Chapitre 22: Chapter 22: Honing Instinct.
The following day I was up and ready. The horror of last night chased away by the prospect of a new day. My first stop was to check on the armorer before my meeting time with the trainer. I walked in on him looking over the torn apart scouter. What followed was a fun discussion. First, my uniform. He was still working on figuring out the material, but promised he'd have an answer before we hit the next major port.
Which meant I still had to work with him to design it. He wanted a black carapace thing. Bulky, plated with armor. Ugly and bug like. I rejected it vehemently. I wanted something to match my boots. Which meant a lot of back and forth I hardly paid attention too.
At some point I swear he told me his name, but I was pretty upfront that I wouldn't remember it. In fact, I was pretty social-ed out with all of this mess and was looking forward to the training I had prepared for me. Which meant I was pretty out of our conversation, but even then, we worked. Most of our interaction involved measurements and looks. A lot of heavy biting arguments against each other until we finalized a design.
It came to a single skintight body suit. The material, if we could be meant to be as form hugging as possible. Padded in key areas to keep it from giving too much of a show. The suit itself was a off-white with silver lining. Pairing near perfectly with my white boots. Just from the projections… Mmm… the way it would hug my frame would be perfect.
I had a body that would be akin to the statue of David, no, my figure was better. No sculpture could hope to match me. My form was just that perfect. Rather, if it wasn't I wouldn't have opted for such a shameless outfit. It was meant to let every outline of my frame stick out. Every muscle and curve were exemplified. If I wasn't perfectly sculpted as if by the hands of gods, nay by something even greater than they!
If my body wasn't so perfect perhaps, I would hesitate, but it was. I could eat all I wanted, and I didn't bloat or lose my abs that could grate cheese. I had muscles that added to my frame perfectly, giving it just the right amount of rock-hard muscle and springy fat to entice. Just talking about makes me want to keep going and going. Naturally the armorer took my boastings as a challenge. And just as naturally he failed at every turn to replicate my amazingness.
I couldn't just be running around in a skintight suit like some hero from an old era comic, nor would I want too… Even if my form was perfect it needed to have a proper show to accompany it. Which led to white gloves that reached up to my upper arm, like those period drama gloves rich misses wore to pair with my boots.
Following that I had a helmet made, primarily for survival options in space. The helmet is more than capable of fitting in the scouter tech and limited life support options, just in case I ever found myself in the cold void of space. Finding a design was difficult, but what came out was fantastic.
Angled, a V-strip of glass that wrapped my vision just right. An almost Gundam aesthetic added as we placed an almost crown on the brow. It was perfection.
A silvery cloak was wrapped around my shoulders held in place by a pair of silvery rounded pauldrons set on my shoulders. In a way it had a whole 90's anime feels. Like the good guy feel. Not the silly spiky pauldrons of bad guys. A prime example being the designs in the first Langrisser game. The cloak wrapping around me adds a certain presence to my frame.
Leaning on tropes I remembered from my life, where angular means evil or something. We tried to make everything as rounded as possible without looking stupid. Including features to the helmet like being able to open the viewing visor to the dwarves complete and utter frustration, but I did relent when he wanted to add in the scouters power level system.
He was oddly obsessed with the scouters power level function. Insisted he'd push to make a scouter for every fighter on the ship. Which I was strangely fine with, even if I knew it was useless. Just as long as he didn't break my scouter or let them randomly break. Something he swore he would do…
Finished. And ready to go out to my first real training session The armorer offered me a drink. Saying we should celebrate a successful design session. Well, somebody burst in at that moment from the back of the armory and yelled at him for trying to drink on the job.
Which gave me an excuse to flee and make my way to the training area. Frankly my discovery from last night was still bugging me. The idea of using the newly dubbed evil ki resonating in my mind like a seductive whisper. One that would distract me from the coming session, I was sure. Instead, I stopped outside the training room. I stopped and thought hard on whether or not I really wanted to use it.
