ken'ichi was away. But with Takeda’s past – and self-sacrificing nature – in mind, it was almost a foregone conclusion that, when Kisara showed up with Shiratori, the other two members of the “Three-Man Army,” and a couple of assorted thugs, Takeda would refuse to call Ken'ichi and let him risk himself to save him.

Luckily, I have no such hang-ups, and as I watched Kisara corner Takeda from a nearby rooftop I pulled out my cellphone and rang the future “#1 Disciple” myself.

“Hello?” Ken'ichi asked.

“Hey Ken'ichi, it’s Ensei.”

“Ensei? How did you get my number?”

“An alien told me,” I answered jokingly.

“Nijima? Why-?”

“I figured Takeda wouldn’t want to call you himself, and I thought I’d save you some time tracking him down. Kisara and her goons are cornering Takeda right now. I’d help him, but I’ve got my own thing to deal with right now, so you and Miu will need to hurry over here ASAP.”

I gave Ken'ichi the address and hung up before he could ask any more questions, then turned around to face the hooded young man staring me down with his arms crossed. The gold “VI” on his black gloves were clear to see.

“That’s blatant treachery, Heimdall,” the Sixth Fist said flatly. “You may have just become a member of Ragnarok, but you should already know the price of betrayal, Ninth Fist or no.”

“It’s not betrayal if you don’t get caught,” I said cheekily. “And I haven’t been ‘caught’ until someone tells Odin.”

“Alright, let’s stomp him all down at once!” Koga “the Kicker” shouted gleefully down below, interrupting our conversation. I mentally rolled my eyes at the sound of his voice. Normally I hate people who beat on someone even once he can’t fight back anymore, but I was kind of regretting not kicking the little shit's ass more thoroughly back when I’d recruited Tsukuba.

“Wait!” exclaimed Ukita “the Thrower,” putting a hand on Koga’s shoulder. “I’ll do it.”

Ukita started to monologue. “You’ve always been one weird bastard, Takeda. When you won a fight, you’d compliment the guy you just beat and try to cheer them up. If I used any sneaky moves, you’d get mad and lecture me. People lumped us together as a ‘Three-Man Army,’ but you always stood out. We're just delinquents, but you still had the heart of a sportsman. It really got on my nerves.”

“That’s too bad. I always thought you were kind of fun, Ukita,” Takeda said wistfully.

Ukita let out a loud kiai, but it was followed by shocked gasps from Kisara’s men. I didn’t need to look back to know he’d just grabbed Koga and thrown him right where he belonged – in a pile of garbage.

“Ukita Kōzō is done with Ragnarok!” he shouted. “If you’ve got a problem with that, come down here and say it to my face!”

“… Idiots,” Hermit commented.

“Eh. I think it’s pretty cool,” I said with a shrug.

“That’s enough for you to decide to betray us like this? And you think I’m just going to forget about that?” Hermit asked coolly. “You’d better not think you can threaten me into silence.”

“Threaten? No chance. I’m going to bribe you,” I said with a grin. “And I’m going to do it with the only thing that matters to you: A fight.”

“What are you babbling about?” Hermit asked testily.

“You’re right, I do know the rules of Ragnarok already, and that includes the part where Odin’s little pet Fists don’t get to actually duke it out with each other,” I explained, noting the little twitch in Hermit’s hooded face when I said “pet.” ‘Bingo, right in the superiority complex.’

“You aren't any more invested in Ragnarok than I am, Hermit,” I pointed out. “You have no underlings, and you only even bother showing up to meetings when Odin gives a direct order. You’re only here in the first place because you were told that the Fists would get personal training from ‘Kensei.’ But you’ve never even gotten to see the guy, much less train under him, and in the meantime, you’ve been stuck on the bench, not allowed to fight the only opponents around who are worth anything and stuck doing Odin’s bidding on top of it.

“So how about this? We fight, here and now, and Odin doesn’t have to know,” I offered. “And if I win, or last until the fight down below is over one way or another, then Odin really doesn’t have to know it happened. What do you say?”

“Trying to buy time for those reinforcements you called for?” Hermit noted. “Cute. And why wouldn’t I just beat you into the ground here and now and bring you to Odin personally?”

“Because if you turn down my offer I’m just going to run like hell,” I said cheekily. “Even if you beat me, you don’t get the kind of fight you want, and if I escape… Well, ask yourself, is Odin going to leave me to someone who already failed to take me out, or is he going to send an attack dog he actually trusts?”

Hermit’s nigh-perpetual frown deepened. “Berserker…”

“Exactly. Odin only ever gives you an important mission when Berserker's busy,” I noted.

For someone who thought he was some brilliant schemer, Loki gossiped like a fishwife. Probably because he loved the chance to show off his knowledge of peoples’ patterns of behavior. Not that I was complaining.

