The bus ride to Kita High felt like a journey to another dimension. Our small Seiyo High Martial Arts Club – Rina, Kenji, Takeshi, Hana, and me, the reluctant ringer – were a knot of nervous energy. Rina was giving a last-minute pep talk, mostly about sportsmanship and not letting Kita's infamous trash-talking get to us. Kenji stared out the window, his expression as stoic as ever, but I could see the subtle tension in his jaw. Takeshi was trying to crack jokes, but they fell flat, his usual bravado diluted by an undercurrent of genuine apprehension. Hana was meticulously checking the straps on her bag, which I knew contained not just her water bottle and towel, but also her precious sketchbook, already half-filled with diagrams of my "anomalous motor functions."
And me? I felt like a ticking time bomb wrapped in a borrowed gi. Rina's parting words from last night – "No Shadow Play… try to be gentle" – echoed in my head. Gentle. Right. Like asking a hurricane to kindly rustle the leaves. My hands felt clammy. My stomach was doing acrobatic maneuvers that would have impressed an Olympic gymnast. This whole "being seen" thing was about to escalate to a whole new level.
Kita High was… intimidating. It was larger than Seiyo, newer, with a sprawling sports complex that made our modest dojo look like a garden shed. As we walked towards their martial arts hall, we passed groups of Kita students. They were, on average, bigger. Louder. And they all seemed to radiate an aura of aggressive confidence. Several of them openly snickered as our small contingent passed, their eyes lingering on our Seiyo High tracksuits with undisguised disdain.
"Don't mind them," Rina muttered, her chin held high, though I saw her fists clench. "They're always like this."
The Kita High dojo was enormous. Vast expanses of tatami gleamed under bright fluorescent lights. The walls were adorned with banners proclaiming past victories and calligraphy scrolls exuding an almost palpable sense of aggressive pride – words like 'Dominate,' 'Conquer,' 'Crush.' It felt less like a place of disciplined training and more like a gladiator arena.
And it was packed. Not just with Kita martial artists, but with what looked like half their student body, all buzzing with anticipation. This wasn't just a "joint practice session." This was a spectacle. And we were, apparently, the opening act. Or maybe the sacrificial lambs.
At the center of the dojo, surrounded by a throng of his club members, was a figure who could only be Gouken "The Grizzly" Kumagai. Takeshi's description hadn't been far off. He was huge – tall, built like a brick outhouse, with a wild mane of dark hair and a permanent scowl etched onto his rugged features. He wore his black belt like a declaration of war. When he saw us enter, his scowl deepened, and he barked an order. His team snapped to attention.
A much smaller, leaner sensei with sharp eyes and a thin mustache – presumably Kita High's instructor – stepped forward to greet Mr. Morita, our own perpetually flustered faculty advisor who had accompanied us, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, possibly a dentist's chair.
Formalities were exchanged, brief and curt. Then, the Kita sensei, whose name was apparently Takeda-sensei, addressed us, his voice carrying an edge of condescension. "Welcome, Seiyo High. We trust you are prepared for a… spirited exchange." His gaze swept over our small group, lingering on me for a moment with a dismissive glance. I was, after all, just another unremarkable face in a gi. Good.
The "spirited exchange" began with some joint warm-ups, led by Takeda-sensei. His commands were sharp, his pace relentless. The Kita students moved with a practiced, aggressive energy that made our own warm-up routine look like a leisurely stroll in the park. I could see Takeshi already starting to sweat, his earlier nervousness morphing into a grim determination. Kenji was a rock, his movements economical and focused, but even he seemed to be conserving his energy. Rina, ever the captain, pushed herself hard, her face set in a mask of fierce concentration. I just tried to keep up, mimicking the movements, feeling that now-familiar internal hum as my body adapted to the unfamiliar rhythm.
Then came the sparring.
It wasn't a formal tournament structure, more like a series of challenge matches. Kita students would step forward, issue a challenge, and one of us would meet them.