I already knew I wanted to, but could I use it safely? The answer was easy enough. I wouldn't know until I tried. A stupid answer, but not one that would convince me. Which meant I had to think hard on the answer. Or rather how best to convince myself that yes, using evil Ki was a good idea. Especially considering its source.
And our earlier armor design session came to my mind. Langrisser… A fairly good series that somehow was relatively fresh in my mind despite the passage of time. The characters were interesting enough, the story worth remembering. Had, like six games and a phone game? I was fairly invested in it from what I remember… And now I just remembered all the progress I left behind…
Well, may as well make up for it in this life by living it to the fullest. Resolved, I think back to the main story. The story was based off a sword, or rather the people that find or find themselves with or against the sword dubbed Langrisser. A chosen weapon, essentially the hero's sword. With a single caveat.
The sword isn't an I win button. The sword responds to its users wish. Only those with purity of purpose. Those who believe in their path with full surety can wield Langrisser. A blade whose purpose was to make a dream achievable not by might but will. Ironically, the users wish wasn't always heroic. The blade even supporting those who seek to end all life or even kill the gods that brought forth its existence.
In the second game a new weapon, a pair, an antagonist to Langrisser was added. Alhazard. A blade that did the exact opposite. It gave you the might to achieve your dreams, no matter the task, but not the will to do so. The sword wasn't inherently evil, but power corrupts. More so absolute power. More specifically, as I found out myself, it's not that it corrupts, but rather reveals what lays underneath. Forcing a person to confront who they truly are.
In the same vein was evil Ki to normal Ki. Evil Ki, even from the pathetic smattering I could see last night. Or more from its whispers I understood it offered great power. Near limitless power, but unlike normal Ki. It never ceased. It was like the difference between a town car and a race car.
Both will get you to your destination. They just have vastly different speeds and less safety measures between them. Do I have the will for that? To not just hit the pedal to the metal? Hmm… That's… actually a good point. But, then how would I cultivate more of it? It was seemingly limitless, but it also seemed finite. Almost as if… No, maybe it did? It probably required me to commit acts of evil or something willingly. Like… planetary genocide.
Fuck… Well, I won't be using evil ki anytime soon. Frustrated, but at least I wasn't burning with endless curiosity as I shelved the idea of using evil ki. I had no desire to seek out massacres for power… at least… not yet. A sobering thought, truly. Shrugging those thoughts aside I step into the dojo. The air was filled with a sense of tension. The only occupant was the trainer.
"Rettas. You're here." I nodded, not trusting myself from not making a fool of myself as I stood opposite of him. He eyed me up and down. Seeming to think.
"Have you ever seen top tier martial artists fight?"
"Can't say that I have." I mean, what was top tier anyway?
"I didn't think so. Most people that say yes think of those posers in tournaments or from movies. When I see say top tier it's the true masters in their craft. People who rarely leave their homes as they continue to hone their craft. Whenever two meet only one ever walks away alive. Those are the experts I speak of."
I felt my blood boiling at the thought of such people existing.
"I… sadly am not one of them." And there went most of my excitement.
"My best student. The captain you murdered was the most likely of all those I trained to hit that level." He took a moment to sigh. "But frankly, he was always too wrapped up in schemes and gaining power. I always knew that held him back, but I managed to see his final moments. And frankly… I think in the final moments he may have reached that point with you."
His voice was heavy, husky like he was trying to hold in his emotion. His eyes burned as he stared at me. Scorching me and burning me up.
"Which is why I chose to train you. Because you managed to bring out the best out of my student. Because when I looked back to your battle with The Bruiser I saw your true talent." He stepped forward into my space. I felt tense as he closed in on my ear. "You break molds." He backed off and took his place once more. I could feel my heart thump in my chest.
"Which means, if I can teach you the truth of being a martial master… Perhaps I can pick it up too. Do you think you can?"
"I can do anything I set my mind to, Trainer!" Oh, a little too much energy there. Still giddy from how close he was.
"Good! Now first a demonstration… Hit me."