“So, what do you say, Hermit? A fight with one of your fellow Fists, here and now, until that scrap down below is over or one of us wins? Or you just chasing me down and either taking me out from behind or getting put on the bench again while Berserker gets all the fun like always?”

After just a few moments of thought, a slight smirk crept across Hermit’s face as he took his stance: His body was held almost perpendicular to mine, knees slightly bent, the arm facing me almost fully extended while the other was held back but still facing me, and both hands held in a “knife-hand” rather than a fist.

I continued facing him head-on, knees bent just slightly, shifting my weight from foot to foot in a rhythm, arms held so that my fists were level with – and loosely in front of – my face.

He struck with very little warning: Rather than the apparent opening of my midsection, he feinted a knife-hand at my face before dipping down into a split one smooth motion, whipping his arms around to build up force and lashing out like a whip at my ankles as he dropped.

I jumped back to dodge, only for him to rise up in the same smooth, flowing motion, his arms rotating again to build up force for upward, diagonal strikes to my head as he darted forward in a charging step to build up even more momentum.

I checked both strikes with my arms, wincing as I was forced to block attacks that could dent steel. My eyes widened as I touched down on the ground and realized my heels were planted at the edge of the slanted roof; his strikes had forced me back farther than I’d thought.

He looked almost disappointed as he charged forward with one last, whip-like strike that would send me tumbling over the edge.

The disappointment vanished as I grabbed his arm in mid-swing and used his momentum for my own, swinging myself around 180 degrees and sending him flying off the roof.

He spun around in midair to plan his feet on the neighboring roof, slap a palm down onto the roof and then kick off to flip himself up and over, turning around so that he landed facing me.

“You actually thought it would be that easy for a moment, huh?” I asked him, grinning cheekily.

“Hmph. More like I was afraid you were all talk,” Hermit huffed. “I guess there’s something to back up that arrogance, at least. But if you’re satisfied with so little…”

One of the tiles on the roof had come loose from my throw. I stepped on it and then used my foot to launch it at his face. His arm lashed out and it shattered into powder.

“Very nice,” I admitted. “You’ve been training a long time for your arms to be so sturdy. Ma Sōgetsu’s a good teacher.”

His eyes widened. “How do you know my master’s name?”

“The better question is: Where did that kid with the band-aid down there learn to fight like that?” I replied, jabbing my thumb at the ongoing fight below us. Hermit turned and saw Ken'ichi, who had shown up in the short scuffle between Hermit and me. In that time, he had laid out most of the thugs and started duking it out with Shiratori while Kisara squared off against Miu.

‘I guess he doesn’t realize that Shiratori’s a girl, huh?’ I mused. ‘Although, he keeps holding back from decisive blows, so maybe not? Or…’

As Kisara hit the ground unconscious, Shiratori turned around to yell her name in shock, causing a punch she would have dodged completely to graze her chest. As Ken'ichi froze in his tracks and his face went stark white, my question was answered.

“Looks like the fight’s over, too,” I noted, as Nijima and six others, including Mizunuma, charged out with bats at the ready, a flag waving proudly and reading “Shinpaku Alliance.” Realizing the fight was over, Shiratori rushed over to scoop up the unconscious Kisara, followed by their thugs.

I guess I really underestimated how quickly that fight was over once Ken'ichi and Miu showed up… Kinda disappointing, actually.

“Heimdall! Why do I see my master’s moves in that half-baked punk!?” Hermit demanded, not really seeming to care that Ragnarok had just been decisively beaten by what appeared to be a new gang. Guess I was right about him.

“I think that’s a question you should ask him yourself,” I said. “Though before you rush in and beat him up here and now, I think there’s something you should know.

“A very short time ago, that kid couldn’t even beat Tsuji, but just yesterday he laid the guy out with one punch.”

“And?” Hermit asked, obviously annoyed I wasn’t answering his question.

“He’s still improving, and at a pretty rapid rate. But Odin’s not going to think much of it and first; I bet he’ll leave it to you just because you’re on hand and then forget about it,” I pointed out. “If you, say, take your time just a little, I’m sure he won’t really care.”

“… So, you’re working for them, are you?” Hermit deduced. “This ‘Shinpaku Alliance’ stupidity is your angle?”

“Do you actually care?” I asked him. “Odin’s been treating you like a benchwarmer, and Ragnarok hasn’t faced a real challenge since its inception. This is the first time one of the Fists has actually lost a fight; why should you waste the opportunity to have a fight that actually matters?”

Hermit looked down thoughtfully at Ken'ichi, who was helping Takeda and Ukita to their feet and having a heart-to-heart with the boxer. His gaze turned dark.

“I could crush him like a bug as he is now,” he concluded.

“Like I said: He’s improving quickly.”

“… Could Master Ma really have bothered training someone that pathetic?” Hermit asked quietly, clearly to himself rather than to me.

“And hey, if you wait a little while before you fight him, I’ll face you down again, no time limits!” I promised.

Hermit turned his back and started to walk away. “Don’t think you’re the one who gets to decide how I operate, Heimdall!” he exclaimed as he left. “I know you’re trying to play me, I just don’t care. I’ll let that idiot grow enough to at least be worth the effort of crushing, but once I do, you’re not getting out of this.”

‘Sure thing, Vegeta,’ I thought as I waved him off flippantly, though, truth be told, I was kind of dreading having to fight the guy full-tilt.

Not because I couldn’t beat him, obviously. But that guy was so ridiculously “Shounen Willpower” when it came to losing a fight that I just couldn’t see myself keeping him down without leaving him a broken wreck as he was right now. So, I’d leave that to Ken'ichi… for now. Once his cold shell cracked a bit and he turned into Ken'ichi’s tsundere rival, I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to face down a user of baji-pigua for real.

“Oh man, that’s going to be so cool!” I whispered to myself. “He’ll be all trying to hammer me with elbow strikes and spinning arms and I’ll be like-!”

“Did you hear something?” Miu suddenly asked down on the ground. I clapped my hands over my mouth before I started making Bruce Lee noises again, as I realized what I was about to start doing.

‘You’d think actually knowing martial arts now would keep me from being such a Goddamn dork,’ I thought ruefully.

---X---

AN: There’s a proverb in Chinese martial arts that translates to, “When pigua is added to baji, gods and demons are all terrified. When baji is added to pigua, heroes will sigh knowing they are no match for it.” This saying was coined by those who witnessed the skills of the “God Spear” Li Shuwen, who once claimed he never needed a second strike. Among his students were Huo Dian’ge, who was bodyguard to Puyi, China’s last emperor; Li Chenwu, who was bodyguard to Mao Zedong; and Liu Yunqiao, a secret agent for the Guomindang and instructor of Chiang Kai-shek’s personal bodyguards. The baji-pigua these men learned under Li Shuwen thus gained a strong association with bodyguards. Just a cool factoid.

Also, that proverb above? Put the first part of it (in Chinese, obviously) into Google Translate and you get, “The eight poles are hanging, and the gods are afraid.”

 

“… And then Naoki said that we should fight again, once he manages to score a hit on that tengu and gets to visit the city,” Ken’ichi said, finishing his story.

“A jujutsu Master and his son out in the mountains, huh?” I mused aloud. Truth be told, I’d forgotten that ever happened, so I guess this “Yamamoto Naoki” kid and his father Taiki never really showed up again. But he sounded like someone who could be…

Nah. Kid’s the same age as Honoka, it’d be messed up to involve him in the mess that comes later.

“Oh, he also said he really wanted to fight you, Ensei!” Ken’ichi continued, drawing me out of my thoughts.

“Me? When did I come up in that conversation?” I asked.

“Well, he was making fun of me for losing even though I was older, so I told him age had nothing to do with it and kinda used you as an example,” Ken’ichi admitted ruefully. “He seemed kind of excited to learn there was a kid his age learning martial arts, though.”

“Huh.” Not really knowing how to respond to that, I changed the subject. “So, with your special mountain training over, think you’re ready for the next time Hermit knocks you off a bridge and fights you on top of a moving bus?”*

“I don’t think anyone should need to be ready to fight for their life on top of a speeding bus,” Ken’ichi complained.

“Well, you gave up on a normal life when you joined this dojo,” I pointed out, getting up from the floor. “You ready to pick back up on training?”

“Yeah, I… wait, what time is it?” Ken’ichi asked, suddenly looking serious as he noticed Master Ma sitting and reading a magazine.

When I told him the time, his eyes widened in shock. “That’s the time Miu and Shigure take a bath! And Master Ma is… still here!

“Master Ma always tries to peep on the girls and gets into a fight with Shigure!” Ken’ichi shouted, pointing a finger accusatorily at the Chinese master. “Are you… an imposter!?”

“Hey now, don’t-!”

“No, really though, jokes aside, what’s up, Master Ma?” Ken’ichi asked, suddenly calm again as he sat down beside his master. “Something must really be putting you off.”

“That’s your idea of a joke?” Kensei complained. “And nothing’s wrong at all. Just because I-”

“Your nudie mag is upside down,” I pointed out.

“Ah. Uh, well, you know, this is an old one that I’ve read a lot, so it’s a little boring if I don’t find a new way of looking at it, you know?” Master Ma bluffed.

“Right…” Ken’ichi and I said simultaneously.

---

“Yeah, that is kinda weird coming from Kensei,” Master Sakaki admitted. He was sitting on a couch, drinking beer and eating out of a bowl of mixed nuts that he was futilely trying to keep Apachai from digging into.

“He’s been like that ever since I asked him about what Tanimoto said to me,” Ken’ichi noted.

“Eh? What’d he say?” Sakaki asked.

“He asked me if I was taught by a man named Ma Sōgetsu.” Ken’ichi replied.

“What!? Ma Sōgetsu!?” Sakaki yelled in shock. Collecting himself, his expression became unreadable, and he tipped the bowl of nuts straight into Apachai’s mouth without a word.

“Listen, Ken’ichi, don’t pry into this,” Sakaki said with a sigh. “Kensei’s got his own baggage with that name, and that’s all I’m gonna tell you. It’s his problem to deal with, not ours.”

---

“I really don’t know anything about the masters’ pasts, do I?” Ken’ichi mused to himself as he lay down on his futon. “Actually, what do I really know about them at all? It’s kind of weird that I know so little about the people I’m living with now…”

The sound of footsteps on the creaky floorboards drew Ken’ichi out of his thoughts and toward the door. Peaking out, he saw Kensei walk out, a bag slung over his shoulder.

‘Where’s Master Ma going with that luggage at this time of night?’ Ken’ichi wondered.

---

“E-Ensei!?” Ken’ichi shouted in a whisper. “What are you doing here!?”

“Riding on the train, obviously,” the younger boy said with a smile. “I’m following Master Ma because I wanted to see what he’s up to, what do you think I’m doing here?”

Unable to just leave things the way Master Sakaki had told him, Ken’ichi had decided to try to follow Master Ma; it was a testimony to just how out-of-sorts the Chinese martial artist was that, as far as Ken’ichi could tell, he hadn’t spotted him yet.

But as soon as Kensei and Ken’ichi had walked into the train, he’d noticed Kimura Ensei sitting on the train, making sure to stay out of Master Ma’s line of sight just like he was.

“Do your parents even know you’re out here?” Ken’ichi pressed.

“They didn’t stop me, so I assume they’re fine with it,” Ensei said with a shrug.

“That’s not something you should just assume!” Ken’ichi chided.

“It is if you don’t want him to hear you,” the boy said, pointing to the man they were shadowing.

“Ugh, fine, but we’re not done with this conversation.”

---X---

“Why the heck are we in Yokohama?” Ken’ichi blurted out, staring awestruck at the large entrysign to the Yokohama Chinatown.

“Well, this is the biggest Chinatown in Japan,” Ensei pointed out. “He might know someone here.

“Wait, we can’t lose sight of him!” Ken’ichi realized, rapidly looking around for Ma Kensei, only to realize the man himself was standing not five feet away and mimicking his movements.

“Ah! We’ve been spotted!” Ken’ichi yelled.

“You know, you could have tried talking to me before you started shadowing me,” the Master replied as he pulled out a banknote. “Here, eat some noodles or something and go home.”

“After coming all this way? Not a chance,” Ken’ichi said.

“Just to be clear, I’m not saying ‘No’ to getting some noodles,” Ensei cut in.

“It might be a little dangerous for you to follow me on this trip, you two,” Kensei said, unusually serious. “I’ll ask you again: Go home.”

“Master Ma, I’m sharing bed and board with you, training under you… It’s not right to do all that and not share your worries, too!” Ken’ichi answered, just as serious.

“Uh… I’ll hang around and eat Chinese food, I guess,” Ensei said with a shrug.

“I really don’t know what will happen. You’re sure?” Kensei asked a third time.

“Yes!”

The short Chinese man let out a sigh and turned around, the two following close behind. “Oh, very well, I guess I’ve got not choice. My little pupil’s telling me to throw him into a bottomless pit. Even if he dies, he says!”

“Please don’t talk like that,” Ken’ichi said with a shudder.

---

“We’re seriously getting Chinese first?” Ken’ichi asked as the three stepped into the “Emperor’s Wrath Chinese Restaurant.”

Spoiler

A balding old man only slightly taller than the diminutive Kensei greeted them just inside. “I see you’ve finally come to visit, Nephew,” he said with a bow of greeting.

“I’m sorry for taking so long to see you again, Uncle,” Kensei said respectfully, bowing in turn. “Ken’ichi, Ensei, this is my uncle, Ma Ryō, though many people call him Hakubi. Uncle, these are Shirahama Ken’ichi, my disciple, and Kimura Ensei, who, uh…”**

“I’m just here for the dim sum,” Ensei said with a smile and a bow. “Though it’s an honor to meet you, Master.”

---

“Hey Ken’ichi, you should ask Master Hakubi for some fung zaau,” Ensei said in-between bites of lo mai gai. “It’s a great way to expand your horizons.”

“As much as I appreciate the taste of marinated chicken feet, I don’t think young Ken’ichi is quite ready to go on that particular culinary adventure,” the elder Ma said with a laugh as he refilled their tea.

“Chicken feet!?” Ken’ichi exclaimed, almost choking on a spring roll.

“It really isn’t that bad,” Ensei shrugged. “Once you get over the way they look they taste alright. Really chewy and gelatin-y, though.”

“Geez, have you actually eaten stuff like that?”

“Ken’ichi, I’m part-Filipino. My people decided the best way to improve chocolate rice pudding was to add dried herring to it.”***

“Ugh, sorry I asked…” Ken’ichi replied.

“So, Nephew, I can think of two reasons you might have decided to pay me a visit at this time,” Master Hakubi said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Is it, perhaps, my other nephew?”

“So, he really is in Japan?” Kensei asked gravely.

“Indeed.”

“… Then I must meet him.”

“Are you sure? My sources say that the Triads have hired him as a bodyguard,” Hakubi explained.

“Sōgetsu is my brother; he is my responsibility,” Kensei explained.

“Your brother is your responsibility!? How about the rest of your family!?” yelled a voice from above.

“As I said, there were two reasons I thought you might’ve come here,” Hakubi chuckled, as a girl about Ken’ichi’s age leapt down from the balcony and shattered the thick wooden table with a single kick, sending their food flying.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished with that!” Ensei yelled angrily, trying to catch as many dishes as possible before they hit the ground.

Kensei, who had been right in the path of the girl’s flying kick, was now standing just to the side of where she’d flown through the air to hit the table. “Whoever you are, you’ve got nice muscles, but you’re a hundred years too early to try to get the jump on me,” he explained airily. But as he actually looked at the girl he was lecturing, he blanched.

“Ahh!” he gasped.

“What’s the matter, Papa? So shocked to see your daughter again?” the girl asked, her voice dangerously low.

“Wait, Papa? Daughter? Is she… a student escort?” Ken’ichi asked.

“Well, she’s definitely dressed for the part!” Ensei said angrily, laying out the dishes he’d saved onto a neighboring table.

“You idiot! She’s my actual daughter, Renka!” Kensei exclaimed. “Honestly, what do you think of me!?”

“You have a kid!?” Ken’ichi yelled, sounding almost horrified.

“He has three,” Hakubi corrected. “All from his wife, too. Surprising? We all thought so, too. No bastards, even… so far as we know.”

“Nice to see my family has such a high opinion of me…” Kensei muttered irritably.

“And why do you think that might’ve happened!?” Renka yelled as she threw a weighted rope, catching him by the wrist.

“You’re coming home with me right now, Papa!” she yelled. “I had to become a foreign exchange student just to look for you, and I knew you’d visit Uncle Hakubi for something eventually!”

“Ooh, my nephew’s in trouble,” Hakubi said with a chuckle.

“Accept it and come with me, you dirty old man!” Renka exclaimed, pulling hard on the rope.

“Give up,” Kensei said simply, slicing the rope with a swipe of his hand. The sudden loss of tension sent the girl tumbling backward into the ruined table.

“Not yet!” she replied, throwing a second rope as she fell. Before anyone but Hakubi could see, Kensei had shoved his student in the way, the rope wrapping around his throat.

“Erk!”

“Thank you for your sacrifice, my beloved student,” Kensei said loftily as he shoved his “beloved student” into his daughter, the two getting tangled up in the rope somehow as he made his escape.

“Agh! Damn it, he’s getting away!” the girl yelled, struggling futilely to escape the ropes.

“Ah, stop, you’re making them tighter!” Ken’ichi exclaimed.

“Father and Master of the Year right there,” Ensei said sarcastically as he pulled out a butterfly knife and started cutting the ropes.

“Now now, let’s not talk about him like that when he isn’t around,” Hakubi chided gently, though he didn’t seem willing to dispute it much further than that.

---

“Why are you so intent on bringing him back to China, anyway?” Ken’ichi asked. Master Ma’s daughter had just run out as soon as Ensei’d cut them loose, and without really thinking, he had followed.

“You don’t know anything, do you!?” Renka snapped irritably. “Papa’s the grandmaster of the Phoenix Alliance, the biggest martial arts organization in China. Papa led 100,000 dedicated followers, but one day he just turned it all over to Mama, with nothing but a note saying, ‘This is getting to be too much bother’ and disappeared! Do you have any idea how hard Mama’s had to work to keep things from falling apart!?”

“… Yeah, that sounds like him,” Ken’ichi admitted sheepishly.

“Now where’s he going?” she asked him.

“Huh? I don’t know,” Ken’ichi answered, coming to a stop. “I just followed you because you started running. I figured you’d know where he’d be going.”

“If I knew where he’d be going, I wouldn’t have had to wait at Uncle Hakubi’s!” she yelled. “Speaking of which, who are you, anyway? Why were you with Papa?”

“Uh, I’m Shirahama Ken’ichi. I’m a first year at Kōryō High School and Master Ma’s student.”

Renka looked at Ken’ichi for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she punched him in the gut, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Why…?” Ken’ichi groaned.

“What was that?” Renka demanded. “You’re Papa’s student, when you can’t even dodge that? This is just too sad!”

“Geez, sorry for being talentless,” Ken’ichi grumbled as he stood up, rubbing his stomach. Renka blinked in surprise.

“You’re already up?”

“Haha, Master Ma’s told me I have a talent for taking hits,” Ken’ichi said ruefully.

“Ugh, has being in Japan addled Papa’s brain? What’s he thinking, abandoning the Phoenix Alliance for a dope like you?” Renka said bitterly.

“Gyah!” a man yelled as he was thrown bodily out of a store window, crying out in pain as he cut himself on the shattered glass. Two men who looked like gangsters walked casually out the door, one of them easily more than six feet tall and built like a wrestler.

The smaller one, smoking a cigarette and dressed in a gaudy suit, looked down at the bleeding man without pity. “So, mind explaining exactly why you thought you could get away without paying your dues?”

“Go to hell!” the man yelled defiantly despite his injuries. “Mr. Hakubi won’t let you Traid punks get away with throwing your weight around for much longer!”

“Master Ma’s uncle? What are they talking about?” Ken’ichi asked.

“Those guys are Triads; Chinese mafia,” Renka said, looking disgusted. “Lately, they’ve been coming from the mainland and trying to take control of overseas Chinese communities like this one.”

“That’s some brave talk, but I don’t see Old Man Hakubi or any of his students around here, do you?” the thug asked. The bigger thug picked up the defiant storeowner and threw him again, sending him flying. Before he could land head-first on the ground, Ken’ichi grabbed him out of the air and righted him.

“You okay?” Ken’ichi asked.

“What the? Who the hell are you?” the thug asked.

“Thugs like you don’t get to call him ‘old man,’” Renka said. “You have 5 seconds to get out of here before I teach you a lesson.”

“Shove off, little girl!” the beefy thug yelled.

“And what are you, his child bride? I knew he was just another dirty old man,” the smaller thug joked.

“Four,” Renka counted off. “Three.”

“A countdown? Cute,” the bigger man scoffed, winding up his fist as Renka continued counting. He threw a punch as Renka counted “One”.

“Zero,” Renka said as she easily batted his arm to the side and drove her fist into his stomach. Though it looked like one punch to the other bystanders, Ken’ichi could tell that he struck him three times in that one instant. He collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.

‘Wow. I guess I shouldn’t expect any less from Master Ma’s daughter,’ Ken’ichi thought.

---

I had finished my food and was sipping lightly at the last of my tea as Master Hakubi had a whispered conversation with someone who came running into the restaurant. He sat down across the table from me.

“Little Renka and Kensei’s student have just had a run-in with the Triads who’ve been causing trouble recently,” he explained to me, pouring a cup of tea for himself. “They interrogated one of them and are going to their hideout right now… Renka is seeking Sōgetsu, no doubt because Kensei intends to confront him as well.”

“Well, that’s reckless as hell,” I replied. “Ma Sōgetsu’s a brutal murderer who cut his ties to the Ma clan to pursue the path of the ‘Killing Fist,’ right? What makes her think he won’t just punch her head off?”

The old man sighed. “It’s surely our own fault. She’s always had the protection of the Phoenix Alliance and the Ma clan. In China, that made her virtually untouchable, but here in Japan, and with Sōgetsu involved…” he trailed off, his gaze dropping into his teacup.

“No offense, Master, but why aren’t you going out to stop her or keep Sōtetsu away from her, if you’re worried?” I asked.

He rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “I led the Phoenix Alliance before passing it to my younger brother, Kensei and Sōgetsu’s father,” he explained. “During that time, I expanded the organization’s influence, but made many powerful enemies who were willing to stoop to any means. I lost… many loved ones, in the fighting that ensued.

“There was no way for me to prevail, and even if I did, I had already lost too much,” he said, his eyes misty and distant. “I ceded leadership to my brother and washed my hands in the golden basin****. Were I to reenter the power struggles of the martial arts world…”

“When you say ‘enemies,’ you mean YAMI, don’t you?” I asked. His flinch at that name confirmed it.

“They were powerful even in my time, but now, their expanse grows by the day, and I am very far from my prime,” he lamented. “I have not told even Kensei yet, but Sōgetsu… I believe he has joined them. Were I to engage him in combat and reenter the world of the martial arts, even if it saved Renka at that moment, I believe that neither she nor any of those close to me now would be safe again. They may mouth compliance with the rules of the martial arts, but in truth they worship only strength, and if he is powerful enough then even a monster who follows the Demon Way is allowed within their highest eschelons…”

“Jenazad,” I whispered. In Ensei’s memories of growing up, the man was an honest-to-God horror story Masters told their Disciples about how far a martial artist could fall. That YAMI had made him one of their top leaders said a lot about them.

His expression darkened even further at the mention of that name. “I had a wife once. Children of my own… Perhaps Ryōzanpaku may be willing to challenge them, but they are only six, and I… I cannot take that risk again.”

“For God’s sake,” I sighed as I stood up. “Tell me where they’re going, and I’ll see if I can’t pull their asses out of the fire. But if your nephew punches my head off my shoulders, I’m haunting you for the rest of your damn life.”

---

‘Yeah, this looks like the place,’ I thought as I ran through the smashed-in door and past a bunch of unconscious gangsters. I followed the screams of gangsters getting their asses kicked and skidded to a halt as I turned the corner and heard Renka cry out in pain.

Ma Sōgetsu had used his palm to smash his own niece into the wall, leaving a crater where he’d driven her into the wall. She was both alive and conscious, but spitting up blood.

“Stop that!” Ken’ichi yelled. “She’s Ma Kensei’s daughter! She’s your niece!”

Sōgetsu barely spared Ken’ichi a glance. “And? A child is still a martial artist, and she raised her hand to me. Besides…”

“Besides, what do honor or family mean to a murderous goon?” I supplied, stepping up beside Ken’ichi.

“Another one?” Sōgetsu mused, seeming utterly disinterested. “Get out of here, brat.”

“Let the girl go and we’ll do just that,” I countered.

In response, he applied a bit more pressure, deepening the crater and drawing a breathless scream from Renka. Ken’ichi cried out in protest, but I stared Sōgetsu down.

“So, this is it? This is the ‘truth’ of the martial arts you left the Ma family and abandoned your brother for?” I spat. “You’re a grown man beating up a child who’s no threat to you, and you have the balls to call yourself a martial artist? To call other people weak? What a disgrace.”

Before Sōgetsu could reply, if he truly intended to, a crash through the window took his attention, and he jumped away from Renka as Kensei sent a flying kick where his arm had been, then grabbed his wounded daughter from the air.

“As sad as it is, I must agree with this boy,” Kensei said darkly, passing the barely-conscious Renka over to Ken’ichi and facing down his brother. “Is this truly where the path you chose to take has led you, Brother?”

Sōgetsu didn’t bother replying. “Kensei. It’s time to settle matters.”

“Ken’ichi, Ensei, take Renka and leave,” Kensei said.

“Hmph. That older boy… I take it he’s a student of yours?” Sōgetsu said, his eyes only briefly flickering over to the three of us. “I still don’t understand you. Wasting your time on a talentless kid… how unfortunate.”

“It is unfortunate, that you’re so lost on this misguided path that you can’t even understand this much,” Kensei said sadly. “Do you even remember how things used to be, Brother? When we trained and laughed together?”

“What does it matter? Those days are gone now,” Sōgetsu replied.

“Whatever I must do, I will not let you continue to disgrace the martial arts with this senseless violence!” Kensei declared. He gave the salute of a martial artist, a hand wrapped over a fist in front of his heart. But he wrapped the right fist over the left, rather than the other way around.

To do this was a sign that this was a duel to the death. Ken’ichi gasped in realization as he saw Sōgetsu do the same.

“No! Master Ma, don’t do it! Brothers shouldn’t fight like this!” Ken’ichi yelled.

Neither gave any sign they heard him, as the two brothers, both acknowledged as some of the greatest masters of Chinese martial arts in the world, began their duel…

Spoiler

---X---

AN: No joke, in China chicken feet sell for more pound-for-pound than chicken breast. Lo mai gai is chicken, mushrooms, etc. wrapped up in a ball of rice that is itself wrapped up in a lotus leaf and then steamed. Both are served in dim sum restaurants, and chicken feet are actually cooked in a variety of ways. Most Chinese grocery stores and supermarkets sell them ready-to-eat as snacks, in fact. Since the chicken’s feet are almost entirely skin and tendons, they have a very gelatinous texture, and there usually isn’t much flavor on their own, hence why they’re usually served with some kind of sauce or other flavoring.

Chicken feet are eaten in a lot of other places, too, but China is by far the biggest consumer of chicken feet globally. Funny enough, Korea also has them, as do many other countries close to China, but Japan doesn’t. In the Philippines, they’re often sold as street food and called “adidas” after the brand of shoes.

*Since it’s come to my attention that not everyone reading this Jumpchain is actually familiar with the source material, the story so far is that Hermit’s “civilian” identity is a perfect student named Tanimoto Natsu, who is a member of the drama club. For reasons of his own, he got close to Ken’ichi and Miu by recruiting Miu for a performance of Romeo & Juliet. This got Ken’ichi jealous, but he put that aside and made friends with Natsu anyway because he seemed nice, and even defended the production from some thugs because of that and because Miu was excited to perform. This actually started getting him labeled as a violent thug himself, though, because Tanimoto brutalized said thugs himself once he was out of his “secret identity” and Ken’ichi got blamed for their hospitalization.

Kisara, though forbidden from crushing the Shinpaku Alliance by Hermit, chose to attack the play (because Miu isn’t a member), which Ken’ichi defended by simply refusing to move from his spot and let them past, refusing to attack Kisara or let her past him. Kisara normally despises the “I don’t hit girls” talk because in her experience from when she was in a dojo it was always just ass-covering excuses from guys who didn’t want to admit they couldn’t beat a girl, but Ken’ichi willfully let himself get beat up and refused to go down, and his conviction convinced Kisara that he was different from the meatheads at her old dojo and she left, impressed and kind of put off by the strength of his conviction.

The play was a success, though Koetsuji (insightful man that he is) laments to Tanimoto that the performance would have been much better if he didn’t hate acting so much, shocking him. Pissed off that he was seen through, Hermit says “F*ck it” and attacks Ken’ichi, knocking him off a bridge and fighting him on a moving bus, showing off his Piguaquan skills in the process and claiming that everything Ken’ichi saw of “Tanimoto Natsu” was just an act and that it’s human nature to lie and deceive others. He also asks Ken’ichi directly if they were taught by the same man, but Ken’ichi affirms that he was taught by Ma Kensei, a name Tanimoto nonetheless seems to recognize. They fight a little more but end up getting knocked off the bus, and Hermit tells Ken’ichi they’ll settle the score later. Ken’ichi, though, has recognized a melancholy in Tanimoto’s eyes similar to his own before meeting Miu, calling them the eyes of someone desperate for a friend, and is determined to get through to him.

Recognizing that Ken’ichi needs some special training, he takes him to the mountain where a fellow Master and jujutsu practitioner named Yamamoto Taiki lives with his son and disciple, Naoki, to teach Ken’ichi about the use of tactics. Ken’ichi doesn’t really grasp the concept of deceit in combat, though, instead just putting himself through even more special training in secret to overcome Naoki’s superior tactics. Koetsuji makes fun of him for his straightforwardness but admits that his hard work is a talent in its own. Also, Naoki is super-sheltered and has never gotten to see the city; his father won’t let him go see the world outside the mountains until he gets a hit in on a “tengu” living in a nearby cave, which is actually Taiki himself in disguise. At the end, Koetsuji subtly chides Taiki for this and convinces him to ease up on Naoki at some point, which he sheepishly agrees to.

**Okay, here’s a note on the names of the Ma family: the Japanese do this thing with Chinese characters where they pronounce them in a certain way; basically, they change Chinese words to fit the Japanese syllabary, and this is a distinct way of reading Chinese characters separate from the Japanese language’s own use of Chinese characters, i.e. kanji. This is why anime has so many Chinese characters with obviously Japanese-sounding names. For whatever reason in localization the “Ma” is preserved (in the Japanese way of pronouncing it, it would be “Ba” instead, which is why you’ll see some scanslations spell his name that way), but everything else is read in the Japanese way. To wit:

“Ma Kensei” would be read in Mandarin as “Ma Jianxing.” His brother “Sōgetsu” would be “Ma Qiangyue,” his daughter “Renka” would be “Ma Lianhua,” and his uncle…

Okay, his name in Mandarin is “Ma Liang,” and his nickname “Hakubi” is the Japanese rendering of the Chinese “Bai Mei,” which means “white eyebrows.” In addition to both the name and nickname being that of a historical personage from the Three Kingdoms Period of China, “Bai Mei,” rendered in Cantonese as “Bak Mei,” is the nickname of one of the “Five Elders,” legendary warriors who supposedly survived the destruction of the Southern Shaolin Temple when it was destroyed by the Qing government (neither the destruction or the temple itself have been proven to have ever happened/existed, BTW). In most versions of the story, Bak Mei was the one (or one of the ones) who sold out the temple to the Qing.

Apropos of nothing, the two brothers share a name scheme: “Jianxing” is made up of the characters for “sword” and “star,” while “Qiangyue” is made up of the characters for “spear” and “moon.”

*** A lot of Filipino food is absolutely delicious, but some of it is, well, chocolate rice pudding with dried, salted herring in it. That kind of contrast is a big thing in Filipino cuisine, but it’s an acquired taste at best, at least in my experience.

… Man, I could really go for some chicken adobo. It’s been so long.

**** In classical wuxia, the world of martial arts, separate from the ordinary world of farmers and kings, is known as the “jianghu.” To leave the jianghu and the endless rivalries, feuds, blood oaths and power struggles that define it, one undertakes a ceremony in which they wash their hands in a golden basin, symbolically washing their hands of all involvement in affairs of the jianghu. To “wash one’s hands in the golden basin” or just “to leave the jianghu” is sometimes used as slang for retirement in China.