Takeshi went first, against a lanky Kita kid with a cocky smirk. It was a fast, scrappy fight. Takeshi, for all his bluster, was quick and agile. He landed a few good shots, his "Flash" moniker almost seeming appropriate for a moment. But the Kita kid was relentless, his attacks less about technique and more about overwhelming pressure. Takeshi fought hard, but eventually, he was worn down, caught with a solid body blow that sent him sprawling. He got up, wincing, but with his pride intact. "Good fight," he grunted, earning a grudging nod from his opponent.
Hana, surprisingly, volunteered for a match against a Kita girl who looked about her size but moved with a wiry strength. Hana didn't have the striking power, but her footwork was excellent, and her defensive awareness, honed by hours of watching me, was surprisingly good. She didn't win, but she didn't get steamrolled either. She frustrated her opponent with elusive movements and clever blocks, eventually losing on points (if there had been actual points). She came back to our side, flushed but smiling faintly. "Her guard was a little high on the left," she whispered to Rina, already analyzing.
Kenji's match was a brutal affair. He faced a burly Kita third-year who looked like a miniature version of "The Grizzly." It was a clash of immovable object versus unstoppable force. Blows were exchanged with bone-jarring power. Kenji's stances were solid, his blocks unyielding. He absorbed punishing shots and delivered his own with grim efficiency. It was a grueling, attritional battle. In the end, after what felt like an eternity, Kenji managed a powerful leg sweep that sent his opponent crashing to the mat. A small victory, hard-earned, that drew a grudging silence from the Kita crowd. Kenji returned, breathing heavily, a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were blazing.
Rina faced a fast, technical Kita girl who was clearly one of their top fighters. It was a beautiful display of skill from both sides. Rina's fluid movements and clever counters were pitted against her opponent's aggressive combinations and lightning-fast kicks. They fought to a standstill, neither able to gain a decisive advantage. Takeda-sensei eventually called a halt, declaring it a draw, though the Kita girl looked furious. Rina returned, her chest heaving, a proud, determined smile on her face. "They're good," she admitted. "But we're not backing down."
Then, all eyes turned to me. I was the last one left from Seiyo who hadn't fought. The unknown quantity. The quiet transfer student.
Gouken "The Grizzly" Kumagai himself stepped forward. The crowd roared. This was clearly what they'd been waiting for. He was a mountain. His gi seemed stretched to its limits over his massive frame. His knuckles were scarred. His eyes, when they fixed on me, were like chips of obsidian, cold and predatory.
"You," he growled, his voice like gravel. "The new kid from Seiyo. Let's see if you're anything more than dojo-filler." He cracked his neck, a sound like tree branches snapping.
Rina looked at me, her expression a mixture of anxiety and hope. "Kaito… remember what we talked about. Control. Defense."
I nodded, my throat dry. Walking out to face Kumagai felt like walking into a bear's den armed with a toothpick. The sheer physical presence of the guy was overwhelming. He probably outweighed me by a good fifty pounds, all of it muscle and malice.
We bowed. The air crackled with tension.
"Hajime!" Takeda-sensei barked.
Kumagai didn't waste any time. He charged.
It wasn't a clumsy rush. It was an explosion of controlled aggression. A massive right haymaker, telegraphed but carrying the force of a runaway truck, aimed at my head.
My body moved.
Not with a fancy block. Not with an evasive dance.
As the fist thundered towards me, my left hand shot up, open-palmed. Not to meet the force head-on – that would have shattered my arm. Instead, my palm connected with the inside of his wrist, just as his arm was fully extended.
At the exact same instant, my body yielded. I didn't step back; I flowed back, just an inch or two, absorbing the initial shockwave. My right foot pivoted slightly.
The contact was light, almost impossibly so against such a monstrous attack. But it was precise. And it was timed to perfection.
Kumagai's punch, which should have obliterated me, was deflected. Not by strength, but by angle and timing. His massive fist slid past my ear, the wind of its passage ruffling my hair. His momentum, immense and unyielding, carried him forward, slightly off-balance.
A stunned silence fell over the Kita dojo. Even Takeda-sensei's jaw had dropped. Kumagai himself looked momentarily confused, like a bull that had charged at a matador's cape only to find empty air.
He recovered instantly, his face contorting in a snarl of rage. He spun, unleashing a devastating spinning backfist.
Again, my body reacted before my mind could process. I didn't try to block the spinning mass of muscle. I simply… wasn't there. A subtle shift of my weight, a slight duck, and the backfist whistled over my head. I could feel the power of it, the intent to maim.
Kumagai roared in frustration and launched into a furious barrage of attacks – powerful hooks, heavy body blows, thundering kicks. Each one was delivered with brutal force and surprising speed for a man his size.
And each one… missed. Or was deflected.
My movements were minimal, economical. A slight turn of the shoulder here, a subtle angling of the forearm there. My hands moved like water, guiding, redirecting, never meeting force with force. I wasn't retreating; I was… flowing around him. It was like he was trying to punch smoke. My feet barely seemed to move, yet I was always just outside his optimal range, always in a position of perfect balance, while he grew increasingly off-balance, his powerful attacks finding nothing but air.
The Kita crowd was silent, watching with wide, disbelieving eyes. The Seiyo contingent was equally stunned, but there was a growing spark of hope in their expressions.
Kumagai was starting to pant, his face flushed red not just from exertion, but from sheer, unadulterated fury. He was "The Grizzly," Kita High's alpha, used to opponents crumbling before his onslaught. He wasn't used to being made to look… clumsy.
"Stand still and fight, you damn ghost!" he bellowed, lunging again, trying to grab me in a bear hug that would have undoubtedly cracked ribs.
My hands met his outstretched arms, not to resist, but to guide. A subtle circular motion, and his own momentum was turned against him. He stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own feet.
It was at that moment, seeing the utter frustration and dawning bewilderment on Kumagai's face, that something strange happened. It wasn't the "Shadow Play" of my solo practice, not that overwhelming surge of alien skill. It was… something quieter. A flicker of understanding.
I saw an opening. Not a physical one, but an opening in his balance, in his intent. He was overextended, enraged, his movements becoming sloppier.
My right hand, which had been guiding his arm, slid down to his wrist. My left hand found a point just below his elbow. It wasn't a grab; it was a connection.
And then, with a movement so smooth and effortless it felt like it wasn't even me doing it, I applied a gentle, rotational pressure.
It wasn't strength. It was pure leverage. Pure technique. The kind of technique Rina had tried to explain, the kind Kenji embodied, but distilled to its absolute essence.
Kumagai, all two hundred-plus pounds of him, suddenly found his center of gravity compromised. His feet, which had been so firmly planted, seemed to lift from the tatami. His eyes widened in shock as he felt himself being… lifted. Not thrown violently, but almost… floated.
He went sailing through the air in a graceful arc, a look of utter disbelief on his face, and landed on his back on the tatami with a resounding THUD that echoed through the silent dojo.
I stood there, perfectly balanced, my hands still slightly outstretched from guiding his fall. I hadn't even broken a sweat.
Silence. A profound, echoing silence. You could have heard a pin drop.
Then, Takeshi let out a strangled whoop. "HOLY…!"
The Kita crowd was frozen, their faces a mask of stunned disbelief. Takeda-sensei looked like he'd swallowed his whistle.
Gouken "The Grizzly" Kumagai lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, the air knocked out of him, his expression one of pure, uncomprehending shock. He, the invincible captain of Kita High, had just been thrown, effortlessly, by a kid half his size who looked like he wouldn't say boo to a goose.
Rina's jaw was on the floor. Kenji's eyes were wider than I'd ever seen them. Hana was clutching her sketchbook so tightly her knuckles were white, a small, awed smile playing on her lips.
I looked down at Kumagai. I hadn't meant to throw him. Or rather, I hadn't meant to. My body had. It had seen the opening, felt the imbalance, and simply… acted. It was the most natural thing in the world. And the most terrifying.
Slowly, Kumagai sat up, shaking his head as if to clear it. He looked at his hands, then at me. The rage was gone from his eyes, replaced by a dazed confusion and… something else. Respect? No, more like… utter bewilderment.
"What… what was that?" he rasped, his voice hoarse. "I didn't even feel you… you didn't even try…"
Before I could offer my usual stammered excuse of "I don't know," Takeda-sensei found his voice. "Kumagai! Are you alright?" He rushed over, helping his captain to his feet. Kumagai was unsteady, still looking at me with that same stunned expression.
Takeda-sensei turned to me, his earlier condescension completely gone, replaced by a look of intense, almost fearful curiosity. "Young man," he said, his voice hushed. "That… that throw… I've never seen anything like it. The kuzushi… the entry… it was… perfect. Invisible." He looked at Mr. Morita, who looked even more flustered than usual. "Morita-sensei… who is this student?"
The whispers started then. Not just from the Seiyo side, but from the Kita crowd.
"Did you see that?"
"He didn't even break a sweat!"
"Kumagai-senpai… he flew!"
"Who is that guy?"
The name "Ghost Hand" hadn't made it to Kita High yet. But I had a feeling that was about to change.
Rina rushed over to me, her eyes shining. "Kaito! That was… that was incredible! You actually… you threw him! And it was… gentle!"
Gentle? It hadn't felt gentle to Kumagai, I was sure. But it hadn't been the "Shadow Play" either. It had been… controlled. Instinctive, yes, but somehow… refined. Like my body was starting to understand its own bizarre capabilities on a deeper level.
The rest of the "joint practice" was a blur. No one else from Kita High seemed particularly eager to challenge me after that. There were a few more matches between other members, but the energy had shifted. The Kita arrogance was gone, replaced by a cautious, bewildered respect. They kept glancing at me, the quiet kid who had effortlessly toppled their titan.
As we were packing up to leave, Takeda-sensei approached me. Kumagai was beside him, looking subdued, almost thoughtful.
"Ishida-kun," Takeda-sensei said, bowing slightly. A gesture of profound respect that shocked me. "Today… you have shown us something truly remarkable. Your skill… it is beyond anything I have witnessed in a student of your age. Or any age, perhaps."
Kumagai grunted, then, to my utter astonishment, he also bowed. A stiff, awkward bow, but a bow nonetheless. "You… you're strong, Ishida," he mumbled, not quite meeting my eyes. "I don't understand how. But… you're strong."
Coming from "The Grizzly," it felt like the highest praise.
The bus ride back to Seiyo was a completely different experience. The nervous tension was gone, replaced by a buzzing, almost giddy energy. Takeshi was recounting my throw of Kumagai with increasingly wild embellishments ("And then, with a flick of his wrist, Ghost Hand sent The Grizzly into low orbit!"). Rina was beaming, looking at me with a mixture of pride and awe. Kenji actually cracked a rare smile. "You handled that well, Ishida. Controlled. Precise." Hana was already sketching furiously, trying to capture the mechanics of the throw.
I just stared out the window, my mind reeling. I had faced "The Grizzly" and survived. More than survived. I had… prevailed. And I hadn't unleashed the terrifying, uncontrollable "Shadow Play." It had been something else. Something… new.
My "Dragon Kin," Rina had once half-jokingly called my inexplicable abilities, referencing some obscure martial arts folklore about innate talent. Maybe she wasn't so far off. There was something ancient, something deeply instinctual, awakening within me. And today, for the first time, it hadn't just been about raw, untamed power. There had been a hint of… finesse. Of understanding.
The Uncrowned King had not only entered the ring, he'd just made his first, shocking statement on a much larger stage. And the whispers were definitely starting to spread. The path ahead was still shrouded in mystery, but for the first time, instead of just dread, I felt a tiny, unfamiliar spark. A spark of… anticipation?
What in the world was happening to me?