"Hit you?"
"Yes just-" I didn't let him finish, my fist lashing out. What I saw was… almost exactly what I saw earlier. He moved to dodge my fist despite it going faster than he should perceive. His body moving to dodge. His foot kicking out in a flash even before I could think. It was slow, but the shock slowed me as I tried to dodge. It wasn't enough as his fist impacted my nose perfectly…
It didn't hurt. Or smart. But… I barely was able to react to it. I leaned back as he hit me. Good that I did as I noticed his arm trembling.
"Hoh… scared the shit out of me." He says, but I could feel the fire in him intensifying. His gaze hungry like mine had been. Ah… I felt kind of hot.
"How did you see my fist?" It was a stupid question, but I had to ask.
"Didn't…" He didn't, then how did he? "Instinct." "Instinct?" I reply dumbly. "Mm… Instinct. Its why martial artists train themselves so hard. Why we practice the same punches thousands of times over. It's so when we fight fellow masters we can keep up. Our bodies are capable of moving faster than we perceive. Sound moving slower than light, and light having to pass through our eyes to our brain. Precious milliseconds that are better used to act then react.
Our brain has so many processes, like a military chain of command. Imagine if every soldier only moved on command of the general. In this case the brain. In planned fights that works, but there's a reason armies use rank systems. If a company is attacked mid mission, it's up to the individual company to make changes to the plan and adapt. Just imagine if they had to call up high command for a change in orders in such a situation? Such it is with instinct. We train how to block specific hits so that when we are attacked, we can trust our bodies to block for us. As do generals expect their soldiers to adapt appropriately to changing battlefield conditions.
Same with every movement. Every breath. Every step. We train our bodies to respond for us when our brains can't keep up. Which is where my earlier comment comes in. Top tier martial artists always start with testing blows. They do so to test each other's reactions. To try and catch each other off guard.
If only for one reason. Once a pair of master's fight, they no longer have the luxury to think out their approach. Instead, they rely on their bodies to help them stay in the game as each of them plays a game of chess. A game where they have to simultaneously judge each other's moves by at least twenty to thirty moves. I am at the stage where I can block and attack by instinct, but I lack the ability to be certain my body will always protect me.
Even worse, I lack the in-depth knowledge some masters have that let me compete with them in a full brawl. Perhaps I could last a few minutes, but once the real fight begins, I'd likely die near instantly once they find my weakness. My student had mastered the instinctual part, but lacked the mindset to try and predict his opponents moves. Instead, he relied on it to create ambushes or prevent straightforward fights like an idiot.
It's almost ironic that his own planning led to his demise."
I processed what he told me. The words.
"Reminds me of a quote from a martial artist I heard."
I looked at me, probably unsure if I had something serious to say.
"I fear not the man who has practiced Ten-thousand kicks once, but the man who has practiced one kick ten-thousand times. Or something like that…"
"Fascinating, and was he a Saiyan? His name?"
Huh… "Bruce Lee, and if he was a Saiyan… I think we'd all be dead." A pause. I really think if Bruce Lee was a Saiyan… I don't think the universe could handle it. Almost like if Chuck Norris came by… or something. After all these years I still have those Chuck Norris jokes stuck in my head! It's madness I say! Eventually he laughs.
"Well, either way the ideology is the same. Normally I'd spar and beat the knowledge into your bones… And I bet you want that too… But I'm afraid my own bones would break before you even learn something. Which means we have to do this the hard way.
We have to practice through rote memorization. Practicing the simplest motions thousands upon thousands of times until your body memorizes it and internalizes it."
I was a little excited. Maybe a wax on wax off thing? It wasn't… Just… "Block!" I bring my arm up, my stance near perfect. Near being the word as he taps my arms legs and back to straighten muscles. "Block!" I did it again with less mistakes. "Block!" This time perfectly.
"Good job on three tries." Before I could even puff up, he continued. "Now ten-thousand more times!" I was going to hate this? Wasn't I?
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone